Knife-like, the blade wounds
Slicing through civility
Severing all ties
One moment shatters
False securities wiped bare
All hope stripped away
When this old heart hurts
The pain seems unbearable
The burden, unfair
Month: April 2018
Sunday, Boring Sunday
My feet never even left Doright Manor yesterday. I slept in until 9 a.m., had a Kind breakfast bar and a cup of coffee with Irish cream while simultaneously watching MASH reruns and reading The Dark Tower VII. I think I even took a nap. The morning just flowed over and around me like a lazy river.
Studly Doright played golf on Sunday morning after being sidelined for over a month by sciatic pain and returned home in time to enjoy watching the final round of the Masters golf tournament with me. I’m not a golfer, but I grew up watching tournaments on tv with my dad, and watching the Masters is akin to seeing a painting come to life in real time. The beautiful course at Augusta testing the skills of the best players in the world is always a thrill.
Now we plan to spend the evening catching up on The Walking Dead. I’ll drink a glass of wine, or two. Then it’s off to bed. Maybe I’ll be less boring tomorrow.
Peace, people.
Dangerous
Another really fine and thought-provoking piece by Jan Wilberg at redswrap.wordpress.com
Anything can happen.
I remember my daughter telling me this. It was after the apartment next to hers in Palm Springs blew up in the middle of the night. She’d been in her new place just a few days, unwittingly moving next door to a meth lab. So it blew up and there was fire and fire trucks and her escape from harm and her call from a phone booth across the street from her apartment.
It was three in the morning when the phone rang. It rang and rang out in the hallway of our old beach house on Lake Superior. It was a phone that sat on a tiny table, the way phones used to do when they functioned as family anchors. I got out of bed, searching for a light I didn’t need, wasting time. Stalling. No one calls at three in the morning to sell…
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Rainy Saturdays, Nudity, and Ukeleles
The best way to deal with an early Saturday morning thunderstorm is to pour a second cup of coffee, add a generous helping of Irish cream, and let the lightning and thunder rage on outside.
I need to take a shower, and I should be doing chores, but the rain is telling me to wait.
One should always listen to the rain. Unless, that is, the rain is telling you to strip naked and run through the neighborhood playing a ukulele. I won’t make THAT mistake again.
Albert Arthur Allen’s “Nude with Ukelele”
Peace, people!
When Twitter Trolls Threaten
Not too long ago I contacted Twitter in regard to what I felt was an overt threat. “We know where to find you, and we are armed,” the tweet read. Twitter decided this was no cause for concern. What say you, friends?
Do the Wave
Friday was pretty low-key around Doright Manor. I caught up on the laundry, and we took Studly Doright for a second epidural for his sciatic pain. He’s hoping that this second round will allow him to embark on his annual men’s golf trip later this month. Fingers crossed.
I decided to cheer him on by doing the wave, but a one woman wave isn’t all that effective. In fact, it’s downright idiotic. So I enlisted members of the animal kingdom to assist me. It’s still fairly idiotic, but you have to admit that animals caught in the act of waving are pretty cute.
Peace, people!
Honoring Hard Times
The hard times. Beautiful piece by Jan Wilberg.
There are times in my family’s life that are never spoken of. Hard times, rough patches. Every family with any substance, especially families that have taken on the challenge of growing by adoption, has had these times. I don’t trust families who’ve had just smooth sailing and can’t manage their way around a police station or an inpatient unit. I joke. Somewhat.
When there is a hard time or, say, a great disappointment, it can be an estranging thing. One generally doesn’t want to be around people who disappoint them or anger them or, maybe the worst of all, puzzle and confound them. So we withdraw and protect ourselves. It’s a reflex more than a strategy. This can happen even while the two people are in the same house, but it’s easy as pie when they’re under separate roofs, when you have to go out of your way to see…
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Oddities and Noteworthy Sights Along the Way
Now that I’ve returned safely home to Doright Manor after my trip to San Marcos, Texas, I’ve had a bit of time to look back at some of the cool stuff I found along the way.
For instance this drive through daiquiri store in Louisiana, just across Texas border. Isn’t it illegal to drink and drive?
And how about the Wooly Mamoth (sic) head mounted on the wall of a barbecue place in Katy, Texas? I’m fairly sure the disclaimer “REPLICA” wasn’t necessary, but it made my daughter and me giggle. The misspelling of mammoth was a bonus.
Notice the sign on I-10 just west of Mobile, AL. I almost cried because I thought it read “ROAD WORK NEXT 568 MILES.” Thank goodness the decimal point between the 5 and the 6 was just difficult to see.
Technically, the Alamo isn’t an oddity, but it’s worth a mention.
On my way to San Antonio, I spent the night in a Holiday Inn in Gulfport, Mississippi. I’d stayed there before and had fond memories of the place. The staff is friendly and the rooms comfy. This time I snapped a photo of the nifty artwork in my room. I love retro pieces and thought this was a nice change from the artwork one usually finds in hotels.
A red door on a shop in Wimberley, Texas. I like red doors. Once I heard that if you want your house to sell quickly, paint your door red. Works for me.
San Antonio has some nifty stuff to see besides the Alamo.
I feel so fortunate to be able to travel and share my adventures with you all. Hopefully I still have a couple of decades ahead to enjoy adventures like this one. It’ll break my heart when I can no longer take my car on long trips.
Peace, people.
It’s Good to be Home
Top five reasons why there really is no place like home:
5. My time zone
4. My shower
3. My bed
2. My cats
1. My Studly Doright
And then there’s this:
Old and Lost River
Driving on I-10 between Baytown and Houston one crosses a bridge over the “Old and Lost River.” Each time I’ve made the journey the river’s name has caused me to smile and then to wonder how it came to be called “Old and Lost,” but I could never remember to google it. Today, though, when I crossed the river I left myself a reminder note on my iPhone via Siri.
Here’s what I found on Google:
“American composer Tobias Picker (b. 1954) wrote Old and Lost Rivers in 1986. The brief, colorful orchestral tone poem was commissioned by the Houston Symphony to commemorate the sesquicentennial of Texas. Picker describes the inspiration for the piece:”
Driving east from Houston along Interstate 10, you will come to a high bridge which crosses many winding bayous. These bayous were left behind by the great wanderings, over time, of the Trinity River across the land. When it rains, the bayous fill with water and begin to flow. At other times — when it is dry — they evaporate and turn green in the sun. The two main bayous are called ‘Old River’ and ‘Lost River’. Where they converge, a sign on the side of the highway reads: ‘OId and Lost Rivers.’
And now I know the story. The google piece also included the audio of the composition written by Mr. Picker and performed by the Houston Symphony Orchestra. I think it’s lovely.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 