In Case You've Wondered

My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.

If you're here for the stories, I started another blog:

One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.

I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.

Friday, March 25, 2016

Sail Away

These lyrics for a chorus have some music attached, but the song may never be complete. The words fit a current event, and bring back memories. 

As we sit and think of days gone by
And the time that slipped away
He used to stand so straight and tall
It seems like yesterday

And he lays there now, so small and frail
And sleeps most every day
He can't get up; he can't go on
We never thought it would be that way

So, sail away, sail away
The lord is waiting for you across this storm tossed bay
He has built a house of memories
He'll take away your pain
Sail away, sail away, sail away

Live Oak Madness

Live oaks are beautiful trees, but strange. Evergreen, they pick Spring to drop leaves, and the amount is almost staggering. Raking is futile. An afternoon of raking leads to frustration, since the next day reveals the same amount before the raking on the day before.

This Spring seems a little worse, but then again, it might be current tasks have left my stamina depleted, and my thoughts just as deplenished.

So, the yard is mowed, the leaves are blown into the street, and I don't care if the city has a problem with the amount. They have machines to sweep them away, and it's their job to accomplish this task.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

An Afternoon in the Attic (re-post)

The passing of a parent brings family together. Sometime old wounds are reopened; and sometimes they heal. 

This was written years ago. Enjoy.



“Hey, Mark; I was tied up, so I’ll be a little late.”

“That’s okay; I’ll see you when you get here.”

Mark thought of his sister and realized he had no idea how Erin would look. He teased her by calling her the “chameleon”, since she constantly changed her hair, her fashion and even would pick up the accent of the current culture she decided was most interesting.

“How’s it going?”

Mark thought for a few seconds before answering. In those few seconds years of thoughts crossed his mind.

Erin spent her entire adult life immersed in a search Mark knew would only yield failure. She was constantly dabbling in new things, searching for new friendships, travelling or just avoiding any semblance of what someone would consider “normal”. It was her obsession, which Mark knew was her effort to not confront the fact she didn’t like herself. Why? He had no idea, although he felt it had much to do with their parents.

“I’m mostly sorting things out; labeling what needs a label and trying to make an inventory.”

“Are you finding any treasures?”

Mark laughed before answering: “It’s all treasures.”

“Only you would look at it that way.”

The words stung. His sister was quick to say such things to tighten the wedge she drove between them years ago. He knew it wasn’t an endearing comment. She wanted to belittle her brother and could do so with a simple remark.

Mark changed the subject: “Will you be here in time for supper?”

Mark knew the answer. His sister wouldn’t commit. It was against her nature.

A long pause passed before Erin answered: “I don’t know. I’ll see you when I get there.”

Mark felt bad for his comment. He knew the answer and she knew he knew the answer. He reacted to her comment and she was probably relishing the moment. Adversity and strife were her strong point. Where most people avoided such things, she seemed to attract both without effort. To make things worse, she seemed to enjoy living a life in constant turmoil.

“Drive carefully.”

“I will…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Mark knew she did; as much as he loved her. He wished they could get along.

Mark spent the next few minutes staring out the small window in the eve of the small attic and thinking. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still cool air. The morning chill was now broken by the heat of the sun, which beamed onto the roof above his head. The insulation in the bare rafters would keep it bearable during the day, while he sorted through the boxes stored on the floor.

Mark thought of the last time he saw Erin. It was Christmas and she was completely different than the time before. Her hair was longer, a different style and a different color. She’d traded the urban socialite look for something he could only describe as bizarre Western. Horses were her current passion and she was spending time learning to ride. She mentioned even buying a horse, although Mark knew her compulsion of change would remove the possibility. She would grow tired of horses and find something new to occupy her mind.

Realizing he was wasting time, Mark started going through the boxes on the floor.

As he glanced through the contents, he was constantly reminded of the past. The first box he opened revealed some old toys from when he was a child. He remembered most; even the broken pieces of the erector set his sister destroyed. He was so proud of his creation; he dismantled the entire thing so he could glue the pieces together. Thinking of passing it on to a future son, the miniature replica of the Empire State Building stayed on a shelf in his room until he was sixteen. Erin, in a fit of pure mean, crushed it one afternoon, while he was at a friend’s house. He remembered her ugly words and how they burned. Already set on her path in life, she was determined to make his life as miserable as she felt hers was.

Erin still called Mark “geek”. It felt a little more endearing; although the root of the comment was during the time she was old enough to realize Marks scholastic abilities would always surpass her own. She resented him and would make the last years before he left for college a hell she would orchestrate.

Looking through the rest of the box didn’t yield anything worth saving, so Mark wrote “Trash” on the outside of the box and placed it to the side.

Glancing up, Mark was startled for a moment when he caught his image in a dusty mirror leaning against the wall. Examining his reflection, his first thought was he looked just like a software developer, which he was: Slight build; glasses; comfortable slacks; a neatly pressed shirt and a face that would never stand out in a crowd. His age was revealed with crow’s feet and gray at the temples. The thought made him laugh. It was a shrewd realization of his appearance.

“You are a geek.” Mark commented to himself. Smiling at his image, he could see how his sister arrived at her description.

For the next few hours, Mark carefully examined boxes, documented the comments and dwelled on memories.

Mark remembered his father, who died over twenty years ago. Genetics and lifestyle took him early, just like his father and his father before. Mark, aware of the problems he faced, took much better care and was far healthier than any of his predecessors. He would live much longer and his son would probably follow the same path.

Mark was much like his father, although of a different generation. Mark wandered into software for robotics and his father was a machinist. They did the same thing, although Mark’s task was far less strenuous than his father’s. His father would take the specifications, set the milling machines and patiently work with the metals to acquire the shape he desired. Mark only had to sit at a typewriter and write the code that eventually ended with the same thing.

One conversation changed Mark’s career. Fresh in the trade, and wanting to make a name for himself, he spent a few minutes telling his father of his new program, what it would do and how it would change things. His father, wiser and patient, admonished Mark for his arrogance and lack of knowledge. He spent the next few hours explaining some important things that Mark had neglected, which were the characteristics of the materials he would manipulate. The advice led to research by Mark and the research yielded a software package that eventually reaped millions in profits. His future was secured and his father was more than instrumental in the event.

Mark still felt regret for not telling his father of the importance of that afternoon. Life was so fast at the time: he had a new child; his wife had some health problems and his father was gone in what seemed an instant. He still remembered his father’s patience and willingness to lead his son through the years of accumulated experience. He managed to stuff decades of knowledge into one afternoon. The thought led to tears, so Mark stared out the window for a few minutes. He still grieved for his father and would until he too was gone.

“Are you okay?”

Mark jumped at the words of his sister. He didn’t hear her come into the attic.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Dad.” 

Embarrassed, Mark examined Erin for a few moments. Her hair was stylish; her clothes were conservative and her makeup was far subdued from what she usually wore. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was a successful business woman.

“So, how’s it going?”

“I’ve been through a few dozen boxes. Most are not important, but I think you should look through those I’ve marked with a question mark. “

“Where’s your wife?”

Mark took a little offense at Erin calling Mary “his wife”. He knew they didn’t get along, but Erin could be a little more civil.”

“She didn’t want to come. She described it as “digging up bones” and she felt uncomfortable going through Mom’s and Dad’s things.”

Erin didn’t reply. Instead, she started looking through boxes.

The first box she looked in was the box with the crumbled pieces of Mark’s model Empire State Building.

“You’re throwing this away?”

“It doesn’t mean anything and only takes up space.”

“I remember the day I did that.”

Mark turned to observe Erin's face as she continued: “I was mad at you, Mom, Dad…everyone…the world. I took it out on your model.”

Mark only watched and waited for her to continue.

“You were already working on college admissions and I was still trying to figure out the basics of Algebra. I knew I was a dummy and would be forever.”

Erin's face revealed she was still frustrated and angry. Mark couldn’t fathom how it would still bother her after decades.

“I relished your reaction. It was as though I’d finally penetrated an impenetrable barrier and I had gained some power.”

Mark didn’t know what to say. His sister was revealing things she’d hid since her childhood.

“I felt inconsequential. You were the brain, on the path to success and I was the “other child”, who was hopeless and in the way. I would wonder if Mom and Dad regretted having me.”

Mark could only say: “I didn’t know.”

With a quiet fury in her voice, Erin replied: “Of course you didn’t. You had the whole world ahead of you and I was just another distraction.”

A little shocked at his sister’s reaction, Mark carefully thought of his words before he replied: “I couldn’t reach you; mostly because I was too young to know how. I knew you weren’t happy; then or now.”

Defensive; Erin quickly answered: “I’m happy.”

Mark waited for more, but she only stared out the window. He could see she was wrestling with his comment.

Mark went back to examining boxes. Erin soon started helping.

“Oh my God!”

Mark turned to see what caused Erin's comment. She was holding a photograph of their mother in her prom dress.

Studying the photograph, Mark remarked: “I recognize that dress.”

Erin was quick to reply: “Okay smartass; how can YOU recognize the dress.”

Pointing at clothes hanging from a closet rod, Mark replied: “It’s about fourth in line from the left.”
In seconds, Erin found the dress and held it as though she was checking the size.

“She was so beautiful.”

Mark nodded and added: “And she was smart. I found her college transcripts in one of the boxes.”

After a long pause, Mark looked to find Erin holding the dress to her chest and crying. Not knowing what to say, he went back to looking through the contents of the attic.

“I miss her.”

Mark, a little angry, replied: “She missed you.”

When there was no reply, Mark looked and found Erin was still crying and staring out the window.

After a few minutes, Erin replied: “We just never got along… I don’t think she ever really liked me.”

Thinking of the last few months with his mother, Mark replied: “She thought the same. She’d bring it up when she thought of you.”

“She thought I didn’t like her?”

“What else could she think? You rarely visited and you argued when you did.”

“I guess we were both just different.”

The last comment gave Mark a thought, which he had to explain: “You were damn near identical. Both of you found the world fascinating. The only difference is you explored and Mom stayed here. “
Erin only stared; waiting for Mark to continue.

“That’s why we had the big, two story house. Dad would have been happy living in a hut. Mom wanted a house with a den, an office and a library. She’d made the decision to stay where she was, but she wouldn’t allow her world to be without room and the things she felt were necessary. That’s why there were so many beautiful things and the planters were a glorious sight every spring.”

Erin was quiet, which emboldened Mark: “Both of you were so busy “discovering something new”, you never spent the time exploring what made you tick. Both of you could have learned so much from each other, but you were both too hard-headed to make the effort.”

Mark continued: “To make things worse, you would act like boxers; circling the ring; waiting for the right moment and taking the first chance to score a hit. Holidays were damned near intolerable because of you two. It reached the point I dreaded Christmas.”

“I never realized it was that bad.”

Now angry, Mark replied: “I guess you couldn’t. You, and Mom, were so determined to be something special, you never thought about anyone else. It didn’t matter that everyone resorted to walking around eggshells and you damned sure weren’t going to pay attention and see what a disaster you made.”

Erin was quick to reply: “They treated you like you were the prodigal son. Mark this, Mark that. Look at Marks grades: aren’t they great? Hey! Mark was accepted at M.I.T.; he’s going to be a software designer. I’m betting he’ll be working for N.A.S.A. before he’s thirty.”

Mark didn’t reply. Now angry, he had to take a few minutes to let the anger subside.

Erin continued: “I struggled through school. You made it all look so easy, and I could only barely keep ahead of failing. All I ever heard was: “You can do better than that.” And I realized I was doing all I could. I felt like I was a failure”

Mark looked at Erin and realized she was still struggling with feeling she should have conquered decades ago. Thinking for a few moments, he decided the truth would be best.

“For years, I thought you were a failure. Your relationships sucked; you bounced from job to job and you were constantly changing your appearance like a chameleon. It bothered me…I don’t know why…but it bothered me. All your efforts seemed to end with disaster.”

Now interested, Erin waited for him to continue.

“After Dad died, I found it hard to cope with the loss. It reached the point my job was suffering and my home life was terrible. Mary suggested I tell my doctor, so I did.”

Erin waited for him to continue

“The doctor sent me to a therapist. He wanted to put me on antidepressants, but I refused at first. The therapist convinced me they’d help.”

Mark paused, which caused Erin to remark: “So, then what happened?”

Mark continued: “After a dozen visits to the psychologist and the medications, I realized I was trying to accept responsibility I shouldn’t accept and living in the past. I was overwhelmed by trying to get Mom through it all and felt guilt for not spending more time with Dad, while he was alive.”

“So, what does that have to do with me?”

“I resented you for not helping. I resented your constant changes, your selfishness and I was constantly angry because I didn’t think you cared.”

Erin was quiet. Mark was right in some ways, but she felt she had reasons.

“My therapist told me I was expecting too much of people; especially my family. I was holding them to an impossible standard and not realizing people are who they are. “

Erin examined Mark; his expression told he was trying to find the right words.

“I finally realized I’d spent my life not really examining the people I love most and understanding they had their reasons for everything they did. It was a sobering thought. I decided to change my thoughts and start analyzing why I was so upset.”

“So, what did you find?”

“I found me and I found that life is exactly what I make of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nobody is perfect and nobody can say they’re not influenced by their relationships. With you, I was comfortable with an adversarial relationship…I even accepted it. I was critical of your lifestyle, your dress, your makeup….everything. I was refusing to accept you for who you are and trying to make the best of what we have.”

“What’s different now?”

“With the loss of Dad – and now Mom – you’re all I have left and it hurts to think we can’t be close.”

Erin waited for Mark to continue.

“I need to tell you how proud I am of you. You walked in today, looked very nice and I didn’t say one word about how nice you look.”

Erin was embarrassed and replied: “It’s my work clothes. They like a little more subdued version of me at the museum.”

“That’s another thing. I didn’t tell you “congratulations” when you landed that job.”

“If it helps, the job sucks. I’m only in it for the money.”

Mark laughed and replied: “I hope they’re paying you well. You deserve it.”

Erin was suddenly uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say.

Mark, noticing her discomfort, quickly replied: “I’ve wanted to talk with you about Mom’s last afternoon. I don’t know why, but it’s been on my mind.”

Erin waited, although she didn’t think she wanted to hear what she was about to hear.

“She was sitting in the den watching an old Western rerun. She commented on how movies used to be so different: the hero took care of the bad guys and the ending was happy.”

“I noticed she seemed to be uncomfortable. I asked if she was okay and she replied she was having a little indigestion.”

“She asked me to sit next to her, so I did. She took my hand and we continued to watch the movie.”

“In a few minutes, her grip tightened on my hand – so tight it almost hurt – I glanced over and her face was contorted with pain. Before I could tell her I was calling 911, she stopped squeezing my hand, smiled and looked at me.”

Mark was now sobbing as he finished: “All she said was: “I love you”; and she slipped away.”

Mark was quiet for the next few minutes. Erin, now crying too, put her hand on his shoulder; uncomfortable with seeing her brother’s tears.

“The paramedic arrived within minutes. I tried CPR, but it was futile. It felt like I was crushing bones.”

“You did all you could.”

“That’s what the doctor said. She had a massive heart attack. Nobody could have saved her.”

Erin spent a few minutes thinking about their conversation. The last few minutes revealed more about her brother than their entire life before. She felt a peace she hadn’t ever felt with her brother and wondered if it would end as soon as it started.

Erin was first to speak: “I’m going to miss this old house.”

Mark replied: “Me too. I’ve been going through the papers, but what’s left of the estate won’t support it forever.”

Erin, with a moment of inspiration said: “It would make one hell of a bed and breakfast.”

Mark digested her words and replied: “Somebody would have to run it. I don’t know enough about that business to know if it’s sustainable.”

Erin laughed: “Always the analyst. I’m betting it won’t take you long to find out if it is.”

Inspired, Mark replied: “I could do a web search and find out what there is to know.”

Erin, tickled at her brother’s new quest, replied: “Or, I can ask my friend who runs a successful “Bed and Breakfast”.

“You know about it?”

“No, but my friend does. She’s run one for fifteen years and keeps it filled. She has to turn people away”

“Does she have someone to run the business?”

Erin laughed and replied: “No, it’s her parent’s old house. She lives there and runs the business”

Mark looked at Erin. Before he could say anything, she spoke: “Now that’s an idea. I could run a Bed and Breakfast, dabble with what I like to dabble with, and get paid.”

Mark was now optimistic: “What about your job at the museum?”

“I told you it sucks. I wouldn’t miss it for a minute.”

“There’s enough in some of Mom’s and Dad’s investments to get you started. There might be enough to allow you to run for a year with few customers.”

“I’d have to advertise.”

“That’s easy. I know enough to make any search engine make any site I chose to be on the first page.”

Erin was a little surprised: “You’re serious?”

Taken aback, Mark replied: “You’re not?”

Erin realized she was, although she felt uncomfortable with the realization.

“I guess I am. Now what happens?”

“Mark was enthusiastic: “I can build a web page, although I’ll need your artistic skills to make it presentable.”

Erin realized he was asking for her help: “So, I guess the geek needs some help with his computer stuff?”

Mark, pushing his anger aside, was quick to respond: “Not only will I need some help; it will take a miracle to save a web page if you let me do it alone.”

The light was dimming in the attic as the sun set in the west.

Mark spoke: “We need to find a stopping point and finish on another day.”

“I’m off next weekend. The museum is closed for some remodeling.”

“Why don’t you have supper with Mary and I. She’s making a pot roast and there will be plenty.”

“She won’t get mad?”

“She’ll get over it, if she does. After all, it’s not every day we get to visit.”

“We have a lot to discuss.”

“Believe it or not, Mary will probably be more than willing to help you with starting a business.”

Erin was a little unsure: “You think so?”

“I know so. She’s admired you for years and always wondered why you weren’t famous.”

Not knowing what to say, Erin was silent as they closed boxes and started down the stairs.

The old house was unchanged from when they were children. The smells were the same and the familiar creaks were heard in response as they made their way to the front door. The dim light in the hallway reminded both of their childhood and the past. Both were gone, but firmly held in their memories.

“I’m not going to change a thing.”

“You will, but they’ll be good. You always know what’s best.”

Closing and locking the front door was a familiar sound. Both paused to relish the sound for a moment. Things were exactly the same but different. Changes were on the way and they could hold on to the past as they happened.

When Words Don't Work

I wrote last week about an impending passing. They were given 48 hours to live, but that was over a week ago. Their time is very near.

Words don't seem to work during these times. No matter how much you know of the experience, you can't quite find the words that fit the sorrow, loss, relief and emptiness that fills your emotions. You witness them one last time before they're taken away, and all you can think of is how alive they look; even as they lay without breathing.

We all pass, and someone may be there for the final moment...or not. It's part of life, but one of the hardest times of the experience.

Monday, March 21, 2016

I Took This a Few Weeks Ago

We were helping with a detour, so I had the opportunity to be on top of one of the tallest bridges in Texas.

It was wonderful, so I took some pictures. This one is the best.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

One Spring Afternoon (Re-Post) Again

I spent a substantial part of this weekend with people I love dealing with a father that will never wake again. Massive strokes led to hospice, and his strong body is refusing to give in to the call for the next journey. 

So, why am I posting this again? I thought of this story as a beautiful Spring afternoon unfolded. Trees are full of new growth, azaleas are in full bloom, the gentle north breeze is filled with a freshness only known at this time of year, and a homecoming is soon to happen. 

It was a glorious spring afternoon. The tug between the seasons was almost over; the passage of late front the day before left cool temperatures, which yielded to the afternoon sun.

The new leaves on the trees signaled the final break from the grasp of winter. Almost impossibly green they were a brilliant contrast against the azure sky.

Shawn sat on his front porch and soaked in the day. His thoughts wandered between different subjects, but the unique weather had led most of his thoughts to years before. It seemed just about everything brought a memory, or a feeling of something so familiar, it tugged at his concentration.

The neighborhood was quiet, like it always was before. Generations were represented by each house. While the houses might not be childhood homes, they weren’t far away for the occupants. They only needed to go a short distance to find a neighborhood that held the memories of their youth.

A few houses down, a neighbor was cutting their lawn for the first time of the season. As the grass, straggly dandelions and clovers succumbed to the whirling blades they released a perfume, with a hint of wild onion. The odors wafted to where Shawn sat and pulled his thoughts to a collage of spring days he lived long ago.

As he thought, a honeybee landed on his leg. Resisting the urge to swat it away, Shawn quietly watched as the bee seemed to rest and regain its strength. It reminded him of a long gone day when he arrogantly interrupted a bee and was rewarded with a sting. His mother carefully removed the stinger and his father made a poultice of cigarette tobacco. Although the pain was soon gone, he spent the remainder of the afternoon showing his playmates, who were fascinated by the angry red swelling with the red dot in the middle.

Sufficiently rested, the bee soon left, made a few quick circles around the porch and left. Shawn watched as it flew across the street; soon too far away to see.

“Good afternoon Mr. McIntyre.”

Looking over, he saw the women that delivered his mail walking across the yard.

“Good afternoon, Gladys. It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. I’ve been waiting all winter for this.”

Walking onto the porch, she asked: “Do you want me to put it in the box?”

“Please. I’ll get it on the way in.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything but junk. No bills, letters or cards from your sweetheart.”

Shawn laughed and answered: “So, it’s just another day?”

Laughing, Gladys replied: “I guess it is.”

Placing her hand on his shoulder for a moment, Gladys spoke as she hurried on her way: “You have a good day.”

“I will; you too.”

As she walked away, Shawn admired her as he always did. He found her attractive, although he knew he was far too old to ask her out. He longed for the days when such thoughts would never cross his mind. Age had won the battle against his youth long ago.

A car passed slowly and stirred the smell of sun heated asphalt. The scent soon reached Shawn’s nose; returning him to his childhood, when such heat allowed removing his shoes and playing barefooted. He remembered the cool, spring ground was a sharp contrast to the sun heated pavement. If his feet got cold, he only had to stand for a moment on the sidewalk and the feeling would leave.

Looking at his hands, Shawn examined them for a few moments. He had a hard time recognizing the wrinkled, spotted appendages that were his own. Thinking hard, he realized he couldn’t remember his hands when he was young. The thought saddened him; such things should never be forgotten.

The warm air soon conquered Shawn’s unwillingness to not enjoy every moment of the afternoon. Drowsy, he soon fell asleep.


Waking abruptly, Shawn looked up to find his neighbor, Caroline, standing next to him on the porch.

“Are you okay?”

Shawn was embarrassed. Caroline was always worried about him, which was understandable, even though it bothered Shawn. Alone, and with his family miles away, she would constantly check; even offering food, which Shawn refused. He was adamant about taking care of himself.

Caroline would “visit”, although Shawn felt it was more of just making sure he hadn’t lost his ability to survive and was a danger to himself. Even though he was suspicious of her reasons, the visits were always pleasant and welcomed.  Shawn appreciated the company, which was a rarity these days. Almost all his friends were gone and only the youngest of family members were left.

“I was just taking a nap.”

“It’s a good afternoon for a nap.”

Shawn smiled and examined Caroline’s face. He could see the worry through her smile. It made him sad; she shouldn’t have to worry about such things

Shaking away his thoughts, Shawn answered with a happy tone: “It’s a wonderful afternoon for a nap.”

“I brought you something.”

Looking at her hands, he found she was holding a pie, covered with clear wrap.

“It’s apple.”

Shawn was pleased. He loved a pie – which he allowed as an offering – and apple was his favorite.

“I’ll put it on the counter.”

As she went into the house, Shawn thought of his mom’s apple pie. He helped her when he could, which always left enough dough for a treat. His mother would cover it with butter, sprinkled it with sugar, add a dash of cinnamon and then bake it until a golden brown. He would enjoy it with a glass of cold milk.

A robin landed in the yard, which diverted Shawn’s attention. It soon started picking at the ground for a meal of the insects that were emerging from the cold ground. Mesmerized, Shawn felt as though he’d lived this exact moment before. Digging in his memories, he couldn’t find any reference, but everything felt so familiar.


The voice sounded far away, but familiar


Suddenly worried about the time, the sound of a distant train whistle signaled it was 6:00 pm.

“I’m late” Shawn said in a panic.

Jumping from the porch, he ran to the sidewalk and paused. The warm concrete felt good on his cold feet. They were tender, but summer would bring the thick calluses that allowed walking on hot pavement.

Looking back from where he came, he started to examine the old man and young woman on the porch. He knew who they were, or did he? Isn't her name Caroline?

“Shawn Michael!”

Glancing one last time, he saw the woman shaking the shoulder of the old man. Pushing away any thoughts, he started running down the sidewalk toward his mother's voice. She only used his middle name when she was mad or worried.

It was time to go home.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

A Loss of Words

A very dear person in my life is facing something I faced, yet I find I'm at a loss for the right words. I faced the same thing long in the past, but I find I'm digging deep for the correct thing to say, and can only watch the event that is near.

I wrote about the passing of my father. He had a struggle, and it wasn't pleasant to watch. I was young, though, and he was too, but I was surprised by how quick he was gone. Maybe it was avoiding the inevitable on my part, or maybe a denial of the possibilities, but at the age I was, my father was still a rock of strength to hold to forever. Losing him was something that never crossed my mind.

I watched late last night, as family gathered to be with someone that the doctors say will never wake again. A minor stroke led to the initial hospital visit, and a seizure last night was followed by a massive stroke. Surgery is risky, and it's not his wishes for heroic measures that can only leave him unable to perform the simplest of tasks; his life one of lying in bed; intubated; all days possibly in a coma; and all dignity stripped away forever.

So the death watch has started. A man that once was a leader of his fellow workers, a rodeo competitor up to months ago, and dearly loved by a family now huddled in a small room filled with medical instruments, is now at the start of another journey. His time here is short, and the time of loss is starting for those that must wait for their journey,

I guess there are really no words that can comfort, or take away the raw emotions these times bring. Only prayers, and hugs seem to offer some relief. Nothing can take away the loss, nor erase the memories that tumble into your thoughts like oak leaves on an Autumn day. It's a finality to one journey, and those left behind can only gaze across the great chasm and imagine what lays beyond for those they wish could stay longer.  

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Lack of Something

I've been keeping up with the Presidential Race...if you want to call it that. There's something lacking in the Presidential bearing of too many of the candidates.

On the Democratic side:

There's an idealistic, unrealistic Socialist, that doesn't have a clue, or is unwilling to admit Socialism is a Democracy without liberty. History shows it ends in ruin, and the fact anyone accepts Bernie Sanders as a candidate is a  sign of an unhealthy ignorance.

Hillary can only be described as reprobate. Her quest for power has no bounds, and the litter of her ascension to power is filled with criminal acts that once demanded long terms in prison.

On the Republican side:

Trump says what many want to hear, but his past shows he plays the game of political corruption to buy favors. Otherwise, if it's advantageous to grease the palms of one party, that's the path to take. If the other party shows signs of power, that's where the money goes. If both parties show signs of an advantage, then both parties receive funds to keep the possibility of favors in the future.

There is no integrity in paying for favors. In the end, the price is too high to buy back your integrity. Trump, in my opinion, can't be trusted. His goals are for Trump.

Cruz is a Constitutional Conservative. If you could bring back the founders of the United States, I think you'd find they would be attracted to Ted Cruz's message. That's a good thing, but the evil of our society don't like the mandate of individual responsibility. There is nothing to gain, if those you wish to control have the power to destroy your quest for power. Cruz, if he becomes the Republican candidate, will find the barrels of both sides of the power in Washington D.C. are aimed to insure his destruction.

Rubio is a passing fancy. He is a proven politician; a word merchant if you will. Considering his avoidance of the job he was hired to do - while spending millions with the goal of the Presidency - how can he be trusted to be President, if he's willing to avoid his job for personal gain?

Kasich is a paid hack. He could care less about being President, but knows he might have a lucrative future if he continues to dance to the music of the Republican establishment.

So, here we're at another crossroads for the nation, and it looks as though the souls of many are ready for sell to the highest bidder. How it all turns out will only be found in the future. I'll sit and let my feet hang down, while I watch.