Passion's Face

Just a quick poem I wrote

Passion’s Face

You and I, alone at last
There is no future, there is no past
A gentle kiss, a warm embrace
The passion’s there upon your face

A one time fling, a fleeting chance
It matters not, we’ll dance the dance
Together in our special place
The passion’s there upon your face

Is it love, or something more
We’re only friends, to that we swore
Your big wide eyes your style, your grace
The passion’s there upon your face

The lights are out, I cannot see
Except your eyes, they look at me
You pull me tight, our hearts do race
The passion’s there upon your face

Together we merge again, again
As with all lovers it’s always been
But I am not yours, you must erase
The passion there upon your face

And now it’s done, it’s time to part
We’ll take each other, in our heart
With one last glance I see a trace
Of passion there upon your face



…..that is all….

Restless Dreams

Restless dreams, I toss and turn
My soul's on fire, my heart does yearn
For the times in life, when things were calm
And all life's answers were in my palm

So much I knew when I was young
The answers to all was on my tongue
About friends and family and what I had
About life and love and happy and sad

Time changes all of that I'm sure
For what ails me there is no cure
I'm nearing the end of a long rough road
I hope I'm able to carry the load

The day's begun, I'll start anew
I've set my plans that life will skew
It's been a ride and sometimes fun
But through it all I'll continue to run

And trod and fight and kick and scream
And never ever lose my dream
Of peace and joy and hope and love
And hope I've contributed to all above

If tomorrow don't come and it ends today
It's been interesting I have to say
So go in peace and enjoy the best
Of what life offers and to heck with the rest.

Darkness

Darkness

A bit of prose I wrote here while back when I wasn't feeling too cheerful.

The world is darkness
There is no light
A dull pallor has fallen
Foggy and damp
My body hurts
My soul is shattered
All around me is rubble
Of a former life
Stones of the past
That really never was
I feel nothing
It is done

Pennies from Heaven

Pennies From Heaven


Remember when......

We were children....

Try to remember...

I know you can....

You're not that old....

Are you?

The world was new......

Not to everyone else.....

But to YOU!

Mom and Dad....

Were king and queen....

Your world was small.....

But it was your world.....

In your mind....

You could have friends....

Who couldn't be seen.....

But they were real......

Real in your world.....

And a penny.......

That was cool!......

It was better than gold........

Because gold was something in a book.......

But a penny.....it had power......

Not by itself.......

But with others.......

You could buy.......

Gum....Candy....Baseball cards!

I want that again.......

I want to go back.......

Not to childhood........

But to a time when pennies.......

Were soemthing besides a nuisance.....

Something in the way........

So I am off.......

Searching for pennies.......

Not the pennies of now........

But the pennies of my childhood.....

I hope they're still there........

The Canadian Bacon Wars

The Canadian Bacon Wars

History never ceases to amaze me. It’s not the history so much, as the fact that it just takes a little misunderstanding and anger and the whole….well, read on my friends.

On June 15, 1859, farmer Lyman Cutlar got up like he had every day. It was a beautiful morning and he had his work cut out for him. It wasn’t an easy life, but it is what he had dreamed about. He had immigrated to this little island of San Juan in the Juan de Fuca Strait earlier and had set up a farm. There were a few other Americans on this island as well as some British subjects, mostly those who worked for the Hudson Bay company raising sheep.

On the neighbouring island of Vancouver, the British had established Fort Victoria to the west. The boundaries were not exactly clear to anyone at the time and little had it mattered to most settlers. Lyman had claimed his land under the Donation Land Claim Act, which had given 160 acres to any single man or 320 acres (half in the name of the wife) in the Oregon territory to any married couple if they’d farm it for 4 years. This, incidentally was the first time that a married woman was allowed to own property in her name.

Now, it’s not clear exactly what happened. I think that old farmer Cutlar got up and did his morning chores. He then went to tend his garden. “Dangit,” he muttered under his breath. He looked at his garden and there was a big black bore rooting his potatoes. “Get out! Shoo,” he yelled, but the pig just kept on rooting.

“He’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure,” he heard someone say as they laughed.

Cutlar had heard that voice before. He knew it was that Irishman, Charles Griffin worked for the Hudson Bay company on their sheep farm. He was always letting his pigs run free of the island. He glared at Griffin who was still laughing. Cutlar turned and walked into the house and retrieved his gun. “Whoa, lad,” he heard Griffin say as he headed to the garden with the gun, sure that Cutlar was going to shoot him. “Laugh now Irishman,” Cutlar was sure to have said as he raised his gun and shot the pig dead.

Griffin then ran into the woods and then returned with British authorities. Legend has it that Cutlar said, “It was eating my potatoes." Griffin replied, "It is up to you to keep your potatoes out of my pig." It is said also that he offered to pay $10 for the pig but Griffin wanted $100. When British authorities threatened to arrest Cutlar, the Americans on the island sent away for military protection. The US initially sent 66 men to the island from the 9th infantry under the command of Captain George Picket . By August 10, 1859, 461 Americans with 14 cannons under Colonel Silas Casey were opposed by five British warships mounting 70 guns and carrying 2,140 men.

Now, one would think that this little matter could be settled between gentlemen. However, because of failed negotiations over the years about the border between the US and British North America, there never was a clear line. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed and orders were given not to fire a shot except in self defence on both sides and no lives were lost. Finally after intervention involving an American president, numerous soldiers, a governor and a German prince, things were finally settled. The Americans and Canadians jointly occupied the island for years until it was finally ceded to the U.S.

Today there is a national park on the island and it is the only place where government employees raise the flag of another country with non diplomatic status.

If you want to read more, just Google “Pig War” and you will find lots of interesting things there. I prefer to call it the “Canadian Bacon War”.

…that is all….

I love insults......

...I love a good roast. Remember the Dean Martin roast? Him and Don Rickles and all the rest were the originators of insults in comedy. Here are some of my favorites. I wrote some of these and some of them I didn't.

once sold himself to a 550 lb woman, for a bag of weed

Likes to stuff her bra, and put a sock in her pants to confuse guys

is hung like a field mouse in a snowstorm

was stunt double for jabba the hut

cringes when her boyfriend puts a porno on, because he'll find out her "day job"

Dresses up every day like Mary Poppins....claims he thought it was Halloween

What can you say about him that hasn't already been said about Richard Simmons

Got arrested in BoJangle's masturbating into a biscuit

has hello kitty tat on his nut sack

I'll add more later. Have to go do the dishes.....

...that is all...for now...

I Don’t Want Any Of Those Dang Grits!!!

I Don’t Want Any Of Those Dang Grits!!!

Sometimes things run through my head at really odd times. I mean, here I sit at 2 AM on Sunday (obviously bored out of my skull) and thinking about Grits. Not really grits though, It's about life.

Like my buddy RJ who I used to work with told a waitress one time, when asked, “I don’t want any of those dang grits!” According to him it really pissed her off and she seemed insulted because he didn’t want them. I don’t blame him. I went to the Cracker Barrel once and ordered them (because Bee told me how delicious they were) and I have to say whole heartedly that “I don’t want any of those dang grits!” Now having said this, I promise not to let a one time grit experience keep me from trying them one more time, because let’s face it, it may have been a Yankee trying to make me h ate them. Some people are like that I suppose.



Now, before “Ya-all” from the south hammer me, let me say that maybe it stems from a time when I was a kid. I have a good job now and am fat and happy and pretty much eat what I want. However, when we were kids, our dietary choices were rather limited. I remember that at grandma’s house that for breakfast every time I was there (and I lived there for quite a few years) there was oatmeal. Now I will say beyond a doubt that I do not like oatmeal because that was it. Maybe not all of the time, but probably 95% of the time it was oatmeal with a little milk and sugar on it. I suppose if it came down to starving and eating oatmeal, then I would eat oatmeal (or grits if necessary) but I do not think I could ever get to liking them. We did however have a form of grits when I was a kid. It was called cornmeal mush. It was made much the same way as grits. The difference however is that after boiling it, you would bake it (kind of like cornbread) and put butter on it. That, or we would fry it on a griddle and call it johnnycakes. Maybe that’s one reason I don’t like it. Maybe I connect it with a time when we didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I suppose I just don’t like them, because let’s face it, from looking at me you can tell I do like to eat.

Now, before you discount the “poor” label, I’m telling you that we were definitely that. Dad worked every day he could and worked on the side to try and support the family. Probably until I was about 10,. we heated water on a stove and took a bath in a wash tub. We didn’t know any better. We also didn’t take a bath every day. We were poor but happy. We also had an outhouse that we used all year and sleet nor snow nor dark of night could keep us from our appointed rounds. Needless to say, we never tarried long while taking care of our “business” because we’d freeze it off in the winter and to describe the smell in the summer is not possible. I suppose it was probably a lot harder on the women, because let’s face it, when you’re a man, the world is your urinal. This reminds me of the song….






















They passed an ordinance in the town
They said we'd have to tear it down
That little old shack out back so dear to me
Though the health department said
It's day was over and dead
It will stand forever in my memory

It was not so long ago
That I went tripping through the snow
Out to that house behind my old hound dog
Where I'd sit me down to rest
Like a snow bird on his nest
And read the Sears and Roebuck catalogue

I would hum a happy tune
Peeping through the quarter moon
As my Daddy's kin had done before
It was in that quiet spot
Daily cares could be forgot
It gave the same relief to rich and poor

Now it was not a castle fair
But I could dream a future there
And build my castles to the yellow jacket's drone
I could orbit around the sun
Fight with General Washington
Or be a king upon a golden throne

It wasn't fancy built at all
We had newspapers on the wall
It was air conditioned in the wintertime
It was just a humble hut
But it's door was never shut
And a man could get inside without a dime

Chorus
Don't let 'em tear that little brown building down
Don't let 'em tear that precious building down
Don't let 'em tear that dear old building down
For there's not another like it in the country or the town

I didn’t write this little ditty, it was a real song written by Bobby Bare. I’ll see if I can find a video of it.

For some of you city people who have never experienced an outhouse, imagine a porta potty without the chemicals to keep the stench down (except the occasional bag of lime). That is the only thing that they have in common is that they were portable. However, the only time they were portable is when we had to dig a new hole and move it because let’s face it, a hole in the ground eventually gets filled up and there were no outhouse pumping services. To move it took several burly guys to turn it over and carry it to the newly dug hole and set it over the top. You used the dirt from the new hole to cover the old one (with several bags of lime) and of course made sure the old hole wasn’t in the path of the new outhouse. I guess that was the first form of bathroom remodelling, moving the outhouse. I don’t suppose you’ll ever see that on DIY or the Home and Garden channel.

I need to tell you about our first shower. Believe it or not, it was a little lean to with a curtain in front of it of course that was outside. We ran a garden hose to it and man we felt like we were uptown! That of course only was for the summer. We didn’t get actual indoor plumbing until I was probably about 12 or so. Of course we hand dug our hole for the septic tank I remember that well. It was a hole about 6 foot deep and about 12 foot in square. We didn’t use a backhoe either. We dug it by hand. When it was all installed though, we had a sense of accomplishment that most city folks cannot understand either. That was cool, to be able to take a shower and use the bathroom indoors.

I guess I will some day be brave enough to try the grits again, although I suppose I may never get another chance to use a real outhouse.

Well, this blog didn’t make any sense but maybe it explains a little about the way I am. And then again, maybe not! I guess I’ll stop here and once again say…..

…that is all

Old Pickup Trucks, Friends and Pots and Pans....

Old Pickup Trucks, Friends and Pots and Pans....

(this is a post from my myspace blog from Feb of 2008)

...The other day, I think it was last Wednesday or so, I went into the kitchen to make a pumpkin pie. I haven't had one in two or so years (yes, I do a LOT of cooking) and rolled my pie crust out. In the process, there are lots of little pieces left. Most people will throw these in the trash. Not at my house you better not. The wife requires me to cut them into cookie sized pieces, smear margarine on them heavily, sprinkle sugar and cinnamon on them and bake them. She loves them, there's little waste and everyone's happy.

On this particular day, I used one of our OLD cookie sheets. This cookie sheet is one that barely fits in the oven, it is so long. It is also slightly bent, dinged and has a few rusty spots in it, as well as some unidentified (You almost had a typo there to correct Deb) burned places on the surface. It matters not to me, because I aways cover it in aluminum foil and use it anyway. The wife told me when I was done, to throw it away. I of course, was in a hurry, so when I was done, I set it on the cabinet.

Now, FFW to Friday morning. I am driving home and blew the engine on the wife's Oldsmobubble. I had wanted to trade it last spring, but nothing doing, she had to keep it because she "liked it". I had it towed home that afternoon and then we talked about what we should do. She of course, made a huge mistake by wanting me to trade in Old Blue. Old Blue, in case you folks didn't know, is a 1994 Chevy 1/2 ton pickup with a 191,000 miles on it, a bent hood and slipping transmission. Old Blue and I have been through hell and back. We've been all over the 4 state area, slid into ditches, gotten stuck in mud and ice and I've even slept in it a few times. I of course refused because, well, it's an old friend. She didn't understand thinking like that. Saturday we went to town and made a deal for a 2005 Chevy SUV for her and brought it home. She seems happy (except for the car payment) and we now have two forms of transportation again.

FFW again (my life is in FFW) to today. I woke at 2, couldn't sleep and decided to do some baking. I rolled out my pie crust, took the leftover crust and opened the cabinet. There it was. All washed and shiny (well, except for the bent part and the rust areas and the burned on whatever from whenever). I smiled, thinking that that is a woman's version of Old Blue. I'm sure most women have these old pots and pans that you could't give to Good Will and you wouldn't part with them for all the money in China. Now you understand.....

....That is all.....

Reverse Psychology

Reverse Psychology

....so, it was about the time the youngest boy started driving. I always said I wouldn't buy the boy his first car, but then I got to thinking about the fact that I could have a little more control on what he did and where he went if the car was in my name...so....we went out and looked without the boy. We looked at several cars and finally set our eye on this white 89 Chrysler. It was a small "K" car with a 4 banger and kind of boxy looking. It was a good solid car though and we had pretty much decided on that one. I wanted to look a little more, so off we went on our quest for transportation.

I went to a mom and pop car dealer, you know the kind, the ones where you don't want to kick the tires too hard for fear that the tires would fall off? Anyway, we looked and wanted to try this one car. I'm telling you now that I had never seen such a smoke belching, rattling piece of crap in my life. I almost left but then an idea came to my mind. I had been concerned that my son wouldn't like the car we had settled on, so here's what I did.

I made the wife get in old smokey and we headed to the house. A blue haze of burning oil followed us the 3 miles and I'm sure that everyone stared as we drove down the road. It was absolutely awful! I pulled in the yard and honked the horn. The boy came out and to say his jaw hit the ground was an understatement.

"What do you think," I said excitedly? My son looked at me and just stared at this piece of crap. He was smart enough not to say "Dad, that's a piece of shit," so he just kind of hemed and hawed about it, not really commiting anything. "It's real solid," I said! Again, no comment. "Here's the keys son," I said as I got in the back seat.

My son got behind the drivers wheel and off in a blue haze of oil as we went. We drove through our small town, me smiling and him, scheming silently with him wanting to obviously say "please dad, don't make me drive this". He of course knew better and we took our tour and then took it back to the car lot.

I thanked the man and told him that we would think about it. I swear a mental sigh of relief from my boy when we pulled away, hoping beyong hope that we would find him something else.

Anyway, I had him drive into town again and pull into this car lot with the car I intended to buy. I got the keys and went and started it. It purred like a kitten and there was no smoke. "What do you think son," I asked him. He of course smiled, thinking of how much nicer this car was than the one we almost "bought" him. Of course, we let him take a test drive of our "new found" treasure. He didn't complain about it at all!

After the drive, we went back to the lot, talked to the man and made our deal. We paid the man, got on the road and he felt good about our purchase and I smiled knowing that I had made my point without having to argue about it.

Life is good sometimes.......

....that is all

Dead Dogs, Wally World and Indian Casinos...

I know this is a sad thing to write about and someone will be upset somewhere, but I was driving home, about a mile off the interstate (no, we don't have freeways in Kansas) there was a U-haul truck with a car behind it parked on the side of the road. This area is right beside where the Indians are raping the land, but we'll get to that in a bit. Beside the car was a dog, obviously dead. It was a rotwiler or a doberman or some type of devil dog. I don't like either of these breeds, but I suppose the owner loved the pet. Anyway, I got to wondering about what happened. I figure it is one of 3 scenarios.

1. They were traveling with the dog and it expired.

2. They hit the dog as they drove.

3. They tied the dog to the back bumper like they did in National Lampoon's Vacation and forgot about it.

I am thinking it was likely number 2, however it could very well be one or the other. Now, if it weren't number 2, then as Roy D. Mercer would say, "It looks like they got a situation here." So, now that they have figured out they have real problems, again they have choices. I can imagine the conversation.

Him: "What are we going to do now?"
Her: "Well we can't just leave him here?"
Him: Well what would you suggest, I don't have a shovel."
Her: "I don't care. If we leave him here I'll never forgive you."
Him: "I guess we could tie him to the luggage rack!"
Her: "We can't do that to him!"
Him: "Well, it's not like it's going to rain!"

This of course brings us back to "Vacation" and tying the dead aunt to the car and the rain comes thundering down. I smile thinking about Aunt Edna being there. Bad, bad, bad pirate! I hope they make it peacefully to Wally World, or wherever the heck the travelers are heading.



Now to the Indians. They are building a HUGE casino just mile or so off the interstate. I hate gambling so I am naturally against it. Mostly I'm against them having their own "nation" within a nation, but we won't go there. Anyway, they are taking prime land that could be used for farming or whatever and building this monstrous building on it. It is like 20 stories or something.



Now aren't the Native Americans the ones that always have screamed about the white man raping our environment? If it is, then why is it ok for them to do it? Do they have some God given right because they were here first? I think not. Besides, they say it will be good for the economy. Now, that brings me to my 3rd point tonight. Who the hell are "they"?

I'll tell you who "they" might be. I am still kind of up in the air about this one. However, you can be sure that "they" are the ones who are responsible for you getting it up the rump and I'm sure "they" are sitting on a pile of money somewhere. After work, they probably congregate at the local "They Bar" and laugh at all of us common people. It always seems to go back to the money doesn't it? I'll give you a good example of the times it was good that "they" lost out.



They: Oh my Zug, dodo bird dying out!
Zug: What we do?
They: Must save dodo bird!
Zug: Me think dodo bird tasty!
They: You primate! That why dodo dying out. Must stop eating dodo!
Zug: I die without dodo!
They: Better Zug than dodo!
Zug: ~WHACK!

End of story. But not quite. Suppose "they" had been right and the dodo had survived. Would we be better off? I mean, who wants to eat a dodo anyway? And who would be responsible for cleaning the dodo droppings up. Not me man! I'm sure "they" would have some dodo manure cleaning machinery that would make it easier, plus the fact that it would make your pockets lighter in the process. Hey! I know! We could give the job to the illegal immigrants! That of course, is another blog.

…that is all…..