Sometimes

Sometimes
=====================================================================

Sometimes I wonder about things which are important only to me.
Sometimes I wonder about things which should be important to all.
Sometimes I wonder about things future and in past.
But, always I wonder.

Sometimes I look at the night sky filled with stars. 
Sometimes I look at the think of all the worlds there must be out there. 
Sometimes I look at the tiny ants toiling while building their own little worlds.
And, always I wonder.

Sometimes I look at the strife in the world around me with all its mysteries.
Sometimes I lie back and dream of a way it could be with just a little effort.
Sometimes I don't care, sometimes I do care, always I'm entranced.
And find new ways to wonder.

Sometimes I lie, alone, in bed dreaming of things possible and those not.
Sometimes I see the evils in our world and the good inherent in man.
Sometimes I see the questions which have no answers and answers to questions unasked.

And, again I wonder.

Sometimes I see such simple questions unanswered.
Sometimes I see pure hypocrisy paraded as virtues.
Sometimes I see minds ruled by hatred and lies.
And I no longer wonder.

For I have looked high to the heavens for truth.
And all the while it is beneath my feet.
Trite, trash, unworthy of a thinking, feeling creature.
Then, I wonder even more.

Frank  VanHoose
November 2019

Parent's Pride vs Parent's Living Vicariously

My elder sent me some photos of her elder and did not mention what the photos were from.  It was he, him and Dad with a bouquet of  roses.  And, I sent her a reply about any special moment with one's kids is like nothing else.  And it is.

But,  as usual, it set me to thinking a lot about a parent's pride in a child's accomplishments versus a parent living their own dreams viciously via their children.  Far too much of that going on. Why do we have parent's showing their ass at a kids little league game?  Whose game is it anyway?  Parents who subject their children to this sort of thing need to be taken for a long walk on a short pier.  Seriously.

We had our childhood.  If it did now work out the way we would have liked...Shit  happens.  Most of us were not the kids who hit the grand slam in the bottom of the last inning or hit the winning shot with zero on the clock.  Deal with it. Our children's dreams are just that, THEIR dreams.  Our job as parent's is to help them on the path to achieving THEIR dreams not reliving our own.  Our time came.  Our time passed.  Now is Their time not ours.

Makes me realize it does not matter what his achievement was.  That belongs to him.  Just that his parents were there to share the moment in support of him, joyous for him, not for themselves.  Well, yes, for themselves too.  But not for whatever dream he achieved but because they had been there supporting him in pursuing his own dream, his own way and being honestly joyous for him without needing to interject their own dreams  over his. 

I think (hope) I have always taught my kids they should not allow the praise or criticism of others to deter them from following their own paths to their own goals and I'd support the for whatever that goal was and I believe they are teaching their children the same thing and following up on it by celebrating their children's successes without trying to push them into paths where they, themselves, have failed.  They are allowing their children to be who they are and one success means as much as any other.  It is, after all, our children's dreams not our own. 

See, I realize now those are my successes.  It does not matter what my job title was, how much money I made, how big my house was,  what car I drove, etc.  It matters only that I love my kids and they know that.  It matters that I pushed my kids to follow their own dreams and by doing that they will allow my grand kids to pursue their own way in this world and be happy for them.  And, that will follow down through succeeding generations.

Something to think about when the volunteer umpire calls strike three on an obvious ball four or any other setback or even achievement your child has.  Celebrate THEIR victories.  Commiserate with them on THEIR defeats.  Those are theirs not yours.  It does not matter if they with a game or lose it, just love them, support them, give them a hug... and keep your damn ego out of their life.  You had your own childhood, let them have theirs.

Its a Stormy Night in South Carolina

I suppose it has been a while since I've written here.  Its been an eventful time in my life.  Some good, mostly bad.

My brother died.  My hero for all my life.  My best friend.  Much more of a dad to me than my father ever was.  My younger nephew was killed by a car and it was probably his fault.  The woman who meant the world to me died and I had know warning.  I found out I have stage 3 Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis with projected life expectancy of 2 - 5 years.  I found out my low blood pressure has lead to Mini-Strokes for years and different parts of my brain are deteriorating (thank goodness for spell check or you'd see just how far down I've gone).  Despite all this, the state of South Carolina (In its infinite knowledge of the condition and concern) has determined I'm still able to work.  Whoopee.  

But that is just a general background and nothing really specific to this post.

Here in Lexington, SC today and tonight have been stormy.  Sitting here now at my computer with all the other lights off so I can see through the wide open patio blinds to the growing darkness outside.  Darkness enhanced by a heavy fog  or very low lying clods which limits vision to around fifty feet.

Its nostalgic, its a reminder of all the good things and also all the bad things.  Fortunately mostly the good.

Back between summer of 1956 and summer of 1961 we lived in an old log cabin at a forestry tower in rural, south eastern, KY.  Place called Spring Knob.   Lots of stories about that place but those have been explored earlier or not.  But none of them have any place in this narrative. This is about my love of storms.

That cabin was on top of one of the highest hills around.  And when we had storms we had some humdingers.  The bottom of the clouds were often down the hill from us so we were surrounded by that cottony whiteness, interspersed with vivid flashes of lightening and deafening thunder.

As a small child they scared hell out of me.  Somehow, at the same time, I loved them.  So exelerating and exciting.  Kind of like the attraction of a new roller coaster.

I guess I never really thought about it that much but over the course of my life I find more and more of my memories centering around storms.

In my teens when we'd have a big rain I could move my bed next to the window where I could watch the creek rise up over our foot bridge, up our drive and several feet into the old barn.  
In some of those same years I'd go hunting and when a storm rolled in I'd find a convenient rock cliff, start a fire, place my shotgun well away from me, start a fire and sit back and enjoy the wind and rain.

When I bought my house back in '98 it was surrounded by trees.  When a storm would come along I'd go to my porch and sit and enjoy the smell of the air, the way the wind whipped the branches of my trees around, have a Bud and a Smoke and just enjoy.

Been a good many years since I smoked or drank Bud but I still love my storms.  Not sure what it is but the storms just call to me and the more violent the better.

I've been through more than one hurricane.  First was David in Florida 1978 or 1979.  '79 I guess.  I recall sitting at the kitchen window thinking, "So this is a hurricane?  I've seen a hundred worse thunder storms in the Kentucky hills".  

I guess the worst was Hugo while I was in the Army at Ft. Jackson in Columbia, SC back in the late 80s.  Rode that one out in a moblie home.  

Nothing at all so severe since but even the mild storms comfort me.  I truly do feel sorry for the victims of storms but, even with that, I do feel a surge of excitement whenever I hear about the possibility of local, severe weather.

There is no debate as to my sanity.  I'm batshit crazy as most anyone who knows me can attest.  So, I'm sitting here tonight looking out my patio door(window) wishing I was able to just head out into the night and not care where the morning sun finds me.

On a Morning Like This

We sold our house last year. (2017)  We now live in an apartment in a 'mixed use' development.  We just got too old and too many health problems to keep up a house as well as having almost priced ourself out of the neighborhood.

We've been here about nine months now.  My wife used to walk here after the stores opened so she would feel safe but I never felt much like walking though my doctors have been trying to get me to do that for umpteen years.  But, for the last six weeks or so I have been walking in the early morning most days.  Sometimes it is down to Panera Bread.  Some days just to the little performance/park area near us in the development.  

Sometimes I take my breakfast or lunch with me and sit on one of the benches in the shade and let my mind drift where it will.

This was one of those mornings when I only went to the park and sat for some time.  I was looking at the trees, the blue of the sky and the race betweem the upper altitude clouds and those lower.  It was a beautiful morning.  When I left the apartment it was 74 degrees.  There was a soft breeze blowing.  There were even several birds flitting around.  One in particular flew in and landed on an outstretched branch quite near me.  I sat there watching the bird, watching the sky behind it fading from blue to white to blue again and thinking.

Today (09/11/2018) I just sat there thinking.  I was thinking how perfect the morning was and all those people I loved who are no longer here to enjoy such days.  So many people who tried to live a good life, being health concious and all and still left this earth early.  While I've lived a mostly self-destructive life for the past 25+ years.  They're gone and I'm still here to enjoy a morning like this.  Makes no sense to me.  But that is reality.  Some facets of reality makes no sense to even the most gifted physicists.  

This has been a very bad year emotionally as I've lost (funny euphamism.  they died) too many people I cared for.  My brother, his brother-in-law, my youngest nephew and the woman who might (or might not) have been the mother of my youngest daughter.  I mourn them all deeply and cannot bring myself to realize they are all gone.  Forever.  Gone.

And before this year there are so many more who have passed on.  Some older which was expected but far too many who were younger.  So, I sat there watching the bird, the sky, the fast moving clouds and thought about all the people I cared about who were not able to enjoy a morning like this.  It is saddening, humbling and a mystery why I, who have been destroying myself for a quarter century am still here when so many who at least tried to live a healthy life are now gone.

I started counting them but there were so many I just stopped.  Being born to older parents and being the youngest I guess I should expect to have lost my older relatives but I've lost so many whom were so much younger.  

So very many people in my life I have cared about who no longer have the opportunity to enjoy A Morning Like This. 

I Have No Idea What to Call This

Nothing jumps out at me.  I've tried to write out memories of my brother but I am finding no matter what I am thinking of it all leads back to him. 

I have said, and it is true, people are like the trees on either side of the road when you're driving on an interstate highway.  Always there but never noticed unless there was something different about them.  But that was only momentary as there were thousands of trees by the road ahead.

That is what people have been to me for a quarter of a century or more.  Just a passing, momentary consciousness followed by complete blankness.  Thousands, millions of trees as we pass through life. 

When I was younger I tried to please everyone else and was never pleased myself.  In my later years I tried to please myself but found myself unhappy.  I feel like I used to be a driver but now I'm just one tree along the road.  Quickly noticed, quickly forgotten.

My older brother passed away a little over a month ago.  All my grand parents, parents, aunts and uncles have long ago had dirt shoveled on their coffins.  Did not really bother me for a host of reasons.   Some are I never liked (not hated) most of my family.  There were only a few I cared about.  One cousin who, at this time, is still alive.  She has been special to me for over fifty years. 

Be that as it may, since my brother passed away I notice, not matter what I'm thinking, somehow it all comes back to him.

Him being gone is hard for me to deal with.  I'm just now barely able to write about it without crying to the point I can't go on.  I still cry but I want to say some things needed to be said.

And, right now, I still don't think I can say ('write') them.  I have such a hole in my life I cannot explain it to anyone else.That's it for tonight.  Can't keep thinking about him and writing.

Rest in Peace, Little Brother. (In Memories) PT. 1

As the title suggests I just received work my brother passed away a few hours ago.  He has been sick for many years for many reasons.  Today a massive heart attack took him out.  Quickly at least.  So, I thought I'd write down a few random memories.

He was 23 years older than me so I really only knew him as an adult.  I guess my earliest memory of him was when I was about two years old.  I had a new tricycle and he took me up to the top of the Wash Rock hill and let me try to ride down by myself.

Now, the hill was not that steep or that far.  But, it was a dirt road and it was pretty rutted so I did not make it very far until the ruts interrupted my journey.

Somewhere around that same time I remember he, our mother and I wading the creek a little way above the Wash Rock.  I had a little, toy windup submarine.  He was showing me how to use it and it disappeared under the creek bank and was never seen again.

Not long after that we moved to a different house just down from the Spicy Gap on Rte 40 a mile or so inside of Martin County.  He used to whittle wooden rocket for me.  He'd cut a notch up near the front of the rocket then used a knotted string tied to a handle and use that to accelerate the wooden rocket to, what for me was immeasurable heights.  

That was where I first ran into the idea of people dying.  I don't remember who it was but my mother took me to the grave site for the funeral and explained to me when people died they were put in a "bury hole".  

Odd, I don't know what it has to do with my brother but it, somehow, seemed to be worth mentioning.  I think it may fit in this set of memories later, though.

We moved to the Spring Knob forestry tower somewhere around when I was four of five years old.  My memories of that place are much cleared and there are many more of them.  I remember my brother and one or two of his friends walking out on the tower beams on the first flight and jumping off to tumble like a paratrooper hitting the ground.  

I remember one day I got fascinated by the sound of the air hissing out of the car tire and just kept trying it until it stopped.  Only had a small "bicycle pump"  but he pumped it up and  never sad a word that I can recall.

The place we lived was a log cabin.  Had one large room for living and sleeping, a reasonable sized kitchen to the left as one faced the house and one other room kind of propped up with posts as it hung out over the slope of the hill.  There was also a front and a tiny back porch.

I recall one time our mother told me to go wake him up for breakfast.  He slept on a couch in the big room.  So I walked up to him, asleep on the sofa, and punched him as hard as I could in the nose.  Bled like a "stuck pig".  He threatened me when the bleeding stopped but I don't remember him doing anything later.

We had a green nineteen fifty sever Chevy which had been under water in the fifty seven flood.  When I was growing up that was the flood every other flood was judged by.  It was the definition of a lemon.  Always something wrong with it.

One day my father griped he "wished it would just roll over the hill".  Next morning the car was not in the parking place.  It was found a mile or so down the road.  Over the hill.  Three guesses what happened to it.

He quit school when he was sixteen so he could go to Mayo Voc-Tech and graduate before he would be eighteen and the tuition went up.  Stood him in good stead I guess.  He was a diesel mechanic in the Navy.  Became a "Master" mechanic for Ford, Chevy and Chrysler later in life.  Also became a very good welder. He was sent to the Great Lakes for training and immediately got double pneumonia and spent his first several days in the Navy in the hospital.  That was the beginning of all his health issues.

When I was six they sent me to live with my grandparents during the week to go to a little one room school called Preston Gap.  On Friday evenings he'd come to pick me up to take me home for the weekends then bring me back on Sunday evenings.

At that point in time all the roads for miles were dirt or in the creek.  One cold night we had not gotten very far on the rutted, old road when the tires slid in a deep rut and the care got "Center Bound".     He had to get out in freezing weather, jack up the car then find rocks to fill up the ruts under the tires.  Don't remember how long it took him but we made it home that night.

Just a Hill in Spring Time

Just a Hill in Spring Time
==========================================================
A long time ago
I was another person
In another place
A place now gone
Replaced by fading memories.

There was a hill
Behind our house
Where I'd go
To lie in the Sun
In the yellow sedge.

A small space
Among the trees
Open to the sky
Home to one Apple tree
Covered in lovely, white blooms.

A peaceful place
To be alone in body
As well as in my thoughts
just watching the clouds
Drifting like my mind.

I don't think of it often
It was so long ago
I wonder if it is still there
Or has it disappeared
Alongside so many memories.

And when I die,
Will it be gone forever
A fleeting, frozen moment
In time for a kid
Who loved it long ago.

Christmas Eve 2017

Anyone who knows me knows I don't care much for holidays and despise Christmas.  Not for what it should be but for what it is.  Anybody with a single iota of historical and/or religious knowledge knows it is completely impossible for Jesus to have been born on December 25th.  Most especially, since like Easter, it would follow the Jewish calendar and vary in dates from year to year.  The holiday which is now known as "Christmas" is an amalgamation of three pagan winter solstice celebration the "church" could not force the "pagans" to stop celebrating.  For a few centuries it was even banned by the church.  Since they could not stomp it out they just co-opted it, gave it a new name and went about their hypocritical business of fleecing the, so called, "Christian" world.

Not that I hate the idea of an honest winter solstice festival at all.  It is just this Christmas thing has no purpose at all except for the profit of retail stores.  I really don't give a shit whether Jesus was born on Christmas or not.  Still, he is NOT "the reason for the season".   He has been turned into a source of revenue for our retailers, for our churches and just about everything other than celebrating the birth of Christ.

No, the reason I despise Christmas if for its dishonesty.  Christmas has become nothing but one big con on gullible people who either do not have the brains or common sense to see it and stop feeding the burden Christmas has placed on the ordinary person. 

We recently sold our home and moved into an apartment in a local "town center" development.  Right now, on Christmas Eve, Traffic is so bad it takes a complete fool to venture out in it unless there is a dire emergency.  And, when I see it my first thought is, "Where the hell is everyone getting all this money?".   Credit cards and, maybe, an advance on their projected tax refund.  And for what? 

Has nothing to do with Jesus, Christianity or any religion at all.  It is simple greed.  Don't believe me?  Ask someone what they got for Christmas and find one, just one, who would say, "A wonderful time with my family celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior".  Just one.  The pretense Christmas has anything to do with Jesus is sickening. 

Take a look at your Christmas bills when they come in and tell me just how much more Jesus would appreciate this greed over donating the same amount of money to those who have real needs at  this time of year.  How many meals for the homeless would that shiny, new 85" TV would provide.  Just how many of your "fellow Christians" would that new $1,000 telephone have helped?  Have any of you at all ever read the bible and paid attention?  Show me one, just ONE, bible verse where Jesus advocated greed.  Seems the Jesus I've read about would have absolutely hated what his, so called, birthday party has become. 

Like the "supposedly 'good' people" Mexico is sending us, I would imagine there are some sincere people who profess to be Christians doing things to truly reflect the teachings of Christ.  Most, however, are, for me, numbered in the criminals and rapists (YOUR president's words) being foisted on us. 

Give it a break people.  Go on and keep driving us all deeper in debt and pretending it is anything other than peer pressure and has anything at all to do with the birth of Christ.  Do whatever you want with your life and money.  Just have the balls to admit why you do it.

Such a Beautiful, December Day

There have been a good number of significant life events since Labor Day.  The place I worked finally kicked me to the curb.  It was not unexpected and I had been planning for it for a couple of years.  Due to my age and health I decided to just go ahead and retire rather than subjecting myself to another long and frustrating job hunt.

We have also sold our house and moved into an apartment.  Also because of age and health.  Neither my wife or myself can really do things like we once could and paying someone else to do them had gotten just too expensive.  We had already priced ourselves out of the neighborhood and had we not sold this fall we would have put more money into the place and then never could have sold it for a decent amount.

We moved here in early November so have been here for over a month.  Finally have everything we are keeping stowed away and everything we can't keep given away, put in the Consignment store or donated to Goodwill.

Everything seems to be "hunky-dory" around here.  So, why can't I work up any interest in today or tomorrow or any tomorrow?   I turned sixty four about ten days ago.  That is not depressing as by now I realize age is just a number and my "real" age is about thirty years more than my "chronological" age.  Today is the nineteenth of December with a temperature of around 73 degrees and bright sunshine.  Sitting here at my PC looking out one of the windows I can see all the traffic, cars and pedestrians and all the Christmas decorations outside.  Never did much care about holidays.  Most especially for fake holidays like Christmas.Maybe that is part of it.  Masses of people flooding the shops spending money that don't have to buy gifts for people they can't stand. 

Maybe that is part of it.  Just so tired of stupid people who are willing, nay eager, to play the fool for the dumbest reasons.  Here we are approaching a holiday celebrating the birth of a child who could not possibly have been born on that date.  We have a child rapist as our President.  He has a fourth grade vocabulary and zero moral standards.  He reminds me of a country song called, "She Only Bitches When She Breathes".  Cheeto-Skin Tiny-Hands only lies when his lips move.  But even when he is not lying personally he has plenty of dumb shits fronting for him.  Guess it is depressing how many people witness this every day and still support the sorry SOB.

Cops murdering members of most every minority with no consequences and the professed Christians who say they are following the teaching of a man of Peace are urging them on.  They spread hatred for anyone without lily white skin, anyone who does not "worship" the same "god" they do and call it Christianity and other things of equal lies.  Somehow they all seem to manage to maintain their own self-righteousness despite all the "laws" Christ taught. 

I suppose it is, somehow, appropriate so many people get financially fleeced for the fake holiday called "Christmas".  Christmas, the Holiday far antedates Christ.  It is just another Winter Solstice celebration the Romans and many others celebrated the "Church" could not force them to give up.  So, they co-opted it, changed the name and said it celebrated Jesus' birth.  I mean, damn, they did  not even change the way it is celebrated.

It is readily apparent people no longer have a preference for the truth in anything.  We have the king of liars as President while we beggar ourselves celebrating a made up holiday and enjoy our hatred of everyone else while claiming to love a man who preached peace and tolerance.  Maybe that is why such a beautiful December day is so depressing to me.  Just keeps reminding me how much I despise hypocrites and stupid people.

Odds and Ends and Things of No Moment

I was passing though the living room today, on the way from the kitchen with my breakfast when I, once again, noticed the picture on our LG, 70", 4K TV which has upscaleing  to make regular HD to "nearly" 4K.  Doggone thing is about an inch thick.  Always makes me thing of my father.  He love his TV.

When and where I grew up, we normally only had one TV station and that depended on which way we pointed the antenna.  We could pick NBC or ABC.  CBS was always a little "iffy".  And, we always needed a "booster".  Attach one part to the antenna and the other to the TV.  It helped a lot but still we had to pick our station.  To change someone (me) had to go to the top of the hill and turn the antenna.

Mostly we just watched NBC.  My parents (both) were devoted to "Another World" and "Days of our Lives".  Growing up I knew more about Rachel and Russ, Cory, all the other men she married or slept with, than the real people around me. (Well, maybe not the female ones) They were few, far between and mostly boring but that is neither here not there.

I just have to wonder what my dad would have thought.  Huge screen, picture quality like looking at a real place and 300 channels.  Pretty big change from a 23" black and white with one channel.

Of course that was when we lived in a  place with electricity.  Then it was zero channels.

I wonder if that is not something which has exacerbated our distancing ourselves from others.  We are so consumed by technology we may have forgotten how to be "just people".

A Poem I Heard Today

I was out today and heard a poem while listening to NPR.  It was about a dream of one's childhood and a prayer the dream was real.  While my childhood was not the most idyllic there were  times I would happily repeat.  This is inspired by that poem.

Back When
=============================================

Back when I was much younger
In body and mind
We lived way out in the country
Where the only people around
Were my relatives.

I had never fit in
My parents had never allowed me
To fit in
So, I learned to live alone
And, to love being alone

I would not want to re-experience
Most of the days from my childhood
Since there was little there to love
But, there are a few times
Which, somewhat, make up for  it.

Spending hours sitting under
A Hazelnut bush eating ripe Hazelnuts
Finding a Paw Paw tree with ripe fruit
And gorging myself
While hoping some squirrel
Would come along to take them from me.

Times out along with my Beagle
Hunting Rabbits
Or, just being away from home
Being alone was my happy place
Did not have to accomplish anything

Thunder storms with wild wind
An rain tossing the tree limbs
About as if establishing their dominance
While I sat with a small fire
And just enjoyed the show.

I am sure it is why I am so content
On my own
I learned early in my life
Loving anything was a road to heartache
I wonder if that made it impossible for me to love

Thoughts on Memories (my own)

Sitting here listening to Alexa (Amazon.com's voice activated personal "assistant") playing one hit wonders.  I remember all of these songs from when they were hits.  Mostly in the sixties and seventies.

It is well known all kinds of sensory input can trigger memories.  Sights, sounds, smells all can evoke pictures and feelings from the past.  Even things we had completely forgotten.  Perhaps not even then recalling exactly what but just a vague feeling of "being there" before.

I suppose it might be just a function of my childhood so many of the songs I listen to bring up memories which are, mostly, less than pleasant.  Probably, also a reflection of me, I always cared more for the words (lyrics) than the music.  I did enjoy them both but if I loved the words I'd learn to love the music.  If the music was good but I did not like the words I just forgot those songs.

So, what's on the menu for today.  Sixties mostly.  Songs I've mostly forgotten bringing up feelings and memories I've also mostly forgotten.  I can get lost in this music and not realize how much time is passing as I am stuck inside my mind reliving the memories these song evoke.  Heck, a (very) few of them are actually pleasant.

Think I'll put links to some songs from then on youtube.com. Perhaps they might even be around by the time anyone sees this.

Lots have songs they consider to be "anthem" songs.  Songs one relates to more than others for various reasons.  I guess I have many but one common theme of them all would be, I think, somewhat of sadness and loneliness.  Perhaps that is true of all of us.

"Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfuWXRZe9yA

The next one is by Kris Kristoffersen as a tribute to his friend Janis Joplin.  I  love this song.  Played it for my parents one day.  My mother did not understand it all but, much to my surprise, my dad seemed to "get it".

Epitaph(Black and Blue) Kris Kristoffersen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKttwK7Ri7E

Enough for one day.  Memories (and not very good ones) are creeping in.  :)

I Remember Dr.Timothy Leary

I wonder how many do?  He was a "minister" back in the 60s who was a leader in the experimentation with LSD.  He is the one who coined the phrase, "Turn on, Tune in, Drop out".

But it is not his connection to the drug scene of the '60s and 70s' I recall him for.  It was some of his other quotes about life.

http://iheartintelligence.com/2016/01/08/quotes-timothy-leary/

I recall, after he was diagnosed with cancer, he said (paraphrased) he was not afraid of dying.  He was eager to see what came next.

When I was younger I thought that statement was incomprehensible.  How could anyone NOT fear death?   Thoughts of a young man, I guess.  When we are young we feel immortal and fear death because we are so afraid of what might come next.

As we grow older, death becomes much less frightening.  Those who have a definite sentence of death from disease can either sit around and bitch, "why me?".  Or they can see death as just another step in their existence and embrace it.  

I suppose that is Mother Nature's way of preparing us for the inevitable.  I can't say for certain what is the reason only as I get older (and sicker) I find death no longer holds any terrors for me.

I  have no fears of standing up on my own two feet and facing any judgement which may (or may not) come.  I've done the best I could with the things I was given.  Some of it was good.  Some of it was bad.  Most of it was pretty indifferent.

Probably not much different than most people if they told the truth.  Seems lots of folks live life doing just what they want and when the Reaper is walking up the sidewalk about to ring the doorbell, they suddenly "get religion".  I wonder if they believe in "god" why they think he/she/it is that stupid?  

I don't believe in "just in case" religion.  If your beliefs are good enough to live by they should be good enough to die by.  I know it is coming.  I  don't know if it could be tonight or years from now.  It does not particularly matter.  Does not even matter.  I am ready.  Whenever.

Odds and Ends on an (Almost) Rainy Day

I was writing a grocery list and thought about needing small note pads as I'm a "scribbler" and need something to scribble on working or playing.  All of a sudden I was "hit" with the smell and feel of opening that three-ring binder filled with new notebook paper on the first day of school.  Elementary school as we did not have Middle Schools and it assuredly was not the way I felt in High School.

I know aromas can trigger dormant memories but this was not an aroma.  It was just a random thought.  I suppose it is quite normal but that mental "smell" made me think of how badly I wasted my childhood.

My childhood was not what anyone would call ideal and my fondest dream was getting to be old enough to get away from my parents.  I expect that is pretty common among kids and, mostly they outgrow it.  I never did.  I never got away from them then and, I suspect, I have not completely gotten away from them now.  Their hands reach out to my mind, my memories, my sanity from beyond the grave.

It is wonderful how sights, sounds and smells can bring back vivid memories of the past.  Seems even idle thoughts can do the same.

Those kind of moments take one back to some distant place and time as though it were yesterday.  Plants "what if" seeds in ground which has lain fallow for many years.  I know there is no going back but I cannot help longing at times for what might have been.

But that is neither here not there as the past is only real in our memories and, sometimes, not even then.

But, this just brings me to the thoughts I am having today.  I go to a psychiatrist every 30 - 60 days.  One of the questions she always ask is if I have thoughts of "hurting" myself or others.  I always laugh at her and tell her, "If I were to kill myself you can be sure I'd do it in the least painful possible".  Sometimes I hate euphemisms.

While having no thoughts or plans to do away (another euphemism) with myself I find a growing indifference to whether I wake up the next morning when I go to sleep at night.  I told her a couple of visits ago that while I had no thoughts of suicide, should I go to bed knowing I would not wake up the next morning, I would still get a good night's sleep.  Well, as long as it lasted.

Kind of like Dr. Timothy Leary I am finding I'm curious about what lies ahead.  Is it "something" or is it "nothing"? Only one way I know to find out.

Although, it reminds me of an old song, "Everybody wants to go to Heaven but nobody wants to die".  Seems to me there are an awful lot of people who don't really believe in Heaven though they would never admit it.  If Heaven is a real place and completely wonderful, why does everyone cling to life like a drowning man clutching at straws?

On the other hand, if one ever expects humanity to make sense, one is in for a sure disappointment.  We humans are strange creatures.  If I were god I'd send another flood to cleanse the planet and would not provide any Noah.    But, that is just me.

Listening to Watermelon Wine

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqV9NZSGIa4

A song by Tom T. Hall who came from a place in Kentucky
where I came from.  As you might guess it includes watermelon wine.

I've always enjoyed listening to this song.  But, recently, I've been listening to it in a different state of mind.  Used to be it was just a good song to listen to.  I'm now at an age where the whole song has changed for me.

They called Tom T. the "Story Teller".  He was definitely not the typical country singer/songwriter.  His songs are really just stories put to music.  I highly recommend going back through the years of his music.  Or just keep listening to the link as it goes through a play list.

I don't know if I can explain the change.  It is assuredly not the song which has changed so it must be me.   Seems to me it must be age and health.

My body and mind are going south at an ever increasing pace.  I've already stopped driving except when I absolutely have to.  I have a growing inability to focus on anything.

That includes work.  I've made more serious and dumb mistakes in the past year than in the 26 which preceded it.  I have been trying to work until I am 66.  That is a little under three years.  I don't think I'm going to make it.

Truthfully, I don't understand why they haven't gotten rid of me before now.  The way things are going I think it is now a race between retirement and dismissal.

I'm always exhausted even after a long night's sleep.  Been this way for about two years with occasional stretches of lucidity.

I don't show it much before around 2:00 to 3:00 in the afternoon.  I owe a lot to my team lead who is also a real friend.  I think she has be somewhat protecting me.  But, even she admitted to me she had noticed the changes.  Letting things slip, forgetting things.  Not complicated things, just normal every day things I've done for years.

Maybe that is why the meaning of this old song's change was due to age an infirmity.  I more and more relate to that "old, gray, black gentleman" and less and less to the song writer.

My wife has noticed a lot of changes as well.  She would as she spends the most time with me.  Does not matter when it is, work, games, reading the news I tend to just spend a lot of time just sitting here in my home office chair rocking.  No idea about anything.  Mind mostly in a semi unaware state.

I do know about 18 months ago I had a massive amount of work hit me at once and I was the only one who could do it.  Multiple 70+ hour weeks.  Weekends were just markings on the calendar.  My MD suggested I retire if I could or at least cut back my hours.

No way I could do either.  Just the nature of my job and the expensives of living.  I really don't think I ever fully recovered from that state of exhaustion.

I don't know it that is even possible.  I do know for months and months I have been getting out of bed in the mornings just as tired (or more) as I was when I went to sleep.

I really can't do anything which requires physical effort.  Not because I'm particularly weak or anything.  I just get over heated so easily and when that happens I get completely nauseated.  And, it doesn't take much  to get me overheated.  I have a difficult time just walking through the grocery store for normal weekly shopping.  And to even survive it I have to take nausea medication before I go.

And, even with the nausea it will just hit out of the blue.  A couple of weeks ago I was taking the garbage container to the road, not a very long trip.  I had just finished a bottle of cold water and I was vomiting it back up at about every step.

Truthfully, I expect to be in a "home" withing just a few years.  Whether it is a "nursing" home or one  of the "funeral" types remains to be seen.

Just Some Random Thoughts on Reaching Sixty-Three

I reached age 63 back in early December of 2016.  I don't really do birthdays.  Guess that is something which lingers from my childhood.  Never had any holidays.  Never had Christmas or Birthday anything at all.  Really, that is neither her nor there.  Holidays mean nothing at all to me.  Neither do birthday.  To me, holidays are just one day I don't have to work.   That is present enough.

But what got me to thinking in was which resulted in this post is a very dear friend of mine whom I went to school with at Mayo.  Her mother is on dialysis and lat time they discovered a blood clot in her leg which was not operable due to infection.  Her Mom had her leg amputated up to the hip.

Reminds me of both my wife and my aunt.  My aunt was a diabetic many years ago when the disease was much less understood.  I can't recall how old I was when she had to have her foot amputate and then passed away less than a month later.  But, I can still see in my mind those dark, scaled legs she walked on.  I have hopes for a better result for my friend's Mom.

It has gotten me to remember those older than me, the same age and even those younger than me who have died.

There is a photo on Face Book of a class in the old Richardson, Ky school.  Back in the days when there were still one room schools.It popped  up as history in my Face Book feed.  I sat looking at them to see how  many I recognized then started counting all of them who were dead.  Not the most uplifting exercise I suppose.

So many in my own age group, older and even younger are gone now.  Tends to make one wonder about the chances we are born into.  Those chances will influence our lives from beginning to end.  That along with peer pressure and many other factors.  Still, it occurs to me, every time you have a child you have just created a human being doomed to die.  From a child's first breath it is just a downhill roller coaster to the great darkness beyond.

Way too many at such a "young" age.  But, our family has some seriously bad genetics.   While I do love my children and grandchildren I can't help from feeling guilty in passing genes so prone to both physical and mental problems along to another generation or two.  Guess when we are young and still think we are immortal we just don't think about such things.

My psychiatrist always asks me if I have feelings of wanting to hurt myself or others.  I always laugh at her and tell her if I intend to kill myself it will be in the least painful manner possible.  I can't see why anyone would want to hurt themselves.  After all, the great source of suicidal thoughts is pain.  Mental, emotional or physical people who don't have a great degree of pain don't want to exit this world before they have to.

Suicide is such a permanent solution to problems which are more then likely temporary.  However, I can see when things are permanent with no possibility of getting better how one would do anything to stop the pain.  Cancer which cannot be helped leaving one in such pain their life is constant agony.  I can definitely see suicide for them as, not a tragedy (the disease was the tragedy) but a relief from hell on earth.

Oh well, so much for today's morbid thoughts.  Just so sad so many people who played so large a part in my life have passed on and I'm still here.  Roll of the dice or some purpose?  Interesting thing to think about.

Today

Today I awoke to sunshine, bird song and green all over

Today I awoke to the present, the future and the past

Today is all I'll ever have

The past is gone

The future is a dream

Today is all that is real

Today I remember many yesterdays

Today I dream of many tomorrows

Today is all that is real

The past is immutable

The future only a possibility

We must all live in today

Today I woke to a fleeting moment in time

Today life whirls past me at supersonic speed

Today is fleeting

It fades into yesterday

If opens into tomorrow

I must cherish today yet let it go

Fears (Especially my own)

Fears.  We all have them.  Even those who like to pretend they fear nothing.  Some fears are very rational.  Rational fears are a good thing.  They help keep us alive long enough to reproduce and that is all Mommy Nature really cares about.  But, all of us I think, also have some irrational fears.  Well, irrational to others I guess but our fears are always rational to ourselves.

I've wondered where and how these irrational fears begin.  I'll speak of four of my own fears and the contradictions they engender.  I have guesses where they originate but would not say I'm sure where they come from.

Also, I seem to have a love/hate relationship with three of them.  The fourth would be a hate/hate relationship.

The first is death by  hanging.  I don't think we have had a legal hanging in this country for decades so the only hanging I would have to fear would be suicide or lynching.  Being Caucasian I really don't see myself in danger of lynching.  And, if you ever hear of me committing suicide by hanging myself, go to the police because it was definitely murder.

My next great fear is death by drowning and is the first of my love/hate fears.  I have fear of drowning to an unnatural degree yet also have a tremendous love of water in large quantities.  I love creeks, rivers, lakes and oceans and find the most peace I have in my life being close to them.  I enve enjoy being in them as long as the water is no more than waist deep.

The third is heights.  Another love/hate fear.  I love high places.  I love standing near the edge of a high precipice looking out over the lands revealed below.  At the same time I'm deathly afraid of falling from that high place.

Fourth is tightly enclosed places.  Claustrophobia. I love small places.  I find comfort in small rooms etc.  But, I also am requesting cremation as I just can't stand the idea of being buried underground in such a small space as a coffin for eternity.  Or, eternity til some future archaeologist digs me up to see what kind of kinky stuff people from our age buried with their dead.

Where do these fears originate?  I could understand it had I experienced any traumatic events relating to any of these fears but I have not.   I have  not nearly hanged myself, drowned, been trapped in a small place or fallen from a high place.  These fears are just in my mind.  Or, perhaps, at a deeper level in my being.

This brings me to my own theory of the origin of irrational fears.  Reincarnation.  While most people who know me well  might describe me as an atheist I am far from that.  I definitely believe in a higher power who created our universe and set our physical laws in place.  I also believe in progress of species through evolution.  Neither alone can explain, to me, all the things present in our universe now and in our universe's history.

I also believe in the existence of  a "soul".  It has been demonstrated by scientific testing on terminally ill patients (beds placed on a large scale) that at the moment of death the weight of our body decreases by a very small amount.  Something had to leave the mortal clay at that time.  What else could it be?

Some people seem to be able to recall some small or even large portions of a past existence.  A lot of these claims are pure hokum but a very few stand up to scientific scrutiny and are not easily explained away.

Transmigration of the souls is not a new or even uncommon idea.  Not just the eastern religions but a large sect of Judaism believe in that.  In fact several parts of the Old Testament make much more sense if you replace the word generation with incarnation.

So, how does this explain my, and maybe your, irrational fears?  Lingering memories from a past life or lives.  Genetic memory.  Our bodies remember things our minds are not privy to. So, I do have some guesses about past lives in relationship to my fears.

For drowning while loving the sea I must have been a sailor who  drowned in the ocean on a voyage.
The rest of them I don't know but must have been some relationship to my past lives.  Maybe some kind of outlaw for hanging.  Small enclosures and high places... I don't know.  Just conjecture might be a mountain climber who died on a climb for high places.  Small enclosures I have  no idea.  But, I do wonder, what irrational fear will this live give my next incarnation.

Pies vs Pie Crusts

My mother made wonderful vanilla custard pies.  Best I've ever eaten.  Then, isn't that what everyone says about their mother's cooking?  I did love her pies.  But, what I really looked forward to was the "cuttings" where the pie crust got trimmed around the edges of the pie pan.

Once the pies were all ready to put in the oven she'd put all the left over crusts on a "cookie sheet" and bake them in the oven.  Those are what I really loved.  Even today, when I have a chance to have a pie (we don't have them often as we both love them entirely too much) I almost prefer the crust to the actual pie.

What memories I have of  helping my mother make the crusts.  Mostly at the house we lived in on Nat's Creek in the late 60s.  The old Charlie Blessing house.  My dad, who was born in 1902, said it was an old house when he was a kid.

I can remember that house from when I was a pretty small lad myself.  We would ride the passenger train from West Van Lear down to Patrick and walk the old road and paths to my grandparent's house.  Part of that path lead through the lower part of the yard just in front of that old house.

I can only remember parts and pieces of it now that I'm much older.  Very few memories.  Stories of my Uncle Jeff and Aunt Norie (or Nora?) when we passed that old home place.  Stumbling upon a "blowing viper" in the path just before we got to the barn at the Arnold Justice barn.  My dad was carrying an empty shotgun (not very usual) and had both his hand guns in a bundle of clothes, etc he had wrapped in an old bed sheet.

I stood there watching that snake as my dad searched through his bundle for one of his pistols.  Finally he found one and killed the snake and we continued on our way to my grandparent's  house.

When I was that age (between about seven and thirteen) I dearly loved to go there.  Play in the creek, crack black walnuts on a small piece of steel I'd hold in my lap and hit the nut with a hammer.  Putting the head of kitchen matches in empty .22 shells and smashing them on the concrete steps with a hammer to listen to them go "bang".

I suppose, as is usual with very old memories, I only remember the good things from those trips.  I think that is a good thing.  What purpose would it serve to recall  how tired I was after those long walks?  Or, any other less than positive things.  Though, there were few of those.

When I was young I think my grandparent's house was my favorite place to be.  I have so many memories from there.  Most of them are good.    A few of them will not get repeated.  But, most were pleasant.  And, rated "G".  

Most, at least.  :-)

Scars (The Physical Kind)

I was speaking with a dear friend this morning about some events in my childhood which had left physical scars and how those fade with time.  They do have that over emotional scars which can hide deep within and spring out at the most inopportune times.

The physical scar I will write about today is one which is on the outside of the "pointer" finger of my right hand.  It is now about one half inch long, just at the knuckle where the finger joins the hand.  I call it my "elephant eye".  If I tuck my thumb in my palm and make a fist, the pointer finger is the elephant's trunk and the scar is just where the eye would be.

The tale of how I got it is one of youthful stupidity.  I don't recall how I came to be playing with a long, narrow pole that day.  It probably was a bean pole from the garden.  It was long and slender and I was using it to poke things in the tiny creek which ran beside the road in front of  the house we rented then.

I had wandered down the road to the little, concrete bridge which spanned the creek between the road and Nola Huff's house.  Now, let me tell you this little creek was dirty.  More than one sewer line dumped into it with zero treatment.  It had to be germ heaven.  It was definitely not like the creeks around my grandparent's house.

That day I was standing on the bridge and spotted a broken pop bottle (Hey, it was pop when I was growing up.  Soda mostly now.)  I don't recall for sure what brand but an RC I would imagine as we had an RC plant in the county seat so we did not see many Pepsi products and the only place to get a Coke was at a restaurant.

The neck of the bottle was pointed up the creek away from me.  I poked my pole through the broken back and up through the neck and raised it up out of the water.  Then I raised the pole to a vertical position and, naturally enough, gravity took control and that broken end slid down that pole at high speed and gashed a long wound in my hand.

The gash was bleeding profusely and I was quite embarrassed to have done something so stupid and feared the reaction of my parents more than germs.  So, I packed the wound with dirt to stop the bleeding.  I kept repacking it with new dirt until it bled no more.

I suppose that is why it left such a prominent scar.  Had I been able to see a doctor I'm sure it would have needed several stitches to close but a doctor was rarely an option in our family at the time.

That would have been sometime around 1965 so about fifty one years ago now.  The old elephant is going  blind as that scar fades but I'm sure there will still be a visible remnant of my, shall we say, inattention to detail (like the effect of gravity on broken bottles) until they shovel dirt into my face.