Overheard in a bar during a ~40th high school reunion:
"I carried the 'football' [nuclear codes] for President Reagan. I was part of the Iranian hostage rescue effort - did you know there was a second team involved?"
"I keep a photo of President Reagan on the wall at home."
"Did you know he approved the invasion of Grenada because he asked himself what would John Wayne do?"
"I saw him in Houston in 1984 and he remembered me as the young kid he talked with at the small airport gathering in 1980. He's smarter than people gave him credit for."
"I still look young because I graduated from high school when I was six and Vanderbilt when I was twelve. Haha."
"My husband here is Navaho, from Gallup, New Mexico. After our white wedding we had an Indian wedding where I had to slaughter and cut apart a sheep to prove I knew how to feed our family. If I cut myself with the knife during the ceremony the wedding was off. He had to cut down a tree and build a lean-to. We have an acre on the reservation we plan to retire to."
"When Nixon was visiting this area, my father's plumbing business partner was driving a load of dynamite down the same two-lane road as the presidential motorcade. He wondered why men in suits were looking under culverts as he was heading to his demolition job. He'd be accused of terrorism these days even if he was a patriotic American on his way to doing a hard day's work."
"The newspaper called my victory a close win even though I had 61 percent of the vote."
"You're better-looking in person than your facebook photos."
"Thanks so much for contributing to the church organ fund in my daddy's name. That was sweet of you."
"I retired after 34 years of teaching 8th grade math. I join your mother and other retirees for the monthly get-togethers now."
"You're young enough to be my son!"
"You were at Camp Pendleton, too? Did you ride out in an LSD until everyone was seasick and then storm I-5 in winter?"
"You used to work in Utah? I'm thinking about moving to Salt Lake City. Are the Mormons very cliqueish?"
"Channel 11 is much more friendly to my husband so he's willing to meet them for interviews about what he's doing for the state. Reducing the budget will be one of his main focuses this term."
"I used to have to hold the antenna up when my father wanted to watch Channel 19 to get the local news."
"Are you the car dealer?"
"I know your father. He used to have an account at my bank. Does he still have that bungalow his grandparents built in Florida in the 1950s?"
"Yes, I'm still involved in Christmas tree sales. But I've got the pine pollen problem now. I drive the truck to pick up the trees and drop 'em off. I open the rear door and step back to let the rest of the Optimists unload 'em at the tree lot."
"Look! There's you and your wife on television wishing us a happy holiday."
"Yep, I can't get away from that, can I?"
"He normally received about 14,500 votes in the previous three elections but only about 12,500 at the last election. I got those 2,000 votes and they wanted to call it close!"
"My younger sister was the drum major in your class."
"My husband and I were at UT at the same time but we didn't meet until years later, after I was married."
"Your sister was my counselor at church camp in 1976. That's where my wife and I met two years earlier."
"When we were little kids I used to call her the Big Boop because she had a big behind. What was that, almost 50 years ago?"
"Shut up and get up on the floor and dance with me."
"I can't for very long. My arthritis is acting up."
"This is my ex-husband. Darling, do you still think I'm the best-looking one in here?"
"Well...maybe."
"Guess that's why you're my ex."
Thanks to Demetrice and Tony for setting up the arrangements, Ashley for her quick, efficient service at the Shack BBQ and Justin Michaels for the one-man band music.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Week For Forgetting
In weeklong meditation and in the midst of familiar sights and sounds the conversations reaffirm the past like dreams recalled fondly.
Almost as if commas periods and spaces losetheirsignificance
Refrains.
Chorus.
Codas.
The same points assigned to goals and touchdowns.
As an adult I am left to choose which subcultural myths and legends to pass on magically and mystically.
Which ones to create from a blender of tales swirled together.
Miracles.
Wonders.
Heroes.
After all, what is the truth that makes sense to youth growing up out of pure ignorance?
Must life be bigger than life just because a child wants to know more than we do?
How do we keep traditions and let our children learn the secrets behind myths that contain mistakes that kicked off a subculture's perpetual traditiontelling?
Ask one to be one?
Or be happy in our ignornce (trusting in one's faith)?
I have no children so in my meditation I stay, not required to reveal myths or keep the flame of faith alive.
That is what the holiday meditation has taught me this year: not to interfere with happiness of others, no matter what they believe or talk about, because they have found the thought set based on a unique state of energy mix that works best for their environmental conditions.
May I find the humbleness to keep quiet in 2011 and focus on my lifelong journey toward death in a healthier body, reducing my consumption of food I don't need and goods I don't want.
I have communicated to anonymous readers the filtered thoughts that've found their way onto "paper" like this through the years.
The older I get, the more frequent does life break down into its component parts to me. Let the world have its myths, legends, religions, literary/sports heroes...
In a dream or vision, I saw us as our states of energy landing on an unidentifiable planetoid leaving our legacy in the form of a stowaway bacterial lifeform that survived after we perished, representing us to other lifeforms passing by on the way to what we imagine is another universe [thousands or millions of years later than today?].
Hardly a high-volume, marketable product, is it?
Now you know why I seek to silence my voice in the future.
There is nothing more I can add to our multicultural global socioeconomopolitical entity we call our species in this solar system.
I wanted more knowledge about what will become of us and got what I asked for. Early happy Christmas to me, huh?
In this season when we find our own way to celebrate the renewal of life as seen from the Northern Hemisphere, I bid you good day.
My time with you here has come to a close. The Committee of 7.5 is looking for a new spokesperson, if you're interested in an impossible job to perform (it comes with no description, no pay, no perks/bonuses and very picky bosses to satisfy (as well as seven billion customers with seven billion different needs!) but it's a lot of fun as long as you want to keep the job).
Almost as if commas periods and spaces losetheirsignificance
Refrains.
Chorus.
Codas.
The same points assigned to goals and touchdowns.
As an adult I am left to choose which subcultural myths and legends to pass on magically and mystically.
Which ones to create from a blender of tales swirled together.
Miracles.
Wonders.
Heroes.
After all, what is the truth that makes sense to youth growing up out of pure ignorance?
Must life be bigger than life just because a child wants to know more than we do?
How do we keep traditions and let our children learn the secrets behind myths that contain mistakes that kicked off a subculture's perpetual traditiontelling?
Ask one to be one?
Or be happy in our ignornce (trusting in one's faith)?
I have no children so in my meditation I stay, not required to reveal myths or keep the flame of faith alive.
That is what the holiday meditation has taught me this year: not to interfere with happiness of others, no matter what they believe or talk about, because they have found the thought set based on a unique state of energy mix that works best for their environmental conditions.
May I find the humbleness to keep quiet in 2011 and focus on my lifelong journey toward death in a healthier body, reducing my consumption of food I don't need and goods I don't want.
I have communicated to anonymous readers the filtered thoughts that've found their way onto "paper" like this through the years.
The older I get, the more frequent does life break down into its component parts to me. Let the world have its myths, legends, religions, literary/sports heroes...
In a dream or vision, I saw us as our states of energy landing on an unidentifiable planetoid leaving our legacy in the form of a stowaway bacterial lifeform that survived after we perished, representing us to other lifeforms passing by on the way to what we imagine is another universe [thousands or millions of years later than today?].
Hardly a high-volume, marketable product, is it?
Now you know why I seek to silence my voice in the future.
There is nothing more I can add to our multicultural global socioeconomopolitical entity we call our species in this solar system.
I wanted more knowledge about what will become of us and got what I asked for. Early happy Christmas to me, huh?
In this season when we find our own way to celebrate the renewal of life as seen from the Northern Hemisphere, I bid you good day.
My time with you here has come to a close. The Committee of 7.5 is looking for a new spokesperson, if you're interested in an impossible job to perform (it comes with no description, no pay, no perks/bonuses and very picky bosses to satisfy (as well as seven billion customers with seven billion different needs!) but it's a lot of fun as long as you want to keep the job).
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A 'Naut Out On The Town
I read that 91 percent of Americans are not offended by the phrase, "Mery Christmas."
The windowed reflection of a white-painted light bulb excites the rods and cones in my eyes, my central nervous system registering the chain of cause-and-effect events.
Coloured LEDs divert my attention to their combined conical shaping.
This is the wintry end of the year holiday timeframe I remember here in space.
I wanted to be called someting cool like 'Naut Rider or Dread 'Naut but the legal team back on Earth told me those names had copyright and trademark histories to contend with.
Instead, I'm a 'naut without a name.
I grow my own miniature, energy-packed vegetables. Protein packs are mixed and matched to my specific needs by the robonutritionist with which (not whom?) I converse through the train-of-thought app I switch on and off at will.
I thought that maintaining these giant soda-can habitat modules would give me cabin fever but the solar glider I built from old parts gives me the relaxing off-duty fun I used to have when living in the high-rise subbasement family prison farm with my incarcerated parents.
Today is one of the holidays of my varied ancestors.
Today I pray for Stella as she deals with Christmas without several recently-deceased family members; my hometown church's Scoutmaster, whose home burnt down during a recent ice/snow storm; those who spend Christmas in prison; the nine percent who are offended by a family-friendly commercialised holiday celebration around winter solstice.
At this time of year, while replacing carbon dioxide filtering systems before the next set of space hotel guests arrives, I promise myself no regrets, no envy and no cynicism as gifts of promise and hope to myself, replacing them with more happiness.
The windowed reflection of a white-painted light bulb excites the rods and cones in my eyes, my central nervous system registering the chain of cause-and-effect events.
Coloured LEDs divert my attention to their combined conical shaping.
This is the wintry end of the year holiday timeframe I remember here in space.
I wanted to be called someting cool like 'Naut Rider or Dread 'Naut but the legal team back on Earth told me those names had copyright and trademark histories to contend with.
Instead, I'm a 'naut without a name.
I grow my own miniature, energy-packed vegetables. Protein packs are mixed and matched to my specific needs by the robonutritionist with which (not whom?) I converse through the train-of-thought app I switch on and off at will.
I thought that maintaining these giant soda-can habitat modules would give me cabin fever but the solar glider I built from old parts gives me the relaxing off-duty fun I used to have when living in the high-rise subbasement family prison farm with my incarcerated parents.
Today is one of the holidays of my varied ancestors.
Today I pray for Stella as she deals with Christmas without several recently-deceased family members; my hometown church's Scoutmaster, whose home burnt down during a recent ice/snow storm; those who spend Christmas in prison; the nine percent who are offended by a family-friendly commercialised holiday celebration around winter solstice.
At this time of year, while replacing carbon dioxide filtering systems before the next set of space hotel guests arrives, I promise myself no regrets, no envy and no cynicism as gifts of promise and hope to myself, replacing them with more happiness.
Monday, December 20, 2010
On Meditation
Sitting here is humbling. To be alive at the same time as about seven billion members of our species is all any of us can be.
Fruitarians, carnivores and omnivores converting states of energy.
Chemical bonds. Disconnected theories of everything.
Seven billion blind trying to describe the elephant in the living room.
Sightless and yet having the gift of sight.
Surfing the crests down to the troughs and over the boughs while tying bows of infinite loops on ships' bows.
Spare time to change the spare tyre.
Independent third parties.
Furniture polish.
Kimonos over cowboy boots.
TransSiberian Chinese highspeed rails.
Genuine high quality Cuban cigars.
If birds are free to fly 'round the world, why aren't we?
Happy that the Amis Mill Eatery will have a wonderful New Year's Eve and New Year's Day celebration; that Arby's serves roasted rather than fried beef; that Food City is still a hometown favourite; that integrity is still an important concept to young people; that dreams are enigmas sometimes.
Fortunate that one can enjoy simple pleasures without the need for reading subtle body language or cynic tones clouding the moment.
Overcoming the predator-prey dilemma to get us out of the materialistic envy cycle and on to the next really, really great thing.
One planet at a time.
[Starting with ours, of course.]
Are you committed to victory for all of us? You are now.
Fruitarians, carnivores and omnivores converting states of energy.
Chemical bonds. Disconnected theories of everything.
Seven billion blind trying to describe the elephant in the living room.
Sightless and yet having the gift of sight.
Surfing the crests down to the troughs and over the boughs while tying bows of infinite loops on ships' bows.
Spare time to change the spare tyre.
Independent third parties.
Furniture polish.
Kimonos over cowboy boots.
TransSiberian Chinese highspeed rails.
Genuine high quality Cuban cigars.
If birds are free to fly 'round the world, why aren't we?
Happy that the Amis Mill Eatery will have a wonderful New Year's Eve and New Year's Day celebration; that Arby's serves roasted rather than fried beef; that Food City is still a hometown favourite; that integrity is still an important concept to young people; that dreams are enigmas sometimes.
Fortunate that one can enjoy simple pleasures without the need for reading subtle body language or cynic tones clouding the moment.
Overcoming the predator-prey dilemma to get us out of the materialistic envy cycle and on to the next really, really great thing.
One planet at a time.
[Starting with ours, of course.]
Are you committed to victory for all of us? You are now.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
...as waters cover the sea
While I meditate, I enjoy the gift of service that others freely, joyously, unselfishly share with me this time of year:
Patricia Rhoton, Pastor White, Afton Stewart, Rebecca George, Rex Ennis, David White, Andrea White, Madison Price, Bill Phillips, Earline Price, William Phillips, Mary Ellen Elkins, Sarah Klepper LeRoy, Tammy Lyons, Terry George, Chad Hill, Chancel Choir, St. Andrew's Choir, Higher Sounds Handbells, ushers and Sue Livesay.
The Joy Gift Service of Nine Lessons and Carols.
Flutes like angels singing in the balcony. Violin and piano duet like a heavenly stream or waterfall. Rearranged hymns. Solos that go so low and so high, I'm flushed with envy.
Raising money for the Christmas Joy Offering, 50 percent which goes to the Presbyterian Board of Pensions and 50 percent which goes to the Presbyterian racial ethnic schools and colleges (per the General Assembly Mission Council handout).
Teaching traditions.
Christmas versus/and other family-based holidays.
Sometimes, caught up in the noise and haste of modern life, I forget that family and friends are all that matters.
That's why these moments of meditation are important.
Otherwise, I'd get lost in the international games we play, that move millions and billions around like faceless chips on a gambling table.
We can still do that, but let's get to know each other before we take risks with our neighbours' lives.
Let us pray...
Patricia Rhoton, Pastor White, Afton Stewart, Rebecca George, Rex Ennis, David White, Andrea White, Madison Price, Bill Phillips, Earline Price, William Phillips, Mary Ellen Elkins, Sarah Klepper LeRoy, Tammy Lyons, Terry George, Chad Hill, Chancel Choir, St. Andrew's Choir, Higher Sounds Handbells, ushers and Sue Livesay.
The Joy Gift Service of Nine Lessons and Carols.
Flutes like angels singing in the balcony. Violin and piano duet like a heavenly stream or waterfall. Rearranged hymns. Solos that go so low and so high, I'm flushed with envy.
Raising money for the Christmas Joy Offering, 50 percent which goes to the Presbyterian Board of Pensions and 50 percent which goes to the Presbyterian racial ethnic schools and colleges (per the General Assembly Mission Council handout).
Teaching traditions.
Christmas versus/and other family-based holidays.
Sometimes, caught up in the noise and haste of modern life, I forget that family and friends are all that matters.
That's why these moments of meditation are important.
Otherwise, I'd get lost in the international games we play, that move millions and billions around like faceless chips on a gambling table.
We can still do that, but let's get to know each other before we take risks with our neighbours' lives.
Let us pray...
Saturday, December 18, 2010
2 spoons & 1 fork
If a black cat crosses your path and you don't know it, is it still bad luck?
Does anybody remember Frank O'Rourke?
What do a toilet handle and cat food have in common?
Thanks to: Debra and other friendly faces at VBC; Gully's team of Santa's elves; Andrea P at Cuts By Us; Amp at Red Robin; Petsmart; Jon at Rave; all the workers at Madison Square Mall, Hobby Lobby, Hibbett's, and the stores in the old Hills shopping center; the scared cashier at Walmart gas station; U.S. Special Forces; studious college students, friends and family.
Time to meditate offline for a few days.
Much to consider...
Does anybody remember Frank O'Rourke?
What do a toilet handle and cat food have in common?
Thanks to: Debra and other friendly faces at VBC; Gully's team of Santa's elves; Andrea P at Cuts By Us; Amp at Red Robin; Petsmart; Jon at Rave; all the workers at Madison Square Mall, Hobby Lobby, Hibbett's, and the stores in the old Hills shopping center; the scared cashier at Walmart gas station; U.S. Special Forces; studious college students, friends and family.
Time to meditate offline for a few days.
Much to consider...
litter stock ack
Are you a remake or a sequel?
Don't all of us have that question to answer?
Are we following in our parents' footsteps or creating a new path?
My thought set leans against others constantly, absorbing through porous contacts the thoughts and actions of those around me.
Sometimes I'm fully aware of why I do what I do that seems [to be] in sync with others, and sometimes I'm barely aware why I act out a sequence of events that I would not normally perform if I was away from the mainstream.
To put myself out there all the time, loving everyone without qualification, no limits, like there is no next moment, seeing all they want me and don't want me to see, puts off some people.
It's like a river running into a boulder or bend in the landscape, flowing along anyway, changing course to fit the immovable channel contour presented to it.
There's more I want to say but I can't.
I've encountered a dam.
Now what do I do next?
There's a lot of land that's going to be flooded behind the dam. I know that much.
Go with the flow, be the flow, pull others along with you.
Pile up behind obstacles.
And then...?
Dark, still waters circulating around, leaving sediment, feeding new organisms, the potential of potential energy finding its potential.
The circle of life, sequels and remakes, alloneandnone.
Monica in Florida, John in Rhode Island and me here - is that the result of our friendship together many years ago? Are there vectors and traced rays and concentric circles radiating out from the pebbles we threw?
What if we know what we have before it is gone?
I don't see storylines like a young person sees for the very first time, although I try to see the world with childlike wonder.
Is that wisdom?
I forget.
Does seeing Venus in the daytime make me anything other than an object that can recall on a firsthand basis seeing Venus in the daytime?
Should my only guiding thought be "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"?
A doo-boppa doo-wop, a biddy bang bong.
Another riff on words in a blog.
That's all this ever was and ever will be.
What life is ultimately all about.
Easy to say, harder to explain: everything goes in a circle, reality is only seven letters.
We learned the words when we were just kids: "Row, row, row your boat...life is but a dream."
Don't all of us have that question to answer?
Are we following in our parents' footsteps or creating a new path?
My thought set leans against others constantly, absorbing through porous contacts the thoughts and actions of those around me.
Sometimes I'm fully aware of why I do what I do that seems [to be] in sync with others, and sometimes I'm barely aware why I act out a sequence of events that I would not normally perform if I was away from the mainstream.
To put myself out there all the time, loving everyone without qualification, no limits, like there is no next moment, seeing all they want me and don't want me to see, puts off some people.
It's like a river running into a boulder or bend in the landscape, flowing along anyway, changing course to fit the immovable channel contour presented to it.
There's more I want to say but I can't.
I've encountered a dam.
Now what do I do next?
There's a lot of land that's going to be flooded behind the dam. I know that much.
Go with the flow, be the flow, pull others along with you.
Pile up behind obstacles.
And then...?
Dark, still waters circulating around, leaving sediment, feeding new organisms, the potential of potential energy finding its potential.
The circle of life, sequels and remakes, alloneandnone.
Monica in Florida, John in Rhode Island and me here - is that the result of our friendship together many years ago? Are there vectors and traced rays and concentric circles radiating out from the pebbles we threw?
What if we know what we have before it is gone?
I don't see storylines like a young person sees for the very first time, although I try to see the world with childlike wonder.
Is that wisdom?
I forget.
Does seeing Venus in the daytime make me anything other than an object that can recall on a firsthand basis seeing Venus in the daytime?
Should my only guiding thought be "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"?
A doo-boppa doo-wop, a biddy bang bong.
Another riff on words in a blog.
That's all this ever was and ever will be.
What life is ultimately all about.
Easy to say, harder to explain: everything goes in a circle, reality is only seven letters.
We learned the words when we were just kids: "Row, row, row your boat...life is but a dream."
Glitter
Cardstock
Stack
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)