Toast

Over at Tom's blog, he said he had realized that THE Big Dollar Company didn't want a true history.

Rather, they wanted a eulogy of sorts.

Not wanting to be an enouch, he took a hint from the PGA.

Focus on the good, and nobody gets hurt.

I suppose we have to pick our battles. Sometimes they pick us.

Their golden anniversary is upcoming. I am to give a toast. Ninety of their closest friends and family in attendance.

No pressure.

Maybe white bread makes good toast? Too much full grain bread may end up hitting the fan.

They don't want to hear about the effects. Let's celebrate!

So, a eulogy of sorts has calmed me down.

Focus on the good, and nobody else gets hurt.

Keep it under the rug.

Fore!

Streaming

Looks like somebody let the dogs in.

Mud tracked on the floor, couch pillows chewed up.

Missed the paper, again.

Can hardly wait to see what the dogs might mess up.

Maybe when the beer runs out, our little house guest will move on down the road.

A micro brew is a terrible thing to waste.

But so is my sanity.

Nobility

Lately much is being made of telling your story. You are a part of a larger story.

The next chapter has yet to be written, it might be said.

Maybe.

Being driven to the edge of a deep, dark hole. Finding yourself at the margins of yourself.

This is hardly a romantic place.

Maybe I become Woody Allen-like.

Maybe we put the story on the shelf. Taken by a den of theives.

Maybe it is finally your time to identify with Parsifal, deep in the woods.

Fighting generational dysfunction.

Maybe I am the one who will free my sons. And their sons...

Maybe the journey is offering, for a limited only, a chance at nobility.

Maybe

M

Darkness Power

Hooked in youth

Taking responsibility, given no authority

Control the saving grace

Death prolonged under the blood red sky of soul-less offerings

Jaded memories spark life to continue

I hate my youth

It still lives .....

Open Hand

Last evening, my little 34 month old son waved goodbye to his red balloon he was given earlier that day by the nice gal at the local Trader Joes. He asked for stickers and got a balloon, the color of his choice.

He played with it most of the day. Bouncing it off the ceiling, then grabbing the string to do it again and again.

Took a long nap. Greeted mom when he awoke. Showed her the gift.

Then, he took the balloon outside and let it go.


I hope I never forget that moment.

The colors, his expression, his eyes full of joy, his hand waving goodbye to the red balloon, ascending into the blue sky.

At first I was sad for him. The balloon was lost. But he was not sad. In fact he was happy. Is was as if he needed to do release it. To give it freedom. Before it deflated.

So I let this notion wash over and through me. The thought of the kingdom is entered like this little one, came along side too.

Wow. Something to receive. Like a gift.

Just wanted a couple of stickers.

But the kingdom showed up.

Let it go.

Let it be.

Whole lotta shakn'

Respect in sandlot football skills was the aspiration, not so long ago. Although it seems like a lifetime away.
Not a thought of how to live life well. Those people in India? Aren't they poor and starving? Better finish all on my plate.
Be thankful for what you have. Amass a fortune, for all to admire. Really only wanted the lable teammate.
Thought sharing the burden would lighten the load. Disconnect is my connection, currently.
The load is emerging, now conscience reforming, redeeming. takin' two forward and a couple back.
All this is no mistake. This shakn' allows no control.
Only perserverence. Faith.
I am butt dust. See what I mean? This works for ya?
It is so hard to truly see myself as lovable. Narcissism in reverse. Or is it?
Can't rush the process. Really don't want to.
Funny how reality lays against the ropes, waiting until I'm all punched out. Not much of a boxer, but the metaphor is working for me.
Who am I competing with?
I am tired now.
Good night

Mclaren

This guy is the biggest ego-maniac going these days. He uses the pronoun "I" more than the average narcissist. It could be just my special problem that is only hearing the clanging and fingernails on the chalkboard. The Nancy Grace of the Christian underbelly. (Who in the hell keeps giving her more air time?)

Maybe the guru gig is more than he can handle.

It is said we are all wanting to be found out.

Undercover agents on the loose

Haircuts in heaven

Parable or inside joke.
Not sure of the bicyclist, white shirt and tie, knew of that which I spoke.
Twirling my baton, my symbol of authority, freely down the avenue, revealing blue hair.
I was proud, wanting to share, maybe it was too much to bear, just now.
The way out is the way in.
Is the trouble worth the pain?

My young angst choosing rage. Unseen chains, bound me today.
Like an armless man wanting to hug, fear has the upper hand.
desperate, reckless, confused
Can't hear praise. Must work harder, next time. Will there be a next time?
Heimlich has a manuever named after him.
Expectation needs mouth to mouth.

Just take a little off the sides please.

History

Told Fr. Monk to kiss off just now. For months, no response.

What a Baptist.

May he be relegated to voting only the pastors edict.

In a way it is a relief. Now I can move on. The wild goose has left that trail.

But you know, those church types are THE Worst relationally. Rarely have I had a dignified relationship with those people.

You?

We're in the same boat. Or maybe we are out, standing on the water.

Looking into His eyes.

Where else can we go?

4 Playa

Red circle providing bakground for the white 4. oh, the humanity!

Waiting giving the necessities of life.

Filling the barren desert. Water ebb and flows.

Tides revealing ancient truth,

Come on 5 ...

smell the sea in the breeze

Lookin' for a 5

Rose wisely said one night at the family dinner, that when you are on the right quest, the resources for the journey will always come your way. I can say I have experienced this reality.

I have had a 33 year itch to race a car made just for racing. To own a small racing program that was respected by my peers.

Lately I have been wondering where those resources are.

Over these last few married years, dreaming about such a venture has been kindled.
And a lot of energy devoted to the possibilities. Priorities exposed. Fears raw.

She is not sure this is what I need to be doing. But I am finding so many signs that maybe it is.
And the two shall become one.

Funding is key to the quest. Second mortgage is out. Simple life is in. So sponsorship will deliever the goods.

Enter Laser Monks. A business with a cause. The cause I am all for. The Vintage drag racing community needs this.
Spirituality. Community. Healing. Feeding the poor.

I have found a complete package. Fair price. Good people. Unique operation.
So what's the problem?
It doesn't matter what you do, as long as you do it together.

So I again wrote Fr. McCoy about considering my proposal. That was last night. At that time there was a 4 on my little mail icon. There is still a 4.
Maybe he is out of town?

He has never said no. Am I missing the clues? Are there even any clues?

And there has been also great new contacts other arenas of my quest. Will take 'em slow. Let them bud.

Not complaining. Just sharing. Stories are great, when you are watching them unfold. It is tough to be in the folds.

Just lookin' for a 5

Yelling heads

Okay, she ran away. Made up a story a few days later.

The guy seems level headed. Noble in defending her honor. Wanting to get her help.

The talking heads are questioning his sanity. In still loving her. In standing with her.

So the talking heads judge sanity. Send me to the funny farm.

Where friends stand with you. Come hell or high water.

Talk to the hand.

memories

Moses had a way of writing that has confused the high thinkers for thousands of years.

Simple language has a way about it.

Signs and symbols missed.

Story missed.

Humanity missed.

God missed.

What am I feeling as the stories unfold? My memory informed by "type A" pastors, I feel shamed I cannot properly outline the text.

The familiar often is no longer seen. What color is your spouse's eyes? Do you love Hagar?

What about her and Abraham's son?

Or are they outcasts? Better forgotten?

God spoke to them and comforted their soul.

Who is your father?

Thanks for the memories