Resolution Stress

After all these years, it has finally dawned on me why we subject ourselves to the hustle and bustle... the endless hours... of holiday preparation.

We do it willingly to distract ourselves from the long dark nights of December.

And the reason we set New Year's resolutions is so that we'll continue to have something to focus on other than the long dark nights of January and February.  Because let's face it... by March those resolutions are out the window.

In other words, we set ourselves up for stress purely as a distraction.

Well, this year my New Year's Resolution is to not make any resolutions. I'll avoid the stress and...more relaxed... spend those long dark nights snoring under the covers.

May You...

Whatever your personal beliefs. Whatever your holiday traditions.

May your home be filled with the people your care for and the foods you savor. May you know serenity, joy, and warm embrace.

If circumstances keep you apart from loved ones, may you find peace in memories and the promise of reunion.

Merry Christmas!  Happy Holidays!

Ornamental Memories

Our Christmas tree might be just as aptly called a memory tree.

Every year, as I hang ornaments, I am reminded of years past. There's the first ornament Motivated Mom and I bought together - the year we were married standing in our living room on Christmas. The ornament that says baby's first Christmas was hung on the tree while College Dude sat strapped into a child seat on the floor - wearing a one piece Santa outfit. The other baby's first Christmas ornament was hung just about the same time Media Girl was taking her first steps.

There are a group of ornaments inscribed with the names of all the different pets that have shared our house over the years and collections inspired by different phases of our lives. Ornaments that followed us home from Disney World, Williamsburg, Aruba, and more.

Each ornament brings a period of the past back to life as through I were looking at the event through a portal in time. Each ornament reminds me of how fortunate our family has been.

First Steps

It happened in a fortnight. Our granddaughter went from immobility to walking - bypassing crawling altogether.

There was the phase where she would stand upright while leaning on the couch - if someone set her on her feet first. Then suddenly she simply appeared underfoot in the kitchen, leaning on cabinet doors to enhance her stability. 

The crafty look on her face when she first came around the corner said Got you didn't I?

And now....now nothing is secure. The snow village under the Christmas tree was devastated by an avalanche generated by a seven-month-old.  Drawers and cabinets have been opened, their contents either simply inspected or altogether rearranged. The small palm tree in the corner is enduring the plucking of fronds from its branches.

I had forgotten this phase, this period of mobile inquisitveness where everything is a prize. I must remember to keep my car keys in my pocket.

Connecticut Christmas

One of my favorite holiday past times occurs after the rest of the household has gone to bed.

Grabbing a good book and a glass of wine, I turn off all of the lights in the house except those on the Christmas tree, put an assortment of Christmas music on the stereo, and settle into the recliner. The relaxation is so complete that it's not uncommon for me to find myself waking from a slumped slumber in the wee hours of the morning.

In Connecticut there are over two dozen families that will struggle to find comfort and joy in the Christmas season for many years to come. For these families the gaily decorated tree, the carols of the season, and the smell of Christmas treats in the oven will all serve as reminders of what was lost.

Were I to be granted a single Christmas miracle this year, I would wish Newton Connecticut to wake to the virginity of fresh snow on Christmas morning and discover  every bed in every household occupied. That every member of this community, as it was on December 13, would go about their annual traditions without a care. That the bells in church steeples would tell of nothing more than a baby's birth.

May God bless us everyone.

Grail Beer

It seems Christmas came early this year for beer connoisseurs in the U.S.  The holiday came with a price tag of $85 a six pack - which 150,000 folks eagerly paid.

The beer, brewed by monks in Belgium, and known as Westvleteren XII - or Westy 12 for short- is the type of thing that folks stand in line overnight for.

It seems the robed brew masters needed a new roof for their Abby so the decided to share their god-given talents with the U.S. via a limited release of the hoppy delight.

I'm all for supporting a good cause, and I appreciate a good brew as much as the next guy; but it strikes me as more than a little odd that monks are repairing a house of god by offering a product that has folks camping out in front of liquor stores. 

Now if the beer came with the holy grail........

Holiday Investment

As I complete the wrapping of gifts, it occurs to me the holiday season and a gourmet meal have a lot in  common.

Gourmet meals involve numerous hours of behind the scenes preparation before the food is plated, only to have the food disappear in minutes.

Weeks of preparation go into Christmas and, in most households, the long awaited event is past history in mere hours.

Butt the effort is worth it. Just as a delicious meal can bring friends, families, or lovers together in intimacy and leave them feeling comfortably fulfilled, so too do the holidays bring us together and remind us of the importance of taking time out to spend time with those who are important to us. A real gift in an age when we all race from one thing to the next.

For those who approach the holiday with love and caring, the return on investment is more valuable than what might be held in any bank vault.

Lights and Trees

December is the only time of year when someone can hastily erect a series of wooden posts at a highway intersection, stretch strings of barren incandescent bulbs between the posts, toss bushels of felled trees under the lights, and not get chased away by law enforcement.

I can remember back when I was a child how newly illuminated street corners advertised the newest harvest of Christmas trees without any signage needing to be posted. 

Beneath those lights families clad in scarves and coats milled in the aisles between evergreen propped against runs of two-by-fours searching for the tree that would be just right for them. Trees were pulled upright, spun, critiqued, and discarded - only to be revisited after dozens of options were considered.

Few trees in nature are absolutely perfect, yet each family seemed driven to find the natural exception - until father's announced the search had gone long enough and a compromise was reached.

12-12-12

This day has been full of news about 12-12-12 and rightly so given this is the last time the day, month, and year will sequence like this until the next century.  We're living a historic moment.

So what's history going to say about this day? Personally I'm hoping history will show this was the day I finally won the Powerball.  Cause of course I HAD to buy a couple of tickets for a drawing that's going to occur on a day that's historic due to a numerical configuration.

It occured to me that repetitive 1's and 2's are also a binary code. So I've been kind of concerned that this might be the day computers take over the world. I had to take deep slow breaths at work all day... worrying that the keys on the computer would suddenly take on the quality of Octopus suckers and I would be permanently melded to the computer.  Thankfully I survived the workday and my home computer seems to be as companionable...and submissive... as ever. Though there was a moment when that flashing icon for a Java update gave me a start.

North Korea launched a rocket / satellite today and the thing went haywire. So maybe computers are taking over but just haven't gotten to me yet.

If I'm lucky I'll find out I won the powerball before turning a computer on tomorrow... in which case I'll turn my back on all those megabytes and spend the rest of my days selling seashells by the seashore.

Santa Transport

Oh what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen... Santa on a camel?




Well, I guess sleigh runners don't work so well in the desert.  I'm thinking maybe a pair of shorts though.

Mis Fit

The day felt like a shoe that become a half-size too small.  Everything was familiar and comfortable, yet nothing was as expected.

Morning drizzle drained all initiative so that breakfast ran into lunch. An early afternoon trip to the local version of Santa's Workshop left everyone damp and chilled to the bone. Though not quite ready for lunch, the thickening mist drove one and all to a local eatery for belly warming foods that led to heightened lethargy.

 Shuffling, half-hearted attempts at routine chores were soon abandoned in favor of favorite chairs that somehow failed to offer the expected comfort. Even the baby fussed with intuitive understanding that all was not as it should be.

Dinner was abandoned in favor of comforting drinks that drove one and all early to bed.

Perhaps the following dawn would see things as they ought to be.

Seasonal Tradition

The four weeks (roughly) from Thanksgiving to Christmas are filled with more traditions, expectations, and obligations than any other time of year. Trying to fit everything in frequently leaves us with our heads spinning.

Ironically it's also a time of year filled with songs about taking time out to count our blessings and spend time with those who are most important to us.

And what do we do during these four weeks?  We rush from one thing to the next... dinner gatherings, Christmas pageants, holiday shopping, cookie baking, office parties, gift wrapping, and decorating.  By the time extended family comes knocking at our door all we want to do is collapse.

It occurs to me that traditions are meant to bring comfort - not stress. Perhaps we have lost not only the reason for the season as so many suggest, but the proper perspective on tradition.

Henry David Thoreau once said: The more you chase happiness the more it eludes you. But if you turn your attention to other things happiness comes and sits softly on your shoulder.

Perhaps the same is true of tradition. Perhaps we should allow traditions to be created rather than strive to create them.

Resolve to take time this year to enjoy the season.

Kate's Cookies

Princess Kate has morning sickness and the English Royal's refuse to provide daily updates.  Whatever will we do.

I, for one, just don't know how I'll make it through the day without knowing what size chunks the princess tossed that morning or how long the servants had to scrub the loo to return it to pristine condition.  I'm worried that in missing out on details of what filled the toilet I might miss out on the recipe for a great new dinner dish. After all - just cause Kate tossed it doesn't mean it was bad. With morning sickness anything can come up.

Perhaps some intrepid reporter will manage to plant a microphone in the royal couple's bathroom and then we can all hear just how hard Kate has to work at the regurgitation process.  With sounds like that coming through the radio I'll know my day will be bright and sunny by comparison.

So come on, bring on the scrumptious details.

The New Drive-In

Sitting at the traffic light I had a sudden urge for popcorn.

Probably brought on by the Disney movie playing in the Dodge minivan beside me.

I've obviously not been keeping up with advances in automotive entertainment since I no longer have children to entertain while driving.  Since the return to Standard Time I've seen vans with flat screen T.V's that descend from ceilings and swivel to face any seat in the vehicle. There are vans and cars both with T.V.'s built into the back of headrests - each T.V. capable of displaying a separate DVD so that a nine year old can watch music videos while a younger child enjoys Barney.

Which brings me back to popcorn.  Maybe the next minivan accessory should be a microwave that plugs into the cigarette lighter.

Scent Travel

If Mr. Peabody had had a bottle of Coppertone sun tan lotion he wouldn't have needed a way-back machine.

Way back in my own life, Coppertone was the only game in town. So now, every time I open a bottle of Coppertone sunscreen, I am instantly transported back across fifty years on summer vacations.

The Coppertone scent takes me back to the summer houses we rented in Ocean City New Jersey. There was the second floor rental unit right next to the railroad tracks, the second floor rental on Asbury Avenue, the small house we rented on 42nd street, and weekend trips to the Sting Ray Motel.

Then of course there were the trips to the beach, morning bicycle rides on the boardwalk, dinners and amusement parks on the boardwalk, and memorable treats such as vanilla fudge and fresh squeezed orange juice.

All relived year after year courtesy of the unique scent of Coppertone.

Slippin' Away

Going to be away from the blog-o-sphere for a while. Look for a new post December 3rd. Hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving.

In the mean time I offer this contemplation:

Find at least one thing to be thankful for each day - anything: a sunrise, the discovery that you didn't lose your eyeglasses after all, a new book by a favorite author, your favorite food on sale in the grocery store, a phone call from a friend.  You'll soon have a basket full of happy to brighten any day.

Journey's End

Rousted from restless sleep by the screech of a dying animal he stumbled from his tent. The heavy clouds of the gray morning pressed down with a weight that made him hunch beneath the blanket draped over his shoulders.

Picking up the stout branch he had used as a walking stick the day before he poked the embers of the previous night's fire into a pile. Going down on hands and knees he breathed new life into the coals. The nuggets glowed an orange red and in their seams he saw the path he must travel.

The end of his journey was near. Before this day was ended he would be either the first survivor or the latest victim of the evil that had laid waste to this land.

Crow Gossip

They came in a fury. A hundred black crows beating the air with two hundred black wings. The sound was like twenty freshly laundered sheets pinned to a clothes line and flapping in the wind.

The crows settled in the top of a towering tree, bobbing on the tip of every available branch.

Then the racket started. Crows squawking at one another, from one branch to another, drowning out every other sound of the day. It was like being in a gymnasium just before a basketball game where the kids at the top of the bleachers are shouting to their friends at the bottom of the bleachers.

They continued for fifteen minutes, chattering excitedly with all of the latest crow gossip. A hundred crows carry a lot of news.

Then they were gone, flapping wings and rising from the tree in a single black swarm.

And quiet returned to the day.

Veteran Prayers

Imagine the pain of losing a loved one unexpectedly.

Imagine the stress of living every day knowing a loved one might never be seen again.

On Veteran's day, beyond being grateful for those who serve and have served, offer up a prayer for their families.

Tires and Parts

It was the eight tires lying on their side in the middle of the fallow field that caught my attention.  I traveled this stretch of road on a daily basis and, unless the property had changed hands overnight, there was no junk yard there.

Yet a junk yard is just what it appeared to be when I spotted the piles of metal spread across the field.

Then I realized the farm's irrigation system had been dismantled. The metal was actually carefully organized piles of steel struts and six inch pipe - like a giant erector set waiting to be returned to the box.

Driving Home

Headlights on high beam, defroster on high, radio set even higher to be audible over the defroster, and windshield wipers racing back and forth to keep the view ahead clear.

Rain hits the windshield in hard, fat, drops that explode like miniature water balloons.  Wait. What was that? Could it be? Surely not!

It was - a snowflake the size of campaign button hat just the windshield.  Followed by another and then another. Until the windshield wipers were leaving watery streaks rather than clear glass behind.

Night pressed in closer of the side windows as the view head tuned into a endless tunnel of white.

Wishing I had thrown a scarf into the car, I thought ahead to bowls of hot soup and logs burning in the fireplace.

Pinwheels

Winds swept dried colored leaves from the ground and shook fresh leaves from tree branches. A collage of reds, yellows, and oranges swirled, tumbled, and spiraled through the air - and I realized the leaves of post-summer are the original pinwheels.

Wandering A City

In the cool light of false dawn, the cemetery reminded him of a city. Towering monuments glimmered above cracked and aging tombstones just as glass-walled skyscrapers rise above block after block of run down neighborhoods.

Further considering this revelation, the morning wanderer realized that the cemetery's inhabitants also mirrored the inhabitants of any thriving city. Beneath the cold earth and concrete slabs lay carpenters, office workers, mothers, nurses, grandparents, truck drivers, and infants.

One day he too would be part of such a city. He wondered how he would be remembered - as the entrepreneur he had once been of the vagrant he had become. He decided he preferred vagrant. Wanderers such as he had become tended to live on in poetry and stories. Perhaps he would find eternity in a ballad.

Time Change

The good thing about the return to standard time is...

Ah, well, there's always....

That is to say....

Oh yeah,  the return to standard time now will help me appreciate the return to daylight savings time in March.

There, I knew there had to be something good about the changing of the clocks.

Okay, so there's also the benefit of  heading off to work in daylight. Problem is, that benefit is not only short lived but offset by having to drive home in the dark.

Arriving home after sunset leaves me feeling the day has been lost and that I should just skip dinner, have a hot totti, and fall into bed.

Now if I were a bear... I could be looking forward to safe and restful sleep, sleep, sleep.

Sratching It Out

I look at all the different fonts used in printing, typing, and data processing and marvel to think that many of them were born under the tip of a quill scratching across parchment.

That a single tome could span more than one calligrapher's life in creation is incomprehensible.

What would it be like to start a book knowing at the outset you would never see its end?

Battle for Dawn

Dawn came late today, delayed by the lingering cloud cover of Hurricane Sandy.  When light finally did find its way through, it was not the soft blend of red, orange, and pink of a breathtaking sunrise; but a silver that made me think of burnished steel.

It was as though the only way for light to return was to slice through the clouds with sweeping strokes of a heavenly sword.

The sword and clouds warred throughout the day with clouds winning back the field with the approach of desk.

Perhaps tomorrow's dawn will bring the blood red of a finished battle.

Where Was the Celebration?

They came in a steady stream...area residents curious to see how Sandy had impacted the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk.

The lines started two blocks to the west. The equivalent return flow should have been indication there was really nothing to see - no reason to linger - but those in line continued on anyway.

What should have been a spontaneous celebration that no severe damage had been done was anything but. Instead, there was a somber atmosphere - like mourners making their way from a cemetery at the conclusion of graveside services.

Some were no doubt disappointed that enforced evacuation had prevented them from witnessing the peak of the storm. To a degree I can understand that - a chance to see mother nature at her angriest can be awe inspiring.

But I suspect most were disappointed there was no mass destruction to witness, and that I will never understand. What possible satisfaction is to be found in observing the loss of homes and livelihoods? Why do so many feel shortchanged when robbed of the opportunity to witness a nightmare they themselves would never wish to endure?

Vacancy

It is now a place of dark dwellings and empty roadways. Gone are the people who gave the town life.The vacancy is all the more noticeable for the lack of tchotchkes that naturally come with habitation. It is as though some insatiable giant traversed the streets during the night gobbling up lawn ornaments, decorative flags, flowerpots, and mailboxes.

Columns of rain now race through the streets, towering gray wraiths driven by banshee winds. Curling streamers of leaves race ahead of the advancing rain, fleeing the destruction promised by the banshee howls that echo between abandoned  homes.

Dry gullies have become racing streams while streams have grown to lakes - lakes whipped into white-capped froth by the same frenzied wind that has turned nurturing rain into an advancing army.

I watch all of this from behind discreetly parted blinds, loath to let the outside forces know of my presence - fearful that such discovery will lead to a focused assault on my home.

Hunkerin' Down

Hurricane Sandy is zeroing in on our section of the world and I'm just a little distraught... cause I'm not fully up to speed on hunkerin' down.

I'm worried that I might not hunker correctly. With all the reporters talking about hunkerin' I'm sure there must be a preferred hunkerin' stance. 

When the winds really start whipping I expect I'll probably go into a three-quarter squat and wrap my arms around my head so that my biceps press against my ears.

But what if that's not right? What if I position myself improperly and get arried away by gale force winds?

I mean, maybe the preferred hunkerin' position is a wide-legged stance with on a slight bend to the knee and finger's laced across the top of the head with elbows free and available for regaining balance?

Or maybe I'm supposed to assume a full squat, press my chin to my chest, and cross my arms over the back of my neck. - No, I'm pretty sure that one's not hunkerin' mode - that sounds like the position to assume just before kissing a certain part of your anatomy good-bye.

Turret Untouched

You've probably seen them... majestic homes built in the early 1900's that have since been divided up into apartments. I pass several of them on my daily drives through Dover, DE.

I've been keeping my eye on one that has been getting a facelift.  Three floors with a towering turret rising up from the top.  Though the scaffolding is down, the turret was never touched. That particular section of the house still shows its age with flaking paint and sagging eaves.

While all of the other windows in the house are decked out with blinds and curtains, the windows in the turret remain empty and dark.  I wonder what lurks behind those uninviting windows that deters renovations. And I wonder if what lurks there is the reason for the recently displayed Apartment for Rent sign that now appears in the third floor window.

Babysitting our granddaughter tonight has reminded me...

Babies refuse to go asleep when you most want them to. 
Babies who are normally content to be by themselves suddenly crave attention when you have other things to do.
Babies are cute for a reason.

Leaves of Opportunity

Looking at the leaves that have begun to pepper the back yard I find myself thinking back to childhood.  A time when fallen leaves were not a chore but an opportunity.  An opportunity to launch myself into a pile of reds, yellows, and browns.  An opportunity to fell rough edges tickle at the back of my neck and sneak their way down inside my shirt. An opportunity to stare up at blue sky and puffy clouds from a crackling pile.

And I find myself thinking it is long past time for me to give myself up to carefree abandonment again.

It Was A Day....

It was a day made for kite flying and fishing...and folks along the shore seized the opportunity. Children, and those still children at heart, guided multi-colored kites through weaving dances and breathtaking dives. Anglers who cast their lines into the ocean were rewarded with bluefish, flounder, and trout. Not a single fisherman sat idle for the fish seemed anxious to be pulled to shore.

In the midst of all the flying and reeling, children danced barefoot at the water's edge in a game of catch me if you can. It was the water that the children dared... scampering first one way then another as the ocean sought their toes.

It was a day of exhilaration, a day of happiness, a day to thrill at the beauty to be found beneath a cloudless blue sky. 

Missing the Boogie Factor

It happened overnight.  Yesterday the leaves on the trees were a uniform green. Tonight the trees are sporting a pastel blend.

Sort of like we humans growing old. One day we're eighteen and the next combing hair over bald spots and carrying a tube of Ben Gay in our pockets.

Trees get the better deal when it comes to reaching the end of a cycle - their riots of color create a festive  mardi gras mood. People develop hollow cheeks following tooth loss, walk with one hand on their hips, and lift their bellies to buckle their belts - not the sorts of things that inspire others to boogie down.

Perhaps some food coloring on the sagging skin?     Nah.

Awkward Embrace

Crisp as a pair of newly pressed trousers, the air has had a palpable edge these past few mornings. Stepping beyond the front door of the house has like stepping into an awkward embrace - a greeting by a familiar turned cold and distant.

The jackets I now don protect me from chill temperatures and absent warmth.

Shoulder Tap

There are two conditions that make us feel most alive.  Ecstasy and Fear.

As we approve All Hallows Eve, the invisible mantle of fear weighs more heavily on our shoulders. It doesn't help that shadows angle farther and linger longer with the arrival of October.  The things that lurk in those shadows scratch at our heels and whisper to us as we pass.

If we're honest with ourselves, we will admit that our adrenaline seldom rushes the way it does when we sense are at risk of facing things for which we have no explanation. Wraiths that scurry though tree lines, voices that blend with the hum of appliance motors, and footsteps approaching from empty rooms all send electricity racing through our bodies.

Now, as we move into the period when the veil between worlds thins, we are faced with having to consider that the things we detect from the corners of eyes just might tap us on the shoulder. And it is then that we will know what it feels like to be alive... for a few moments anyway.

Continuing Ingenuity

Every now and then you see something that gives you faith in the continuing ingenuity of Americans.  Something that allows you to count on a brighter tomorrow. Something like a motorized stroller.

Picture Perfect Day

The ocean lapped gently at the shore - no waves on the agenda this day. Though gusting winds cut through dune grass and kicked up swirls of sand, some folks still found the day pleasant enough for a dip in the salty water.

As for myself, despite the cloudless blue sky overhead I had chosen jeans and a sweatshirt in preference to swim trunks and a beach towel. Appropriately protected from the chill breeze I watched the Cape May - Lewes Ferry make its lazy way around the tip of the breakwater and turn toward a waiting berth at the docks.

Seagulls greeted the ferry's occupants with impatient shrieks. The gulls alternately spiraled and dove in the hopes that lunchtime leftovers would be offered up as prizes.

I found my own prize in the perfection of the day.

Fiction - or - Fiction

Hmmm.... there's something I should be doing right about now.  Oh yeah, watching the debate between the Vice-Presidential candidates.

Or... I could go back to working on my fiction novel.

It's fiction either way... so I might as well keep typing.

A Chimney Should Be....

When did chimneys become metal pipes boxed within a wooden column covered with vinyl siding?

I'm sure the change began a while ago, but it only just registered with me this afternoon.

A chimney should be made of brick or stone and lend a sense of permanent structure to a home. It should be a spire of masonry that communicates both the warmth of the hearth within and the stolid weathering of storms without.

I've seen ancient brick chimneys rising up alone in the middle of fields where a house once stood. The house had not survived the ravages of either weather or fire, but the chimney had.

That's what chimneys are supposed to do - survive.   I'm sure no one will never see a wood encased metal pipe standing alone in a field eighty years from now.

Leaving the Cocoon

I had forgotten was it was like - waking in the morning, throwing back the covers, and wanting to immediately return to the warm cocoon.

There is an unpleasant urgency brought to the morning by the frantic search for a heavy robe, stumbling rush to the thermostat, and the too-long wait for the water in the shower to produce a welcoming steam.

It seems hot oatmeal rather than a blend of chilled fruit is due to make a return to the breakfast menu.

Unsuspecting Traveler

With the night turned unwelcoming by a chilly drizzle, it would have been only natural for anyone having to venture forth to do so with shoulders hunched and head ducked forward. Peripheral vision blocked by the hood of the slicker a nighttime traveler would no doubt wear, vision would have been restricted to the glistening roadway in front of his feet.

And so missing the boiling sky above, the unsuspecting traveler would be blissfully unaware of the lights flickering within the churning clouds. Lights not of lightning strikes but lanterns flickering on the sides of a shadowed carriage. An ominous conveyance, the carriage moved unseen as the team of black horses drawing it threaded their way through seams in the clouds.

Eyes ablaze with fire, nostrils spewing a yellow-green steam, the massive horses would spend little effort in bearing down on a man with no idea he had need to run. With a single flick of a whip put to no use other than to snatch the unsuspecting from the streets, the coachman would easily add another prize to his coach of wailing souls.

In the following morning, when dawn broke with promises of new glory, friends and family of the man who had set out the night before would have no reason to suspect he had been carried from the face of the earth. Yet they would wonder of him for many a day... until there should come a need for one of them to journey afoot on a night made unwelcoming by a misty rain.

Unwelcome Harbinger

It seems to happen this way every year.  I convince myself there will be benefits to be found in the post-summer season: warm days will still abound, trees will shimmer in multi-color beauty, and crisp air will bring renewed energy.

And then I see them as I did tonight. A scattering of leaves across the patio. Tree leaves with edges curled as though they died in some unimaginable agony. Only tinged in brown, robbed of an opportunity to go out in a blaze of color, these leaves are harbingers of what is to come. And I realize that no matter what hopes I hold we are spiraling into a period of barren branches, darkness outlasting daylight, and a cold that leads to a cataloging of every joint in our bodies.

It is for these friendless months of the year that the universe gifted us with adult beverages.

Just Doesn't Fit

For tradespeople such as carpenters, electricians, and plumbers who roam the roads in box vans, those roll up doors on the back of the vans are ideal locations for advertising their business.  People behind the vans are exposed to the advertisement the whole time the truck is on the road - like a mobile billboard.

The advertising covers a range from bland to creative. Every now and then I see one that just makes me scratch my head.

Such as the electrician I was riding behind this evening. The back door of his truck listed perhaps twenty different services he provided: installing ceiling fans, wiring additions, installing garage door openers.  But at the very top of the list was.... cordless window candles. 

So just who calls an electrician for a cordless candle?

Spinning Those Discs

When the Grand Funk Railroad song We're an American Band came on the radio I flashed back to the days of vinyl 33's and 45's.

In my mind I saw the one of those adapters that snapped into the center of a 45 - a piece of plastic shaped like a couple of plastic S's that allowed the 45 to be centered on the same narrow spindle that kept LP's centered on the turntable.

That memory took me to the select few 45's that had been produced in translucent neon vinyl. There were few things as far out as a lime green record spinning on a stereo.

While I certainly like the convenience of CD's Ipods's and digital downloads I wonder what it would have been like if we had never had vinyl.  We might never have discovered the hidden messages to be heard when a record was played backward or at a lower speed. We would never have stressed over Paul being dead or wondered at the darker side of Black Sabbath.

Then again I guess we might wonder at what is hidden is today's data bytes.

Play or Pay

The US Postal Service misses a 5 billion dollar payment to the federal government because Congress can't seem to vote on approving the restructuring of the USPS.

Taxpayers are looking at a substantial tax increase at the end of the year if Congress doesn't soon vote on extending tax cuts.

The U.S. faces a downgrading of its credit rating if Congress doesn't soon vote on a bill that will set a timeline for balancing the budget.

U.S. companies have trillions of dollars in liquid assets they refuse to invest because Congress has failed to identify a clear course of financial responsibility for the country.

I have a solution for all of this.  If members of Congress continue to refuse to get along, redirect their salaries to pay for at least a portion of the problems they cause by refusing to act.

Where's John Wayne when you need him?

Back to Back

They sat back to back on the beach, a man and woman, each reading a book and each relying on the back of the other for support.

I could think of no better physical example of how a healthy relationship. Each person in the relationship able to rely on the certainty that the other is there to support them.

Beyond that, I thought how perfect a way it was to spend the day lost in a book yet still connected with the love of your life. Rather than sitting in chairs side by side, only nebulously aware of the others existence, this couple was intimately involved even as their minds traveled the worlds revealed in the written page.

Morning Rift

The orange orb of the morning sun sat with its very base resting on the land. Layers of clouds pink, purple, and yellow and color formed steps up to the glowing ball.

It seemed I could place my feet upon those steps and upon reaching the top discover the orb not to be the sun at all but a rift in space - a perfect circle leading to a brilliantly lit world. A world where everything was the same pastel colors as those that had spilled through the rift and presented me with the opportunity for adventure.

Got Us a Convoy

It was a rabbit convoy.  Half a dozen Volkswagen Rabbit's traveling the highway together. Each car customized so that it rode so low to the ground that the furry variation of the rabbit would have had a hard time squeezing underneath.

Not a big car to begin with, a single VW Rabbit riding that low might have been overlooked completely - even in the middle of a busy highway.  But six of them in a row was enough to make all the other cars slow down to a pace that would have made a tortoise proud.


All of which gave me time to assess the low riding wonders....and wonder that the bottoms of the cars hadn't been ripped out at the last bump in the road. What would possess a person to modify a car so that a single speed bump could leave the car high and dry - all four tires spinning in the air and the chassis teetering just like a teeter-totter.

It occurred to me later that what the convoy had really resembled was one of those wooden Brio trains set loose in traffic.

Fruity Flies

They're one of life's mysteries, those pesky things that reproduce as rapidly as rabbits or a virus gone wild, and serve no useful purpose.

I'm talking about fruit flies of course. I saw the first one buzzing over my morning fruit on Friday and now they move through the house in swarms that look like miniature storm clouds.

I can only hope that they will soon reach a number where they can lift a banana - in which case I'll open a window and let them carry the fruit away.

Perhaps then I'll be able to eat a peach without swatting at the end of my nose and knocking my eyeglasses from my head.

Change to the Same

From wooden building blocks to building with wooden blocks. Things change and yet they stay the same.

Those were the thoughts going through my mind this weekend as I helped College Dude construct a feline Taj Mahal.

College Dude and Language Lass are welcoming brother and sister Siamese cats into their family. In anticipation of the cats' arrival, College Dude decided the royal pair needed a palace.

And a palace is just what we built. 

Only instead of sitting on the family room floor and stacking wooden blocks one atop the other as we did twenty-three years ago, this weekend we stood at a workbench fastening blocks of wood together as we built a towering edifice with no change of falling down as those building block towers were prone to do.

We worked with material pulled out of the back of College Dude's car rather that out of a toy box. And although College Dude had come with a set of plans we still considered each block of wood carefully - wondering if it really was the best piece for the next building phase.

In the end we constructed a kitty playground as fantastical as the towers we designed those many years ago.

It's nice to know that some things never change.

Transition

So here we are in the first days of Post-Summer. The sun is rising later and setting earlier. Even near high noon shadows are lengthened as the sun falls short of its mid-summer zenith. The air takes on a crisp quality. In the space of a single step from sun to shade the temperature may change ten degrees. Shrubs and trees are shedding nuts and berries that animals eagerly round up for their larders.

While daylight hours have lessened, there is a certain comfort to spending a little extra time indoors. We rediscover the pleasure of lingering in an easy chair after dinner and on weekend mornings. We anticipate recipes untasted since last year such as pumpkin pies and ginger breads.

Closets are reordered, drawers are shuffled, and the mere act of moving warmer clothes from back to front stirs thoughts of hay wagons and fire pits. We ponder the camaraderie that comes from toasting smores and sharing warmed cider.

These early days of Post-Summer offer much in the way of comfort,

Empty Battery

Sometimes there's just nothing there.  You reach down into that creative corner of yourself and find an empty room.

And while empty moments can be great for recharging batteries, it does nothing for getting words on paper.

Unlike the energizer bunny's consistent drumming, creativity doesn't always just keep on ticking - at least not in a manner that results in a pleasing read.

So here's wishing everyone a great weekend - hopefully things will be better on the flip side.

Putting a Phrase to Use

Sometimes you come across the perfect situation for those phrases that find their way into our vocabularies.

Take the case of the man who was obviously making changes to his living arrangements.  He first caught my attention when he made a precarious turn into the lane of traffic in front of me.

Precarious because the back of his pickup truck was piled high with a bureau, chairs, bookcase, and mattresses.  The household furnishings were lashed together haphazardly - the attempt at restraint obviously insufficient to prevent any one item from toppling over the edge.

As I got closer, my attention was drawn to a metallic gleam - and I realized the man had truly taken everything including the kitchen sink!

A Broken Cycle

The cherubic face was so out of place on the hulk of a man that those around him were captivated by his seemingly innocent charm.

But there was nothing innocent about the man. I knew him from before, knew of his twisted and demented  passion. A passion for inflecting pain.

He was close enough that I could say nothing without tipping my hand so I tried to communicate my pleas for help with facial gestures, head nods, and body shrugs. Those I sought help from acknowledged my urgency, but when they looked into the man's boyish face they dismissed my concern.

I knew what would come next. I had lived this nightmare before. Eventually I would manage to struggle awake drenched in my own sweat but not before the tortures I was yet to experience set my heart drumming and my pulse  pounding.

And then a new face, a person who had not been there before. A small thing, but enough for my subconscious to accept the dream need not play out as before.

I woke gasping for breath, the ethereal arms of my would be tormentor trying to drag me back into sleep - and almost succeeding as the wooded lot of my dream solidified - superimposed over my bedroom walls.

Reaching for the switch on the bedside lamp, I half expected my movement to be blocked and my hands trussed behind my back as had happened in past occurrences of this nightmare.

Relief washed over me as light flooded the room. The hulking man with the cherubic face was banished. Yet I fought the return of sleep for hours to come.

Squirrel Mumps?

When I first saw the squirrel scrambling down the tree I thought it had a series case of the mumps. It seemed the squirrels cheeks were enlarged far beyond anything nature had intended.

Curious, I sat patiently and waited for the bushy tailed critter to work its way closer. The squirrel slowed its descent as though sensing my presence and worrying about entrapment. He scrambled to the far side of the tree trunk, then cautiously poked his head around the corner.

It was then that I was able to see the squirrel had hit the jackpot. Not only were his cheeks stuffed full, but in his teeth he carried a twig with an acorn on either end - like a nut barbell.

Finally satisfied I meant no harm the squirrel made its was to the ground and scurried off to bury its horde.

The Good Ship Mayflower

It all started this day (Sept 16) back in 1620.  A bunch of folks who came to be known as pilgrims piled into the Mayflower and set sail across the Atlantic in search of a new world.

In this day of cruise ships the size of cities sailing the oceans, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that the Mayflower was only 100 feet long. Only slightly longer than three stretch limos placed end to end. One hundred and two passengers, along with goats, sheep, and chickens were packed into that ship in conditions so tight that anyone over five foot had to hunch over to stand upright.

Today I could not even imagine a hundred people agreeing to take on the Atlantic Ocean in a ship that size. The entire vessel would disappear between ocean swells during a raging storm.

Nor can I imagine what conditions might have been like back then to drive people to agree to make that crossing. 

If ever there were heroic explorers - these folks take the top of the list.

Off to the Races?

Baby sitting duty tonight. At only five months of age my granddaughter is standing on her own feet as long as she has someone else's finger to hang onto for balance.  She hasn't hit the crawling stage and I'm guessing never will.  It would be like expecting someone was going to ride a bike everywhere they went after having purchased their first car.

Is this all part of the newest generation? Is genetic evolution causing kids to race out of the gate?

I'm hoping not.  There's a lot to be said for slow and steady.

30% Solution

I spent most of the evening traveling the local highways and I noticed that regular gasoline in our area has suddenly jumped to $3.85 / gallon.  No doubt companies like Exxon and Shell will tell us the price jump is due to the new uncertainties in the Middle East resulting from recent events in Libya.

But is it?

It was not so very long ago, February of 2009 actually, that regular gas was $2.00 / gallon and folks across the nation were appalled that a gallon of regular gas might hit $2.50.

So let's see... from $2.00 to $3.85 in three years.  That puts the inflation rate on gas at something like 30% per year. (Wouldn't you like to see your paycheck increase by 30% per year?)

Are we really supposed to believe the world's gasoline consumption has risen so dramatically over the past 3 years as to warrant an essential doubling in price?

A recent report stated that even with the dramatic increase in price, the average household expenditure on gasoline remains relatively unchanged from previous years - due to increased sales of fuel efficient cars.

Which would mean consumption is dropping (though probably not by as much as is suggested). Which means oil companies adjust prices to make sure they bring in the same revenue regardless of the efforts of people like you and I to reduce the amount of gas we buy.

So why, in all the rhetoric about the crippled housing industry, Wall Street shananagins, and stubborn unemployment, isn't equal attention being paid to gas prices?

The answer of course lies in the unhealthy relationship between Congress and the Exxon's, Shell's, and Mobil's of the world.

I promise lighter fare in my next post - just needed to get this off my chest.

Strategic Placement

Four wooden rocking chairs placed in a semi-circle on the front porch of the row home. That was all it took to communicate a welcoming invitation. What would otherwise have been just a shelter from the elements was transformed to an intimate gathering place by those oak rockers.

I could picture four close friends sharing a bottle a wine and childhood memories. I could imagine laughter as embarrassing moments were relived and tears as lost loved ones were remembered.

There would be hands waving on that porch - greetings offered to recognized passers-by and perhaps even an invitation to join the gang. 

In all of this it occurred to me how little it takes to change any house from a mere structure to a welcoming home.  A hand-knitted afghan draped casually across the back of a couch, a framed sampler hanging in a prominent location on a wall, a vase of flowers in the center of a table, or rocking chairs on a porch - all of these things say someone is glad to live here.

Sun Tilt

With the approach of Post-Summer the morning sun sits lower in the sky as  start my day and I am treated to sights that have been lost in the blaze of a high summer sun.

Low angled rays skid across the surface of lakes, bouncing into windows on the fronts of houses nestled together on the shore, and setting mirrors and picture glass within those homes aglow in a molten yellow.

Forests that had been acres of dark shadow beneath a thick canopy of green are now free of mystery as sunlight slices between trunks and branches to spotlight the birds that flit between trees and the four legged mammals that scurry through the brush.

The golden orb that sits in the center of my windshield is not a nuisance, but a call to pause at a stop sign just long enough to watch the world come to wakefulness. 

And while the late rising sun is a harbinger of less favorable weather to come, it is also a reminder that universal cycles continue and things are as they ought be.

Screech of Terror

A bone-chilling screech brought me to my feet. Heart hammering in my chest, I stood frozen in place - trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I had been sitting on the back porch in a near doze - that state where I was not quite asleep, but not really awake either. The screech had been so loud that I was now certain I would find some catastrophe at my doorstep.

But as I looked around, I found nothing out of place - no cats engaged in fighting - no children screaming - no one racing through the back yard in terror. So what had happened?

Lacking an unfolding, my breathing slowed, my blood pressure dropped and....

I nearly jumped right out of my shoes when the screech came again. Right behind me this time. I whirled, prepared to either flight or flee, and found - nothing.

Systematically I walked from one end of the porch to the other looking in every crevice and corner. Something was hiding someplace.

Then came the screech yet again. I stared in disbelief. Right in front of me, clinging to the frame of a screen, was a frog little bigger than the first joint of my thumb. As I watched, a sac just beneath the frog's mouth ballooned out and then....SCREECH.

All of that noise from that one tiny tree frog.

Listening Kitty

So you say your kitty has been acting a little strange recently?

You just might want to take the time to investigate whether your feline friend is still the same kitty you've grown to know and love.

Seems the CIA once perfected the ability to implant a listening device in a cat's ear (with the battery pack surgically implanted in the abdomen and an antenna running along the cat's spine).

We all know that any good invention is subject to resurrection.  Recent advances in technology could condense the entire listening apparatus into a single component.

The next time kitty seems unusually interested in your activities outside of feeding time, it may be because your pet is... truly unusually interested... 

That fleck of dirt in kitty's ear may not be dirt at all... and you may want to pay just a little extra attention to what's being said.

Kept and Neglected

The property was an enigma.  Torn screens in second floor windows flapped in the breeze. A rain gutter, fallen from the roof eave, lay entangled in a sagging chain link fence. Clapboards showed bare wood beneath faded and flaking paint.

Yet the garden filling the front and side yards was immaculate.  Carefully pruned rose bushes grew between nurtured clumps of white and purple wildflowers. Evergreens were pruned into twisting spirals and crepe myrtle bloomed in pinks and blues.

Flagstones formed a twisting walk to the sagging front porch. Not a single weed grew in the mulch between stones. Yet the steps to which these stones led were a splintered and broken mess.

How was it, I wondered, that such beauty should flourish in front of so neglected a house?

Morning Pair

I pass them nearly every morning - an aging pair who walk the city blocks near my office building. Each moves with a stiffness that speaks of age.

The man is barrel chested, his curly mop of hair still predominately brown but his beard gone mostly gray. He carries a walking stick in one hand, usually grasped in the middle so that it is parallel to the ground - a safety measure should his joints complain too much. He is constantly mindful of his companion kept nearby by the leash he holds in his other hand.

The leash is as much a safety measure as the walking stick. The collie has turned a faded silver-red from nose to tail and places each foot with a care. Periodically the dog pauses to look up lovingly at its companion, then staggers a step or two before again finding a rhythmic pace. I suspect the only time the elderly collie thinks of running now is in dreams.

I wonder just how long the two have been together -  and what will happen when one of them is no longer able to make the daily journey, or worse yet, is no longer there at all. I have a suspicion they both hope that when that time comes they will move on together.

Here Already

It's hard to believe that Labor Day is already upon us.  It seems no more than three weeks since the patios in our area were prepared for a summer of entertaining and barbecuing.

While we still have three weeks of official summer in front of us, dusk is suddenly coming all too early and dawn breaks far later than I'd like.

As we all set off on our long weekend plans, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Labor Day weekend.  May you enjoy the rest from your work.

And should you find yourself in an establishment where people do not enjoy the opportunity for an extended break in order to provide the services to ensure your fun... be sure to thank them for being there. Gift them with a grateful word and pleasant smile.

Squirrel Death Watch

The gray squirrel sat between the double yellow lines in the middle of the roadway staring down at its unmoving mate. Even as cars passed by on both sides the surviving half of the pair did not so much as flinch and I wondered if it new - or cared - it was courting the same fate as its mate.

Did the surviving squirrel understand what had happened or was it expecting its partner to wake from a snooze and dash off in continuation of a game of hide and seek? Thinking perhaps squirrels mate for life and that the one still alive would eventually choose to walk out in front of another vehicle I checked in with Dr. Google when I got home.

Apparently squirrels do not establish lifetime partnerships. This discovery only left me more perplexed as to why the one squirrel should have remained in harm's way hovering over the deceased partner.

The Story Writes

The ideas come faster than I can sort them. Somehow my fingers, dancing across the keyboard, manage to convert thoughts to words. Spelling is atrocious, grammar worse, and punctuation non-existent but there is no stopping the flood. The few times I dare to glance at the clock large chunks of hours have passed.

The story has taken a twist I had not anticipated. the characters are now determining the plot twists. I am both horrified and astounded by what goes on in the minds of those characters.

It had to happen.  My fingers begin to cramp - hitting wrong keys and turning out an undecipherable jumble. The spell is broken. I long to go back and read what I have written but understand this is not the time. Tomorrow I will learn where the characters have taken me.

Mother of Storms

It was the flash of lightning that made me realize how quickly the afternoon had darkened. I switched on the light just as the delayed rumble of thunder caused the floor to vibrate.

Focused on the story I was writing, I was oblivious to the rain until a gusting wind drove the raindrops against the window like so many marbles being tossed against the glass.

Another flash of lightning with thunder cracking at almost the same time was finally enough for me to turn away from my computer and look through the rain streaked glass.  Overhead clouds swirled at multiple layers - with only a little imagination, I found myself looking up rather than down into a monstrous whirlpool.

A four pronged fork of lightning stabbed into the ground, leaving me momentarily blinded and unprepared for the next onslaught of wind driven rain. I recoiled from the window as though the glass might shatter into a thousand shards.

The wind rose to banshee pitch and with it the rain changed direction once, twice, and a third time in nearly as many minutes.

It was the mother of all storms - a tumult that ran uninterrupted for twelve hours, ending at four in the morning with a deluge of hail that I was sure would finally result in the shattered glass I had half anticipated when the weather was first working itself into a frenzy.

Mental and Physical

Exactly when did this happen?

I joked the other day about life for those eligible for AARP, then found myself observing national Elderly Appreciation Day by climbing into bed before dusk had fully transformed to dark.

I though sure after a good night's rest on Monday I would have recovered from helping College Dude and Language Lass move into their new apartment... but apparently not.

Tuesday found me struggling to stay awake at work. I slipped out to my car at lunch for a twenty-minute power nap that ended up consuming my entire one hour lunch break.  Throughout my drive home I told myself I would exercise before dinner...then found myself flopped on the bed before I could change out of my work clothes.

It's not right.  Mentally I'm the same guy I was when I was nineteen, but physically...well I'm eligible for AARP.

Elderly Wine

The headline of the article read: Wine Could Stop Falls in Elderly.

Now that I've reached an age at which I can qualify to be a card carrying member of AARP, I can speak as an authority on this topic.  After a couple glasses of wine I have no interest in getting out of my chair.... and if I don't get out of my chair it follows that I won't fall down.

So it makes perfect sense to me that drug stores should start selling those wine chillers that restaurants use to keep vino chilled at table-side.

Elderly folks could pick up their blood pressure medicine, a box of adult Depends, and a wine chiller... then call their kids to make a liquor run for them.

Safely nestled into their wings chairs, sofas or recliners, the silver haired generation could down a bottle of Chardonnay, fall asleep without having to worry about running for the bathroom, and wake up the next morning with all their bones in tact.

Relaxation Day

It was National Relaxation Day today and I missed the announcement until stumbling across the internet headline at 9:00 p.m as I logged on to do my blog post.

Shouldn't this be a national holiday - I mean how are you supposed to relax if you have to go to work?

I think Romney and Obama should work this into their campaigns. It would certainly put something meaningful into the dialogue.

Then again, maybe the presidential candidates should go in for extended relaxation - like maybe a three month time out.

If I could turn on the radio without hearing the latest campaign nonsense I'd be much more relaxed.

Lot Time

I found myself thinking about parking lots today and it occurred to me that even something as nondescript as a few hundred square feet of asphalt can become a window on our lives.

The parking lot that had come to mind was the lot adjacent to the church that was just down the street from our home when we lived in rural Pennsylvania.

The lot was my destination when I pulled my toddlers in a wagon for an afternoon adventure. The same lot was where I watched my son and daughter work to master a bicycle without training wheels. Later still the parking lot was where my son worked out the logistics of parallel parking and three point turns in preparation for his driving test.

On that patch of black asphalt I watched years slip by. While I was convinced I could mark each day at the time, it now seems certain that there must indeed be such things as time warps because, surely, those years could not have passed as quickly as they did.

Of Cloudy Days and Nightlights

If you're like me, you can't get out of your own way on a cloudy day and nothing seems better than the idea of falling into bed.

Turns out that the amount of light hitting your eye dictates how much melatonin your body produces. Apparently melatonin is what triggers your body to sleep.  Less light equals more melatonin production. More melatonin equals a desire to sleep.

So the next time you fall asleep at your desk on a cloudy day you can tell your boss it's beyond your control.

On the other hand... you might want to think about those nightlights or falling asleep with the TV on.  More light equals less melatonin. Less melatonin results in a harder time falling asleep.

That's it for Biology 101 today folks... wishing you a safe a restful sleep, sleep, sleep.

A Grandparent's Finger

They walk the shoreline in an unending parade. Families on vacation, couples on weekend dates, groups of teenage girls, teams of teenage boys, and individual travelers of all ages.

They wear bathing suits, sarapes, shorts, sundresses, and slacks. Their hair is controlled by hats, visors, scarves, and headbands. Most walk barefoot but there are those who wear sandals or water shoes- and even some in sneakers who shuffle in a constant dance with the water.

Some have milky white skin, some are burnt lobster red, some have the glow of a perfect tan and some are a mix of all these.

But the folks I notice mos tare the still-knock-kneed children barely beyond toddler years who walk with their tiny hand locked around the finger of a grandparent. The kids move in a stumble-walk as they try to take in the sea, sand, shells, and beach-goers while keeping their eyes on the grandparent who walks beside them. There is a look in the eyes of these children that tells me they revere the grandmother of grandfather who offers a single wrinkled digit to help them keep their balance. These children are in awe and at peace at the same time. They accept that wherever their grandparent takes them is the place they are meant to be and they worry about nothing other than being at their elder's side.

Crawling Shadow

In the early dawn hours the shadow in the corner seemed roughly the size of European sports car. There was something about the shape of it that made me reluctant to turn on any more lights so I sat quietly waiting for my eyes to adjust from a night of slumber.

And when it registered that the dark form was not a shadow but an actual ... thing... I quickly pulled my feet up from the floor.

For the thing was a black bulbous mass linked to eight hooked legs that held the balloon-like center well off the floor.

Okay - so it wasn't actually as big as a sports car - but it was definitely the biggest spider I've ever seen short of the rubber tarantulas I used to torment my sister with.

Usually octopeds don't bother me - but in this particular case I was seriously considering placing an urgent shipment for a flame thrower with which to annihilate the creepy crawly. 

Ultimately common sense prevailed. Slipping out of the far side of the bed, I grabbed a shoe and made a stealthy, roundabout approach on thing that pulsed up and down on springy legs. A direct hit brought an end to the nightmare - after which I went in search of some paper towels to clean the rather significant splatter that decorated the wall.

Cosmic Hand

It was a cosmic experience - the hand of god reaching down to lift me away from my cares and woes.

The blanket of flat, steel gray clouds was broken by an enourmous puffy white cloud that unfolded into a gigantic hand right before my eyes. The sun must have been directly behind the gigantic hand because the palm and fingers had an internal orange glow.

After ten days of being sicker than I've been in several years, I would have willingly parked my car and stepped right into that welcoming hand had it lowered far enough. The thought of curling up - and sinking into - a cottony soft embrace would have been welcome relief from the sore throat, watery eyes, runny nose, raspy cough, and clogged ears that had filled my past few days.

Alas, a bend in the road sent the saving hand out of sight and I was left to travel on into the premature twilight beneath the dreary blanketed sky.

Crabby Grass

The one drawback to going on vacation is that the rest of the world goes on as usual.

E-mails pile up, the U.S. mail fills the mailbox, and the grass still grows.

And just who were the folks who decided front lawns should be composed of special fescues requiring feeding, weeding, watering, and all around tender loving care when crab grass proliferates regardless of the soil quality or rainfall?

It seems to me any grass that can multiply exponentially in a mere week despite blazing heat should be the grass of choice for all lawns.  I'd never have to fertilize or water my lawn again if crab grass was acceptable to the homeowner's association.

Of course those crabby shoots that race out across the soil at light speed just might grab me by the ankles on my way to the car in the morning.......

Salad Free Travel

Given the media advertising for organic, sugar free, low sodium, gluten free, and all wheat products; you would think that there would be an abundance of healthy foods available to the general population.

And while that may be the case in our local grocery stores it certainly doesn't hold true for the eating establishments lining the highways and biways of America.

After racking up some twelve hundred highway miles over the past five days, I would have given my right arm for a well stocked salad bar. Try as I might to find a salad I could make a meal of, the best I could find was a mix of greens to accompany a high carb, high fat dinner.

It seems that when traveling American's are determined to thrive on starches, meats, and pasta.

Never were the Tupperware containers of fruit and garden salads in my refrigerator such a welcome sight as when I returned home.

Certainty?

Takin' a break for a trip up the eastern seaboard.  Look for a new post somewhere around August 7.

In the mean time I offer the following for your own musings... that which you count on as a certainty seldom is.

Back to the Way It Used to Be

I just heard a commercial for a dating service advertising themselves as the on-line dating service without the on-line.

Maybe I'm missing something, but isn't that the way dating always worked before the internet - Pick up a phone, ask someone out, and then actually physically meet someplace? What's the new invention here?

To my mind, physically meeting remains the best way to really get to know someone.  After all who knows what lurks behind an internet persona?

It saddens me to think that perhaps in this information technology age the idea of direct personal interaction has become a foreign concept.

Baby Germs

Oh, I remember these days...

Baby goes to daycare...baby gets sick... baby brings the bug home... and suddenly the entire household is fighting over Kleenex boxes and ibuprofen bottles.

The normal sounds of daily living are punctuated by the blowing of noses, raspy coughs, and gargling.

One by one members of our household have been filing into the doctor's office to receive the news that bronchitis has come our way.

With clogged noses, sore throats, and coughs that go further down the octave scale by the day even the tiniest of chores require more energy than can be mustered.

And yet we continue to stumble out of the house and into work to further spread our misery.... because misery loves company after all.... and because that's what we crazy Americans do after all.

The Dreams You Dream

It's a wonder we ever manage to wake from a might of sleep feeling rested.

It seems the average person has 1,460 dreams a year or four dreams per night on average.  Which got me wondering how long the average dream is?  So I consulted Dr. Google.  After all if someone took the time to count the average number of dreams in a year it only follows that someone also studied how long a dream lasts.

Turns out dream times are as individual as the dreamer - but in between each dream we go on a roller coaster ride through sleep stages ranging from near wakening to totally oblivious. Which is sort of like enduring an Iron Man triathalon four times over. Near awake, deep asleep, dream, totally oblivious, rising to near awake, deep asleep.... well you get the idea.

Makes me tired just thinking about it.  I better get to bed a few hours earlier tonight to compensate...or will I only end up churning through one more cycle?

What's In a Picture

Well this is something of a milestone... blog post number 1000.  The event calls for a special story:

He sat on the toy box in his children's room comparing the room to the two pictures in front of him. The first picture, taken with his digital camera was unnerving enough that he had searched out an old Polaroid camera. He felt certain the Polaroid could only record what was in front of it whereas the digital camera - well, who knew what might go on inside data chips and megabytes.

And yet both pictures showed the same thing. A room furnished with a wide four poster bed, a dark oak armoire, and a small writing table.

In just two camera clicks his home was turned into a foreign, uncomfortable place.  Both pictures were taken this very night in the very room in which he now sat. And the room in which he was sitting was furnished with a set of bunk beds, a toy box, and two bureaus painted semi-gloss white.

A prickling at the back of his neck caused him to look up. He watched as a woman wearing a flowing dress, ankle high shoes with black buttons, and a linen bonnet that tied under her chin entered the room....through the wall...and sat at a desk that wasn't there.
   

Baby Roll

Media Girl's baby is generally so laid back that it's rare to hear her yawp for any period of time - but she has surely been giving her lungs a workout tonight.

Though we are all suitable impressed that Mini Media can roll from back to front, she does not like being face down.  Doting adults that we are, Media Girl, Motivated Mom, and I have been coming to the rescue and flipping Mini Media back over.

But the doctor has advised that the baby needs belly time so that she can learn to roll the other way. So tonight there have been no adults to the rescue and Mini Media is pissed. She has yawped more in the past three hours than the past three months and I just know that when she gets old enough to talk she is going to say - you remember that time you just watched me cry into the carpet.

Which is why I made like Snagglepuss and exited stage right.  My hands will be clean of any emotional trauma.

Mindfulness Challenge

There is a Vietnamese monk and Zen master named Thich Nhat Hanh who wrote an inspiring piece of work titled The Miracle of Mindfulness.

In his book Thich suggests that too many of us get to the end of a day with no memory of what we have done because while we were doing one thing we were thinking about something else.

As an example he challenges the reader to do dishes by doing dishes.  The challenge set here is... while washing dishes think about absolutely nothing except washing dishes for the entire time you are washing the dishes. Don't think about the meal you just finished of the meal you'll have next. Don't think about what you now need from the grocery store, don't think about sweeping the floor after you finish with the dishes. Think only about doing dishes

Sounds easy right?   I tried it and guess what... not so easy as it sounds.  Try it yourself and see what you think.

Once (if) you master the doing dishes thing, apply the principal to other things in your life.  When someone is taking to you, do nothing except listening to what they are saying.  Don't think of how you will respond, don't allow yourself to ponder a similar experience of your own.  Listen only to what the other person is saying.  You might be surprised by all that you hear.

Just Below the Surface

Shadows slipped across the ocean's surface. The sky was cloudless so it could only be that some great leviathans swam mere inches below the tops of the ocean's swells.

And yet the dark patches in the water were irregular in shape - not attributable to any imaginable sea creature.

As the shadow blotches moved closer I could make out splashes in the water - first one or two at a time, then dozens, then still more. Gradually I came to understand I was seeing the tails of a slew of fish moving in schools so great they darkened the water above.

Along the shore dozens of fisherman cast and reeled, cast and reeled, hoping the lures and bait on their hooks would catch the interest of the migrating schools.

The hundreds and hundreds of fish moved on with total disregard for the lines the fishermen threw - leaving all the fisherman to wonder just what it would take to actually catch their dinner.

Lucifer by Another Name

Folks of certain religious persuasions are frequently surprised to learn that the latin word lucifer means light bringer; and wonder how light bringer came to be associated with the devil.

I think I gained some insight on that last night.  Heading home I was thankful to drive into a torrential rain falling from a purple-black sky. I thought sure the weather promised a break in the latest heat wave. But only minutes after the rain started falling an orange-red light filtered through seams in the clouds. Not even the blackest of clouds could stand against orb that glowed furnace hot - hot as hades - and soon the closing day returned to blazing temperatures now accompanied by rising steam.

So in the sense that the bringing of light can equate to the bringing of stifling heat, I suppose lucifer is a fitting name for the prince of hellfire.

A Story for the Telling

A fun little piece of fiction;

Brakes screeched, briefcases fell, passengers collided, and from outside of the bus came an inhuman bellow. Henry looked up to see who might have pulled the next stop is mine cord hard enough to make the driver lock up the brakes.  No one was moving from their seats.  The bellow came again. Getting to his feet, Henry kicked aside purses, briefcases and diaper bags as he made his way down the center aisle until he could see out the front windows.  On the front of the bus was a carrier for bicycles. There was no bike in the carrier; rather a panic stricken black and white cow raised its head, looked through the window at Henry - and bellowed yet again.  The angry mood inside the bus was swept away by laughter as the passengers realized they had gained a story they could tell for the rest of their lives.

Trip Across the Recent Universe

If you grew up in the 60's and early 70's, and if you like Beatles music, then you have to see the movie Across the Universe.

No, you won't find it playing in a theater near you - unless you're fortunate enough to live near a theater that offers late night movie fests of past oldies but goodies.

Across the Universe was a 2007 movie release that just happened to recently come my way in a Netflix envelope.  I had seen a brief preview many weeks back but wasn't really sure what to expect when I popped the DVD in the player.

I was quickly transported back to memories of alternative lifestyles, student demonstrations, and underground newspapers - and found myself wondering what happened to the generation that dared to call the government to task?

It seems we've allowed ourselves to be trained to be acceptably compliant to the mechanisms of Big Brother. Which I have to say is a bit of a surprise considering the gears of those mechanisms certainly aren't meshing properly.

Yes, there were the recent Wall Street protests which looked promising early on but ultimately fizzled out.

I guess the difference today is.... there is no one thing to point to as being the culprit. So many things are broken in so many places that the thought of structuring an appropriate revolution leaves your head spinning.

Which I guess makes it appropriate that I found my stress relief this past weekend in the form of a spinning DVD.

Turtle Meets Turtle

I'm definitely not at my best early in the morning.  When I first roll out of the driveway during the workweek there's a fifty-fifty chance that I'll notice anything out of the ordinary.

So I nearly missed the creeping movement at the very edge of the speed bump just down the street. There, in the narrow shadow created by the just-risen sun, was a turtle working its way across the road.

Had I been coming from the other direction, I would have never seen the little guy and turtle soup would have been on the menu for sure.  Instead, I redirected the car to the far side of the road. Nevertheless the turtle froze in its tracks, lifted its head, and stared directly at my approaching car.

It occurred to me that the turtle was probably thinking this who crossing the road thing was a REALLY bad idea. Then I started to wonder just how the turtle perceived the car.  I drive a Honda Civic and with a little imagination the car could be an enormous turtle - low to the ground, arched shell...err roof line, four dark tires that might be feet.

So the little guy might have been ecstatic rather than terrified. He might have believed he had reached spiritual enlightenment and was tuned in to the great turtle god in the sky.

Obnoxious Crow

From his position on the tip of the dead, barren branch rising from the top of an oak tree, the crow bobbed as it spit out it's raspy call. It was a though the bird was trying to throw it's annoying caw as far as possible.

And if that was the crow's intent it was succeeding admirably. It's caws and screeches were drowning out the sounds of all the other birds and crickets for hundreds of feet around.

It occurred to me that crows are like the obnoxious drunks who show up uninvited at parties. The ones who get into everybody's face, spouting absurdities, drowning out all other conversation and tempting the other party goers to toss the drunk back out the door.

Body Heat

So now that the heat wave has broken I find myself wondering...

If our normal internal body temperatures are 98.6 degrees farenheit - why does that same air temperature cause us discomfort?

It seems to me we should feel in perfect balance when the mercury rises to 99 - and just a little warmish when the temperature breaks 100.  Anything less than 90 degrees should have us donning a sweater and below 80 we should be looking for a fur line parka.

Just why is it that what's good for the goose isn't good for the gander?

Silenced by the Light

The evening had come alive with a cacophany of croaking frogs. The rain shower that had brought the frogs out of their heat induced comas had passed on - but there was another weather front approaching and the frogs seemed to sense this one promised far more rain.

As the winds picked up, the frogs got louder. A third and fourth chorus of amphibians joined the first two.  The noise was enough to make my teeth hurt.

Then a bolt of lightning streaked from the sky and as it did the night fell silent.

I could picture the bullfrog prince sucking in lungs full of air, then spotting the silver-white flash. Instead of blowing out a baritone croak, his eyes ballooned out of his head and a squeaky Uh-oh leaked past his lips.

No doubt the subsequent roll of thunder muffled from my hearing the prince's command for all his fellows to dive into the mud for there was no resumption of the concert save for one lone timid croak that was quickly silenced by another flash from the sky.

Morning Stretch

They stood on the sand near the water's edge: Warrior, upward facing dog, locust, king pigeon and hero.  In front of them, a fitness trainer urged the members of the group to stretch higher and arch their backs further while paying attention to the energy rising through their bodies.

Light from the newly risen sun gave definition to the sinewy muscles that stretched and twisted as the members of the yoga class moved from one stance to the next. Warrior morphed to king pigeon as the ocean waves surged rhythmically to shore. Upward facing dog transformed to hero as sandpipers raced between clumps of sea foam.

Sweat glistened on the bodies of the morning stretchers but they were oblivious; lost in their inner peace.

I silently wished them success in maintaining that peace during the day and continued on my own walking journey to zen.

A Real Burner

After another day of near record temperatures, the early evening light had gone a dull gray.  It was as though the sun had either burned itself out or the air had filled with ash from the scorched earth itself.

Outdoors, a damp musky odor like hundreds of well worn boots suggested the air was pinned to the ground by a muffling blanket.

Indoors, it wasn't until the air conditioner cycled off and the sound of air rushing through vents died leaving an abnormal quiet that I realized the AC had been running non-stop for hours on end.

Though no radio was on, I could imagine the AM disc jockeys rolling out their It's a hottttt one, a real burner, with no relief in sight.

Perpetuating Freedom

We are fortunate indeed that throughout history there have been people with a unique blend of integrity, courage, wisdom, and fortitude to fight for the right of people to be free.

These champions of change exude an energy from which the rest of us draw our strength to do the right things as we move through our daily lives.

Those right things can be as small as offering a meal to someone down on their luck or as large as taking up the cause of a repressed sector of humanity. Combined, these efforts keep the blood of freedom flowing.

On this Fourth of July, while celebrating your own good fortune, look for the opportunity to perpetuate freedom in whatever way you can. Keep the blood of freedom flowing. Be a champion of change.

Here's wishing everyone a happy holiday!

To The Sea

They came by the hundreds. Moving across the burning sands they made their way to the water's edge. There, packed shoulder to shoulder like horses herded to a fence line they waited their turn for relief.

As the front row stumbled and dove into the nearly placid ocean, a second and then third row moved into place. Splashing and shouting the ocean goers moved deeper, making room for those who still waited on the sand. 

Had someone shouted shark the warning would have been to no avail. For those in the water there would have been no turning back - the wall of those still pressing in would have prevented escape

I could not help but make a comparison to the National Geographic films showing penguins leaping into the ocean by the thousands - a mass of warbling black and white surging into the water.

Only today it was people, not penguins who stood rocking from one foot to another, working their way inexorably to the ocean. The went not in search of food, but in search of relief from triple digit heat indexes and sand that singed bottoms of feet.

And when at last that tide of humanity turned, allowing those first in to return to shore, they came with shouts of triumph and smiles of relief.

Blooms and Blinders

196 - the number of simultaneous blooms on my Easter lilies these past few weeks - a veritable platoon of white trumpets atop green stalks.

17 - the number of days those blooms lasted. And for those seventeen days, the backyard was rich with fragrant smells, each breeze carrying a fresh blast nearly sweet enough to make my teeth hurt.

348 - the number of days of forlorn I have to endure until the lilies bloom again.

It occurs to me it is all to easy to look at life in general as I have described the lily cycle. Weeks, even months, of routine punctuated by brief periods of special reward. That reward could be a vacation to a favorite place, a visit from a special relative, a day at a spa - or the blooming of a favorite flower.

So often we are so busy anticipating precious moments that we forget to bask in spontaneous gifts - a star-filled sky, a cooling evening breeze, a particularly well cooked meal.

In truth, if you think about it, life offers just as many precious moments as it does days of routine. The trick is to prevent routine from becoming a blinder.

With that in mind, I will move past the forlorn I feel at the falling of the lily blooms and turn my attention to the gladiolas that are just beginning to break out in flower.

Plant ESP

I know now the plant that used to hang in the window of my home office has ESP.

For weeks I had suspected the plant was at least sentinent.  Though I couldn't imagine what the source of distress could be, I would find tears dripping from the tips of the leaves on the plant.

It happened mostly in the morning.  I would turn on the light, find drops of moisture beading up on the table beneath the plant, then watch as the tears formed and dropped one after another.

I know now that the plant could see what the future held for it.

Last week Motivated Mom said it was time to move the plant outdoors for the summer.  I diligently followed her instruction.What the instructions didn't include was that the plant should be in partial shade.

I thoughtfully placed the plant on the back deck where it would receive gobs of sunlight - and did so on one of those days when the temperature soared to 98 degrees.

What remains of the once lustorous plant is now a series of dried vines.

....If only I had known why the plant had been crying.

Rousing Thunder

Lightning to the left of me, lightning to the right. Overhead thunder rolls across the sky. Beneath me the ground trembles.  All around me the rain swirls in.....oh, oh... circles.

It's happened not once or twice - but three times in as may days.  Mother nature has been flexing her muscles right and left - sending a tornado through a nearby community and spinning a waterspout out of the ocean.

Power has gone out, neighborhoods have been evacuated, and streets have flooded.  Any signs of the earlier near-drought conditions are now long gone with ponds and streams running over their banks.

Our property has fared reasonably well - though the screen room in our back yard definitely took a beating.  I'll be practicing my weaving and sewing skills for several days to come.

Still.... there's a something about a rousing good thunderstorm

Beyond the Bend

I steered the kayak around the bend in the stream...and the world changed.

Gone were the waterfront homes with their private boat slips. Gone were the marinas managed by small communities.  Gone were the speed boats that navigated the wider sections of the body of water known as Herring Creek.

Here, where the creek began as a shallow and narrow stream, bulrush grew deep and thick on either side. Behind the rushes trees leaned precariously, their roots struggling to maintain purchase in the swampy ground.

Further upstream I ventured to where the creek narrowed still further. Here the water was shallow enough to see the murky bottom, a bottom littered with trees that had lost the battle with gravity. Weathered, bleached limbs broke the surface of the water - dead markers that suggested more death lay beyond.

From back in the thicker stands of trees ospreys screeched out warnings of intrusion, then took flight to circle and swoop overhead in an attempt to distract me from their nests. Stealthy creatures leapt into the water, leaving only ripples to show where they had been - and leaving me to imagine just what it was that might be approaching my small craft.

Then a bony fingered branch rising to just below the waters surface grabbed the bottom of my kayak, refusing me further entry into what was now little more than a dead and murky swamp. Something moved noisily through the rushes just an an oar's length away and I wondered if whatever it was meant to carry me to the silty bottom.

Pushing away from the submerged tree and turning back the way I had come, I refused to allow myself to paddle furiously. To do so would only invite further entanglement.  Instead I drifted with the current, using the paddle to steer between grayed stumps that seemed to have changed in position.

Gradually the creek widened and deepened. Gradually the sound of motor boats returned. Marinas and million dollar home came back into view. Yet I sensed that something watched me still from beyond the bend in the stream.

2nd Most Wonderful Day

It's the second most wonderful day of the year - the start of summer.  And summer came in like, well....like summer.

With the mercury in thermometers nudging up against triple digits, classes of iced tea were sweating as profusely as the foreheads of the people who were guzzling the refreshment down.

Children were, for a change, lethargic - the only game worth playing being that of who can get to the swimming pool first.

Oldsters set folding chairs with basket weave seats under shade trees and reminisced on surviving past heat waves without the benefit of air conditioning.

Police were conspicuous in their absence from city street corners and construction workers worshiped the shade that even a single 2x4 provided.

Yes, it was a real scorcher - and the best part of all is that there's more summer to come.

Unfriendly Forest

The faded blue pickup truck had been sitting on the shoulder of the highway for over a week.  It sat on a stretch of road sided only by forest for miles in either direction.  And while the truck certainly wasn't showroom fresh,  neither was it a rust bucket that someone would want to simply walk away from.

All of which had me wondering about the owner of the truck.  Had be been accosted after his truck had broken down?  Had he stopped to respond to the call of nature and been skewered by the antlers of a deer? Had we wandered into the woods and gotten lost?

On one of my several trips past the truck I took the time to look into the forest.  The trees grew so closely together that the shadow of one merged with the shadows of a dozen others in the slanting afternoon sun. Though I was admittedly driving by at a pretty good clip, it seemed a person wouldn't have to go more than twenty paces deep before one section of forest looked just like any other.

Was the pickup truck's owner in those trees even now hollering for help with no one able to hear?  Or had something loosed itself from those many shadows and taken the owner off to a nightmare world he had never dreamed existed.

At that last thought the forest took on a decidedly unfriendly feel. I pushed the accelerator closer to the floorboard.

Redhead Pain

There I was in the dentist chair getting my second mega-dose of Novocaine before allowing the dentist to drill out an old filling when the dentist asked.... were you a redhead as a child?

My affirmative nod brought an Ahhhhhhh from the dentist.

Ahhhh? I asked as soon as the silver hypodermic had been pulled from my mouth.

My dentist proceeded to explain how studies have shown that redheads have 30 percent more pain receptors than any other part of the population and require more anesthetic to deaden those receptors.

On my drive home I considered how the whole pain receptor thing goes far beyond the dentist chair.

Redheads, mostly light complexioned, are far more prone to sunburn. Once beet red, those same redheads have an extra heaping helping of pain receptors to carry that sunburn pain to the brain.

Life just isn't fair sometimes.

Umbrella Approach

I had taken a book to the beach, but confess I ended up doing very little reading.  My attention was captured by the varied approaches to setting a beach umbrella.

There's the cocktail approach - where the designated umbrella handler stabs the point of the umbrella pole into the sand much as cubes of meat and cheese are poked by a toothpick.  I was fascinated that someone actually expected the umbrella to remain upright after being thrown into the sand like a dart.

Then I watched the mountain approach. Here the umbrella handler wiggles the pole a full five inches into the sand before piling an additional five inch mountain of sand around the pole in the hopes of creating stability.

As proven by Saturday's high winds, neither of the above methods are favorable when wind speeds top 15 mph.  I was privileged to witness some truly impressive acrobatic feats as beach goers leaped and pirouetted over neighboring beach chairs and blankets in an attempt to capture airborne umbrellas. Watching one slight woman struggle with an umbrella as wide as she was tall it occurred to me that Disney is about due for a remake of Mary Poppins.

Hypnotic Beginning

The bed of coals that pulsed beneath the flickering flames of the fire lured us into immobility as surely as a pocket watch swinging from the fingers of a hypnotist.

Motivated Mom and I sat side by side on the back patio, speaking no words yet saying everything as we watched the fire dance in the chiminea. 

When at last the wood had all burned to ash we stared up at the star-filled sky in a wonderment more commonly embraced by children who still hold magic in as much revere as science.

In this intimate moment I felt Saturday slip into Sunday and knew Father's Day could not have begun on a better note.

Fresh Breath

I think I understand where the phrase breath of fresh air originated.  It was spurred by the stiff breezes that ride in on the tails of a weather front changing hot and humid air to cool and dry. A relief as welcome as jumping into a pool on a hot summer day.

The fresh air rushes toward us on winds that bend saplings, drive tumbleweeds, and fill the sails of boats. The same winds that cause sheets on clotheslines to snap and Venetian blinds behind open windows to rattle.

It is an air that promises a clean slate and an energy born from the dropping of baggage.  Truly a fresh breath.

Morse Rain

A seagull flew out of an eyebrow of morning sunlight. The narrow band of light, an arched brow between the last the remnants of night and a rolling bank of clouds, was morning's brave attempt at a bright day.

A day that was quickly claimed by a drizzle that grew into a steady rain with the approach of evening.

Now the rain drums on the roof - a Morse Code message calling occupants of the home to the warm comforts of bed and the bliss of drifting sleep.  It is to that sleep that I go now, to venture in worlds where the impossible is commonplace.

Little Gifts

A spur of the moment sleepover at a friends house...
That led to a sunrise drive up the coast...
That led to an early morning encounter with a bluebird...
A bird so rich in color that even the sky on a cloudless day will now seem less than blue.

These are the little gifts that give value to life.

Cacophony

The sounds, at first muffled and distant, grew in intensity as though a closed door had been opened granting access to commotion in an adjacent room.

Only the sounds intruding on my solitude would not have originated from any one room. Rhythmic pounding,  shrill whistles, pennants flapping, children shrieking, adults laughing, birds screeching - I struggled to make sense of what I was hearing.

The drone of an engine cut through all of the other sounds - growing in intensity until I feared I might be directly in the path of whatever was approaching.

It was a series of thundering booms that finally gave me the impetus to shrug off my lethargy, push myself upright....and realize I was waking from a nap on the beach.

High Octane

The sign stood at the curbside - directly between two businesses - and read:  High Octane Gas.

To one side of the sign was an auto supply store, to the other was a restaurant.

Which had me wondering just what was on the restaurant's menu.  If the weekly specials included things like cabbage, baked beans, and the like... well that sign just might belong to the restaurant rather than the seemingly obvious auto supply place.

Or perhaps the same guy owns both businesses and is advertising one way or another customers can leave with a load of high octane.