Behind the Window

The house was a ramshackle affair.  The clapboards either having long since rotted away or never applied at all, the outer walls of the house were weathered plywood and flapping tar paper.

Inside the single front window glowed a barren light bulb hanging from an electrical cord.  Though I was too far from the house to see interior details, I imagined a lopsided wooden table with a set of mismatched chairs beneath that single bulb.

Seated in one of those chairs, his back toward the stove to absorb what heat the gas burners had to offer, would no doubt be a ruddy-faced man wearing fingerless gloves. Spooning steaming oatmeal from a bowl of yellow plastic the man would be planning another day of activities geared toward only one objective - surviving the next day in his life.

Gift Day

It should be a "you" day - that extra day that gets plugged into the calendar every fourth year.

Leap day should not be an extra work or school day, nor should it be a catch up on chores day.

Leap day should be a gift. A day to spend doing only the things that bring you pleasure - reading a book, taking a walk, indulging in an afternoon nap, pursuing that favorite hobby.

It would take some planning to be certain - no gas stations would be open, no restaurant meals would be served - because leap day would be everyone's gift day.

Imagine such a day.  Imagine a slice of heaven.

The Taste of Summer

It was one of those spur of the moment things.  Standing in the grocery store, trying to decide what would be a welcome new addition to the menu, I was struck by the luscious redness of the tomatoes and decided a tomato and mozarella salad was in order.

Stay with me here... I'm not talking about those orange looking tomatoes that so often populate grocery shelves at this time of year, but fire engine red tomatoes.  Packaged in a plastic box, clustered together on sections of vine, the tomatoes had me thinking of warm summer days, sprinkers, and garden-fresh deliciousness.

I was not dissappointed.  The tomatoes were so juicy they nearly burst when I started to slice them.  And, oh that first bite of tomato was every bit as delectable as I wanted it to be.

If you're a tomato lover, be sure to pick up a package of Campari tomatoes the next time you have that summertime urge.

How Did I Miss This?

How did I not know that February 22nd was National Margarita Day?

Actually, I would have known if I had bothered to turn on my cell phone yesterday.  Only tonight did I see the text from my sister wishing me Happy Margarita day?

Interested in learning more about this auspicious day in our calendar?  click here

You can be SURE I'll mark this on my calendar from here on out.... can you say sick day?

I'd like to stick around and say more.... but I have some catching up to do.  Gotta find my lost shaker of salt.

Tie-Dyed Sky

Busy day today, but apparently yesterday's trip down memory lane still lingered.  Taking in the morning sunrise, studying the streaks of light that wove through rings of multicolored clouds, I found myself comparing the sky to a t-shirt tie-dyed with oranges, yellows, violets, and reds.

Suddenly Back Then

I turned the radio dial, Donovan's melodic voice rolled out of the speakers, and suddenly I was back in the 1970's.

I was reliving striped bell bottom pants, polyester shirts in floral prints, tie-dyed t-shirts, and platform shoes. From the back it was sometimes difficult to distinguish boys from girls as both wore their hair long and their pants low (though in those days the boys still knew what a belt was for).

Sit-ins were the preferred method for making statements, and holding up the the first two fingers of your hand in a "V" served as both a further message and a daily greeting.

College students confronted soldiers and music carried political agendas.

Those were the days my friend.  I thought they'd never end.

To Give Or To Gain

I was considering giving something up for lent.... until I saw the headline that life's little indulgences are what keep us mentally healthy.

So instead of giving something up,  I've decided to add something for lent.  I've decided to add an extra period of meditation into my schedule.  An extra twenty minutes each day to .... just be.

Rather than waging a daily battle fretting over what I'm trying to give up, I'll look forward to that extra twenty minutes of cosmic peace.

Now I realize that in order to find those extra twenty minutes I'll have to give up something... and in the course of doing so I'll come to learn what I've been doing that's been keeping me from.... me.

A Change in Rule

The groundhog has been dethroned.

My ongoing home improvement projects called for me to move between indoors and outdoors yesterday. Changing from winter jacket to sweatshirt to short sleeve shirt as the day warmed, I paused for a bit to simply sit and bask in the afternoon sun.  It was then that I notices scores of birds on a southerly course - and a yellow jacket buzzing at my elbow.

Considering the groundhog's flawed prediction of six more weeks of adverse weather, it seems the birds and bees are to be be the new prognosticators of weather.

Big Brother Does More Than Watch

As I watched the latest computer software update automatically load on my computer it occurred to me that we've all been duped.

Under the guise of making our lives easier, corporations and governments have gotten us to invite them into our homes - and probably turn over information we had no intention of sharing.

If a remote system can reach out and identify my computer is in need of an update, what else is being reached for?  I've been a fool to assume information hasn't been drawn from my computer on a regular basis.

Ah, but what about security software? you ask.  Do those very same systems not reach out to advise you that your current security program needs updating?  Do you really believe the exchange of information is limited to the need for an upgrade?  For that matter, do you really believe the information taken goes no further than the software company?

It could only be a matter of time before we start finding the federal government drawing "discretionary funds" out of individual bank accounts to pay down the national debt.

Not a believer?  Now that I've discovered, and am sharing, the obvious truth it will only be a matter of time before Big Brother cuts )*(+)*)#@^&$^*^$(@*$^@($*^$#@$#^#$^_@#&$#$$_)@

TRANSMISSION TERMINATED

Been a Long Time

The small church looked like little more than a rectangular box with a steeple perched on top.  Had the exterior been rough logs rather than smooth clapboards, the simplistic design could have been a match for something a child would build with Lincoln Logs.

Sizing the church up from the outside I figured the interior probably had room for about six rows of pews which probably put maximum seating capacity at about seventy five.

When my attention drifted from the building itself to the adjoining cemetery, I realized the cemetery grounds were twenty times the footprint of the church.

All of which made me wonder just how long the church had been standing. With space for active parishioners so obviously limited, it must have taken generations and generations to fill the graves marked by weathered headstones as simplistic in style as the church itself.

Hell on Earth?

When I think of Japan, I think of Sushi, geisha girls, Zen gardens, sumo wrestlers, Samurai warriors and Godzilla. 

So when I saw the pictures today of Japan's winter weather, my first reaction was...  Holy Sh...nowfall!

Even Godzilla could get lost in the towering mountains of white that Japanese transportation officials are trying to blaze trails through.

How do you even begin to plow a road when the only place to put the snow is forty feet straight up?

There are those who hold to the school of thought that hell is not a possible destination after death, but the life we live day in and day out in this world.  Were I forced to endure a Japanese winter I think I'd be inclined to agree.

Should Have Turned South

I had been relieved when the extended weekend getaway changed from snow tubing in the Poconos to visiting an indoor water park in the Poconos.   Though if I had been thinking, I would have asked the question... Wouldn't it be better to travel SOUTH to find an indoor water park?

While the getaway was certainly enjoyable, waking up Sunday morning to a temperature of 16 degrees had me wondering why I had ever left home.

I watched people venture out of doors wearing coats that made me think of the Michelin Tire Man and sporting hats made from the hides of furry animals. All in the name of heading off to have fun.

While I confess to having spent weekends earlier in my life dressed similarly to the folks I saw this weekend, I found comfort in realizing that wisdom had put such excursions behind me.

Salty Bunch

It seems we Americans are a salty bunch.  Ninety percent of us have too much salt in our diets.

Much to my surprise the food product that by far gives us more salt than we need is.....

I know what you're thinking... potato chips... perhaps fast food french fries... maybe even ham

Wrong on all counts.

Bread gives us more salt than any other single product in our diets.

So dig into that bag of chips.... and toss the bread out the window for the birds.

Sky Palette

Sunset tonight brought a collage of colors that made me think of an artist's palette. A medium on which dabs, streaks, and blotches of color push into one another forming a masterpiece by chance rather than effort - and all the more beautiful for being unexpected.

Morning Stolen

Pale and small - that was the world this morning.

A heavy frost had stolen color from everything.  No matter where I looked I saw the same flat silver-gray.  Passing a cemetery I noticed the bleached ground was the same color as the headstones and monuments.  The world was sick - a patient spiraling to death.

The interior of my car shrunk - closing in the way I imagine the inside of a casket shrinks as the lid is closed.  Gray frost clung to the edges of the windows - the loss of those inches of clear class accenting out how little space there was between myself an the metal frame of the car.

It was then I noticed sound being stolen. The whine of tires on macadam was muffled; the hiss of passing cars a flat, dull, drone; the blare of a distant horn devoid of pitch.

They say February is the month in which suicides peak. Perhaps that's because February is the month in which the grave calls most loudly.

Change of Menu?

The sign if front of a popular restaurant announces the establishment is reopening February 13 after a seasonal shut down.

The restaurant is known for its seafood and is a favorite stopping place for travelers heading to the beach.

I must confess though, that I'm a little nervous a change in menu may be in the offing.  Ever since the reopening sign popped up there was been a pickup truck parked in  front of the restaurant.

Why would a pickup truck suggest a menu change? You ask.

Truth be told, it's not the truck itself that concerns me, but the very long horse trailer attached to the truck.  A trailer long enough to hold close to a dozen horses.  Enough horses to ... well... keep the larders stocked for quite some time.

What Will Be Will Be

Staring out the living room window at the rain this morning, I was more than a little surprised to hear the radio announcer say the groundhog had seen its shadow.

As I mulled over the implications of the news flash, I found myself of two minds.  On the one hand, since we've really had no significant amount of white stuff, a further delay of pre-summer proper is really not a huge deal.  Then again I'd really like to mark CLOSED to the chance of a snow event.

Then I learned that over the years the groundhog has had an accuracy rating of 39%.  Just about the same as a weatherman. Which tells folks put the same amount of stock in a varmint as a meteorologist.

Which means all bets are off and the weather will be what the weather will be.

2112

Welcome to 2112 (Feb 1, 2012).  The numerical version of a palindrome.

I figured there had to be something significant about 2112 so I turned to my resources on numerology.  It seems the number two is frequently used to represent Yin and number one is associated with Yang.

So welcome to a day of balance and harmony. Yang Yin is the equivalent of Yin Yang which symbolizes harmony, balance and completeness.  Since one cannot exist without the other, it shouldn't matter whether Yang comes before Yin or Yin before Yang.  They are completeness, inseparable - the cosmos in perfection.

If this commentary is giving you a headache, then you are obviously out of balance, incomplete, failing to embrace your inner self.  Either your 2 or your 1 has shifted out of sync and you need to both run and walk to the nearest intersection of harmonic resonances and get your Yin back in line with your Yang.

Hurry now - and don't - for this day of perfect harmony is fast - and slowly - winding down - and up.