This Moment...

For our entire life, birth to death, we only get a moment. This one right now. That's it. Everything else is memory or a wish. So when Hannah speaks to me of her yoga practice and the need to do things with intent, to be in the moment, that resonates. When Carla mentions Carl Jung's appeal for mindfulness, we're all speaking the same language. If we waste this moment by not being in it, maybe thinking of our “to do” list or what's for dinner, we can never get it back It's as if we were never there. That's our life we're letting slip by. Did we pick up that faint scent of wood smoke in the air or hear the Geese flying in their chevron overhead? Our children grow a half a foot, seemingly overnight. Was I there? Did I even see it? Or was I thinking about work or the bills, or maybe wasting time worrying about something that may never happen?

Be mindful, move forward with intent, pay attention. Don't blink.  

Yellow Jackets

The first time I saw the artwork of Bryan Shanchez was in Medellin, Columbia, dominating the side of a five story building. Be it a 30 foot mural or a 3 inch tattoo, Bryan brings true artistry to all of his work. This tattoo is done in the “watercolor”, free-form style. The image of a Yellow Jacket takes me back to my 8 year old self, a budding Entomologist. I collected insects, impaled on mounting pins in neat little rows of dried exoskeletons inside of the colorful cigar boxes that were still made with Balsa. Wasps, beetles, hornets...but no Yellow Jackets. They were too common for me to collect and too damn mean. Unlike Honey Bees who prefer to mind their own business and only sting in defense, Yellow jackets sting just for the fun of it, over and over. Then they call their buddies in to join the party. “Hey guys, come sting this human with me! You'll love the way he freaks out, dancing and waving his arms. Yo Bill! Sting him right behind his ear, see if you can get him to make those high sounds like a girl! We've got to do this more often, I'm laughing so hard I'm about to pee on my own stinger!”

You don't want to fuck with Yellow Jackets.

Pulse of ife...

Curled up next to me in the bed, her regular breathing a reassuring ebb and flow. First sun warms the long curtains, glowing folds wave slowly in harmony with the lake beyond. Feet hitting the treadmill, their cadence marking a journey to many places beyond their immediate path to nowhere. 

Late afternoon sun warms our backs as waves break dramatically on stage, their rhythmic crash unceasing, hypnotic. Nestled in a lawn chair under the oak canopy, the Chiminea pops and cracks as it eats the yard debris thrown hastily into it's greedy maw. As embers dim and quiet, I hear the pulse of my own blood as much as feel it. Cool breezes appear unexpectedly, lured in by the tree frogs, now all dressed up and yelling for their nightly rumspringa to begin.

Tires for Jesus, and Me

After going round and round about new tires, price and features, the woman at Walmart Automotive Center locked in my choice.

“Now I go see if we have em, all fo” She said.

“You don't have an inventory system so that you know that from here at your computer?” I asked.

She started to hit the top of her screen and bang on the keyboard. “I don trus this no more than I trus my man.They lie!”

She said “I gotta check. Otherwise it be like standin in line fo a nice jucy Big Mac and they hands you a tuna sammich!”

Maybe I should have gone to the place next door. I doubt Jesus has these problems.

Real Men Don't Eat Quiche...

“Real men don't eat Quiche” Where did that horse pie come from anyway? No idea. But when I woke up at 1:30 I wanted to make it. One crab, one broccoli. But my deal with myself is that I don't get out of bed before 3AM, so I did my best to go back to sleep. I've always resented, the need for sleep. It feels like wasted time, like I'm missing out on something. Anyway, I made it to 2:45 and decided that the clock was 15 minutes slow.

Five minutes later, I was rolling. Pandora playing Hound Dog Taylor through an old wireless JBL that Hannah gave me years ago about the size of a hoagie roll that still kick ass.

Bent over a Pyrex bowl, grating Swiss, Gruyere, and Asiago. The broccoli was already blanched, mixed with cream and crab. Check, check, check, and check.

Quiche is best if refrigerated overnight and then warmed back up. That is the plan. And tomorrow? I will definitely eat Quiche. So as far as that stuff about real men goes, there is only one of two conclusions to be drawn:

1) It's not true 2) I'm not a real man.

I'm fine with it either way, as long as I get a big slice.

  

Chase the Ball

Birth to death, we're all stumbling forward, crawling, trying to walk upright. Briefly, someone stands and walks without falling, “Look at me! I know the way!” and then they're lost. We wonder why, how, what is it, what does it mean? Gods are blamed or credited to fill in for our lack of understanding. The sun is a ball of hot plasma, not the god we thought it to be. We were foolish then, but now, we have faith in gods word. Pick one of the one of the 5,000 gods to which we attribute the mysteries. 

That will change, everything does.

 “God is a metaphor for that which transcends all intellectual thought”. 

For now, we stumble, make up answers and Gods. We follow those who appear to stumble less, until they do.

Dogs get it. Be happy now with the sunshine on an upturned belly, thankful for the food in the bowl. No concern for origin or outcome. Right now is all there is. 

Chase the ball joyously, tomorrow never comes.

Hat Drill

As Carla and I were getting ready to go out for dinner, I glanced into the mirror and thought for the 1,000th time just how much it sucks to have my hairline start in the middle of the top of my head. I was disgusted with my shiny double forehead.

Yelling impatiently backward: “You ready?”

Carla shouted back: “Ill be right there, I'm just going to grab a sweater in case Ned puts us under the vent again and tries to freeze me.” Then she came down the three stairs from the main house into the great room addition, sweater in hand.

Going over to the hat pegs and selecting the “newsboy cap”, I said: “This makes me look like I should run an Italian Deli in New York. You like it?”

Carla: “Yes, it looks good” Switching hats, I asked: “Or do you prefer this ball cap? No, everybody and his brother wears these things. How about a nice Fedora? Or maybe this wide brim Panama?”

Carla, was tiring of the ritual and eager to get to dinner. “I like that last one best. Wear that.”

As I immediately hung the Panama back up on its peg she questioned me, sounding frustrated: “So which one are you going to wear?” Walking impatiently toward the door to leave, I answered...”None of them. You know I hate hats!”

It was an excellent dinner anyway, Ned's Trout Piccata is the best. Sitting toward the back of the main dining area, my head illuminated the dark corner as if someone had just oiled my double forehead. I could see my distant reflection in his big mirror across the room. “I've really got to get myself a hat.” I thought to myself as the waitress brought me the check.