2012 09 13 I Was Strolling Through The Park One Day...

I was strolling through the park one day, in the very merry month of, umm, August, and what should come strolling by? Why, if it wasn't another conceptual enigma, surrounded by a shard of evolutional brain stem activity. It was an epiphany, a lightning bolt from the data base above, an elusive encounter with the forces of all that remain mysterious to just about everyone else. I had a revelation of sorts, first of which was the realization that it was raining out, and I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with sandals to boot. At least I had my baseball hat on, which provided me with an adequate level of protection from the onslaught of wetness, that is, until it became soaked, along with me.

There I was, strolling along, smacking the pavement with my trusty staff, and I thought about something that I had written in an email to a friend, just days before. I thought about how poignant the catch phrase was, and how it defined different aspects of my life, and probably all of our lives in one way or another.

The phrase I thought of was simple, short, and so descriptive of so much of my life.

Absorb, adapt, and advance.

That's it. That's all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. Pure and true to meaning, yet it's ability to stretch and mold itself to perfectly fit with pretty much anything anyone ever thought and did. A concept that surely would, and has, withstood the countless tests of time. Three words that described so many times in my own life.

I thought back on different times in my life when I absorbed the actions, reactions, the diverse obstacles, the plethora of days when I just didn't think all of the crap would stop charging in on me. The endless ways that life turned the corner and came out of the blue, full speed, with no amount of merciful pleading being able to halt its undaunting advances. The twists, the turns, the ups and the downs, all of which seemed to be heading straight for me. No warning of an iceberg, straight ahead, no flares shot up into the night sky, no flashing hazard lights on the construction signs, nothing, just me, and them, alone in a room, one against the other, with only two possible outcomes. Either they got the best of me and I found myself rendering the familiar white flag of the French, or I found the ability to continue on with the meanings of the other two words in the catch phrase.

I think we all find ways to adapt. We all find that little corner of our cowardly lion heart that has just had enough, and figures out a way to take everything in stride. Yes, we all get knocked to the left, then as quickly as we find our balance, we are sharply pulled to the right. If that isn't enough, there's the sudden jerk backwards that can catch us completely off guard. I hate those. I hate them with a passion.

I have adapted to so many things over the course of my life, I really don't think it's possible to recount them all. Adaptation is the main ingredient in which I have become. It's the great equalizer that keeps the needle pointing north. It's the wonderful internal mechanism that winds us up and walks us through no matter what. It is the tincture of life that endures the absorption of countless battles that life holds. It's about nineteen ninety five at your local pharmacy or health food store, but you better hurry up, because this years trendy blend probably won't work for very long. Stinking future, always changing and all. The nerve!

I adapt. It's what I do. It's who I am able to be. It's what I am all about. I really have no choice though. It's what I do, because I choose to live, and you can't just live without trying. It's just not that easy, and yes, we all know that nothing worth while ever comes easy. Right? Can I have a hell to the ya?

I think I have found that every day is a challenge, some more than others, but a challenge none the less. If I am lucky enough to rest my head on my pillow at the end of the day then it's probably safe to say that I have adapted my way through the day. Hey, that rhymes. Hmmm.

Focus...

Ok. Hi there. How are you doing? Have you been able to adapt today? Have you found yourself thinking something through and changing your initial plan? Have you found yourself doing something out of the ordinary because of something that happened unexpectedly? Have you found yourself cleaning something up, or gluing something back together, or pushing something to the side, or eating something for supper that you didn't even know was in your cupboard? Has your day altered from its original plan? Has your initial concept taken a visual trip way, far away to adaptation land? Has your temper been shortened, or your patience been thinned, or your emotions in general been put in a blender?

How did it make you feel? How did you handle it? How did you, adapt? Did you take the ball and run with it? Did you find yourself on the other side, catching your breath? Did you find yourself gazing back at the twisted tanglement of taunting torment, completely exhausted, but with a new sense of pride? Did you find another unusual and unique way to adapt? Did you? Did you? Well? Did you? I bet you did, and you probably didn't even know it. You're so clever. Far cleverer than you probably know, or give yourself credit for. Now, don't let it go to your head, because you're gonna need another fist full of humility before it's all said and done. It ain't over 'til the rather large, rotund lady entertains us with her wonderment of musical oration.

Some times my fingers take what I'm thinking, and do some wacked out stuff. Are they adapting? Did I just adapt? Have I just received a small sample of adaptational evolution?

Well then, seeing how I was fortunate enough to enjoy such a trendy ability, I think I might just be getting outta here. I need to take a hint. I need to advance, to move on, to start heading towards the next unsuspected adaptational absorption.

Through all of life's adversity, all of its relentless hills and countless valleys, I find a way to take another step. I find a way to pile up the seconds into minutes, into hours, and end up with another day. I find a way to take the good with the bad, and make the best out of what's left. I find a way to watch the daylight disappear into the speckled, starry night. I find a way, and as we all do, I try to take a moment to reflect. So much to think about really. So much to sort out and process. ? So much to be thankful for, and grateful for, and feel blessed about.

? The human spirit is such an amazing, beautiful, endless supply of energy, faith, and love. It's such a pure start to all that is good. It's a gift from the heavens above. It's a joyous shout, a tearful cry, a smiling hug followed by a curious stare. It's an advancing melody of harmony and soul. It's a wonder anyone ever stops advancing at all, seeing as how much there is out there to help make us whole. It's a wonder that this big blue marble doesn't bounce itself right out of the universe, with all the advancing going on.

I really have no other option, but to keep on advancing. I have made a decision, whether it be fully conscious, or something that's been embedded into my core from day one, but it is a plan of attack that defines who I am, and what I am all about. It's just something that I do. We all do. It's just something that I have to rely on, to be able to survive all of the amazingly weird things that this world has to offer.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I didn't think I could advance any more. I didn't think I could adapt from all that was going on in my life. I didn't really know if I actually wanted to. I had a hard time absorbing all of the diversity, and adversity. I had a hard time figuring out why a lot of things had happened to me, but why not me? Why wouldn't these things happen to me? Why would I ever be any different than anyone else, who also might experience the same things that were happening to me? And even more, why wouldn't I be able to adapt and advance with my life, no matter what happened to me? I am, after all, human, just like you, and you, and well, ok, you too, I guess. I am, of course, no better than the next guy, but also, I am no less than the next guy either.

I think my brain is absorbing signals that detect an emptiness in my belly. I have adapted to the feeling of being hungry, and I realize where I am. I ought to advance out to the kitchen, so I can find me some chocolate.

Have a good day everyone, no matter where you find yourselves advancing to.

2012 09 06 This Point In Time

This Point in Time

 

 

How did I get here?

 

How did I get right, here?

 

How did I get to this point in time, in this chair, in this room, this house, this life? How was I chosen to be placed in this never ending roller coaster of emotional extremes? Was I chosen, or did I choose this for myself? What lessons am I supposed to learn, if I infact, did choose to live this life?

 

Am I experiencing things that were overlooked in some other parallel? Am I putting the pieces of a much larger puzzle together? Is this life getting me ready for the next amusement ride?

 

Am I ever going to find out? What happens if and when I do find out? Will I be automatically readied for the next run through? Will I at least have a chance to get a look at the instruction manual before I am catapulted into the next level? Do I have enough tokens to reach the next destination, or will I be left behind, out there somewhere, in a null, dark, empty void, hollering for assistance?

 

Why can't things be as simple as when I was a kid? Why can't I just have the simplicity of a child's expectations? Why can't I enjoy today, without worrying about tomorrow? Why can't I live for today, without having to plan for a tomorrow full of uncertainty and unknowns?

 

I didn't know what I was going to write when I started this. Why did I start writing about this topic? Was I destined to? Was it part of the plan? Am I really supposed to be right here, right now, writing about this exact thing? Did I learn how to touch type so that I could be right here, right now, pounding away on my keypad? Does that sound normal?

 

Are any of you really out there, or am I just watching a movie, or a dream? Could this thing that feels like my life just is that rapid quick reel of events that plays out before your very eyes, as you are hovering along the precipice of death? Is that what this is? All that I have experienced in this life, could it be just a trial run for the next endeavor? This is just a test, right? This is just a trial run for things to come, right? This is just a warm up lap to get all of the bugs and quirks worked out, right?

 

How am I doing? How am I really, really doing? Am I following the original protocol? Am I staying in the lines? Am I staying on course? Why did the last twelve years go by so fast? Were they supposed to? How come I can't remember a lot of them? Did I do all of those drugs for a reason? Was I not supposed to remember all of the things that I have forgotten about? Will I ever get the chance to remember them again? Will the next twelve years go by as fast as the last twelve did? Did my life change so much to snap me out of a never ending spiral of self induced void? Is what happened to my vision a form of self awareness that was crucial in the structure of my time here?

 

Why am I typing so many questions? Shouldn't I know all of these answers by now, I mean, I have been here a very very long time already. Seems to me that I should know this stuff by now, right?

 

Why is it that I handle things the way that I do? How come I choose to walk away, or avoid certain situations in my life? Why do I get so emotional over certain things in my life? Why do I get all weird feeling when I am confronted with uncertainty and different levels of stress? Why do I cry when a Hallmark commercial comes on TV? Am I supposed to be the way I am, or am I the way I am because of things that have happened to me? Do things happen to me because of the way that I am? Is my vulnerability being protected in the grand scheme of things? What am I being protected from? Why don't I have the same drive that enables others to excel in life? Why don't I have the same faith and trust in my own abilities, as I see so many others do? Why do I get all choked up under certain situations where others just seem to be able to handle much better?

 

Am I really on a warrior's quest that the cards say that I am? Who decided to put me right here? Who decided that I should be the way that I am? Is it all God's plan? Is there really a single plan for me, or am I part of a larger plan?

 

What is going to happen this December 21st? Why can't I get it out of my mind? Am I here, have I been put here to experience something that is going to be an incredible event? Is that why we are all here? Is that all that there has ever been, just this one moment? Is that all there is? One moment in time? One experience that explains it all? One truly amazing chain of events that will, without a doubt, let us know why this is all here? Am I going to be a factor in something that I have been destined to be a part of from the beginning?? Will this all make sense very soon, or will I still live to learn until I have lived and learned my fill?

 

All of those stars out there; do they have blue marbles spinning around them, just like us? Are we like the little fleck of dust on the flower in Horton Hears a Whom? Do I have an elephant staring at me right now? Is there someone else staring at me? At us all? Hello? Are you there? Are we just one big experiment?

 

Have I asked enough questions, or should I ask for more? Am I supposed to end this document right now? If I end it now, what will happen? Am I supposed to end this right now, and find out?

 

What would happen if, for some reason, all of a sudden, I just stopped typing?

2012 08 27 Molecularly Speaking

Molecularly Speaking

 

Who am I? Who is the guy staring back at me in the mirror? Am I the same person I used to be? Have I changed? Am I still changing? Haven't I changed enough already? Have I molded the life that surrounds me to suit me, or has the life that surrounds me molded me? Isn't that like a wicked fine line? Is that a perfect balance, or are they both one in the same?

I suppose that these questions have raced through the minds of many a man smarter than me. Women too. Smile. I imagine the questions have pondered the poignant perceptions throughout the coggles of time. What the hell is a coggle anyways? Is there really such a thing as a coggle, or did I just make it up so I could slide into a parallel, non related burst of unrelated nonsense?

Who really knows, why would they care, and here we go.

Makes me think of the Jetsons. I wonder if Elroy grew up thinking about this stuff. I suppose if you threw a Spacely Space Sprocket into a couple unsuspecting coggles, you would probably have a futuristic galactic mix of something that's out of this world, off the charts, and off the marble. . Wouldn't that be ironic?

I was sitting out back on the picnic table yesterday afternoon, and I could hear a siren off in the distance. It grew closer, and then faded away. I wondered if it was coming down our road, or if it was heading down the next road over, across the valley from our house. I wondered if it was a cop, or an ambulance, or maybe a fire truck.

I guess I'll never know.

As I was sitting there, on the table, I suddenly, and again, realized just how small I am. Now don't get me wrong. I am a big guy, and I take up quite a bit of room, but that's conveniently according to my own perception of space. Yes, when I step off the pool ladder and into the water, the incurring wake does displace some of the water. Probably more than I care to admit. It's just a small pool though, in the grand scheme of things that have to do with pools. It's just a little container of liquid, with a little spillage. Ok! A lot of spillage, but then again, according to my own perception of matter displacement, and it is my perception, so, back off!

It's such a big world out there, and there's so much space being taken up by so many things. I would like to think that my space, my volume of matter, well, I would hope that it matters somehow. I would like to think that by having continuously propelled my molecular frictional structure  of molecules across this molecularly structured marble, that I have somehow benefitted gratefully, and gracefully enhanced said molecules that constantly swirl around me, molecularly speaking,  by my doing so, indeed. I had to go over this last sentence several times before I could wrap my head around it. What the heck am I talking about? How come my fingers do stuff like that? It's got to be preprogrammed or something, I mean, really? Are you kidding me? Who in their right mind types stuff like this?

Still thinking, and wrapping.

Too deep. Way too deep. I guess I'll be moving on then.

Sometimes when I listen to the news, and hear all of the commotion going on around the planet, I wonder if it all matters to me. I wonder if it has anything to do, with me. I wonder if it ever will. I know that in the grand scheme of things, everything relates to one another. What I pay for this is determined by what someone did to that. How I feel about this, is swayed by what someone else said about that. What I buy and use, is related to what I heard or saw someone say or do about something.  Such a tightly woven array of happenstance. Such a delicately balanced cycle of events, one after the other, day after day, and still, there I was, sitting out back, on my picnic table, wondering if at that particular point in time, any of it really had anything to do with me. I sat, in silence, wondering if anyone was wondering about me, as I was wondering about them. I sat in silence, trying to listen to anything that was going on, out there, away from me, and then, out of the blue, all of a sudden, a jet airliner passed overhead, from west to east, apparently slowing down to land in either Hartland, or Bangor. Probably Bangor. the goings on in the world smoothly shifted my way, and again, I felt connected to it all. I felt like a piece of the action. A small piece, but a piece, none the less.

As I sat there, and the jet liner quickly slid out of sound, towards somewhere where I wasn't, I heard a blue jay in the trees surrounding our back yard, and a woodpecker over near the other side of the lawn. The woodpecker sounded like he was having a woodpecker of a time, again, hanging upside down from the suet cage that was hanging near the dog pen.

I tried remembering if I put a new brick of suet in the cage that morning. By the sounds of the woodpecker, hollering out his short, sharp, playful chirps, he was apparently, very glad that I did.

 

 

2012 08 18 A Fort Full Of Mobility

As my son, grandson and I climbed down the stairs of Battery A, I could feel the warmth of a hot summer's day leave us behind, and the coolness of two hundred years of hand placed, sub-level  stone wrap itself around us. It had been roughly seventeen years since I had been to Fort Knox, with my son Matt, his cousin Sarah, and Gyver, a Fresh Air boy from The Bronx. It had been what seemed like a life time since I had placed my hands along the coolness of the darkened stairwell that led down to an artillery battery. I had all of the memories stored deep in the video vaults of my mind, as I banged away on the stone steps with my white cane. As I slowly moved down the dark stairwell, I was flooded with electric charges that raced through my aged, billy goat body, causing my heart to race, my palms to sweat, and my anxietty levels to go through the roof.  I had finished up with my mobility lessons two months prior to the field trip to the state park, and I had no idea that I was embarking on one of the most difficult mobility lessons of my life. I had no idea that I would have to pull out all of the tools that I had learned over the past two years. I had no idea that I would have to rely on being able to maneuver through and around all of the obstacles that were testing me, and giving me the options of leaving, and never coming back. It was one of the best, and hardest days I have ever lived.

As we arrived at the bottom of the battery stairs, and realized that there was no way out, except back up the stairs, I knew I was in for a long, grueling day with my cane, and a whole lot of stairs and stone. I knew that I would be put to the test, and somehow, it all seemed ok. I really didn't mind. I really had no problem with a head jam packed with uncertainty. I didn't have a problem with the crowded halls, the uneven stone steps, the spiral staircases, none of it. It all seemed ok with me, and I was smack dab in the middle of it all. Me, my cane, my son, my grandson, and a head full of hours of orientation and mobility lessons that were coming into the forefront, one at a time.

We climbed back up the long, dark stairwell of Battery A, and started walking along a stone path, that led to the Battery B stairwell.

"Oh, how lovely!" I thought, as I started smacking my way down the stairwell. I could hear the excitement in Jack's voice as we again, travelled down into the coolness of the battery. I smiled as I swept back and forth along the wet, stone steps of the stairwell. I smiled as I ran my hands along the cool, wet stone of the stairwell walls. Their coolness felt good as the day was very hot and muggy. I wanted to crawl between the cracks and take a nap, but I was urged on by my grandson's exuberance. I stood on the floor of the battery, just barely able to see the dim daylight shining in through the gun turets. I was caught up in the thought of what it must have been like for the soldiers of the fort, two hundred years before. How different it must have been for them way back then. How different it must have been indeed. I could hear my son Matt, and Jack, running around the enclosed stone chambers of the lowly room, playing hide and seek. All of my anxieties, or worries, or fears of the unknown didn't matter. They didn't seem to have any place in the day's events. All that mattered was what a wonderful day I was having, and how much it meant to have the chance to spend it with the two most important men in my life.

"Let's go Nunno! Come on!" I could hear Jack hollering to me as he started back up the long stairwell, back up to the heavied air of a hot, sticky, summer day. Again, I started smacking and sweeping my way up the stairs, feeling it get hotter with every step. I wanted to turn around and go back down to the coolness of the battery floor, but I also knew that neither of them would have anything to do with that! I was on a mission. We' were on a mission, and it would be completed, no matter what.

Earlier, we had been over to the observation tower of the new Penobscot Narrows bridge. That, in and of itself, was a mobility lesson and a half. From the top of the elevator, on the forty first floor, we had to go up two flights of steps to get to the actual observation deck at the top. The steel stairs were wrapped around the outside walls of the tower, and I really had to take my time with it all. Matt told me that the views were spectacular. I could picture them in my mind, and that seemed to be good enough for me. I knew the area, and could view the scenes in my mind, pulling out all of the scattered scraps of video I had been saving up. Thank God I have a lot of room up there. Smile.

Well, there we were, stepping back out into the sunlight from the battery stairwell, just in time for the firing of the cannon. There were park employees dressed up as militia, with one of them explaining a bit about the gun, and what purpose it served. the "Ready, Fire!" order was given, and the shock wave concussion of the firing cannon went through me, like a knife through butter on a day similar to that same hot summer's day. I jumped, and shouted, and screamed like a mad man, then I laughed as they readied another blast from the cannon. I could hear Jack laughing, and all of the other people surrounding the area were noisily chattering about how loud the cannon was.

"Ready, fire!" Another concussion wave of awe inspiring cannon blast flew through me just as easily as the first one had. Matt had managed to capture the second blast on his camera, which the video of is on my facebook page. It was loud. It was incredibly loud, and as the echo from the blast came back from the opposite river bank, all I could say was, "Wow!"

The fort was never attacked, and it's probably a good thing, because I would pity anyone who had the false notion that anything could ever survive a fort full of those cannons. My god! What an awesome display of power!

Well, we soon found the entrance of the fort, and although I told Matt to go ahead in without me, which he declined, I found myself winding in, around, and through the narrow halls and stairwells of the fort. I could still vaguely remember the layout of the fort in my mind. I could remember the two spiral stairwells on each front corner of the fort. I could remember the grassy rooftop that surrounded and wrapped around the rear of the fort. I could remember the rear hallways that needed a flashlight to maneuver through. I could remember the dungeons and barracks rooms, and the officers quarters. I could remember it all, and as we went through it all, I remembered it all again. Many times, I could hear my grandson's voice hollering, "Come on Nunno! This way!" So many times, he would come back to me, and grab my free hand, so that he could lead me into the darkened abyss. I cringed as I smiled uncontrollably. I was laughing while I was pleading to get through the next turn, or up the next set of stone stairs, or around the next uneven corner of the back tunnels. It was all magnificently scary, and unbelievably electrifying. I felt more scared and alive than I had felt in some time.

My son kept asking me if I was ok. He said a few times that he would try to slow down so I could take my time more with my surprise mobility lesson. That usually lasted about thirty seconds, then, there we were, back to the pace of a six year old boy. Every time I heard Jack shout out, "Cool!" or, "Wow!" I smiled and chuckled to myself. It's as if I was seeing the fort again, through his eyes, and I was loving every bit of it, except for the few times that I had the tootsie rolls scared out of me. Just a couple times though. Smile.

I must tell you again, this was one of the most difficult, and rewarding mobility lessons I have ever been on. I kept picturing my mobility instructor, Rosemary, behind me as I wobbled through the caverns and stairwells of the fort. I kept hearing her words of wisdom, just fifteen feet behind me. I kept wondering if she would have been as pleased with the days developements as I was. Thanks Sarge.

My son Matt did tell me that there were quite a few times that people would see us coming and see my cane smacking away, and they would make room for us to get through. I would like to personally thank you all for helping me to have a fantastic day, and if I stepped on anyone's toes, I apologize fully, and hope you are getting used to walking abnormally for as long as it took for the flat toe to pop back to life.

Fort Knox, thanks for staying exactly where you are. Thanks for guiding me through your magestic beauty and echoed dignity. I will always remember you just as you were, oh so many years ago.

Thanks Jack for helping your dusty old Grampa through all of those twists and turns. You are such a big help.

Thanks matt for a wonderful day, and I hope we can do it again real soon. Having a day full of you two guys is the best mobility lesson I can ever hope to have, ever!

Now then, as I smack and sweep my way through to another sunny day, where's the next fort at? Let me at it, I tell ya!

2012 08 16 I Wonder...

As I pound down the sidewalk, careening around the onslaught of shadows coming at me in frenzy, I think to myself how wonderful it must be to be able to see. I think to myself how easy it must be to be able to get around without worrying about stepping in manholes, or tripping over curbs, or falling over trash cans, or walking into street signs or telephone poles, or guide wires, or bushes with thorns. I think how wonderful it must be to be able to have both hands free while you walk. I think how convenient it must be to not have to scour the dull and murky waters for any kind of a visual clue. I think how easy it would be for me to just say to hell with it, throw my hands in the air, my cane to the sidewalk and just stand here , waiting for someone to coddle me to the nearest convenient pity pot, so that I might make myself comfortably insufficient. I think to myself how foolish that would be, and continue pounding my cane against the sidewalk, dodging the shadows, and scouring my less than poor sight for the vague hints and clues that I have grown so fond of.

The old phrase, "It is what it is," comes to mind as I make it to the next corner, and hang a right. I again think to myself how wonderful that I didn't have to take a left, or go straight ahead and maneuver a street crossing. I smile though, knowing all to well that I can, infact, handle the street crossing. I can stand, and listen, and wait until the time is right, then cross the sea of moving metal non-tranquility. I have the tools, and I have the knowledge of how to use them. All I need is the patience afforded me by my own intellect.

I wonder what the people, driving the cars, must think as they watch me make my way through the busy streets. I wonder what they talk about that night around the supper table, and if I enter the conversation. I wonder if they realize that just a few short months ago, I was sitting in their car, with my hands on their wheel, steering down their road, not thinking about me, with a cane.

I am the first blind person I have ever met. The only other time I had seen a blind person, or noticed a blind person was on TV, or in a movie, or in a book. Anywhere, but in person. I wonder if the people I meet during the course of the day are also seeing or meeting the first blind person they have ever seen. There are a lot of us over here, but there aren't a lot of us, out there. I don't know about all of the blind folk, and I never would ever think I know what they feel. I just wonder if they think and feel the same ways that I do. Every blind person, or visually impaired person that I have met since July, 2010, is someone that I probably would have never met, or seen, or noticed. I would have gone on, living my life as I saw fit, unsuspecting that there were even any blind people out there. It just never crossed my mind. It just never entered my day, or my week, or month, or year, or life. It just never did, and I unknowingly, was not the better for it.

I write about a lot of things, and I think about a lot more. Being blind and seeing as how it is still relatively new to me, I find that it consumes a great deal of my day.

Who am I kidding? Being blind consumes 100 percent of my day. It never lets me sleep, or relax, or get away with not being blind. It is all consuming, and ever present. It is what I have become, and I am who I am today because of it. I suppose I should rephrase that last remark. I might just be who I am today, in spite of being blind.

I can not go more than fifteen minutes or so without thinking about it. The only time that I do, is when I am in one of my daily routines, and everything is going according to plan. I weave, bob, dodge, and feel my way through it all sometimes, and I don't even think about the fact that I can't see. I suppose that certain things I do, on a normal basis, I am able to do with fluid familiarity, and I don't have to worry about any of it. None of it. It all just flows drifts and floats by me in a gentle, peaceful calm that I somehow find relaxing as hell.

This usually doesn't last long though, as the variables of the day come banging in upon me, reminding me of their ever present force. It's almost as if they are all in it together, coming up with a plan of attack that will certainly, and definitely pull me out of my wonderful and free state of mind, and rapidly propel me back into the on guard status that I know all to well.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I took that right at the intersection. No, that was way too easy. Let's twist it up some. Reverse direction, and hello Mr. Intersection, how are you doing on this find day in Central Maine? You sound busy as the dickens, as I am sure you are. Now, where is the push button for the audible crossing helper thing? There you are. I love that beeping sound. Funny, how a beeping sound can bring such a dramatic level of anxiety back down a couple of notches

I wonder what the people driving by are thinking about as they see me standing here, with my cane, waiting for the street crosser pedestrian thing to help me. I wonder if they even notice me. I wonder if they know that my heart is pounding out of my chest. I wonder if they can see that I am ready to jump out of my shoes. I wonder if they know how out of place I feel? I wonder if they know just how uncomfortable I feel standing here with this cane. I wonder if they know just how fortunate they are. I wonder if they're going home, or to work, or to the store, or are just out for a nice, relaxing ride. I wonder if I will be able to find the opposite street corner, and not make a fool out of myself. I wonder if I can make out the faint lines of the crosswalk to guide me along. I wonder if I am standing tall, or all bent over in a huddled question mark.

I hear something, "Main Street walk signal is lit, Main Street walk signal is lit."

Ok then, that's my cue, and away we go.

As I pound across Main Street, I hold tight to my cane, and I wonder.

2012 08 05 Non-Conditional

Non-Conditional

Ok, ok, here I come! Grab the kids and get the heck out of the way! Large wandering, poor sighted billy goat with cane smacking tendencies approaching! Hard a port! Starboard side! Battle stations! Battle stations! Dive! Dive! Dive!

I always wanted to type that stuff. Smile.

Some times I feel like a large cargo ship, coming in through the outer banks, or the sounds, or the bay, floating aimlessly, looking for somewhere to port. Looking for a tugboat to tie onto and lead me in through the narrows. Looking for a visual cue that would pin point my exact location, so that I can update my internal mapping system. Some familiar hint of a silhouette, or an outline of a door, or the faint glow of a window, or the dull shimmer of a steel handrail. Anything that would shout out, "Hey! I'm over here!" All I usually need is just one, small, little, miniscule tad of a facsimile of a shard of a clue. That's it. That's all I need. Nothing more, nothing less.

I'm ok around my house. I know where most everything is. I know what to kick, what to bump into, what to knock over, and what to slam into. I feel right at home when I kick the dog ramp, or trip over a dog toy, or hunt for the top step, or search for a door knob. It's all home, and it's all mine. I never use my cane when I'm around the house, inside or outside. My wife wonders why, and for the life of me, I can't really tell her why, because I'm not really sure myself. I suppose it's a male thing. My home! My castle! Really? I mean, really? Typical male stubbornness? Probably.

I guess that when I am around home, and I get into my normal daily routines, I tend to sometimes forget that I can't see to well. Too well? Hell, I can't see too good either. Fact is, I can't see much of anything. But when I am up and about, around the home, I tend to not remember some times that I need to use my cane everywhere else. I tend to forget that without my cane, outside the home, I am pretty much, completely blind. I forget all of that crap, and my cane is a million miles away. Even when I am walking the dog out back, I would rather stop and send up mental flares, or patiently wait for a car to go by to reset my bearings, then use my cane. I would rather stand outside in the rain, hunting for a visual cue of any size or shape that would guide me back to the house, than run around my back yard with a white stick.

A friend of mine, jokingly, said that people of sophistication, call it a cane. They never use the word "stick".

I got your stick, right over here honey! Smile again.

No, really, it is a manifested male ego swell, manufactured out of sheer little boy pride that would, and will, eventually, I am sure, lead me towards a cliff somewhere.

That doesn't matter though. All of the variables and unknowns and around the next corners, just out of sight's, they don't matter when I am home. None of the uncertainties matter, and as a matter of fact, they just seem to clog things up, and get in the way.

I am still trying to convince myself that I do not need a cane, and that I can see just fine. Most times, my memories fill in what I can't see, and I think that they trick me into believing that what I am imagining is actually what I am seeing. A made up reality of past recollections and stored data that takes shape and presents itself in an orderly fashion. For the most part, I actually believe what I am seeing, and use it to the best of my ability. It's turned and bit me on the ass a few times, and I usually end up calling myself a handful of wonderful names, but then I turn right around and pull the reels of film back out and reload the projector.

I always did love a good movie. Especially the ones with a twist to them.

I suppose I will hang on to my manufactured independence around the house as long as I can. I suppose also, that there will come a time when I will be able to totally accept my "condition". Somewhere out there, a lady that I know just read that word, and is cringing, along with calling me a few names of her own. Using the word "condition" slams me into a category that reflects on nothing more than being what the condition states, and nothing else. No relevance. No unchartered waters. No around the next corners. Just me and my condition.

I don't want to be limited to the rules of the condition. I don't want to be hampered with limits and boundaries of the condition. I don't want to be labeled by the name tags of the condition. I am unconditionally, non conditional. Man, that's a mouthful.

My cane, I suppose, represents the "condition", and I am very afraid that I might find myself in the same long line, with all of the other 'Conditionally' inflicted, which would put, for the most part, and end to my typical male independent state of mind.

Man, if there was ever anything I did that was for the better, it would be to finally be able to put my misguided male ego to rest. I think nothing gets in the way, at times, more than that. Over inflated, swelled beyond recognition, over used and totally abused. You women must look at us dude fellas sometimes and just shake your head. Giggling under your breath right now, aren't you? It's ok; you can go ahead and laugh out loud. It ain't gonna matter much, cuz we're just gonna go ahead and do it anyway. Too much damn typical male patterning going on! Is patterning a word?

I need my cane. I don't like my cane. I depend on my cane. I hate my cane. I realized the other day that if we leave the house, and I am in the car, if my cane is on the floor at my feet, I get a comfortable feeling of being able to handle whatever comes down the road. How can I hate something that brings such comfort to me? I don't like to have to rely on it, but I am glad I can. I am in a constant tug of war with this blind thing. I am desperately clinging tightly to what ever I can muster up of my vision with one hand, while I reluctantly clutch my cane with the other. I continue to subconsciously tell myself that I an not blind. I continue to, blah, blah, blah.

Through it all, I continue to be blessed every day. I continue to focus on the things I have in my life. I continue to struggle with it all, but I do manage to keep on continuing.

Well, here I go, off on another tangent that was totally unpredictable. I guess I'll take my tangent, and run with it.

Probably better take my cane with me.

2012 07 13 Fill 'Er Up!

I often wonder if my time here on this big blue spinning marble is going to be considered time well spent. I often wonder just how each day gets filled up by so much, without really even trying. I often feel like I am being judged, like I am being compared to, like I am trying to do just a little better than the next one.

The next what? What am I being compared to? What am I filling my days up with? How do they all just get, filled up?

I woke up at five past five this morning, wide awake, and with the sound of a crow hollering down the road, it was evident that the day had indeed started getting filled up with, things. The sun was still thinking about peeking its head up over the tree tops. All of the things that tend to fill a day up were all lining up, checking their schedules, waiting their turns, whispering to each other as they patiently got ready to take their place, filling up the day.

Where do they come from? Did I buy them on sale and store them in a closet one night while sleepwalking my way through another night? Did I hit the home shopping network one day and buy a life's supply of things? Is this all pre-sorted out, with my name on it all? Was it double coupon day at the local market? How do they just, "appear", like that. Every day, one after the other, one at a time, until another day is filled up again, and night comes around it's like, umm, wicked weird. It's so unexplainable. . I'm telling you, it's just simply incredible.

Its six thirty now. The dogs are walked, watered and fed. The cardinal has made his beautiful six o'clock in the morning call. The guy down the street with the loud truck has already gone by, on his way to work, and here I am once again, sitting in front of my computer, wondering what to write. I feel like I am supposed to write something, so away I go.

You ever feel like their is something you are supposed to be doing? You ever feel like the world isn't spinning quite right until you figure out what it is and get on with it? How do we know what 'it' is? How do we instinctively know where we are supposed to be, and what we are supposed to be doing?  It's pretty amazing that the world isn't full of six billion people, wandering around, bumping into each other, with no clue what to do, where to go, or who to do it with. It's just simply amazing, if you think about it that is.

Listen. Did you hear that? Another car just went by, on its way to, somewhere it's supposed to be. Just simply amazing. All of this stuff, one after the other, One by one. Who sorts out all of this stuff anyways? I mean, just wait a second, and, there it is! Whappo! Whammie! Pow! Some more stuff, right over there, coming this way! Incoming!

Coco the horse dog is right where she is supposed to be. Deena the dainty is right where she is supposed to be. My feet are crossed, under my computer desk, right where they are supposed to be, or' well', maybe I shouldn't have them crossed. There. Better.

Last night, I listened to a song by Arcade Fire before I went to bed; it's the song, "Suburbs" from the album of the same name. I woke up with it playing in my head, and it's still playing, an hour and a half later, just like it's supposed to be? Really? I mean, it's a catchy tune and all, but, really? Is this how one goes about filling their day up? By listening to Arcade Fire? I didn't even know about this band a year ago. How did they just show up this morning, and start filling my day up? Do I have to pay them royalties or something? I hope not, cuz I didn't sign up for them. I mean, I don't heaven have any premium channels with the discounted package plan that I, umm, filled up my day with.

Once again, I seem to find myself off on a tangent, writing about non pertinent information that really has no bearings on much of anything. Maybe I should just hit control, home, then control, shift, end, delete. No. I don't think so.

I think I will continue to be amazed at just how neatly things fill up my days. I will just keep trying to figure it all out, while at the same time, not having a clue how to. I think I will take all of this stuff in stride and be grateful that at the end of the day, I have a place to lay my head, so I can try to unwind and sort out all of the stuff that has filled up the day.

No wonder we dream so much. It's a wonder we can sleep at all with all of the stuff swimming around up there, up here, "tapping my melon". It's a wonder anything ever gets done, with all of this stuff going on. Everywhere you look. It never stops. It just keeps on being, stuffed up with stuff.

There, see? Quarter of seven and the blue jay is banging the seed open on the kitchen window feeder. Just like he's supposed to. Seamlessly, like a well oiled machine, chugging along, very nicely. So goes the day.

What am I going to do next? I mean, this blog post is coming to a screeching halt, and I'll have to save it, then spell check it, just like I'm supposed to. What am I going to do after that? Where will the next stuff come from? What will I do with it? Will I have a choice what I can do, or who I can do it with? Is there an inventory list somewhere containing all of this, stuff?

It's like pulling into a gas station, rolling the window down, and hollering out to the attendant, "Fill 'er up!"

2012 07 09 I Feel Like...

I feel like, umm, I feel as though, err, I feel that I, I feel?

How do I feel? Let me count the ways. How am I supposed to feel?? What is everyone else feeling? What are they feeling about?

I think it's fair to say that feelings pretty much run a good part of my day. I start it off by feeling like I should get up. I usually end the day by feeling like I should go to bed. All of the other feelings during the day get me from point A to point B, with usually no problems, unless I feel like having problems.

I have been bombarded with thirty two thousand seven hundred and ninety three different emotions, yes, you got it, since that wicked weird day that I endured back in early July of 2010. So many different emotions, feelings, psyche swings, scattered nerve ending responses, the whole shebang. Is shebang a word? Hello Mr. Spellchecker!

Most times, I am not aware of my feelings, I just react along with them, seeing as how they go together so well. Isn't it funny how we sometimes trip over one feeling, just to get to another one?

Feelings. A seamless union of mind and matter. What we see, hear, touch, smell, taste, cause reactions which are all twisted up with feelings. Woa-woa-woa feeeeeeeeelings. Stupid song.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm no expert in the subject. Not in the least. I'm trying to figure them out, just like a long list of, everybody else on the face of this big blue spinning marble. A very long list indeed. I don't know if I know what I'm feeling. I don't know if I know what to call the feeling I'm feeling. I don't really know how to feel when I can't pinpoint the feeling that I'm, umm, feeling. I don't know if I should be feeling, or if I should not be feeling. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, but I feel as though I have it pretty well figured out.

The swelling tides of emotions, feelings, come rushing in again and again, no matter how much of a handle we think we have on them. They don't care about common misperceptions, or afflicted ignorance of the subject at hand, they just keep coming, and coming, and coming.  Relentless little buggers, full of spite, and vengeance, and reluctance, and tormented guilt.

On a happier note, lest we forget the happy, the joyous, the innocence, the affectionate tugs at the heart.

Let's focus on these for just a second.

Ok, time's up!

Smile.

Fact is, most of the time, I have no clue how to handle, or react to feelings. I haven't a vague notion which way to turn, only that I need to turn either this way, or that. There I go, being half right again.  What if I wasn't supposed to go left or right at all? What if I was just supposed to stand right here and just, feel? How ironic. I like that word ironic. I don't use it much. Isn't it ironic that I would choose not to use a word that I like so much? How do I feel about that?

I don't know what, or how to feel most of the time, I just take the stupid things, the feelings things, and run with them. I might as well, I mean, I look down, and my feet are moving. Usually that means it's me, taking them, and running with them. What a novel conception. What the heck am I talking about? I feel as though I may have just lost a lot of you. For those of you still strapped in, let us move on.

A lot of the feelings that I, umm, feel, are brought on by this lovely environment. Yes, I know, I am the center of it all, but still, a little help please, and thank you. An ever changing structural co-existence, brought on by an ever increasing need to, umm, co-exist. How cleverly evident, don't you think? Our environment reacts, therefore, we react right along with it. And here they come again, FEELINGS! How convenient.

I have had some unpredictable reactions in the past couple years. I have had some internal environmental developmental changes also, which have sent the feelings meter into a momentous needle meter fluctuation that has sent me cascading up, down, and around a spiral staircase, along side Dorothy, the house, and a tornado, looking down over a field full of poppies.

How did she feel anyway, getting sucked up like a donut crumb through an electro-lux hose? She must have been feeling quite a few different things I would imagine? And her little dog, too!

I realize that I am once again, rambling, but it feels so good. It feels wonderful. It feels like a slice of heaven. It feels as though I am standing beside myself, with tremendous outbursts of internal joy and compounded exuberance which shimmers with radiant illuminations through the pounding chambers of my beating heart. Whew. Had to catch my breath on that one.

I have hit the full spectrum of this emotional wheel of feelings. I have felt them all, dealt with them all, enjoyed some, and despised some more. I am no different than any one else though. These feelings, things, they aren't just mine. They belong to us all. Share and share alike. No need to get greedy with them. No need to hog them all. No need to think that yours are any better, or worse than anyone else's. No need to, feel, like they're all yours.

My sister told me once, of a saying that she uses to bring everything into perspective.

"Stop. Breathe. This is it."

That was it. Did you stop and take a second? Did you pause and take a deep breath? Did you feel the moment pass through your existence? Did you feel it? Did you take it all in? Did you step back and try to grab it before it slipped through your fingers? Did it feel wonderful? Did it feel exhilaratingly electrifying? Did you feel as though something special happened, and you were a part of it? Did it feel great? Did it feel totally awesome? Did you feel angry that you didn't just take the opportunity to grab a clue? Did you feel it at all?

I mean, did you really really feel it?

Did you?

Really?

2012 07 01 "Hello Mr. Hosta!"

"Hello Mr. Hosta. And how are you today?

I know I haven't been out to see you in a while, and I'm sorry. Believe me, it frustrated me probably as much as it did you. As much as it did all of you. And how are all of you anyways? Now, let me drop down to the ground and, "groan", there we go.

Now, let's have a look at you. I can't believe after two years of being neglected by yours truly, it's amazing how well you all are still doing. I know, I know. It's my fault. All of it. I know. I said I was sorry, didn't I? Ok then. Sheeesh. I guess I just wasn't ready to get to you before this, and I know you won't understand. How could you ever understand something as complicated as this anyways, I mean, after all, you're just a clump of plants. Very nice looking plants if I may say so.

Round and round the tree you go. One clump after another. I remember when I planted you little guys, all six of you, around this big maple tree. At first I wondered if you would grow, mainly because every other thing I put around this tree, well, it just never did well.

Oh yes, I was skeptical that you guys would do well, and look at you now! My oh my!

I do love the big leaves of you all green guys, but I think I am partial to the smaller leaved verigated fellows. My spell checker is having a fit with that word. Oh well. You just seem to have more character, and of course, I can see a little hint of the light stripes of your leaves. Yes, I think I like you guys best of all.

Who put all these weeds in here? Boy I'd like to get my hands on the, ha ha. Just kidding. I mean, weeds are people too. I just wish they would stay far, far away from you guys, and from the rest of my flowering friends. Shrubs and bushes too! Leave! Scram! Vamoose!

Is vamoose a word? If it isn't, it should be.

There now, one group done, and five to go. I think I'll have to dig up this circling wall of bricks and reset them. They look like the winters have taken their toll on them.

Round and round the tree we go. Hmm? It seems that one clump is missing. What's this pile of dirt beside where this clump used to be?

Grrrr! I know what it is! It's Charlie the wood chuck! That little! What is it with him and hostas? I mean, it was just two summers ago that he dug a huge hole right in the middle of the hostas in front of the porch! That little! I bet he's the culprit behind this missing clump of hostas.

What is it with him and hostas anyways?

I think I'll have to dig up a small clump from the huge area of hostas in the flower garden this fall and place it where this missing one used to be.

Ok, where was I? Ahh yes, I remember. The bricks. I guess I'll just try and straighten them out as I work around the tree. One brick here, one brick there, and a couple of weeds, weeds, weeds. That's how we pass the time away, in the merry old land of, YEOOWWW! What in heck was? Ouch! Man oh man! Who put one of those pricky bushes in my hostas? Son of a. Medic!

Ok. Easy now. Where's the base of this stupid thing? Ouch! There it is!

I found it! Why am I hollering? I'm the only one out here. Ok, now how smart do I feel? Not very.

Ok, easy now. Grab this stupid thing, and, Ouch! Man oh man, this thing is out to get me.

Change four, plan six. Man over pricky bush. Mental advantage, human, hopefully.

One, two, two and a half, THREE! Hooray! Plant evicted! Stupid thing. I'll just throw you over there, and, back at it again.

Ok then, four clumps done, and one to go. Rut row. Horse Fly! Oh No! Horse Fly! Standard Tactical Defensive Procedure engaged. Stand up, scream like a girl, and start flailing arms wildly, hoping to smack the crap out of him

Ha Ha! Gotcha you little flesh biting, blood sucking Sherman tank with a kickstand! Who's the man! Who's the man! That's right! That's right! Yeooww! Why you little, I thought I got you? Ouch! Right in the back of the calf! Man that hurts! Stupid little bug! I hate you! Do you hear me?

Jeezum crow!

Ok. Focus. Where was I? Oh ya, last clump. Kneel down and, whoops, wrong side of the tree. Hehe. I'll just crawl around and, oww! What the heck is that! Oh cool. How clever am I? I just crawled over the picky bush weed thing that I pulled out and threw to the side. I must be the smartest man on the planet. Holy crap! Medic! I think I'll crawl the other way, and thank you very much.

There now, where's that last clump of hostas? Hello? Yoo hoo? Oh, hi there. And how have you been? Nice to hear. Who, me? Don't ask.

Ok then, pull, pull, straighten, pull, and finally, pull. Cool. All cleaned out. I must say, what a nice job. Not bad for a guy that can't, what the? Oh no! Incoming! Horse fly swarm at ten o'clock! Tango, Alpha, Mango, Foxtrot! That's it! I'm outta here! See you hostas next June, or maybe in six weeks.

Help! They're after me!

Run for the hills!"

2012 06 27 Listen

   Listen

Can you hear the silence?

 I never thought of silence much. I never gave it a second thought, or even part of a third. I know that silence, to me, usually meant quiet time. Time to relax. Time to settle back and enjoy some free time. Silence, to me, always seemed so peaceful. So uninhibited. So, silent.

I surely never thought about being able to hear silence. Who would? What would it mean if you could hear the silence? Surely, they don't go hand in hand, I mean, how can you hear nothing? After all, isn't it rather hard to go around trying to listen to things that don't even make a sound? How can you hear something that by definition, isn't there? Why would anyone in their right mind run around trying to find nothing to listen to? It all sounds simply maddening, and rather void of logic, doesn't it? I mean, really, think of it. Silence is the prelude to, everything. Nothing makes a sound without it.

I have thought about a lot of different things these past twenty three months since I saw, and heard the color green for the last time. I have often wondered about the darkness, and the quieted hush that seemed to follow right behind it. I often have wondered if the things that I could no longer see, have anything to do with the things that I was never able to hear. I also often wonder why I wonder about such things, but who am I to argue?

So many new concepts, and equations, and perceptions have crept inside my muddled, foggy mind. So many ways to think about things. So many different outcomes and conclusions and moments of ponderment. Is ponderment a word? If you don't hear anybody say it. Is it still there?

So many different things to hear. So many different sounds to go along with the things I can not see. So many unusual hums, and chirps, and dings, and rumbles, and clangs, and rattles, and one wonderful noise after another. In a way, I guess they are all surrounded by silence. Is it the same thing that Simon and Garfunkel were singing about? Did they hear it too? Did they know something that we didn't?

Silence has to be the beginning, and the ending of everything that makes a noise. Doesn't it? It is the start, and the finish of noise. All of the noise. As the Grinch said, "The noise, the noise, the noise!" After all, it was silence that he was originally searching for, wasn't he?

Through all of the endless commotion and the constant racket of the thundering day, silence is there. All you have to do is listen for it.

I suppose if you listen closely, you just might be able to hear the silence. It might be that short burst of nothing, in between this noise right here, and that noise, right over there. It might be a lost memory, hidden in the fabric of a quiet moment from a yesterday gone by. It might be peace and tranquility, trying to find its place inside the rolling rumble of today.

Silence is wrapped around just about everything, but how can you tell? I mean who would know, unless you were some silence expert or something? I suppose that if you don't pay attention, you just might never get a chance to hear nothing.

Trying to listen to silence is a contradiction in and of itself, isn't it? I mean, imagine the conversation.

"Did you just hear that?"

"Did I hear what?"

"Nothing?"

Did I hear nothing?"

"Yes, nothing."

"No, I didn't hear anything."

"Exactly! See, I knew you heard it!"

Shades of "Who's on first" or what?

I guess through it all, it will always be there. In all its quieted glory, and hushed praise, it will remain with us to the end.

Listen to that.

Shhhh.

Can you hear it too?

It sounds as perfect as nothing I've ever heard.

2012 06 19 I Think I've Lost My Mind!

I think I have lost my mind. Have you seen it? Did it come screaming through here a few seconds ago? Have you seen something whipping around the room at lightspeed, totally out of control?

Yes, that would be it. In all it's glory, and all it's blinding metaphores and adaptable cliches. That would be it.

I'm sorry, but it is fairly apparent that I can not control it, slow it down, or keep up with it. It goes where it wants, when it wants, as fast as it wants, as often as it wants. It comes to a screaching halt, just to snap your head back as it tears off down the road, once again. I just can't seem to come close to figuring out how to stop it. Listen, can you hear that? Yup! That's it, laughing at me!

I suppose it wouldn't be so bad, but I never know where the stupid thing is going next. I can never tell what to expect, or how to prepare for what's coming around the next corner, and believe me, those corners come at you quick as a jack rabbit.

No warnings, no road signs, no speed limit signs, nothing, just wide open spaces with unlimited data streams and huge amounts of digital storage capacity.

If it would slow down for just a second so that I could, well, there it goes again. Off and running. Turn and burn. Gotta scoot. Catch ya later. And there it was, gone.

It wasn't so bad when I was young, I mean, I could keep up with it for the most part back then. It was usually chugging along, right there beside me, and I could reach out and grab a clue once in a while.

Now? Forget about it. It's a hopeless cause, wrapped around a pitiful attempt at keeping up. Whenever I do manage to finally catch up with it, there it goes again, leaving me behind in a dust cloud of impressive magnitude, exactly like i'm standing still. What up with that anyway? Hello?

Is this a joke? Is this a poor attempt at humor? Is this what I have to look forward to for the duration? Did I really get to the point when I should be carrying around a white towel in myback pocket?

And another thing, how does my mind expect me to remember half of the stuff that it is hurdling me through? I mean, someone, please, a road map would be nice! Tom Tom hell, this thing has it's own GPS software.

Did time and life fly by back then as fast as it does today? Did all of those memories spin through the fabric of my past as fast as the new ones are coming at me now? How can anyone ever hope to keep up with it all? How can anyone really get a moment to relax these days? How can anyone enjoy a slice of life any more, when the whole pie comes tearing at you all at once? Oh, hello there. It's me, a whole pie! Open up now!

There it goes again. Huh? Don't ask me! I don't have a clue where we're going next! No phone call, no email, no text message, just me and my little wandering high speed brain fart.

Pitiful, really, when you realize that I have managed to hang on for this long. It's a wonder I have the time to even tie my shoes with it jumping up and running off at the drop of a hat. Little inconsiderate mind thing.

Oh sure, there you go again, with all your fancy spin moves and high stepping obstacle maneuvers. You actually think I can keep up with, that? Are you crazy? I think you are the one that's lost your mind, oh wait, that's me. Sorry.

See? Focus lost. Pertinent information misplaced. Useable data stream deleted. I hope it's still in the recycle bin.

Nope. Not there. What a surprise! How fitting.

Hey, older than me people, what's it like up ahead there? Do I ever have a chance of catching up with this thing? Is it ever going to slow down? Am I destined to be forever lagging behind? Is a light bulb going to go off some day, and I'll finally have a firm grasp on it?

Hey, younger than me little people dudes and dudettes! Better enjoy it while you think you have a handle on it, cuz you see how good you think it is right now? Ha! It ain't gonna get any better than it is right now kiddies!

I thought I was in control. I thought I had the world by the, umm, ping pong balls. Smile.

I thought I would be just fine.

I can't even manage to catch up with my mind to find out what I am supposed to be finding out about any more.

Look.

Did you see that?

Did you notice that?

There it goes again!

Wait! Am I still writing this blog, or have I started on the next one already? Are we still in today, or has my mind conveniently gone and turned the corner into tomorrow already?

You know, I think I should, umm, I think I might, err, where was I? Hang on a second.

Where did it go running off to this time?

A little help please!

2012 06 12 Digging In The Dirt

Oh, what are these? Irises? Are they blue? No? Purple? I bet they're as pretty as you? Ya, right. I bet they're almost as pretty as you though.

Man, there's a lot of grass growing up around them. Who put the ground so far away? very funny.

Ok then, time to scooch down and, Man, the lawn feels cool and wet on my knees. Umm, how in heck am I gonna get back up? Man, I hate getting old and senile.

Ok then. One clump of grass here, one clump of grass there, and a couple of tra-la-la's. That's how we spend our time away, in the merry old land of, umm, weeds! Stupid weeds.

There. You can see the irises a lot better now, can't you?

What? More irises? More weeds? Let me at em! Ok then. Around the hydrangeas. Careful now, and, there you guys are. These ones are blue? No? Purple , just like the other ones? Very cool.

Ok then, scooch down and, stupid weeds. Stupid grass clumps. The dirt does feel good at my finger tips though. I always did like digging in the dirt. Peter Gabriel. lol. Focus now. Ok then.

There ya go, another patch of clump free irises! Man, I can't believe how much this cluster has spread. There must be around six huge clusters of these pretty little ladies, and all from one small bucket full that I dug up from the side of the road about fifteen years ago. Who'd a thunk? Who knew? Such an amazingly beautiful flower. I can still see just how pretty you are. Some things you just never forget.

Ok then, moving back to the right and my blue hydrangeas. Hello you guys. One little, two little, three little bushies. I wonder why the one on the corner has grown faster than the other two. Such amazing flowers. Clusters the size of cantaloupes, and blue as blue can be. I might have to spread some pine needles down around you guys again this fall.

Stupid grass clumps, and what are these moronic weeds that creep and crawl along the edges of the lawn? I hate these stupid things.

There, three perfectly happy and content hydrangea bushes. I should snap off last years stalks. They're all dead anyways.  Holy crap, there's a lot of them. there.

Ok then, moving over past the first iris patch, and what do we have here? More grass clumps? How lovely. How inconveniently lovely. I'll just reach in behind, along the rock wall, and OUCH! What the? Ahhh yes, I remember. The stalks with the no-see-em prickly things that sting you and creepy crawl under your skin for two days. Man, I hate these things! It's a good thing I can't see you, cuz I'd put a beating on all of ya! Stupid things! What was God thinking when he dreamed up these little buggers? Refund please! And thank you.

Now, moving right along to the right, and, YEOWW! Rose bush! Holy Moly! Careful. Careful. Someone ought to outlaw grass from growing around rose bushes. I mean, really.

There. Clump free roses, just the way they were meant to be.

Oh, I almost forgot, and I can't remember how to spell, rhodedendrom bush. Oh, thank you Mr. Spell Checker. Rhododendron bush. This is Lynne's favorite. It must have huge buds coming along? I knew it did. It's getting a lot bigger too. I remember the one I planted out front on the corner of the porch, years ago. It was doing so well, until the Miklos kid hopped off the step ladder beside it, and snapped it at the base. I almost cried. Oh well. I hope this one gets as big as that one was.

There ya go, weed free, just like when you was a little guy.

Now where to? Back around the other way? ok.

Ahhh yes, the carolinas. I almost forgot. How could I forget you guys though? Fifteen feet long, and four feet wide, and all from two little pots that we bought down the road from the lady that sells the corn. who knew you guys spread so much?

Now then, more grass clumps, and, hello! Yeoww! More of those stupid stinger plants. I really do hate these things, and they are hideous looking to boot. A perfect combination! Stupid things!

Ok, the carolinas are all cleaned out. They look ok? Good. Now then, around this big rock, and, hello blueberry bushes. All alone, out here on the end of the rock wall. How you guys doing? what? More prickly stinger thingies? Grrr. Lots of them, and lots of grass. Ahh yes, I remember this fern growing out of the wall too. Never seems to die, just keeps on ticking. Hello fern. Good bye fern. Hate to do it, but the blueberry bushes come first.

Wow, this bush on the end is getting big! I hope the rest of them get as big as you.

Ok then, finally reached the end of the wall. Sixty feet, all clump free. It's a beautiful thing, right?

How does it look? Really good? Really?

You wouldn't kid me, would you? Really? Aww, shucks. I bet you say that to all the grass clump weeder, puller guys.