50 Years

It has been 50 years tomorrow the 9th.  In the movie "Peggy Sue got Married" Charlie Bodell tells Peggy that he is the man. He has the hair, and he has the car. That was me, once upon a time. I had the hair, I had the car, and I still have Kathy.

I also have this little secret longing. I have always wished I was a graceful dancer! Graceful at anything would be a good start. I wish Kathy and I could dance the night away sometime.

This year for our anniversary we are moving away from New Mexico. We sold our house and bought a new one in Utah. We also rented an apartment there.  So it sounds like we did something big, doesn't it? 

We, Zach, Jenn, and the Castles, will go out to dinner to Yanni's.  Good times, good folks.  Not too bad of a destination. I really like the Saganaki, their flaming Greek Kaseri cheese.  

"Standing with a Fists" is talking about Sunkmanitu Tanka Ob Waci who is Dancing with Wolves when she says: My place is with you, I go where you go.............That is what Kathy and I did.

It's ok if you "love" blueberries.  It takes some passion to love, and it is clearly obvious that many folks really seem to love blueberries.

And the winner is, "Raspberries"

     Asked to think of something that I loved, I thought of raspberries! A bowl of raspberries, with sugar lightly sprinkled on them.   
     They had sugar put on them the night before and sat waiting for me all night.  I might put milk on them this time but I don't do that everytime. Some of the berry juice will bleed into the bowl or milk and will add another texture of flavor. 
     Fresh berries right of the bush are good but cold berries in a bowl, sweetened some and with milk, are even better. 
     My parents and, across the street my grandparents, had a big raspberry patch in their back yard when I was young. We moved away when I was 7 but  I remember crawling between the rows and picking all that I could to fill my container of the day right off the bush.
     One time when I was about 15 I went up one of the canyons south of town to the Frazier farm and picked raspberries as a one day job. I don't recall how much I was paid but I do recall eating a lot that day. 
      This morning, early, I went out the front door to get the paper. It reminded me of so many years getting up real early to go out and run. 
      Upstairs, near the bedrooms, the house was warmer than downstairs. As I walked downstairs it felt better as it began being a little cooler. 
      The air, and a lot more, changed as I opened the front door. It was cooler outside but it was also crisp. The coolness was in the moving air and as it touched my skin I could feel it. It felt crisp.  Breathing the cool air and feeling it touching my skin and nose and chest was the focus of my attention. I loved that experience and those feelings. 
     I have read that mediation or even Zen teaches you to think about the air your breathing. Think of, and feel, the air coming into your body and out of your body.  This is suppose to allow you to not think about anything else. 
     I have to be truthful right here. I have tried this breathing approach a lot. I have tried and tried to see if I can find myself thinking of nothing else while breathing in and out like this. I have not achieved what seems to me to be this suggested state of euphoria. 
     I do love the feel and touch of cool crisp air in the early mornings. 
     I love Raspberries. 

     I have a lot to be thankful for. Raspberries and cool air are on the list. 

Poetry evokes or implies what?

What about poetry?  I am interested in the implication that poetry is different than I had previously thought? It may be that it is mostly just personally satisfying.................................. but of not a lot of value to others?  True or not, maybe that is the better way to look at it? 

I want to learn more about why three lines can be a poem?


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         Writing each day may be the polish

Details and style may follow

         Is value the end game, or is it the effort?

       Clouds in the sky

Blue all around too

        What color defines the ground and us

Poetry, thought, rhythm

Left hand, right hand

Melody, defining song

I wonder how long I could write about things I love?

Much longer than those that I don’t

Love has more details.

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