In medias res 2009

Tomorrow is July
With all the heat lightning
And gunpowder and collecting lightning bugs
In a clear Mason jar container,
A lazy flip through the sweetness of the season
Into the cool, crisp waters of a swimming pool,
Sweet like the juice of a ripe watermelon
Running down my forearms
Or the warm taste of a blackberry cobbler
Loaded with lots of butter and sugar
And all the good things that life
Is ready to offer despite our common failure
To fully recognize that in the ripeness of Summer
About this time
There will be hotdogs on the grill
And potato salad and baked beans
And the crack of a watermelon
Like a wooden bat on ball
As the knife splits it into manageable slices
And lays its pink fruit on the tray
Before us, so cold and so sweet,
Day ending with a clap of gunpowder, flash,
In the star-bedazzled night
A midnight blue background
To the dreams and the celebrations
Before Autumn drifts in and
Spirits the kids off to school
And life returns to its dull, plodding pace
And the dying of the leaves and chill Canadian winds
And the reminders of life's tenuous drift
Tracking us downward, gravity pulling,
Far from the taste of the watermelon
And the sweetness of the peaches,
The smell of new-mown grass
And the drift of charcoal smoke.

On with it

This is the last day of the month. I am still tired. I have worked on getting things accomplished, but still feel like everything is in the works. I read the comments on facebook and it seems like everyone is on vacation. Of course, it wasn't that long ago when we were enjoying the sunset at St. Pete Beach. And last week, Cindy and Kate were in Knoxville, while I was driving all over Central Georgia attempting to assist people in refinancing their houses.

But the stress of the everyday is bringing me down a bit. I wish I had the time and the wherewithal to enjoy some time away. Again. I really would like to have some time with Cindy, just the two of us, away from everybody and everything. The phone calls. The demands. The tasks.

"The world is too much with us. Late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers...."

Wordsworth indeed.

Promises of rain

Just a few minutes ago, the western sky was dark as gun metal and there were rumblings all around. I went to Kate's car and procured my umbrella on the chance that I might need it when I got in the car later. That apparently was the turning point on this shower, because now the western sky is bright again, the sun has reappeared from behind the clouds and there is no more thunder rumbling in the distance. Now it is sunny and hot and I am still inside wondering when the rain will reappear and wet us down soundly like a soggy doggy.

Apparently, they have had the same experience in Barnesville, just south of Griffin. What is the deal?

Cumberland Sunday morning, just a little east of there

I got up relatively early, while most of the house seemed to be still resting in the arms of Lethe, and I read for awhile, tried to get the television to operate, then pulled the computer out and went downstairs to partake in a tradition which is more honored in the breach than in the observance.

Knoxville has a radio station which broadcasts traditional music and sponsors a lot of concerts in Knoxville. On Sundays, they have a program called Cumberland Sunday Morning. The religious music is all traditional and I really enjoy the programming.

But for some reason, I couldn't make the radio pick up the station in order to listen. You must understand that I have a narrow window in which to listen to this station, because the music they ordinarily play is so traditional that most of the occupants of this house haven't developed a taste for music this raw and traditional.

So basically, I had a short time where I could pick up the station and listen to the music before the other denizens came down and frowned until I changed the channel on the radio. Taste, unfortunately, is such an individual matter.

But, as I said, I couldn't pick up the channel and I know it will be this evening when I am back in Kate's car, all alone, and will be able to listen to the music on that channel again.

It is now time to put the computer down and drink some orange juice.

Cheers from East Tennessee

Yesterday afternoon, I arrived in Knox-town with a car which was providing transportation, but nothing else. I came inside to escape the heat of late June and found my father in law with new facial hair. The house was cool, thanks to air conditioning, but Cindy and I went out on the screened porch and read books while the dog found the coolness of the floor.

Today, it was hot and all the plans we had discussed got preempted by a trip to the pool at Missy's condo. I found that there was a Moe's nearby, so Kate and I travelled to it and purchased the burritos for which I had had a taste for several days. Afterward, it just seemed too hot in the shining pan of the day to lay out in the sun and wait for the sunscreen to stop doing its duty, at which point my poor Celtic flesh would turn red like a lobster in a pot.

So, I excused myself and drove to the folks' house, showered, changed and then napped for an hour. At this point, I decided that I was being rude to my inlaws, so I came downstairs, only to find them both asleep on the couches in the living room. So, apparently it was the nap hour in the Sicard house, and I was just complying with the structure.

Now it is past five, almost six, and a beer from Germany is calling my name from the refrigerator downstairs. It is quite interesting how I can remember the Deutsch I learned in high school and college about this time of day.

Adieu. Oder Auf Wiedersehen. Entschuldigen mir bitte. Prosit.

Saturday morning in Tennessee

I accomplished all of my major tasks on Friday and was driving Kate's car up I-75 from Atlanta, through Chattanooga toward Cleveland. I had the Kinks' "Low Budget" playing on my ipod and I was singing along with the music about as loud as I could manage, which was quite loud since I was all alone, the headphones were on my head, and there was no one to complain about my singing. At any rate, I had just passed into the area around Cleveland, Tennessee, when the airconditioning in Kate's car quit.

At this point, I could have got really mad and cursed Henry Ford, the inventors of airconditioning and any one else who sprang to mind. However, I was singing along with Ray Davies of the Kinks and I was not to be bothered with silly little details. So, I continued on my route, finished singing along with the music, and rolled the car window down enough to let a little additional air into the interior of the car.

That wasn't quite sufficient. I still began to sweat a bit in the near July heat. But I survived, completed my journey and now I am in the study upstairs writing this piece and thinking about breakfast and taking Tex out before he befouls the interior of the house.

Today's moment of irony

This story began this morning when the taste of a burrito from Moe's Southwestern Grill found its way to my tastebuds. Or at least to my brain. This was particularly odd since I had just finished eating Chinese food and a slice of key lime pie. Why the taste of a burrito sprang to mind or tongue is beyond me.

At any rate, I had a late appointment in Newborn, Georgia and I tried to figure some way in which I could follow this up with a trip to the nearest Moe's. So, I went on line and found that the nearest Moe's to Newborn, Georgia was in Conyers, Georgia. Newborn and Conyers are not that far from each other. Actually in adjoining counties. So it didn't seem out of the realm of possibility.

But when I discussed the possibility of driving from backwoods Georgia, somewhere near Newborn, the borrowers suggested that I forgo driving to Conyers and return to Griffin by the route which I utilitized to travel from Griffin to rural Newborn the first time.

So, after my closing, I drove back down Highway 11 to Jackson Lake Road to Ga 16 and on to Jackson, then westward toward Griffin. At this point, my brain took over. I realized, as I came upon the entrance to Interstate Highway 75 North, that I could travel to a Moe's in McDonough by way of the nearby interstate.

So, I altered my route and headed north on Interstate 75. Driving up 75, I came upon the exit for Locust Grove. At this point, my rational mind took over and convinced me that it wasn't worth driving the rest of the route to McDonough, when I could get off and make use of one of the restaurants in Locust Grove.

So, I exited off I-75 and headed east toward the center of town. I remembered a Shane's Rib Shack and decided that Moe's could wait. I turned off the main road and parked in front of the restaurant.

I entered the restaurant and walked to the front counter and looked at the menu on the wall. I knew from previous experience that the barbecue pork wasn't that good. I also knew that the barbecued chicken was going to be less than stellar. It seemed that my only option was the ribs.

The price of the full rack was too high, so I ordered a half slab of pork ribs, beans, potato salad and an iced tea. That accomplished, I left the front and found a table at which to sit.

Inside the dining room of every Shane's Rib Shack are at least two televisions. In this one, there were three. All three televisions were set on CNN, which was reporting on the apparent death of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, in Los Angeles, California.

As I sat at my table, sipping iced tea and awaiting my supper, I listened to the commentators discussing the basic facts of the life of Michael Jackson. Fifty years old. Most talented brother of the Jackson Five. Brother of Janet Jackson. Singer of many gold records. Performer on the highest selling record of all time.

Now he was dead of a heart attack at the age of fifty. At this point, a meal of pork ribs, potatoes and mayonaise and syrupy baked beans was delivered to my table. As I contemplated the apparent death of a man who was two years younger than me and in probably better physical shape, this meal of pork and carbs and fat and sugar all of a sudden didn't seem quite appropriate. Or good for me.

I ate it, of course. It wasn't like I was going to forgo the meal for which I had just paid. But I did consider my habitual eating habits, particularly in connection to my potential life expectancy. And it gave me pause. To think.

And that was today's moment of irony.

Losses and respect

Am I bothered more by the fact that Michael Jackson died today or that he was two years younger than me when he died from a heart attack? It is a quandry, for sure. I was watching television all during the time when Michael Jackson was living and performing, so I was privy, like all of us, to his performances over the years. I wasn't a big fan, but he did some nice music over the years. I particularly liked the album he came out with when I was a first year law student. What happened afterwards wasn't my favorite. In the end, he became quite a caricature.

I wasn't much of a fan of Farrah Fawcett either. I always went for the smarter of Charlie's Angels: Kate Jackson. Farrah Fawcett was the blonde, with all the stereotypes that go along with it. Still, I felt sorry for her when she got sick. I wasn't much of a fan of Ryan O'Neal either, but it was good to see him standing by her when she was suffering.

It is interesting to see what sometimes happens when people are placed under stressful situations. I think Farrah and Ryan rose to the challenge. It does engender respect.

When I was a young man, I don't think I could foresee the anxiety and stress to come when I was older. The key is how you respond when it hits you. I am working on it. It is often tough. But I am working on it.

Cindy is too.

Key West

The long, narrow road begins somewhere south of Miami,
That overheated depository of dreams, retirees and Carribeans,
Then flips a right toward the sunset's calling
And provides a right of access
On grey concrete stilts above the ocean
From tiny key to another tiny key
Until the road gives out on Duval Street,
Journey's end among the pastels and parrots
Watching the gold of the sun dissipate
And dive into the western ocean
End of day beneath a shower of stars
And a soft westerly breeze.

Innovation

I watched a television show on PBS one evening in which the speaker was discussing entrepeneurship and creativity. During the program, the speaker talked several times about 3M and how they turned lemons into lemonade over their corporate history. The organizers of 3M bought some land in Northern Minnesota upon which was located a large amount of rock. The organizers bought the land with the idea that they would quarry the rock and use it for any number of industrial and building uses.

Unfortunately, the organizers found that the rock located on their property was too sandy to be used for the purposes for which they intended. At this point, the organizers began to wonder what purpose they might use the rock. Apparently, they decided to use the rock for the production of sand paper, which made the company quite successful.

At this point, 3M became a company which depended on the creativity of its employees and management. During the sixties, the R&D people at 3M developed a glue which, unfortunately, was not very adhesive. After working with this glue, the R&D people put the glue aside and worked on other formulas for glue. One of the R&D people sang in the choir of his church. When this particular scientist participated in the choir, he usually placed pieces of paper in the hymn book to mark his place during the service. Unfortunately, the pieces of paper tended to fall out of the hymnal during the service.

This particular scientist remembered the glue which didn't hold. He went back to work on Monday and borrowed some of the glue and attached it to square pieces of paper in order to provide a marker which would stick in the short term, but was easily removed from the hymnal without damage to the book. Pretty soon, these glued note papers were marketed to businesses all over the country and 3M had another story of innovation.

In the late part of the Nineteenth Century, a Swiss scientist was working on a new drug for the treatment of schitzophrenia. He was working on this project for quite awhile when he thought he might have something which would do the trick. At some point in the development, the scientist decided to try the drug on himself. Taking a small dose, he felt no effect from the drug. Thinking he had failed, the Swiss scientist closed up his labratory, put his coat on, climbed up on his bicycle and rode homeward.

The next day, the scientist found himself lying in a ditch alongside the road upon which he had previously been riding. He had lost about a half a day after he had succumbed to the drug he had created. I don't know if he decided at that point that his drug would not be an effective treatment for schitzophrenia. But the drug stuck around western culture for other purposes.

For this reason, a Psychology professor from Harvard and his colleagues would have something else to try after they came off the peyote buttons they tried on a trip to the American Southwest. The professor: Dr. Timothy Leary. The drug: LSD.

These stories are a reminder that human creativity can produce amazing results. But there are limits to everything.

Temporary Solitude

This house is quiet when its just me here:
No dog barking at the UPS man,
No daughter playing her music from upstairs,
No wife talking to me from another room.
No, its just me and the television and the radios
And the guitar, if I pull it out,
And I suppose I could jump up and down
And yell and scream to my heart's content
But I really don't care to, its just
Too much energy and effort
And besides, what's the point
When there is no one else here to listen?

Closings, barbecue, books, music and the Braves win too!

I love driving through the area between Griffin and Columbus. Particularly with the rain we have received during the Winter and the Spring. There are so many pretty fields and forests and everything is so green. I drove through Pike County out to Woodbury in Meriwether County, then continued down to Manchester, home of the writer Stuart Woods, then across to Waverly Hall, Ossahatchie, then on to Columbus. After conducting a short closing in Columbus, I headed over to eat barbecue at my second favorite barbecue place in Georgia, then took a drive around Columbus to Barnes and Nobles, where I found a couple bargains. Then, I headed up through Harris County along US 27 to Callaway Gardens. Everything was so lush and beautiful. The fairways at the golf course were really manicured and green.

By the time I made it back into Pike County, the sun was sinking over my left shoulder into the trees and fields I was leaving behind. The skies were decorated with pink cotton candy. The baby blue and the pink was like preppy power in the skies. It was really pretty, even though I couldn't stop to enjoy it much.

Now the day is over and it is about time to end the day and go to bed. I am running darks in the dryer and emptying the dishwasher before I do in fact go to bed. With beginning my day in Hampton at 7:00 o'clock a.m., this has been a long day. Perhaps, I should bypass the rest of the television programming and get in bed.

Oh, and the Braves did win against the Cubs at home tonight. Good pitching. Good relief pitching. And just enough hitting to win it. 2-0. Too bad cousin Jeff.

Father's Day, 2009

When I was young, my father stood as target for which I might aim. I pulled the old college yearbooks out from the cabinets in which they were stored and saw pictures of my parents in their youth. And I could see pictures of my father studying calculus, eating catfish and coleslaw with my mother and standing proudly in black and white pictures with the cream of Clarksville High School and Austin Peay. It was a daunting thought to think about his many accomplishments, honors and awards.

Later, my father placed Frank and me in Pop Warner football and Little League baseball. Little boys playing games in the sunshine. But he was always there. Coaching, managing, serving as treasurer or in charge of buildings and grounds. Always coming up alongside us.

But the most important thing I remember was my father showing up at my practices to watch the scrimmages and drive me home after practice was over. As my mother prepared our late suppers, he was there to take us home after everything was over.

But even more so, I think about my father's voice rising above the other voices in the stands, when I made a tackle or took the football down the field toward the goalline or caught a pass behind the secondary. That voice rose above all the others that entered the earholes on my helmet.

I have a fuzzy picture of the day I graduated from Washington and Lee. In the picture, I see my father in his Summer suit, with his arm around my shoulders, in my black graduation robe. The expressions on our faces reflect the satisfaction and happiness of the afternoon.

If I am good at being a father to Kate, I know that it is through the example of my father. Tomorrow is Father's Day and, like dad, I will be honored for my part in raising Kate to young womanhood. Any accomplishments she makes in her life, and there will be many more, I know, they will follow directly in a line from the example of her grandfather. So his part in the continuation and accomplishments of this family will surely continue, just as when he first held us in his arms when we were infants. Generation to generation.

Time flies, even in times of humidity

The sun blazed hot today as we experienced another day without rain in Central Georgia. Apparently, there will be no respite tomorrow. Father's Day will come and we will probably sit in airconditioning and try to survive the Summer weather. I can't tell you how many times I heard the statement that it was awful hot and it was only June. At some point in the early morning, it will turn from late Spring to early Summer, but I can tell you that Summer has been here for several days now.

I was trying to run some errands and eat lunch with Kate and then I came home and I tried to put a burlap covering over the patio. Two layers of burlap are up now and we are already discussing a substitute for what is already partially there. It never ends.

Tonight we met with our community group from church and enjoyed the comradery and friendship we have developed over the past few months. And hamburgers and baked beans and potato salad and slaw. We finally went outside to see some of the pilots who live in the area fly over the houses in Eagles Landing. It was fun. I am glad we have such friends and we are looking forward to the trip up into the North Georgia mountains next month.

The year is slowly passing on from Winter to Spring to Summer. Soon Fall will be here, then another Winter and holiday season will leave us in its dust. It is the way of the world.

There is an empty beer bottle

There is an empty beer bottle on the table
And all the room surrounds it
Rolling round the table in an arrangement
Of unseen design.
The plans and specifications
Of the one who left it
Hidden to the mortal eye
As mere suggestion of intelligence
Or neglect.

Backroads

The hot, cracked asphalt tells the story:
This was the main drag once,
The road upon which the explorers and native Americans
Treked, looking for game and open spaces,
The road where pioneers found new land
Even the highway by which folks from Chicago
And Detroit, butchers and factory workers,
Labor and capital
Left the drudgery and work behind
For a week in Florida, Miami and St. Pete,
But also the route by which the oldtime farmers
Took their peaches to market
And bore the cotton bolls on the backs
Of their neighbors, scars spreading
Across the ribs, spanning the hills
Crossing the rivers and streams.

But Ike wouldn't have it
No, you needed to build super-highways
And survey the country
Transected with broad lines and four-lanes
Until the old ways were forgotten
Left to grow thick with foliage
Weeds and vines
Choking out the peach trees
Once stitched across the land
In a crazy quilt design
The remnants remaining behind
For the less practical and nostalgic
To cut loose from the endless miles
Of highway hypnosis
And find an old way again
Which still leading to peach stands
And ears of corn sold on the side of the road
And beaches and seafood and sunshine
Waiting at the end of the same old rainbow.

Being and nothingness, part two

Do we all define our world in terms of ourselves? Or are some of us less self-centered? Can we truthfully use any other benchmark to measure the universe? Can one borrow the language of another to describe the world? Theologically, can we accept the proposition that we are all sinners, because we are sinners ourselves?

Does a chemist see the world as a series of compounds? Does a biologist see the world as a collection of living beings? To a geologist are we all just a series of minerals? To an astronomers are we all celestial bodies? Gas and dust?

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Theologically and scientifically. Perhaps we have defined a union of those elements of our reality which we often consider opposites. A single theory for all.

I saw a program on television. The scientist talked about atoms and subatomic particles. He said that as the energy which comprises the atoms of our existence moves in its cycles and orbits, it moves through nothingness, the space through which it has its orbits. When we consider the space through which the particles move, most of what is contained in the space is nothingness, the space through which the particles move.

As we build beings and things from the sub-atomic particles from which they are comprised, then these 'things' are actually comprised of mostly nothing. When one constellation of subatomic particles interracts with another, then it is predominately space touching space. Because it is space through which the energy moves, then we might step back from the picture we are drawing, and see empty space, through which energy flows. Step back and see nothing through which the particles of energy flow.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Even in death, emptiness and power. Combined in eternity. The ultimate in yin and yang, When we think, our thoughts are electric impulses crossing our brains. Energy traversing the cerebral cortex. Jolts of lightening crossing the space between. Emptiness and power. Life. Death. Being. Emptiness. Nothingness. The universe defined in terms of its opposites.

I heard that intelligence is the ability to hold two competing thoughts at the same time. Perhaps that is the only way to think of life.

Marching through Georgia

Last night, Kate and Cindy got to experience a bit of what I go through when I am travelling all over central Georgia trying to close loans. We started off from Griffin, heading for Musella and a box of peaches. Afterward, we navigated the country roads between Musella and Roberta and Lizella (sounds like sisters) and made it to closing #1. The people were very nice and allowed Cindy and Kate to come inside in the cool while I went over the closing package.

Afterward, we drove over to Lake Tobosofkee and ate seafood at a restaurant called the Fish and Pig while a thunder storm hit the area and dumped rain and electrical charges all around us. It was quite a show. After supper, we drove up 475 to 75 to Locust Grove and drove through southern Henry County trying to find my next closing. After driving around for about an hour, we finally found the house, which turned out to be just a matter of miles from downtown McDonough, which would have been a simpler route if the mapquest people knew how to get around.

After that closing, I contacted a seller from a previous closing and agreed to meet at a McDonalds on Mt. Zion Road in Jonesboro. When we got there, Cindy decided that we needed to go to Publix and get Kate some lotion, then change the destination from McDonalds to Steak and Shake. So we entered Steak and Shake and ordered milk shakes. Ultimately, the seller arrived and we swapped a check for executed documents. Afterward we tried to finish our milk shakes and ended up leaving the restaurant with bloated bellies. Or at least, I did. At this point, we drove home and got there at around 11:00 o'clock p.m.

Considering I left Dunwoody at 7:00 in the morning for court in Lawrenceville, and then drove home and did all that travelling afterward, I could have used a morning off from festivities, but I need to leave pretty soon for court and Cindy is getting the house ready for company. Perhaps tomorrow morning will be a day of rest.

Tucker sucks

Last night, after waiting for a company to send me a closing package without result, I drove up to Dunwoody to spend the evening with Mom and Dad. This morning, Momma fixed me more breakfast than I normally consume, and then headed over to the Justice Center in Gwinnett County for an arraignment hearing. I arrived at 7:40 a.m. and waited for eight to meet with client. We got together around 8:00 a.m. and entered the security section of the Gwinnett County Justice Center. After muddling through the security section, we walked up to the second floor and waited for the bailiffs to open the door to the courtroom. After waiting about thirty minutes for that, the baillif did open the door and everyone entered. After sitting for awhile, I approached one of the solicitors and talked about the case. We entered a not guilty plea and left before court started in earnest.

At this point, I reentered my car and headed down the road from Lawrenceville to Lilburn and on toTucker. As I entered the city of Tucker, I noticed that they had removed the sign on the side of the road which talked about Tucker High School's valiant football team (Tucker sucks!). I was quite pleased with this, and then noticed that the radio station was playing Brewer & Shipley's "One Toke Over the Line." That is one of my favorite songs. As I maneuvered around the twisting road through downtown Tucker, I noticed that a building which housed a bike store when I was a little kid of nine, still housed a bike store. Forty two years later. I was surprised. I called John Boswell, but his line was busy. I called Cindy and informed her of what I had found. She asked if they had replaced the aforementioned sign with a "Tucker Sucks" sign. I answered "no" and opined that it would be amazing if the Tucker Chamber of Commerce were willing to hoist such a sign in the city limits.

We had a laugh together.

Sweet night in the land of yardbirds

Well, it was hot and humid tonight, but we overcame the wall of humidity and I cooked shishkabobs on the grill and we had rice and shishkabobs and watermelon and vanilla ice cream with fresh blueberries, and even a few beers for good measure. We ate on the patio table with the breeze of the big fan sending the mosquitoes away and enjoyed the company of some friends we haven't seen in a long while. It was fun. Later, after we caught up on all the old news and the new, we finally wound up the night, and now I am sitting on the big brown football chair (it looks like football leather) and plunking away at the keys, while Kate is dozing and dreaming of a little grey kittie like Calvin and Cindy is working her sudokus.

By the way, Kate is so proud of her job in preparing the chicken for the shishkabobs. I thought the pork was good too. But as Kate has reminded us, the chicken was notable. This is definitely the land of chickens tonight. Bock. Bock. Bock.

Attitude

Summer hit pretty hard yesterday, despite the fact that we got a little rain at some point in the night. Nevertheless, the temperature rose considerably and is expected to do the same again today. As a result, Cindy had made a subconscious decision to remain indoors for the rest of the week. I know this because we are having some friends over for supper tonight and Cindy had planned to have them indoors.

Meanwhile, Kate and I were envisioning eating outdoors on the patio tonight. I was also looking at cooking on the grill for supper. With that, Cindy agreed and so now we have been planning eating al fresco tonight and, in that regard, I took my lunch out on the patio and began to eat out there today. The sun was hidden from us by a tree and it was quite nice, temperature-wise.

Cindy and Kate joined me and we were talking about how nice it was. Cindy observed that the backyard was our personal Eden. We agreed, but then Cindy warned that it would be quite hot on the patio in an hour or two.

But we are still planning on eating outside on the patio tonight. By six o'clock, the sun will have set lower in the sky; twilight will be approaching and the fan in the back will probably provide sufficient coolness to enjoy the patio again.

I am convinced that we can do quite well as long as we don't convince ourselves that the outside is unbearable. Particularly, if we continue to work and live outdoors during the Summer. If we do that, I think we can continue to enjoy Georgia for about nine months, plus, throughout the year. Allergies notwithstanding.

It is controlled quite a bit by our attitude about the weather and the temperature. A bit of bug spray helps as well.

Monday night

Kate is now back home. It apparently took three washings before she felt like her face was clean. Of course, I guess we were being diplomatic, because we thought she was just tanned. Apparently there was a goodly amount of Middle Tennessee topsoil in the mix, as well. When I got home, Kate was sitting in the brown chair, laptop computer in her lap, in her large, fluffy white bathrobe, trying to answer emails from the last four days of Bonaroo. The princess is back.

Cindy and I drank beers, then Kate and I took naps while Cindy played with the computer. Later, we discovered that Kate wanted spaghetti and meatballs and that just happened to be the special at Angelo's. So, we had a match of perfection. I called, drove and picked up our supper. Now I have lunch for probably two lunches. What a good idea.

But we are all together. Tex is sitting in Cindy's lap and staring at Kate, waiting for the ultimate movement where she provides leftovers, pats his head and takes him in her arms and cuddles on the sofa. Now the television show is emulating Dr. Seuss with its rhyming. Pretty funny.

It is good to be home with the whole family.

Old Attitudes Die Hard

Apparently, the Republican party has forgotten its historical connection with the party of Lincoln. A Republican party official in South Carolina made a statement in which he compared an escaped gorilla to the first lady's ancestors. After posting his message on facebook, the official later apologized to any one he might have offended. Then he continued by explaining that First Lady Michelle Obama had spoken earlier about her support of evolutionary theory. The statement is reminiscent of a statement made by George Allen Jr in Virginia in reference to a dark-skinned person in the audience which ultimately contributed to his defeat in the Senatorial campaign. I am also reminded of comments made by Kentucky Senator Jim Bunning in describing his Asian-American opponent. His comments almost lost him the Senatorial election two years ago.

This is just a good example of why the Republican party will continue to flounder in American culture. If you go back in time, you find that the Republican party was founded by dissafected Whigs who supported the emancipation of slaves, governmental support for industrial and commercial advancement and a more ethical political climate in Washington. Their rise to power came when Abraham Lincoln, the Great Emancipator, was elected and worked to keep the union together, while bringing an end to the enslavement of African Americans in the United States.

Meanwhile, the Democratic party at the time was strong in the South and worked to keep the institution of slavery alive in states where it was democratically established and to protect the "property rights" of slaveholders in those states where slavery was allowed.

After the Civil War and on into the Twentieth Century, the parties slowly evolved into political parties quite different from their beginnings. While there was an overall continuation of the positions from which they started, the 50's and 60's brought a change in the Democratic party, where the civil rights of African-Americans were ultimately supported. This evolution increased until we now have a democratically elected African-American as President, who is a Democrat from Chicago.

At the same time, the Republican party made great strides in the 60's through recent days in which they convinced formerly solid Democrats to leave the Democratic party for a new, more conservative Republican party. Unfortunately, as the Republican party continued to pick up white Southerners into the new Republican party, they also inherited a lot of racist attitudes within the new membership. Sometimes this attitude was out in the open. Sometimes the attitude was lying just beneath the surface of political discussion. The end result of this evolution was to have someone like the South Carolina Republican official making remarks such as were previously noted here.

The inference when someone makes a comment like this is that it represents what a lot of other white Southerner Republicans are saying in private. The comment is one you wouldn't necessarily expect in the culture of today. However, we all know that we have a long way to go before racial attitudes evolve into something we all can live with. The expectation is that as long as comments like this are made in public, no matter how public facebook may be, the Republican party may suffer for a long time before they can truthfully regain the strength they had found in the 80's and 90's in this country.

Lessons from Hamlet

"But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourne
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action...."

Hamlet, William Shakespeare

We come to court and we look to the prosecutors for some glimmer of what we ought to do, gleaning from their countenance and their speech where they stand on the prosecution of this case and thus the move of ours which might be declared prudent. They seem cooperative, in some degree, but you understand that at bottom, they wish to find the accused guilty, no matter what the strength or weakness of their case. So you look to your defenses and try to appraise their value, then add to that what you know about the relative strength of the prosecutor's case, then you decide.

There is something to be said for holding to principal. And you understand that the ultimate good in a court of law is the finding of procedural truth, not ultimate truth. For that level of understanding lies only in the hands of the Almighty, as Hamlet might say. But when we look at the possibility of punishment, even when the ultimate truth is on your side, then it does, in fact, make cowards of us all. And we ultimately flee to that choice which seems more likely, rather than what in our hearts we know is true.

Your move, I believe?

Loss of community and good tomatoes

It was a small crowd in church this morning. I was tired from the lack of sleep I had allowed myself to suffer from by watching a movie late into the early morning. I was sitting in the choir loft with the choir. As we slid in to our seats, I commented that the balance of the congregation could climb into the choir loft and the pastor could "preach to the choir."

Summer is great in many ways. But, unfortunately, it seems to cause us to fold in to our families and our friends and neighbors lose touch with us because we are vacating, visiting, celebrating weddings and graduations and anniversaries and such. Meanwhile, we tend to spend a lot of our home time inside the airconditioning. So we lose touch with our neighbors at a time when we traditionally are more free to touch base.

Here I am. I spent most of the day in our back yard with Cindy, working on the yard and the back of the house. Finally, we went to Cissie Perry's house and ate supper and at least touched base with one friend. We could have taken folding chairs in to town and shared a concert with our neighbors, but we didn't. Now we are getting ready to visit mom and dad. At least that is some effort to touch base with others.

The heat and humidity of summer do not keep me from getting together with my friends and neighbors. It is just the average pulls of modern culture that pulls me away from them.

Now I am sitting here, by myself, writing this, while a conversation goes on on the radio in which they are discussing the fact that our food is engineering by scientists and grown by corporations and sold to us by fast food restaurants and chain grocery stores. It makes me want to buy some tomato plants and plant them in the back yard.

But that would take me away from my neighbors, now wouldn't it?

Something to share

I was watching the movie, "Good Will Hunting" on TBS this morning. I got up and let the dog out and then poured myself a glass of orange juice, cut open a blueberry muffin and spread cream cheese on it. The glass and the plate sit next to me now and I still haven't taken a bit from the muffin or sipped from the glass.

I was watching the first part of the movie and the two main characters were struggling with establishing their relationship. Sean wanted to get inside the mind of Will to help him work to create an academic life despite his impoverished background. Will was working hard to throw up a wall between himself and Sean so that his life would remain an enigma.

At the first meeting, they discussed the books in Sean's office. After not getting anywhere, Will discovered a painting that Sean had painted. Will used the painting to discuss what he saw as Sean's weaknesses. As he found a sore spot in Sean's life, he pushed the button and Sean attacked Will and told him not to discuss Sean's relationship with his wife.

At this point, the two men met a week later and Sean led Will to a park. Sean told Will that he had angered him with his talk about his wife. But then he divulged that he had figured something out about Will and that he would not make the mistake of getting angry about whatever Will might say about Sean.

At this point, he makes a point about understanding Will. He says that if Will is an orphan, he can't understand that by reading "Oliver Twist." He basically denigrates the life experiences that Will has encountered and explains that he, Sean, has more life experiences because he has lived through war as a soldier, been married, and lost his wife to disease. He ultimately connects with Will by explaining that his experience is more full. He creates a relationship by setting his reputation. Suddenly, Will is made to understand that Sean has something to teach him from his personal experience.

When I watched this, I suddenly remembered myself as a young man. I was sure of my knowledge and sure that I understood a lot about life. But my life at that time was very inexperienced. Safe within the cocoon of my family and my neighborhood and my parents' affluence, I had really not experienced much of life's struggles. That would come later.

Now, I have experienced the joy of connecting with my one true love. I have experienced the sweetness of having my wife birth our daughter. I have struggled with trying to establish my place in a community, to build my work practice. I have seen the loss of my affluent past. I have acknowledged my weaknesses and tried to identify my strengths. I have seen the aging of my parents and the growth of my daughter. Perhaps I now have something to share.

We shall see.

Big Fish

It was a nice day today. The temperature was moderate, in the eighties. There was a rain front that was coming through from the west and northwest. We didn't get any rain, but the breeze that the front brought with it was delightful. It never got too hot while we worked in the yard and on the back of the house.

I am watching a show in which they are exploring various natural phenomena around the world. I was just watching two guys kayaking off the coast of western Canada. They were watching two glaciers lose their ice. The glaciers were magnificent and the sound of the ice falling of the edge of the glaciers was powerful like artillery in the distance. It reminded me of trips with my dad to Alaska to fish. The terrain was so unusual, so different from the piedmont of Central Georgia. Southeastern Alaska is a large archipelago of islands. Each island is a tree covered mountain island, sitting in the cold, blue waters of Alaska. Every so often, you see bald eagles nesting in the trees on the islands.

The first time we went up there, Dad, Frank and me, we saw the aurora borealis in the northern skiy. It looked like a curtain of colors waving in the breeze. It was something I had seen in science books, but never in person. It was amazing and Dad got to see if for the first time, too, even though he had been going up there for a number of years.

The last trip we made to Alaska, we saw a number of whales, throwing their large bodies up into the air from the ocean below. I couldn't help it; it reminded me of the Pacific Life commercials on television. We saw a lot of whales that year. One morning, when we were almost outside of the islands in the open ocean, we came across a man in a long kayak, fishing. All of a sudden, we noticed a whale beside his kayak, the whale being about twice the size of his kayak. Fortunately, the whale was gentle in his passage along the kayak, and passed off away without any damage to his kayak.

The last day in Alaska, we fished for salmon for several hours, then went to a new spot to fish for halibut. Unlike other days, the spot was inside the barrier islands and the water was relatively calm. Our guide passed out the halibut rods, which are short stout rods, which carry thick line and a stainless steel, almost circular hook. The guide baited our hook with the lungs of some of the salmon we had caught earlier in the day.

Halibut fishing feels less skillful than salmon fishing. When you fish for salmon, you work the line up and down steadily, trying to catch the eye of a salmon. You have to be careful and watchful to ensure that your line is running smoothly in order to make sure the bait is running clear and not tangling. If you can do that, you might catch the eye of a salmon. If you are really lucky, you might catch a large school of salmon, and hook multiple salmon as the fisherman throw their baited hooks down one after the other.

I remember the first day we were fishing for salmon. We had almost caught our limit when we ran into a school of salmon. Suddenly, everyone on the boat got a bite and the guide was hustling to get from fisherman to fisherman in order to take the salmon off one hook, re-bait the hook and toss it back into the water. By the time we were through, we all had caught salmon and we had our limit in a matter of minutes. It was wild and rewarding.

But halibut fishing is like fishing for catfish. You drop your line down into the cold water, deeper and deeper, until you hit the bottom around three hundred fifty feet down. At that depth, you let the bait sit a few feet off the bottom to try to catch the attention of a big halibut.

A halibut is like a flounder, a big flat fish with its eyes on the top of its body. But a halibut is much bigger, getting up to three hundred pounds or more. On the day we were fishing for halibut, Frank and Kevin and I dropped our lines and waited. The boat bobbed on the water and we strained to feel for a bite.

Suddenly, I felt a deep tug on my line. I turned to the guide and told him I thought I had one. He ordered me to pull up on the rod and the halibut quickly jerked the bait back. The guide informed me that I did, indeed, have a halibut on the line.

Meanwhile, Frank got a tug on his line and began to pull his fish up off the bottom. As I slowly reeled the line in from the bottom, Frank was also reeling his fish to the surface. After about twenty minutes, Frank pulled his to the surface. I jerked my head back to look at Frank and, as I reeled, I watched the guide take a gaff and bop the fish on the end where his brains were located. After the thwack on the fish's head, the halibut jerked his mighty grey head from side to side and threw the hook out of its mouth. Frank's line went slack and the guide reached for another salmon lung to re-bait his hook.

I turned back to my struggle, and watched the orange line come up and up from the bottom. I expected to see a fish sometime, but it seemed like all I was seeing was more line coming up from the bottom. Meanwhile, Frank posited the opinion that I would lose my too, pretty soon.

Finally, a large grey object came to view in the water. The size was amazing. Much larger than anything I had brought up before. As it came closer to the boat, it continued to grow in size and despite its grey, fat body, was about as pretty as I had seen. After a few more minutes, I pulled the body up to the surface and the guide reared back and came down hard on the head of the halibut. The body of the halibut went slack and the guide reached for a rope to run through the gills of the fish.

Securing the fish, the guide pulled heavily and brought the fish over the gunnels and plopped him onto the deck of the boat. It took up the entire back of the boat. Like a cowboy, he took the rope and tied it around the tail of the halibut. With the big fish secured, the guide looked at me and asked if I wanted to try again. As my brother patted me on the shoulder, I passed the rod over to the guide who put another salmon lung on the circular hook.

I dropped the hook into the water and began to loose the line down to the bottom. I tried to fish, but my attention was drawn to the big fish in the back of the boat. The guide finally suggested that we had had enough luck for the day and we headed back to the lodge. Later, when we made the dock at the lodge, the guide pulled the fish onto the dock and weighed it: 104 pounds. Not too big for a halibut, but the biggest one caught that trip. It won me $120.00 dollars in a pool the fishermen had that trip. The picture of me and the halibut, hanging from the scale, my red Pendleton shirt contrasting with the large grey fish, sits on the mantle over the fireplace in my office. Just yesterday afternoon, someone visiting stepped over to take a look. Even three years after the trip, it could puff my chest up a bit from the accomplishment.

To another place

Well, the Dasani bottle is gone. There was a silent battle that took place today in the Baynham house. Kate was gone. It was only Cindy and me. The Dasani bottle went out, back, out again. Now, I don't know where it is. Perhaps there is another place for empty Dasani bottles. Perhaps. I guess we found out that our aspect was aggressive as well as classical.

Strategy

Now I am concerned about our Dasani bottle. I feel her days on this table are not long. She sits there among the pearls and the sharpie and the nailcutter and the plate with the fork lying across it. I am going to have to do something about this. I guess gluing its bottom to the top of the table would be too drastic. On the other hand, if I remove some fo the other items on the table, the effect might be too drastic. If I remove all of the items on the table which clearly don't belong, then someone might assume that the Dasani bottle also doesn't belong there. Which is clearly wrong. But on the other hand, if I remove certain other items, would it buy the Dasani bottle a few days? A few hours? A few minutes? This is quite a quandry.

I will remove the plate with the fork.

Postscript

My mother might say, "Pick it up and put it in the trashcan."

My father might say, "I think you all are lazy."

And they both might be right.

But I'm not moving it.

Now we are arguing as to how long the bottle of Dasani has been sitting on the table. Very reminiscent of the argument in the 19th century as to the actual age of the earth. Thus, almost anything in this universe has a theological aspect and a scientific aspect. Too bad we feel compelled to require them to face against one another, rather than as some giant bust of Janus, with two aspects branching off of one head, facing in opposite directions. Or some many-headed hydra from Greek mythology. If your impression is more agressive than merely classical.

There is a Dasani bottle in Griffin, Georgia

There is an empty Dasani bottle sitting on the table beside me. It has been sitting there for about four days now. Cindy bought it for herself. Kate pulled it out of the refrigerator and drank about half of it, leaving the rest to ferment in the bottle on the table in the living room. Two days ago, I was thirsty and drank the rest of it, leaving the bottle on the table. Yesterday, Cindy noticed the empty bottle of Dasani on the table and exclaimed that that was her bottle of Dasani and inquiring as to who drank it all. I confessed that I finished it off after Kate had drank the majority of it. Cindy fussed at Kate, an easy task, since she was in Tennessee. However, the bottle remained on the table, as it does now. Perhaps the one thing we can surmise from this story is that no matter who bought the Dasani, intended to drink it, brought it out of the refrigerator to the living room, drank part of it, finished it off or became concerned that her Dasani was empty, the appropriate place for the Dasani bottle, empty, full, or partially empty, was on the table in the corner in the living room. And so it sits on the table in the living room. A reminder of its foreordained place in the universe.

I put that last bit of Presbyterian theology in there at the last moment because it does, indeed, appear that there is some predestined reason for the bottle of Dasani to remain on the living room table. My God! It has stood the test of at least six days now. Experience alone tells us that there must be a reason why it remains in its spot. And so, I blame God. An easy target.

The air after the storm

I was breathing the rain in through the pores in my skin
The clouds were dissipating in the west
Replaced by the pinks and oranges
Of a Summer twilight
The air was charged with the last of the storm
And the house was quiet in the absence of our daughter
Peace reigned over the household at last
I walked from room to room through the stillness
The roar of the thunder and the crack of the lightening
Passing away into the deep blue darkness of the eastern sky
And the distance and fallability of my fickle memory.

Peace on Thursday evening

Kate is sitting in a cowpasture in Middle Tennessee. Tex is sleeping in his little house. After we ate our supper tonight, I was laying on the couch watching reruns of Burn Notice, while Cindy played with the computer. At some point, I had a lapse of consciousness, as I napped on the sofa. A little later, I awoke to about the final quarter hour of the program.

Outside, there was a tremendous summer thunderstorm pouring rain and electrical charges all around the neighborhood. A hint of twilight lightened up the sky. After the storm was over, I got up and changed into my pajamas. Suddenly, a feeling of satisfaction and peace came over me. I realized that the charged air after the thunderstorm and the quiet of the house with just we two inside, could bring me quite a bit of satisfaction.

You never know where your next sense of contentment is coming from. Excuse me, I need to go hug my wife.

Adulthood

Working for yourself can be frustrating sometimes. Working for your entire family is really frustrating. Anxiety. Stress. Worry. Concern. Wonder. Just flat out sitting down in your chair, while no one calls, no mail comes, and you look out the window and wonder what the Hell is going on and what the Hell is going to happen and how the Hell are you going to make ends meet? Indeed. All the time. Every day. Every minute. 24/7. 365 days of a year. Just a wonderment.

Well, it works out most of the time. Just keep working at it.

The Commonwealth of Kentucky

This is a statue in Kentucky which celebrates the fact that Kentucky gave the nation two presidents: Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis. This past June 1 was the anniversary of the birth of Kentucky as a state in 1792. Of course, before that it was a very large county in Virginia. Before that it was a great, grand hunting ground for various tribes of Native Americans, none of which claimed ownership of it, but shared its bounty, until European settlers came and wiped out the elk and buffalo and almost anything else at which they could aim a longrifle.

I could leave it at that, but, Hell, we're talking about my ancestors. Weren't they cool?

Dirty Fun

Evening has fallen; the sun is fading into the west. Kate is spending the evening with her grandparents in Dunwoody. Her friend Ali is on the way. Tomorrow they will leave for a field in Manchester, Tennessee, where they will live in a tent, cook their own food over a campstove, and probably come back home about as dirty as she ever has been. I may have to get the hose and the ajax out when she comes back to town on Monday. I am sure the Spalding County Health Department would appreciate the help.

When Frank and I were young boys, every once in awhile the fun in the neighborhood would be so hard to resist and the dirt in which we played would be such a wonderful, awesome part of the play, that we would come home covered in the dirt in which we played. Sometimes there was mud involved.

Sometimes there was no play at all. I specificially remember one time when my father enlisted Frank and me to help him lay a rather grey/black substance on the main football field at Murphy Candler, in an effort to change the ph of the soil. The substance was coal-colored and about the consistency of powdered sugar. As my father drove the small tractor pulling the spreader, my brother and I took turns stirring the container from which the substance was distributed over the field with half a broomstick. We did that because the consistency of the substance was so thick and powdery that it would clog the spreader if you didn't work on it as you moved across the field.

The end result of this effort, other than having spread some over the playing field, was to cover Frank, Dad and myself with a thick layer of the substance. When we were through covering the field, we looked at each other and we were fairly reminiscent of coal miners in Kentucky after a hard day underground.

I really remember the effort to clean our bodies from the layer of the substance. I know there was ajax or comet involved. It seems like it took several showers. Still, the essence of coal-mining hung around our eyes and in the corners of our nostrils. It took awhile before we returned to suburban North Atlanta cleanliness.

I know Frank had that moment where he was covered with the viscuous green/gray/brown slime of the pigstye and had to be hosed off with a garden hose before he was deemed to be clean enough to take a normal bath. But that was just a mere personal moment of grime and shame for Frank. With a few minutes by the garden hose, Frank was back in the good graces of his home, and actually looked like he belonged in our family.

But, the dirty collective of our coal-miner day was a nice reminder that we all came from a state which used to produce a lot of coal energy for the state and the world. It was a nice family moment where we could all pretend to be farmers and miners at the same time. A nice family photograph where we celebrated our heritage.

You just never know where you are going to get that opportunity to celebrate your heritage collectively and enjoy the deep, down joy of getting dirty. All at the same time.

I even think we are near the birthday of the Commonwealth of Kentucky as I write this. Hooray! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!

Funerals on this day of woe

The skies are turning hazy and the western sky is turning blue-grey. I don't think we'll get rain tonight, but it is definitely going to look like it at least for awhile. I attended a funeral in Barnesville for Norman Smith, a lawyer down there. Norman was a good guy. He was diagnosed with a type of cancer several years ago. The last few years of his life were treatment and a very quiet life, predominately at home. Winding down his practice. Winding down his life. There were a few lawyers at the funeral, but not as many as you might expect. It was kind of sad.

This is not the first time I have seen this at funerals. The only funerals that I attended where there was a large crowd of colleagues was for Johnny Mostiler and Judge Whalen. Both funerals drew large crowds and a large group of lawyers. It makes you wonder.

It makes you wish you could relive the scene in Tom Sawyer and attend your own funeral. Just to see what people might say about you. When I envisioned myself, living the life of a lawyer in a small town in the south, I hoped that I would live a life where I would have the respect of the townfolk and that my funeral would be well-attended by the local citizenry. But these are different times. Peoples' lives can't be bothered with a few hours to honor the lives of those who have passed on to their greater reward. I know a lot of people don't like funerals. Too stuffy. Too much of a reminder of the end to which we all come.

No one wants to be reminded of the end to which we all come. We are too wrapped up in trying to reclaim our youth. We are too wrapped up in ourselves, rather than our connections to our brothers and sisters. When Bob Smalley passed away, I expected a large crowd to fill the sanctuary at St. George Episcopal Church. I even expected a few famous Georgia politicians, maybe even a former President, since Bob had been involved in politics and the practice of law for so long. But I was surprised to find a small crowd of just a part of the local bar. Mostly the lawyers who attended St. George. It was kind of sad.

Life is for the living, no doubt. But we are at least partially comprised of those who came before. We should take some time to consider their lives and their examples.

An evening in Virginia with family

There was a moment when I was in college when everything seemed to be ahead of me. I remember it exactly. It was the Fall of my junior year at Washington and Lee. We played a football game that afternoon on Wilson Field. We lost. But it didn't matter that much; we lost a lot of games. My parents were at the game, up from Atlanta. My cousin Carolyn was with them. There may have been someone else; I don't remember. After the game, I showered and dressed and we drove down to Roanoke for supper. We ate at a steakhouse called the Black Angus. We sat at a table and they brought meat to our table and asked us how we wanted it cut, how much, which cut. That night, I got just what I wanted. A good meal. The pleasure of my family's company. The atmosphere was not special. It wasn't rich. It was nice and quiet and comfortable. Afterward, we left the restaurant and the lights of Roanoke, Virginia were lit against the mountains which surround it on all sides. Headlights passed and broke to our right and left and ahead of us and behind us. The stars of the Autumn evening broke above our heads as my father's car headed back to Lexington. In the bright moonlight, you could see the Blue Ridge as the mountains rose and fell and the rivers and streams passed beneath and beside the bridges on the interstate highway. As we got closer to Lexington, the only lights were the stars and the planets and the moon. But it was so bright that it could have been early morning and the coming of the morning sun. That night, I went back to my apartment and my family returned to their motel rooms, but I don't think I have ever felt so safe and in touch with my powers as if I were standing on some precipice seeing the kingdom that I would inherit spread out before me. I don't think I have ever felt the love and confidence and the grace and power of a setting as much as I felt it that evening. If I could just feel that way again, someday, some where. Those moments pass us so quickly, replaced with other days and nights and dreams.

Freedom

Freedom is a tenuous thing:
We must fight for its being,
Like a mother cat chasing a predator,
And guard it zealously.

But its exercise is a dangerous act
Full of bumps and bruising
Shaking like an exotic dancer
Often practiced in the darkness
Of a dirty alleyway
Like the cheapest of salesmen
Coughing his bile to the streets.

But polished by the struggles
It shines with the brightness
Of sunshine playing on the waters,
Floating on the breeze on a summer day
Tooting and squeaking
Like kazoos and whistles on the fourth of July.

Tuesday reruns

Here we are watching a replay of last night's Late Night with Jimmy Fallon and the first guest is Kelly Ripa, who is amazingly hilarious. A few minutes ago she licked a sousaphone for a ten dollar bill. Now she is discussing her wedding and her new show about weddings, which apparently a favorite topic on the cable channel upon which it is shown. I am very tired and today was not that great of a day. I am hopeful that I will not stay up and watch the Braves until the fifteenth inning as I did last night.

Uh oh. Tex has entered the room and he is looking at me. That is usually the sign that he wants to eat, drink, pee or poop. He has got into a habit of coming into the room and barking at me until I satisfy his need. It is convenient but rather obnoxious.

Now I am going to say goodnight and maybe I'll come back later.

Snooze button

Well, the Braves did win, finally, in the fifteenth inning, and I did stay up and watch it, stupid move, and now I am trying to pick myself up off the floor and start the day. The Today show is on and I am here trying to wake myself by writing, and only the future will hold the answer as to whether or not I will wake up enough to act like I"m awake in the future. Storms are coming at us and the forecast in Atlanta says that we will have rain beginning on Wednesday and progressing through the rest of the week, which sounds like Kate might have a bit of precipitation in Manchester, Tennessee at Bonaroo.

It is now time to get on to the tasks of the morning, rather than trying to work myself awake.

Baseball Tonight

I left the office early twice today. The first time was when I left it in my mind because nothing was really happening. I laid down on my couch, read a book and closed my eyes. Later, I actually physically left the office, and found my way back home where I could take my contacts out, place my glasses on my nose, turn the fan on on the patio and read a chapter from my book. Later, I went back inside and watched some recorded television until Cindy and Kate arrived.

Afterward, I came up with something for our evening meal and cooked supper for everyone. Cindy messed around on the computer and Kate watched television. Later, I delivered supper and we ate. Then I took our plates back into the kitchen, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher.

I just saw an advertisement for the Braves shot in Chattanooga. They had people from Chattanooga talking about watching the Braves. I wish I was at this game tonight. It is the bottom of the 10th and the score is tied and the Braves have a runner on first with one out. Franceour needs to get a big hit.

They are playing the Pirates. I kind of like the Pirates, but not as much as the Braves. I will watch the Braves for awhile before I go to bed.

A middling collection of friends

Friendship is a tenuous term. Much of what is called "friendship" is not much more than acquaintance. I know. When I look around my present situation, it is hard to count my friends, rather than acquaintances, on more than one hand. I suppose it depends on how you define friendship. When I think of friends, I want to assign a meaning which presupposes a relationship in which the participants have interests in common, share the desire to be together, would make sacrifices for the other. The test of a friendship, and its depth, would involve something akin to any component of character. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of character and defined the value of character as being greater when tested in times of trial. This is probably self-evident. For instance, taking the characteristic of loyalty, you might say someone is loyal, but until that sense of loyalty overcomes one's self-interest so that the loyalty a higher priority than one's own interest, then it would be difficult to say that one is loyal. The acid test is how one responds in times in trial or test. In that regard, a friendship is tested by how one responds when one's friend is in need and it is not in your interest to help. In this regard, I probably have a few true friends here in Griffin. A few more in Atlanta. Maybe a couple in other places around the country, but none of them have such a connection that they are really even aware of my needs. Perhaps if they were told of some need I had, they might try to help. But I have so few connections to them that it is doubtful that I could go to them to help.

This is sad, but probably realistic. On the other hand, how much can you expect from your friends in normal circumstances? In history, there are examples of great friendships. Friendships which stood up to the test of trial and became greater than simple acquaintance. Greater, than the every day friendship. Sadly, it is uncommon. Particularly in our self-interested world.

A Long Damn Day

I had notice of creeping age, when Cindy and Kate wanted to leave Griffin after church and lunch and drive up to the Georgia Aquarium for the afternoon. I told them I didn't want to go, but they wouldn't think of it, so the three of us left Griffin in Cindy's car and I was so tired, but I drove up U.S. Highway 19/41 to I-75 and on into Atlanta, and I saw the late crowds walking across the street to Turner Field to see the Braves, which would have been more fun, but we were going to the Aquarium, so I continued on through the traffic, off the Piedmont Road exit, and there were obnoxious lane bumpers which I accidently ran over, making horrendous noise, as I travelled over them, but I made it to the far left lane on Piedmont and turned left over toward Centennial Olympic park and the aquarium and their parking lot, which was situated on the exact opposite side of the main entrance to the aquarium, so we walked, and I got some exercise, and banged my finger on the metal posts along the walkway, making a deliciously obnoxious noise as we walked, and then we entered the main entrance and it came time for me to pay for my ticket, the others' tickets having already been paid, which irritated me somewhat, but I paid, then we walked over to see some jacks in the tanks on the wall, and they were blissfully ignorant of the many eyes staring at them, or seemed to be, and then we walked among the fishes and the fishes and the fishes and the fishes, then we walked back through the inevitable gift shop, where commerce was practiced by Cindy, then out to the wall situated outside the exit, where we became part of a family photograph for another, unrelated family, then I left Cindy and Kate and walked back around the building, pinging on the metal posts along the selfsame walkway, then climbed four stories to the area of the car, then found the car, then moved the pylon and the sign directing parking to another area, from behind my car, which created quite a puzzle for me to determine how I would extricate the automobile from behind the pylon and sign, without removing same, which was impossible, so, as I said, I moved them enough to remove the car, at about the same time as another car tried to squeeze his car around my reversing car, which was quite stupid, since my car was about twice the size of his and could actually do more damage if we, in fact, collided, but I finally was able to pay my ten dollars, a fin, to the parking attendant and refuse a receipt and drive around the building to the other side of the building, where I could see Cindy and Kate looking for me, but they, of course, were not looking in my direction, but there was, fortunately, not any more traffic behind me, so I parked my car between two traffic markers and they saw me, finally, and walked across the street, and caught up with me and I touched the unlock button and let them in and extricated the vehicle from between the two orange and white traffic markers and headed up the road to another road to Marietta Street, then Pryor Street to Mitchell Street, then on to Memorial Drive and Six Feet Under, where I washed my hands in the men's room, adjusted my look somewhat, reentered the dining room, taking note of the autographed tour sweatshirt from the Rolling Stones, signed by Keith Richards, and sat down at table to order beer and seafood and onion rings and took my rest, finally. A long damn day.

Blackberry Summer, Phase Four

I brush the palette on the canvas
And a white farmhouse sits on top of the verdant hill,
Surrounded by the flowing blanket of ancient fields,
Where the gospel wind
Breathes the breath of God softly across my temples
And brings me to ground, whispering through the branches,
My family and I sit in discarded metal lawn chairs,
Comfortable in our surroundings,
Unmindful of the groaning of the old metal.
High in the ancient oaks
Birds whisper "Bob White",
Through the thick-tongued humid air,
And we are rocked upon the rolling waves of memory,
Preserved behind punched tin
And kept for tomorrow's feast.
The leaving of the light and the advent of the night
Bring no concern. Even in the fading light there is no concern,
Because we are all together,
In the metal chairs from yesterday, talking softly, again,
Among the muscular trees
Which stretch above us
As a canopy to this thin Summer slumber.

Fatherhood

You agree to change the baby's diaper;
You are overwhelmed with your love for her;
You pick her up into your arms;
She craps on your shoes.

The Hills of Memory: Blackberry Summer

Like Yeats, I have a piece tattooed on the inner chambers of my heart. I brush the palette on the canvas and a white farmhouse sits on top of the verdant hill, surrounded by the flowing blanket of ancient fields, where the gospel wind breathes the breath of God softly across my temples and brings me to a place, whispering through the branches of the trees, as my family and I sit in forgotten metal chairs, comfortable in our surroundings, unmindful of the groaning of the old metal. High in the trees are the angelic whisperers of Summer's sweet promise, declaring their family names, "Bob White", through the thick-tongued humid flow. Despite the burn of the Summer sun above our place of sanctuary, we are safe from the fire's burning and rocked among the rolling waves of memory and kept and preserved for tomorrow's dawning. The leaving of the light and the advent of the night bring no concern. Even in the fading light there is no concern, because we are all there together, again, in the metal chairs of yesterday, talking softly, again, among the muscular trees which stretch above us in the eternal Summer. From Highway 41 to Highway 79 to Dunlop Lane to Baynham Drive. The source from which our life's blood flows.

Thinking about National Cinnamon Bun Day

Well, I had a wide variety of experiences today. I woke up just before 6:00 this morning, took a shower, shaved, ate a small breakfast, then drove up to Decatur for court. It wasn't very hard to find a parking space and I walked up to the front of the courthouse in time to see my client and her friend walking up from the other side. We rode the elevator up to the sixth floor and I talked to her about what would happen in court when they finally opened the doors and the judge finally came on the bench. Later, the other attorney arrived (late) and we spoke with the judge about the final order.

Later, I met with an old classmate, and we ate lunch together at the Raging Burrito in Decatur. Afterward, I drove back to Griffin, went to my office and picked up the closing package for this afternoon, spoke with Patti, then went home to change clothes and take a brief nap. Again, I re-boarded the car and drove down to Warner Robins and met with a client for a closing.

Afterward, I drove back to Macon, ordered some food on the telephone with a Cracker Barrel in Macon, picked it up and drove home. At this point everyone in the family, including the dog, took turns taking a nap as the evening progressed.

I will say this, I had to drive Kate over to Zaxby's and get a zensations zalad for se Zhelley. On our way back, as I sipped from a straw on a peach milk shake from Truitts, I looked over my shoulder toward the west and saw God's way of calling attention to Peach Season. The sky was decorated with peach colored stripes stretching from north to south, with corresponding baby blue. It really took my attention from the road ahead, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. I told Kate to look back.

Kate was so tired, that she actually was drinking a lemonade from a straw and fell asleep in the passenger seat with the straw extending from her lemonade into her mouth. That was a first. Picture this: Kate is turning her body toward me and she has the lemonade cup in her hand, the straw from the cup in her mouth, and her head is tipping toward, her eyes closed as she naps. I wondered if she was still drinking as she dozed.

Apparently, sleeping sickness was running in the family today.

I was hungering for a hamburger today, but it didn't happen. It is summer and grilled hamburgers are a constant temptation. The smell of grilling beef from someone's back yard is something to hits my nose quite often in the summer. Hard to beat.

Today was National Doughnut day. I did not eat a doughnut or even buy a doughnut. I suppose I didn't really celebrate it adequately. Maybe later.

I would not say I am really wide awake at this point. It is coming on 12:00 midnight. But I am plunking on the keys as Conan O'Brien tells jokes, and Cindy and Tex battle for most impressive snore. I guess, since Kate is sleeping upstairs, she is not interested in the competition.

Soon it will be time to go to sleep. Perhaps I am past the optimum time for getting adequate sleep.

Well, just for the fun of it:

Ring tum phi. Stickeri bum. We're the boys from Lexington!

Maybe tomorrow is National Cinnamon Bun Day somewhere.

Weather notwithstanding

God was teasing me big time tonight. When we got home, the satellite was out and it looked like we wouldn't get to see "Burn Notice," which is my favorite show on television. Just about fifteen minutes before, the satellite feed came on and we were watching it without much care. Then, with about fifteen minutes left in the program and Michael Weston double-crossed by his buddy, the satellite went out and didn't come on until later. Now, the rain is strong and we are watching a recorded program from earlier in the week. That is ok, and I can watch "Burn Notice" on the internet, but it is still a little frustrating.

Oh well.

Thursday night fun.

We sat outdoors outside Mellow Mushroom Pizza, enjoying the breeze caused by the rain shower blowing from the west through us to I-75 and beyond. I ate an entire Greek salad, which is enough greenery to start a garden in your backyard, with enough Feta cheese to bind Oliver Hardy, if he were here. By the time I finished it, I really had little room for the sandwich I had ordered. So half of it came back home with me, along with the chips.

Cindy and Kate had pizzas, but they brought most of it home with them as well. As we drove back home to Griffin, the heavens opened and we got some heavy rain, enough to cause us to drive the car into the carport and make me wish Tex had opposable thumbs so he could open the door and take himself out and do his business and return without my assistance. Unfortunately, that is not possible.

Right now we are watching the end of Casino Royale before the Summer run of Burn Notice starts up again at 9:00. I hope the thunder and lightening abates until late this evening so the satellite feed can remain strong for the rest of the night. It can come back with a vengeance later, but I would appreciate a little television tonight before I go to bed.

Tomorrow, I get to go to court in Decatur, then meet with a new client, hopefully, before I drive home and then go for a closing in Warner Robins. Now, "Burn Notice"is on. I will write more later.

Summer found

I was driving through the neighborhoods tonight
And the thick musk of chlorine was wafting
Through my open car window.
I was floating on a cloud of memories of days spent
At the swimming pool, bounding off the diving board
Into the cold, cold blue.
As the pool scent faded from my nostrils
The sharp fragrance of freshly mown grass
Met my nose
And I was running through the yard barefoot,
Football tucked under my arm,
Pulling away from the others,
Falling, laughing on the green carpet
With my little friends.

And my mind turned to peaches and ice cream,
Round, green-striped watermelons cut into sweet, red slices
And hot dogs on the grill
The night's Braves baseball game,
Broadcaster's play by play flowing through the speakers
From the radio in the background,
And I felt Summer at its core
The music beating a tattoo on the remains of my youth
My heart lying languidly in a Pawley's Island hammock,
At its leisure, safe in its chest.

The World according to Bill Hicks

The comedian Bill Hicks had a comedy routine in which he said, "Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration — that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death; life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves... Here's Tom with the weather." Its a funny line and the mundane reference to the weatherman really sells the inability of man to perceive the universe where we depend on the television to portray our world, but perhaps what Bill Hicks was saying is actually pretty close to the reality of the universe, at least on a subatomic level.

Kate and I were watching a science program on the National Geographic channel in which a scientist explained that an atom is predominately nothingness, through which the electrons, neutrons and protons move as energy. Understanding this, we are nothing more than bits of energy moving around. When we interact, we don't actually touch, but our magnetic fields created by the energy of which we are constituted, move within proximity of each other. I suppose it is possible that one could argue that our magnetic fields interact to the point where they meld with each other and become one, although I am not really sure that a scientist would accept that statement. However, since we are predominately nothingness through which energy particles are moving, then why couldn't our magnetic fields meld with each other?

Listening to the lecture from the scientist on the program, it was a spooky way of looking at matter and even more spooky when you apply it to individuals. When we think of individuals, and just by labeling them as individuals I have defined them in that way, we pronounce the lack of similarity, the specificity and individuality of people. Perhaps it is best to refer to them as "people" because that term does not rely on the individuality of the people to whom we are referring and, instead, refers to their collective being.

Nevertheless, when we talk about people, we often define them in terms of their individuality. Their fingerprints. Their footprints. Their DNA. All of these ways of defining them rely on their differences and their individuality.

But when we define them in terms of their quintessence, their atoms, we get to a completely different, almost metaphysical level. Using the science explained by the scientist on the National Geographic show we watched, all of the atoms which comprise you and all of the atoms which comprise me, and even the atoms which comprise the air and the insects and sunlight and anything else which would lie around we two and which might fall into the area in which we are situated, is predominately made of space or nothingness, through which the energy identified as electrons, neutrons and protons move.

In some sense, at this level it might be helpful to consider all of this geometrically. Like a biologist might create a slice to place within his microscope, we can use the geometric concept of a plane to describe the essential concept of matter. For instance, lets assume two people are sitting on chairs in a room. In the room are any number of objects based on what the individuals or even someone else may have placed in the room. From a causation level, it might even be possible to say that some of the objects were placed by an unknown third party, even God.

But that is another discussion altogether. Getting back to our example, within the theoretical room, there are any number of items at any given time. From our limited understanding of the items in the room you might have the following: individual one, individual two, furniture, knick knacks, hydrogen, oxygen, certain chemical elements, sunlight, dust, mites, insects, the detrius of pets. It would be very difficult to quantify everything in the room completely.

But using our concept of plane geometry, lets cut a plane from the room, just like a slice on a glass plate on the microscope. Cutting our plane through the room, we might get a broad crosssection of what is inside the room. Looking at that plane on an atomic level, the first thing we have to say is that no matter what is within the plane, most of it is nothingness. As the atoms comprising that section interact, the magnetic fields created by the energy particles comprising the atoms flow around one another.

It is difficult to say that these energy fields 'touch.' Instead, the energy fields on our plane move around the room and bump up against each other. At the same time, it is important to remember that most of this is nothingness through which the energy particles are moving. If we could look at the plane as God might, what we might see within the plane was actually nothing through which energy was moving. At that level, what we were looking at was essentially the same thing, no matter what comprised the elements on the plane.

In this sense and at this level, what lies within the plane is essentially the same thing and bears no individuality that is meaningful. Just like Bill Hicks' depiction of the universe in his joke, at the atomic level, and actually the subatomic level, we are simply energy moving in concert, so that our lives are really no more than a "dream comprised of the imagining of ourselves". In his statement, Hicks took a subatomic level concept of life, then expanded it back to our "reality" or level of perception.

When Bill Hicks created his "joke", he began with a subatomic understanding of the universe, then expanded it to the level upon which we live our lives, the level of personal or subjective perception. The statement is muddled with the imposition of drugs and the reference to the weatherman. However, the truth of the concepts is still there. At the smallest level, everything in the universe can be defined as energy vibrating. Given the concept of various items as vibrating energy, all life is a "dream" or "imagination." The twist in the joke lies in expanding the atomic level definition of life to our own level of perception of the universe.

Taking our slide from the theoretical room, we can define everything on the slide as energy moving in concert. However, as we step back from the slide, we realize that the individual items do have integrity much as the solar system is comprised of celestial bodies moving in concert with one another. Looking at the various component bodies comprising the universe, we see various celestial bodies moving in orbit, spinning on their individual axes, and moving, as a collective body, through the universe. Just as the sun sits in the center of the system and the other planets spin and revolve around the sun, and each revolution has integrity and moves through magnetic and gravitational orbits, so the individual components on our slide seem to retain their integrity.

In this way, on the level of our subjective perception, the two individuals in our room do not meld into one another. They also do not become one with the table or the chairs or the flies flitting through the room like some subatomic replication of the movie, "The Fly." No, they are perceived, even at the atomic level, as retaining their structual integrity and identity. The ability to perceive the identity of being at the subatomic level and then perceive the individuality of the items is perhaps best understood at the level of God's perception of the items. Seeing as God might sees them, as a metaphysical scientist examing the slide cut through the plane in the room, we see the singularity of everything in the universe as energy vibrating, but also understand that there is an integrity of identity as well.

We obviously don't perceive the world as God does, on every level, from subatomic to the level of consciousness. It is difficult to see life and the universe at such diversely divergent levels. But it is probably important that we look at the world from both perspectives to truly understand it. It may even be important to state that you don't have to be under the influence of lsd in order to see the world from both ends of the telescope.

But I think that Mr. Hicks was very perceptive to be able to see the universe as the vibrating energy from which it is comprised and be able to take that concept and extract a humorous extrapolation of the idea and place it within the context of the mundane world in which we find ourselves. In that sense, he was very accurate in his understanding of the universe and the iconoclasm of the statement is quite telling on how we look at ourselves and the world in which we live and perceive the world.

Another First Tuesday spent on the road

No matter how many foreclosures I have to cry out on the first Tuesday of the month, it still seems to take the same amount of time to accomplish my duties. Last month, we had twentyone foreclosures to cry out and it took three of us from ten o'clock in the morning to four o'clock in the afternoon (which is all the time we had to complete our tasks). Today, I had five cryouts to finish and I was booting it down I-85 at about 75 mph to get from Canton to LaGrange to finish my last foreclosure. I had to be there before four o'clock p.m. in order to accomplish all of my tasks and get the last one finished. When I left downtown Canton it was about 1:15. I drove to 575 and found it completely blocked with traffic, so I, along with a few other drivers, continued on down Highway 20 toward Cumming and Roswell. I finally found Highway 400 and headed south toward Atlanta. I knew that at any time I could run into more traffic, but I continued down 400, paying the toll at the plaza and ending up on I-85 in Midtown. I blitzed through the traffic heading south through the downtown connector, then skipped over past the airport when 75 and 85 divided. I looked at the clock and it was already 3:00 o'clock. I had less than an hour. As I headed down toward Fairburn, Newnan, Hogansville and then LaGrange, there was construction all the way to Hogansville. The 50 mph construction signs were every half mile, including the ones that informed me that the penalties were doubled for speeding. I kept up with the traffic. I called Kate to find out how much time I had between Flat Shoals and LaGrange. 56 minutes. It was going to be close. When the construction stopped at Hogansville, I blitzed up to 75 mph and made it to the LaGrange exit with twenty minutes to go. I exited the interstate and headed west into downtown LaGrange behind some young guy with a handicapped license and some Alabama girl in a beat up compact car. When I finally was able to get around them, and proceed to the US 29 intersection where the redlight facing me seemed to stay on the traffic light forever. Finally it turned green and the three cars in front of me proceeded slowly to the next traffic light. It turned green and I turned right toward the courthouse. That light turned green and I headed through the intersection and found a parking space along the side of the courthouse. I parked, hopped out with my script for the foreclosure cryout and skipped down the sidewalk to the courthouse steps. I turned away from the courthouse and began reading to the empty steps. As I read people walked past me, in and out, ignoring my litany. I read the bid and the empty air around me was silent. I cried it once, twice, thrice and the property went back to the lender. I looked at my watch: three fifty three. Seven minutes to spare. As I left the courthouse and entered the car, I thought about how close it had been to the amount of time I had to complete just five sales. Last month, I had time to spare and we cried out twenty. How odd. I drove to Country's Barbecue on the west side of Mansours Department Store and entered the empty restaurant. The sole waitress seated me and brought me sweet tea and barbecue and beans and slaw. I could finally relax and enjoy the airconditioning, food and drink. By the time I finished, I felt better about the day. As I drove home, I called the law firm in Decatur and informed them of the completion of my tasks. I asked the lady why it had been so few sales this month. She said the lenders pulled the sales and now they were getting ready for about three hundred sales for July 7th. Lord help us all. That is something to think about. I think we will be busy on that first Tuesday of July.

The Peal of the Bells

It is the season of ice cream deliveries,
Chasing the tunes down the street
Where we all return to childhood,
In short pants and t-shirts
And red, white and blue keds,
No matter the vintage
Whether it reminds us of last week
Or last year
Or forty years ago
When you were a young girl
Running down to the snowball man
And I was the little boy down the lane
And the ring of those bells
Meant Summer and sweet frozen cream
A special sticky treat
Caught between the shimmer of the heat and the heft of the humidity.

The tingle and the tune echo down the avenue.

Try

Catch ahold with both hands
Feel the flow of the mass
As it slips from the hold of your fingers
To escape the grasp
And adjust your hold
Above, below
And feel the squirt in a different direction
The liquid becoming warm
In your fingers, to move again
In another direction
Sand flowing through your fingers again
Until you open your hands and they are empty.

Look at your feet. Take hold
Try to catch the motion
And arrest its flow
Try.

Modern Life in various hues

Today was the first really hot day of the disappearing Spring. It got up to around 90 and several people I ran into were complaining of the heat. I lost a retainer fee on a poor older client who can't make his mind up if he wants to be married or divorced. I called him today and he said he was going to work on his marriage. Bad for me. Good for him? We'll see.

Later in the day, I talked with an employee of a closing company in California who asked me if I did closings. I am on the list of his company, but he apparently didn't know that. I had already lost one on Tuesday because I wanted more money than they were willing to pay. I lost one today because I wasn't available at 4:00 for a little town outside Columbus. These companies are getting a little picky.

Tomorrow is Foreclosure day and I only have five foreclosures to cry out. Only I will go out tomorrow in the June sunshine. Everyone else will stay home. I need to get these sales done in a workmanlike manner and get back to Griffin. I have to be ready for court on Friday in Decatur and have things I need to do to prepare.

I have put myself back on the low side of the economic cycle. I need to work on building up the accounts to cover the cost of living in this family. It never ends.

There are so many people who are having problems. I guess it is part of my profession to deal with the problems. Sometimes it feels like everytime you get ahold of one part of it, the other part erupts into something bigger. I have a client right now who seems to be caught up in an endless cycle from which he cannot eradicate himself. John Bunyan's Slough of Despond in reality. Not a metaphor, but a thesis.

And I ride on the top of the morass. Skating up the surface as if it were ice. Until it catches my heal and I slip into the slough, myself. In the world we live in, it is not difficult to find yourself in the slough like everyone else. Even the lawyers.

The only difference is we engender little sympathy from the crowd.

Well, tomorrow I run from Griffin to Monroe to Homer to Gainesville to Canton to LaGrange. Then back home again. Using my cell phone to cover the communications I need to make along the way. Too many details to run out as the train rides on its rails.

Boy, I have not allowed myself to keep on one set of metaphors tonight.