With No Strings Attached

What was rare

As days in June?

This perfect late April day

Unblemished by clouds

Skies blued to perfection

Cool morning, warm afternoon

Served up with low humidity

And no strings attached

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Grass Was Always Greener

Dusty Springfield, half-whispered “You’ve Got the Look Of Love” from the bat-winged, ’64 Chevy Biscayne’s dashboard speaker; after a day in the hayfields.  If only she were whispering to me–or so, I thought at the time.

If only all girls were like California girls.  Everyone in far-off places seemed to be better off, have more fun–the grass was always greener.  Pity the fools, desperate for good news that never came.

Past lives left behind in rear-view mirrors; chrome chariots pointed, anywhere but here.  “Here” transmogrified into a catch-all phrase–meaning whatever predicament one happened to be in at that given moment.

Anywhere but here, was the new mantra.  How could everybody be somewhere else, when some, somebodies had to stay behind, to make-up for those that went somewhere else?

If there is a point to all this–it is to make the best of where you are; right now, at this moment.  Because, take my word for it, the grass is not always greener.

 

For of those to whom much is given, much is required.  JFK’s observation in 1961, taken from Luke 12:48 KJV.

 

 

Farewell 2016

New Years Eve traditions–Chinese cuisine, with egg rolls mandatory.  Also, black-eyed peas with cornbread.

The past year was one of extremes–emotional highs and lows, gains and losses.  Two family members and a close friend passed away last year.  Dangling conversations fade.  Good times, now happy memories.

And you read your Emily Dickinson

And I my Robert Frost

And we note our place with book markers

That measure what we’ve lost…

–Paul Simon–

Several relationships ended and those involved moved on.  Because of these events, there were a record number of trips out-of-town.

My wish for everyone, is that we treat each other with more civility in 2017.  I still believe everyone has a story to tell–if we can get past the posturing.

I shot a bullet into the air, it fell to earth I know not where.

For revelers in my neighborhood, I wish an extra heaping, helping of common sense this New Years Eve.  Bullets do, indeed, come down somewhere.