Existing In BFE

For a year and a half now I've had a somewhat different morning ritual.  I set the alarm for 3:00 am, maybe do a 10 minute snooze and then walk 3 1/2-4 miles every morning.  After that I do some computer work (blog, fantasy, reading latest news) and then await my client when I open the doors to Papa's Daycare.  When that is done I have supper, watch a little TV and then to bed at 7:30 - 8:00 pm where I read for a bit before falling asleep. Some seem surprised I go to bed that early.  hey, I have the same schedule everyone else does, I just move it up three hours.  I have also discovered I miss nothing going to bed so early.  I have no shows I watch regularly.  Mornings are the best part of a day so I simply elongate mine. More morning to enjoy.  Coffee at 5:00 and that makes it just about perfect.  Alone, dark, and medium brew with a bit of Southern Pecan creamer.  I'm getting a little Johnny Rocket just thinking about it.   For no particular reason i thought you might

At one time I painted a lot.  This was before the Internet, fantasy baseball and during budding families.  Sometimes I needed to get away.  I could find a corner somewhere, close a door and get a few brush strokes in.  Now, it seems harder and harder to find the time. I've trashed some that were just plain embarrassing, some I've given away, and some I've kept.  Today's Flashback features a few that are in repository somewhere in Northlandia.  By repository I mean stashed in storage.  Some are OK, some bad, but all early examples of an untrained, home pseudo-artist.   Must have been one of my darker moods.  By the way, I love dark moods.  It enhances my feelings.  Besides, without the dark...you know the rest.  Actually, this one isn't bad.  I'd change the light in the windows, though if I had a choice.  Maybe one candle in one window.   "Hey, Kid, you're about to get swept out into a rip tide!"  T

Back when I was a fledgling student at Iowa Wesleyan College, now somehow a University, and just dipping my toes in philosophy classes, I formulated a notion that a starving man can die happy .  I tried that little gem out on Marj that engendered a kind of knowing parental thought bubble: "I raised an idiot, and don't tell the neighbors".  And of course, who could blame her.  While she may not have exactly endured the Depression, its economic realities were certainly imbued upon her.  To her last shopping trip to the grocery store I imagine she bought more tomato soup to go with the scores of others already neatly stacked in the cupboard. Let me stop myself right there and provide some ancillary facts to that ridiculous statement.  here I am, a pampered son in a middle class family, attending college on my Dad's dime, my own car full of free gas from his business, keeping up with the latest hippie fashion trend, pontificating on the emotional gratification of starva

Happy Tuesday from Sunny Kitschland.  As we head into the final week of April, and the final week before this blog takes a few days off for Spring Break (white sandy beaches of Daytona, hot co-eds, beer by the barrels, gettin' lit and lighten' up!)  Oh, wait.  I'm being told that was last month.  Well, I guess Northlandia will have to do, then. ++++++++++ What's this?  The Wombies are moving?   ++++++++++ I have been referring to Fox News as state-run.  With Hannity directing trump on tweets and policy, I had no idea just how right I was.  trump gets his marching orders from the Fox team.  And that may be good news or bad, depending on, well, no, its bad news anyway you look at it.  ++++++++++ Whizbang Week 2 It has earned another week, but barely.   Alfred with Whizbang.   ++++++++++ Spring is here finally? ++++++++++ Last Friday I got up early but didn't do my usual 3 mile

Now that I have procured a space on the front porch at Sinkhole Estates, or as I call it, Death Valley,  I have begun painting again.  This is one I did most recently blocking in some colors and about 75% finished.  It is Alfred playing in the water at the swimming pool.  I should have it done soon and that other little number there in black is already in the planning stages. One of the hard parts, having done a painting of Norah a few years ago, is getting the hair right.  It isn't red and it isn't blond.  It is a golden blond/strawberry red depending on the light.  I've already tried mixing up some shades and don't have it right yet.  One other thing.  My area is on the front porch and there is no air conditioning out there.  It prevents being out there in the hottest parts of the day but cools a bit in the evening.  I was sitting inside one day looking out and wondering if my painting would get wrecked by the heat. And like the dumb

Betcha your Mom never played the accordion.  The musician of the family was Marj.  She forced us boys to have organ lessons for years from Ila Mae with varying degrees of failure.  Oh those mournful notes of "Long, Long Ago" still pound my brain!  How we managed to sit at that organ and go through the notes in repetition, eventually to stumble through simple tunes?  How Ila Mae managed to sit at that organ with us listening to that vapid, futile exercise? Dick and Mona denied their daughter little.  Not sure if the need to explore the accordion was her idea or theirs, but here we are with a series of pictures of Marj looking every bit the part of Gus Polinski and the Polka Kings.   Marj would graduate from the accordion and settle in with the organ, one of which was in our living room as we were growing up. To this day I can do a rousing "We Shall Overcome" but, sadly, Marj's hopes of bringing culture and music to the barba

I am increasingly discovering that at various places I find myself, I begin scanning to determine if anyone is older than me.  Too often anymore, the answer is no.  I also get the occasional, "How old are you?"  This question is designed, of course, to determine just where you fit in the questioners boxes of possible kinship to themselves.  In other words, is this guy going to be able to keep up with me or is he squaresville, whatever that is.  I heard someone say a few months ago that age seems to be a big deal "because they never let you forget it."  They being: commercials, people, well, everyone and everything.  I think she is right.   People who say they don't judge are lying.  We judge every time we meet someone new, every time we try something new, every time we eat something new, every time we see something new.  One of the things we judge is age.  Young is good, moving, reckless, fearless, funny, aware and cool.  Age is...not.  Age is "&q

1960 - Tighty whities because Marj told me to. 1985 - Boxer briefs because I didn't want stuff to slosh around down there. 2000 -Boxers because I wanted things to slosh around down there. 2018 - Tighty whities (in different colors) to keep pesky old man drips from wetting my pants. ++++++++++ trump's lawyer is being investigated in Manhattan, his son-in-law is being investigated in Brooklyn, his former campaign manager is under indictment, his former national security advisor has pleased guilty to lying, a couple former campaign advisors are cooperating with prosecutors.  My God! What could we have done with our deteriorating infrastructure, healthcare, public education, and a host of other things needing examined if we'd channeled all this effort to cheat into an effort to improve. ++++++++++ ++++++++++ Every night at 9:00 pm a horn is blown at the four corners of the market obelisk in Ripon , North