May I have this dance?

It was Friday morning and Bev and I were getting ready for work at the same time. We usually have very different schedules first thing in the morning. Since Bev has been successfully turning herself into a hard body, many mornings she has been getting up at 4 o'dark to get to the Y. She looks Marvelous.

I have been getting up at 5:00 to journal and meditate and sometimes ponder the blog subject for the week. So even when Bev sleeps in for a little while, we often miss one another first thing in the morning. Friday was different though. The fates and the desperate need for a little more sleep conspired so that we both hit our alarms at 6:00. Each of us awake with our inner stopwatches being set for a departure time of 6:45. We would be cutting it close.

Thankfully, I started my plumbing tasks with 3 intact showers (see last week's blog), So even with my incompetence, we still have two working. We engaged in synchronized tooth brushing, looking over shoulders to comb hair and to apply make-up (Bev, not me), packing the work bags and off to the kitchen.  I was popping the toast in the toaster. Bev was pouring a bowl of twigs and nuts (marvelous looking hard body that she is). Time to feed the dogs, then circling the island; putting together a sack lunch. 6:43 we were turning off the lights and a quick hug heading out the door. Ladies and gentlemen start your engines and we were off.

It struck me then that I had just been a partner in a beautiful dance. Maybe rushed and hurried with no time to stop and smell the roses, but a carefully choreographed piece a art none the less. Some dances have the frenetic pace of Swing and some have the structured cadence of a waltz.

There have been times in the past when we have taken more time and probably said more words but were more out of step than during our Friday two step. So often, only the partners know the missteps and even then there is self deception.

I was out in the front yard doing some gardening yesterday and was watching a couple go by on some very nice bicycles. He was about 25 yards ahead cranking along and I heard her exclaim, "look at the flowers." A beat or two passed and he was oblivious.

She exclaimed again "look at the flowers."  He looked over and said "yeah, pretty" They were dancing. I have no idea of how well they were dancing. It is usually impossible to tell how well others dance. I have created a half dozen different scenarios filled with the nuances of what might have been. But no matter how fluid and in step they may or may not have been, they were dancing. They were moving along and in her strength she noticed something beautiful and of intrinsic value that he was missing. She called him to it and allowed it into his life.

We have numerous nieces and nephews and two children at various stages of choosing their dance partners. I remember that part of the dance for Bev and I well. Which is why I offer no advice. I remember that I knew it all and that our love was singular and pure in its intensity and devotion. How we survived that to have a love that has flourished into what it is now; the eve of our 26th anniversary; I do not know. I know that we have stepped on toes, zigged when we should have zagged, fought for the lead position and some times been dancing completely different dances. Yet in spite of those missteps or maybe because of them, we love and are loved.

To my children and nieces and nephews I wish for you the blessing of a safe dance floor; a place to step on toes, to learn how to lead and follow in accordance to your strengths and weaknesses and the perseverance to keep practicing; a blessed marriage.

To that guy on the bike; if you are reading this, they were dark red peonies. The next step is yours.

Take care.

Roger

count down?

I missed you last week. I was in the throes of rehabbing a rental property that we own. Duh! Like I would work on a rental that I didn't own.  Plumbing has been my nemesis the last few weeks.  There are 4 sinks in the house and three of them were leaking.  One was an easy fix. The other two required replacing the entire faucet. 

On the heels of this great success, I went off and started working on a shower head at home, my problems were just getting started. The pipe broke off in the wall. So now we have a hole in the wall and I am searching for a tool that is the correct size so that I can back the stub out of the elbow that is attached to a wall stud. Bev loves it when I use technical plumber terms. I know that if I don't find the right tool on the next trip to the hardware store, I am going to just start hunting for the plumber's number.

I have procrastinated too long for this blog. Why put off until tomorrow what can be done today? Opps!  That's right. Harold Camping says that tomorrow will never come on earth for the saved. I heard it on the TV a month ago. Seeing a great opportunity; two weekends ago, I went and bought Bev an Ipad for Mother's Day. I put it on the plastic so now I don't have to pay. Take that Mr. Jobs.  Hah. It is a shame I needed to plant tomatoes for those left behind or Bev and I would have gone Lamborgini shopping today.

Only 5 and a half hours before the end of the world. I will try to make this blog a good one. . . Sorry, got destracted. Bev and I just watched the Apostle starring Robert Duval. I know that Netflix will let me keep it forever, but you really want to tie up those loose ends. That nagging feeling wondering if I had put the Netflix back in the mailbox would just dog me forever. Besides it wouldn't be right to deprive the atheist movie watchers of a "heart warming tale of redemption." They will need their comfort where they can get it. The movie was very good. But now there are only 2 and one half hours left. I have to get on this blog.

I wonder if we have a gallon of ice cream. . .  Ahhh; that hit the spot. Nothing says pre- rapture party like a bucket of Schwann's and a jar of hot fudge topping. Talk about guilt free calories. In 45 minutes, it will be just like I never ate it. It would appear that my decision to not start that exercise regime really paid off. You won't see no running track beyond those pearly gates. 

Opps! I have really got to get back to this blog.

Did you see that report on Robert Fitzpatrick the decipherer of the doomsday code? He was standing there looking at the big Times Square clock waiting for the momentous instant. Then at 6:00:15 he looks at his watch. Then everyone around him started jeering at him. What's it to them that he was wrong? He's the one out the $150,000 of his own money. So he believed in the wrong time. Give him a break. How many of you will send $150,000 off to the federal government believing that they will give it back to you when your “time” hits 65? How are we more right by making fun of him to his face? We should all do it behind his back like I am.

Poor guy; I looked at his deciphering of the doomsday code and he just made one tiny little error. It was at the beginning so it threw the whole timeline off. He would have gotten 80% partial credit in calculus. I know that you should be more careful when deciphering the end of the world but like the old joke says "what do you call the medical student who got C's ten years ago?  Doctor." Bob's error came in relying on EDST for the basis of his predictions. With all the time zones, and shifting time back and forth willy nilly just to suit our golf games, it is easy to see how he got confused.

If he would have properly used the knowledge of how much God loves the Clint Eastwood Marathon on Spike TV and how much He loathes Sondra Locke, he would have known that the end of the world is at 11:59 tonight. Just before  "Any Which Way You Can" started. Oh my! About 5 minutes from now. I had better let the dogs out and get them something to eat. The humane society will be pretty busy for a few days.

There: Here we go. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Take c. . . .

Did you miss me at church this morning? I was just messin with you. I wanted you to wonder if I had been taken you had been left behind.

Roger

Blowing smoke?

I swore that I wasn't going to write about politics as often. I made this oath after getting feedback from some of you that "the political stuff goes right over my head but some of your other stuff is okay." Relying in that ringing endorsement and noticing that my family's eyes glaze over when I declare that Birch Bayh was a crook and his son is a sissy crook as I channel my inner grandma, I am truly trying to modify my blogs and keep my political opinions out of these pages. I was well on my way. I was going to write about the beauty of motherhood, daffodils and puppies.

I was going to until I went on my bike ride this evening. About half way through my ride,a big old pick up with high lift shocks and mud tires and lime green letters on the windshield proudly proclaiming that they were "FLAT BROKE" came by and revved the engine and his big ole Cummins deisel belched a huge cloud of black smoke that drifted over into my lane. I must admit that I was bemused. I thought Speedy racer with the black smoke cloud trick; cool. I pedalled through my bemusement and the cloud and went on. Well I found that I acted incorrectly and possibly offended them greatly. It appears that inbred hill jacks have the gift and can read bemusement through smoke clouds.

Five minutes later he had turned about to give me another fly by and his buddy leaned out the window and yelled something like "my mother must have had incestuous relations for me to be this stupid." I am still trying to work on the audio. The quality isn't very good because just as he started his declaration of his love for his mother, the driver hit the gas and I got smoked again.

And I thought to myself that the price of gas wasn't quite high enough if he could waste it as a mosquito suppressant this early in the season.

Then I got to wondering if President Obama had been picked on as a younger man and while he had thought that we should give terrorist trials and told the country that we should give them trials, he just kind of flashed back to high school and a couple of bullies in turbans, robes, beards, and big ole fake hair made fun of his ears, blew cigarette smoke in his face, while chanting "American made? Show us your birth certificate." Then when the general whispered into his ear "(President) Obama; we have Osama." he broke. He forgot what he ran on and ordered the assassination.

For all of the loyalists out there, calm down. Take a breath. It was an assassination. No matter what is actually said to have happened in the end, Osama was killed on orders from the President of the United States. I know it is difficult to admit if one is a loyalist. I still remember my grandma saying "Nixon didn't do anything Johnson hadn't done. He just got caught." God love her.

I don't know if President Obama wishes that he had handled it differently. If he does, he can get his own blog. I for one wish that we would have shown a bit more imagination.

It seems to me that Osama had been in prison for the past seven years. Our courageous Navy Seals had flown in there and secured the facility. What if we would have at that moment taken a breath and called the President of Pakistan? We could have told him that we had found Osama a mile away from the military school. He could have verified it by the caller id proclaiming that the Bin Ladens were on the line. After the verifications were made we could have offered him the Bad Lands in South Dakota in exchange for our new embassy in Pakistan. Of course we would have had to negotiate right of way for the bikers on the way out to Sturgis but diplomacy is the art of the possible.

With the negotiations out of the way, we could harden the facilities. Take away the cable, and internet access and make the walls really thick. Then tell all of the terrorists in the world that if they want him come and get him. I'm telling you that it would be like a bug zapper at a moth convention. You wouldn't be able to shoot the jihadists fast enough.

That's what I would do if I were president. Which reminds me of something else my grandmother told me: "every time a politician promises you something, he's just blowin smoke."

Take Care

Roger

Quick story

Will post real blog tomorrow but wanted to share a quick story.

Grace got home for summer last night. She is getting ready to leave for Rome and London. She is going to meet Sister Eugenia in Rome. Sister Eugenia is very involved in anti-trafficking work world wide. So Grace is very excited and a little star struck. Bev and I were asking Grace what they would talk about and do. Grace doesn't know. Bev asked if they would eat spaghetti being Rome and all. I asked if they would have marinara sauce with the spaghetti. I had to apologize for my faux paux... I should have remembered that a nunn can't get marinaried.

Take care

See you tomorrow.

Roger

Too much life?

I sit here at the beginning of a blog and the end of a week. This is the grand design for my creative excursions into blogging. I spend the entire week sifting and sorting the events of my life and try to find the one or two good ideas that I can write about at the end of the week that will; one- capture people's imagination, and two- not intentionally denigrate too many of the things that they hold near and dear to their heart.

This creative process works best if I live a relatively boring life. The world reveals a few quirky little tidbits that, with a little creative license, can hold a few people's interest for 600 words or so.  Too much going on and there are too many thing to write about. So one gets a meandering trail of mind farts on the way to some conclusion.

That is the problem this fine May day. I have not lived in a boring world this week. We watched as tornados grind and grind away until nothing was left. Trails of devestation so wide and complete that they can be seen from space. We have heard stories of lives spared and other lives taken; some whole, some months of pain remain for wholeness; some a hole will remain to never be filled.

Then the royal wedding. I admit the guilty pleasure of not getting to work the usual 15 minutes early but sauntering in 3 minutes late last Friday. I love the royals. All of that marrying your cousins until the family tree looks like a wreath, makes me believe that if it were not for that Divine Right of the Monarch's thing, the Sharritt's could compete in a meritocracy. Kudo's to Charles and William though, getting some mutt blood introduced into the royal line is a good thing. You can imagine the eyes getting set wider and wider apart for years to come.

Time for a moment of honesty though, how many of you when the ring kind of got stuck on her knuckle thought Cinderella.  I did.  And I secretly cursed my stubby knuckles. Oh to be a princess for a day. Speaking of princess for a day, I feel sorry for numerous fathers out there who will be having daughters getting married during the 100 years or so. "But daddy, Kate had trees growing in the middle of the church for her wedding." "But daddy, Kate was pulled in a royal coach back her palace." "But daddy, Kate got to leave the reception in a clown car." Yeah what was the deal with that? The clown segment  of British society so big that the prince gave a shout out to them?

Finally, the week of simplicity ended with a trip to my niece's for her first communion. It was beautiful. She was lovely. I know that I can rightfully be accused of being a smartalec. This is especially true when describing solemn events, but it was moving. I think even more so because my flavor of Christianity has gotten away from the solemnity and miracle of communion. By and large, we try to fit it in on random weekends. We are told that communion week in and week out makes it too routine. Yet the Catholic church has been doing it for 2000 years and the wine becomes Christ's blood and the bread His body. Things I confess I used to believe in the mystery of, but the belief fails me now from lack of practice.

 And in the middle of this busy weekend, was my nephew who had found what was important in life. It appears that over Christmas an uncle (that uncle) had showed him a fart app on the Ipad. Thankfully, the app supports the Iphone and one password later he was armed with hours of fun. For which I recognize and honor his mother's and father's wisdom, hope and faith, that this will not last forever. Over the course of several appropriate moments this weekend he let er rip. At one point for over a half hour straight. And you know something. He's right. In a crazy mixed up world of natural disaster, romance, and mystery, for a young boy and an old uncle, it is always funny.

Take care.

Roger

Lawn care?

My family has said that I should post the video that last week's blog was based on. So I will put it at the bottom of this week's installment. Then if you didn't read last week's you can watch the video and flow right into the rest of the conversation that you hear in the video. While the point of the blog is to enjoy life without watching in on youtube or tv or whatever. The context does add a little flavor.

Finally, enough heat to cut the grass. I like cutting grass the first time each year. Actually, I like the second time each year. The first time is really just a game of connect the dots using dog poop piles instead of numbered inky spots. It is like a 16 year old shaving for the first time. You know on one level it needs to happen, but it is hard to see where you have gone. I have thought about transfering my dad's advice the first time I shaved ("Just smear some milk on it and get the cat.") to the yard but I don't think I can get the cat to lick milk covered dog poo. They are just so independent.

Sharritts have never been big lawn care providers. We transferred our lessons about fertilization from the dog poo tufts. The rest of the yard is 2 inches tall interupted by 8 inch jungle grass islands. You hit one of those with a mower and you are going to do some damage. So no fertilizer for us. Keep as much of the yard growing slow until the drought of July and you may only have to cut the grass three times a year.

No weed suppressant for the Sharritts either. We like the yellow danelions each spring. It gives you another dot to drive to while waiting for the nutrient starved areas to start growing in late May. Plus I have always enjoyed the smug sense of superiority I have felt telling the following story. When we farmed, we hosted preschools for tours to help out the early spring income. One April at the end of a tour during the question and answer session, one young humanoid asked what are those yellow flowers all over your yard. "Well honey those are danelions." "What are dandelions farmer Sharritt?" "They are the pretty flowers you get when you don't use chemicals on your lawn." "They are pretty. I wish that we had some. Mom can we get dandelions." I must admit that I felt a twinge of pity for the little girl knowing she wound never play "Momma had a baby and its head popped off", or that she had never blown a puff ball launching the little missles of chaos into the neighbor's yard.

Nope, no insect suppression either. We try to grow grubs the size of horseflies. We know that the moles prefer that size. It is also a goal at the Sharritts to have lots of robust moles. Because you go out to cut the grass on an acre of farm yard and you need something to distract you. Hitting a 4 inch tall pile of mole excavations, sending a cloud of dirt into the air will break up the monotony in a hurry. You do it into the wind and you quickly become an expert at planning ahead to avoid trouble. Anyway the grubs ate the grass, the moles ate the grubs, the dogs dug for the moles and randomly caught and killed them, and the dogs brought the moles to the house as a gift for the family, and I would skin the moles and using their pelts to protect the corns on my feet. Circle of life. Everybody is happy.

Then last year the whole circle broke down. It got dry. It got hot. The grubs weakened the root systems of the grass. Crab grass sprung up in copious amounts in the areas vacated by the Kentucky blue. The grubs were small because they don't like crab grass. This made the moles small, sluggish, easily caught and killed by the dogs. A process that happened so rapidly that the dogs had 4 months of nothing to do. They could see me hobbling out to the car every morning on my unprotected corns. Being very empathetic dogs and having ran out of American moles, they started searching for Chinese moles. Not much success yet, but if we have a WWI re-enactment, we will have authentic military grade trenches already provided.

As the spring wore on, I sensed that there was a deeper message in my mess of a yard. I must admit that I contemplated reseeding, getting the Scotts turf builder, putting down some milky spore, and bringing in back-fill to make my ride smooth as silk, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I knew that Nature was trying to tell me some deep mystery. That all of these forces had come together for some higher purpose. My frustration grew and grew. Then at the end of my rope, I decided to go to the place I go to seek out all of the life's deeper meanings. Yep, I went to Google Earth to look at our yard from space and this is what I found.

Happy Earth Day.

Take Care

Don't forget the tornado video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgwJfoZ-12c



Roger

Just blowing leaves around?

Last week I wrote that spring has sprung. Well it has snapped back shut again and smacked our fingers hard. Cold wet rainy weather has the farmers and gardeners jonesing for warm weather. Tornado alley turned into Tornado Freeway, and has left those of us unaffected watching Youtube videos shot by those less fortunate who were born with out the good sense God gave a goose as Nanny used to say.

My favorite video was in North Carolina. He is filming and talking on the phone to a loved one. It is a one sided conversation but based on the subject matter at hand you get a pretty good feeling for what the other side of the conversation is. But because of modern technology, we here at You Said What Roger? Were able to reconstruct the other side of the conversation.  It follows in red.

“You what? Looking at a tornado?

“Yep right now. I can take pictures of it too. I happen to be recording it. That’s even better.”

“Video will be perfect. I am so glad that I spent the extra money and got you that I-phone. You can video your little tornado and talk to me in this super calm voice that has always irritated me.” “Now this video quality goes down at long distance. How close is it?”

“Ohhhhh, a half a mile.”

“Half a mile? That’s kind of close hon. But you’ll get good pictures if it isn’t going away from you.”

“I’d say its coming straight towards me.”

“Straight towards you?! Isn’t that dangerous? Half a mile? These storms are traveling 40 miles an hour. Jr. Get in here and bring your math book. Turn to the story problems. An idiot is filming a tornado that is a half a mile away that is traveling at 40 miles an hour how long does he have to live.” No I don’t have a calculator.”

“Hon, does the tornado look very bad?’

“Yeah but. . . But its not one of those I would say devastation four terrible. I mean it’s picking up leaves.”

“Oh a leaf blower tornado. You should be fine. Jr. go out to the garage and see how fast the leave blower blows. Don’t sass me you ain’t going to get that story problem done before your dad gets his come to Jesus moment.”

Is it only kicking of leaves?

“I see stuff in it. It is just twisting.  Oh there goes a flash. It’s blowing up some power lines now.”

“A flash? Blown up power lines? Oh my. That’s not safe”

“Speaking of safe. Darling you’re not driving and on the cell at the same time are you?” “You know there are laws against that.”

“No I’m stopped. I’m in a parking lot now. Do you hear the rain now?”

“Hon that sounds like hail. It sounds pretty close.”

“It’s going to pass right over me.”

“Oh thank God.”

Raining and hailing so hard that it is hard to hear what he says next.

“Hon?  Hon?  Oh my God Jr. Dad just got flattened by a tree in a tornado. It’s terrible. All I can hear is this death and destruction. Oh Jr. what will we do?”

“The nearest tree to me is probably down the road from your house to the corner.”

“Down the road from your house to the corner? What are you talking about?”

“Yep there goes a roof off of a house.”

“Oh no!”

“Yep. Yep. Hang on I love you.”

“You love me? You stopped and took pictures of a tornado that was bearing down upon you and God is about to drop a roof on your head and all you have to say is I Love you?
How about I am a silly damned fool who doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose? How about this was really stupid dear? I will never stop and take pictures of a tornado again.  I Love you! You had better be okay Hon! Or I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m okay right now. My truck isn’t but I’m okay.”

“Yep. I’m okay. I’m still good. It’s just I have a problem with what I’m driving. It’s damaged. No ummm. Looks like roofing blew off a building and got me. I mean I’m okay.”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry for me.”

“Well get your sorry excuse for a behind home now. And don’t forget the milk.”

You know this person was a goof ball that had no business being where he was doing what he was doing. It is interesting how society desires to show the tragedies, moments, scenery to our cameras and video recorders. Wendell Berry has a poem that describes a family on vacation going down the Kentucky River voraciously feeding a camera all of the river scenes as if there was no beauty there if the one eyed contraption did not capture what was three dimensional in its two dimensional format. The loss of that dimension often takes away the power, the grandeur, the immensity, of what is bearing down upon us.

There have been thousands of people affected by these storms this past weekend. Our prayers and thoughts go out to those who have lost belongings and more tragically loved ones. Being a generous country, I am sure that we will answer the call that will be coming for physical assistance in the days to come. May those who suffered terribly find comfort and protection. May those of us who were left unscathed understand their plight without pictures.

Take Care.

Roger