Thursday, June 27, 2013

Adventures in living



I've been missing my sparkly eyed spunk lately. Although, I did get my hum back.  There I was striding down Parnassus in San Fran with a friend when I realized, I was humming.  My dear friend was a bit shocked when I threw my arms around her in a bear hug, and laughingly yelled, "I've got my Hum back!"  She went on to her doctor's appt , I went to Starbucks, then we were out of the land of Fruits, Nuts, & Beamer People.  

Do you think it's a sign of things to come that I received these specific ads in my personal coupon e-mail the same day "I got my hum back"?  


87% Off One Year of Online Guitar Lessons 87% Off One Year of Online Guitar Lessons



Up to 51% Off Tandem Skydiving Up to 51% Off Tandem Skydiving





Up to 51% Off Pole-Dancing Classes or Apparel Up to 51% Off Pole-Dancing Classes

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Words of Wisdom



I had assumed that as I got older I would become wise, 
what I have learned is never to assume.
  
So I give you a few words of learned advice ...

"It is extremely unwise
to try for a higher kill ratio
 with the electronic Bug Zapper Racket



 Electric Bug Zapper Racket

 while drinking Flying Dog beer
Pearl Necklace<br/>Oyster Stout
  a horseback."

 

Monday, June 3, 2013

The Invitation

 by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.


It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.


I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.


I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.


It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.


I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.


I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”


It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.


It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.


It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.


I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.




Saturday, June 1, 2013

Characters on the Trail

I try to be fairly aware of who and what is around me, partially it is for my safety, and partially because people can be so interesting.
 
For instance, I saw an old friend of the Cowman limping down the sidewalk in cowtown.  He had on a black felt cowboy hat, dark glasses, a starched within an inch of it's life, long sleeve shirt, a black full length duster (coat), wranglers, black boots, and spurs with jingle bobs.  Not all that unusual for cowtown in winter, thing is it was high summer and 110 degrees out.  Then there was the fact that his head seemed to be on constant swivel.
So I yelled out to him, "Hi Monte, how are you doing?"  It was a legitimate question as he had come close to getting killed by a colt he was training a few short months back.
He hustled on down the sidewalk, duster a flapp'n, and spurs a jingling.
So, I yelled again, louder, "Monte, How Are You Doing?" 
This time he spun around, saw who was yelling, and motioned with both hands to keep my noise down.  With a shake of his head, he came across the street to stand beside me.  After a long drawn out sigh he said, "Dammit B, can't you see I'm going incognito here!"