Regular Life

I took this picture about two years ago near our home in Missouri.

For fun, I made it into a desktop wallpaper for 1024×768 and 800×600 resolutions. It won’t quite fill your desktop vertically, but please, choose Center, not Stretch when choosing the position.

Quite a while before I shot this pic, I wrote a poem, forcibly rhymed, called “Where Sunlight Flies.” At age 16 or so, I printed it as neatly as I could on notebook paper and placed it on a page preceding various sunset and sunrise pictures in my photo album. The last line was “I wish I could grow magic wings/To go where sunlight flies.”

I wish I could grow magic eyes that would never read that poem again.

When boys get together, they play. When men join in, they move all the boys’ stuff out of the way and setup the toys they never had as kids. Then they use the boys as props, while videotaping the whole thing. Naturally, one of the men goes home, edits the video, and sets it to guitar music the other man composed and performed (which they recorded years ago using a standard computer microphone).

It sounds like a typical weekend to me. See what you think.

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Ben and I went to Krispy Kreme one afternoon recently to get doughnuts. First, we needed to stop at Target to get a CD for his mommy’s birthday. I had told Ben everything on our agenda before we left the house, but of course his toddler brain honed in on the fried rings of fluffy goodness.

When we drove into the Target parking lot, he said, “Is that Target?” I think he recognized it by the large red target on the building. The kid is sharp.

“Yes, Ben, that’s Target.”

“Is that where the doughnuts live?”
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Please notice the Subscribe feature on the left. It does not use a third-party service and should notify you via e-mail the moment I post a new entry. It also means I can assure you that your e-mail address is seen only by me and never shared or sold.

For those of you who prefer a more passive approach to checking blogs you read, this new subscription option may be the perfect choice.

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(Falcon has come to a close.)

Friday at work I got a call from Shannon. She asked if it was okay if one of her friends left her son, N, at Ben’s grammy’s house. Shannon was leaving town for a ladies’ overnight getaway, and this particular friend needed someone to fill the gap between the time they left town and when her husband finished a meeting that started at 4 p.m.

That’s where Ben’s grammy comes into the picture.

So, why did it matter to me?

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(continue reading Falcon over in Part Nineteen)

This old guy was playing slide acoustic guitar in the streets of Fayetteville, Arkansas a few years ago. I shot it on film and scanned it in.

I love taking pictures of wizened faces. Every time I look at this photo, I wonder what he was thinking.

In that spirit, I’m opening the floor to anybody who wants to put thoughts in this man’s head. Or photochop it, if you want, but don’t get disgusting with it. Just so you have the facts, he was accompanying about four women singers, all at least age 70. Not that that’s old, but women’s voices take on a certain quality by that point.

Here’s another, of him in action.

I wrote a post earlier this year covering a similar topic, and at first I was going to ditch the following. Since the first post, however, I’ve adjusted my angle on it a bit, and here I present a few new points. Before writing this, I had not read that entry in months, so it’s interesting to see the similarities as well as the differences. If you prefer to read only one, then read the one below.

Put it before them briefly so they will read it, clearly so they will appreciate it, picturesquely so they will remember it and, above all, accurately so they will be guided by its light. – Joseph Pulitzer

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(This is another in an ongoing series about adventures with my first best friend, whom I’ve known since age 6. I have created a table of contents for this saga in the Pages section.)

I don’t remember exactly when, but Chris and I went on a short trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, with his mom, my mom, my brother and his friend. Oddly, through all the years he and I have been friends, it still is the only trip our families have taken together. I’m glad we made sure it was memorable.

We stayed at the Avanelle Motor Lodge, since renamed but still about the same. I remember the original name because for years I had a drinking glass bearing its logo. I probably sneaked it into a suitcase when nobody was looking.

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(those following Falcon can go on to Part 18, or newbies can start at the beginning)

My good friend Alvis drove to our house Sunday expecting to help me load a dishwasher into our minivan, then follow me in it as I drove my Sebring. He would drive to Best Buy, me close behind, and then watch me buy a new CD player/receiver for the car and have them install it at no additional charge. He would ride with me while we drove to his house to drop off the dishwasher, then let me hang out there while my car was getting upgraded. He might even watch me drink one of the Capri Sun pouches that he and his wife keep on hand for their son.

To quote Robert Burns:

The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.

This has been adapted (i.e., “dumbed down for the masses”) to say, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

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(readers of Falcon go see Part 17. Those who aren’t reading it yet, get started.)

When I was a kid, I went door-to-door gathering pledges for each mile I would ride in an upcoming bike-a-thon. I did that at least twice, and invariably at least one person was a bit taken aback when I came looking for their $40. They learned then to pledge 25 cents per mile rather than a dollar.

In later years, I joined a few of my classmates visiting various neighborhoods knocking on doors to raise money. Usually the cause was band, and we were selling fruitcakes or pancake breakfast tickets.

Inevitably, we ended up amongst very expensive homes predominantly occupied by folks who had retired to Arkansas for cheaper living. We figured out pretty quickly how they could afford large homes — continue reading…