SEPARATION, SIN AND ATONEMENT

SEPARATION, 1961
We were lined up at the starting line when the man fired the pistol.
I took off clean, then fell and scuffed my knee in my little Easter shorts, ripping my jacket as well. I thought my chances were slim, but I recovered and ran like a deer, scooping up candy and eggs into my basket like Deon Sanders on a loose ball.
Before long I was way out in front of everybody.
There was a line of trees in front of me.
Then I found it! The Grand Prize of the Easter Egg Hunt! The worlds biggest Chocolate Bunny! It must have been 2 feet tall.
It came with $20 and I got my picture made with the Governor and Miss Texas, 1961. I looked out over the crowd from on the stage, all those kids out there with their little Easter Baskets and sad envious looks on their faces. They were all looking at me.
I’d have gladly given that Chocolate Bunny away.
It seemed like all the kids hated me forever after that.

SIN, 1962
That Easter of 1961 was the first time I truly felt separated from other people.
And it was all because I found that damned Grand Prize Bunny.
I can still see the pouty little envious faces of all the kids there that day.
I can still feel the anger and resentment of all those little child hearts as I stood between the Governor and Miss Texas, holding 4 pounds of Chocolate Rabbit, getting my picture taken.

Make no mistake about it, us humans learn to hate and resent and despise at a very early age.
We also learn to feel separated, isolated and alone.

Anyway, over the years Easter did not get much better for me.

The next year, in 1962, my little sister got a little baby chick that the Easter Bunny brought for her. It was dyed pink and I do not know what future it may have had if me and the big kid from across the street had not got a hold of it. His name was Dan, and he and I took an Axe and cut the little birds head off and buried it in the front yard. Later that evening, when the chick came up missing, I lied and said I knew nothing about the whereabouts of my sisters little pink chicky.
It was a mystery, but mystery’s never last too long in my life.
The very next day my dad pulled out a Rototillerto prepare the yard for sod found that little chick , headless and buried in the front yard.
Busted.
I got a whuppin’ all right, even though it had not been my idea, nor had I held the axe, or dug the hole or placed the little chicky in its grave.
No, I had not done any of that, but I understood fully that I had been a most willing and delighted accomplice to this macabre little episode.

What I did not understand at the time was that I would never really ever get away with anything my whole life long.

ATONEMENT, THE WORSE DAY OF MY LIFE, EASTER 1966
Yes, Easter has been a tough holiday for me.
The year after Dan and I murdered my sisters little Easter Chick, my family moved to Detroit. In 1966 we flew to Texas for vacation at Easter time. Our return flight back to Detroit was late in the day on Easter Sunday.
My little sister, who 4 years prior had lost that poor little chick, was about to pay me back for the vile deed.
Early Easter morning she went to the little nest that our mom and dad always had us make to find what the Easter Bunny had left.
There was a huge yellow Easter Basket, about 4 feet tall, with all that fake green grass spilling out, and all those marshmallow Rabbits, and Candy Eggs, Stuffed Bunnies, with little feathered bird-toys going all around the handle, all wrapped in clear-green cellophane.
It was enormous, totally cute and bigger than she was.


It could not be checked as baggage, and it was way too big for my sister to carry.
Do you know what that meant?
It was time to atone for the murder of that Baby Chick 4 years earlier.
I had to carry that Basket through the Dallas Love Feild and onto the plane!
I was 10 years old, all boy, and I’d rather have died a thousand deaths than to carry that very gay and bright pastel pink and yellow nightmare.
I was embarrassed, I was pissed, and what I found was that if I tilted that basket the wrong way music would play right out of one of those stuffed bunnies arses.

“Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin' down the bunny trail
Hippity-Hoppity
Easters on its way”

I was daggers!
Daggers!
DAGGERS!

Women and little girls in line to board would compliment me on what a nice Easter Basket I had.
It seemd like the whole Airport was smiling and pointing at me.
I would scowl. I was almost in tears. I wanted to kill somebody.
DAGGERS!
And when I looked to my Mother, she would just give me that look like I better not say a thing.
I could not wait for this plane to hippity-hoppity off the ground and land in Detroit.
But that would prove to be too good to be true.
What I found, as part of my atonement for the sins of Easter Past, was that we had a three-hour layover in the lobby at Chicago O’Hare!
DAGGERS!

It was the worse day of my life.


HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!

"PRACTICING BEING"

I learned this weekend that there is a difference between "Practicing Open-mindedness" and 'Being Open-minded".

In the spirit of prcticing being open minded, I went to church this weekend. Friends had invited me, and I figured it couldn't do any harm to practice a little open-mindedness. After all, being open minded that maybe I never have to do any drugs again has brought me a long ways, and being open minded about a higher power and God of my misunderstanding has been a right and good thing in my life and given me a new way of looking at some things., like paying my bills on time, and having Inspection Stickers, and not stealing batteries from the Walgrens.

But once I got there and they started talkin' about Jesus I remembered how much I hate talking about Jesus, and hearing about Jesus, and how closed-minded I really am about making Jesus the most important thing in my life, but I didn't get up and walk out, not so much because I was practicing being open minded, but more because I was practicing being polite, and I stayed through the benediction and everything. And I couldn't wait to get somewhere else, to crawl back into a simple place without all the agricultural metaphors and holidays celebrating events that may not have actually taken place, a place where all that I have to really be is open-minded about not using any drugs today, express some desire to not use, and find some new ways to live and think about things.
And I’ll probably go back to that Church again next week, as a way to practice all this new found good-mannered open-mindedness, and because even though I don't believe THE STORY, its still a GOOD STORY, this story about the son of god who was a real cool dude but they killed him, and you come to find out that was sent to die for everyone's sins like its really going to change anything except as an opportunity for me to be Open minded, but I really don’t expect I’ll get saved or start believing in Jesus no matter how cool a dude he may have been.
That would take a miracle, and I’m a bit close-minded about those kind of miracles.
Its all I can handle just to practice being.

DRUM CIRCLES

"Typically, people gather to drum in drum "circles" with others from the surrounding community. The drum circle offers equality because there is no head or tail. It includes people of all ages. The main objective is to share rhythm and get in tune with each other and themselves. To form a group consciousness. To entrain and resonate. By entrainment, I mean that a new voice, a collective voice, emerges from the group as they drum together."
Mickey Hart


Here a man plays Air-Accordian in Drum Circle

PASS THE BISCUITS

We were standing on a corner in Dalhart Texas when Rucker flagged a carload of girls down. They pulled over to the side walk and Rucker sets the date with them…
“Meet us here at 2AM, don’t be late”
and he and I went back into the Poolroom where the 50 boys of Troop 345 would be spending the night on our way to Red River New Mexico for Summer Camp.
I don’t know how we did it, but somehow Rucker and I crawled past Chan, the grizzled old Scoutmaster; past Mr. Hill, the Assistant; and even past Owen Kaiser, a great big grouchy bear of a man who likely would have skinned us alive had we made so much as a squeak and woke his brawny  German ass up.

When we made it to that dark Dalhart street corner at 2 AM there was no carload of prime Dalworth pussy waiting for us. We still had to count ourselves the luckiest kids there could have ever been because we didn’t get thrown in jail and we managed to get back into that Pool Hall undetected by ol' man Kaiser.
Later that trip, Rucker would take on a fever and talk deliriously, sequestered and quarantined in the tent and near death on his cot, shouting "bring biscuits and whores" untill we finally found Chan's beer in an icy New Mexican stream and carried it to share with poor Rucker in order to break the fever, which it did quite well.

Of course, within about a year or so we would find ourselves in a bit of a bind with some runaway shavetails and a pack of Swisher sweets in Southlake Texas, a small town that they roll up the streets at 6PM, back when the entire Jail was made of chicken wire, where we waited till our parents came to get us at 5 O'Clock in the Texas morning.
Ol' man Kaiser was there by virtue of his son John having been an accomplice. My good friend who lived across the street, John.
Herr Kaiser simultaniously held John by the ear and kicked him in the ass all the way from the chicken wire jail to the car.
Poor John got it the worst, and never hung out with me much after that.

BUBBLE-GUM NIPPLES

I was on roller skates at a Skate party and I actually made it five times around the rink before falling, balancing like an overeaten bear, fantailing as a whale on wheels might to "Saturday Night Fever", and when I finally fell I was not hurt but I was so out of breath a little girl (I think it was Brandywines daughter) brought me a "walker on wheels" that you skate with and it is exactly as it sounds, this walker, and many pictures were taken as I went around the rink the way very old people might get down the hall at the Nursing Home or at the Walmart before they make it into the store and get a Motorized cart, but that didn't stop me or slow me down one iota; I even did some tricks too, ham that I am, lifting my leg high like a ham and extended out behind me like a ham as I held onto the walker for dear life and twice passed by where the camera was set up, it was ham and cheese and smile for the camera and this led to a most magnificent fall, a flying freefall that lasted at least a ten-count, with a twist and a triple-toe loop and ended with a big echoing "Thoomping" sound like a watermelon the size of a Volkswagon had rolled off the countertop, whereupon the guy with the whistle was called and there were many concerned faces that appeared in my field of vision while I was flat on my back and completely gassed out of breath but I wasn't really hurt like from a cracked skull or a broken neck I was just completely gassed and I was carried from the Skating surface and placed on a bench the way OD'd guys are put on cots in the freak-out tents at Dead concerts, or the way a fish is set on the board gasping before being gutted, breaded and fried.

No bones were broken, but I was terribly out of breath and after a few moments my heaving labored way of breathing subsided and I looked up to see the most beautiful girl in the world looking down upon me and she was backlit by some Heavenly Light, and there were violins playing and birds chirping and it seemed like she had a halo of stars around her head and Angel Wings tucked under her blouse, her sheer cherub blouse with the big bubble-gum nipples, and I got my second wind, my strength returned, so I motioned for to her "come closer" and she bent down and in my best deepest sexiest Leonard Cohen/Barry White voice I whispered softly into her ear:

''Monique, baby, how would you like to get me out of these skates"

She saved me!

TROGOLODYTE

AS I COOKED DINNER AND THE EX TALKED TO MY SON IN THE LIVING ROOM

“Rip, your Dad has the most addictive personality I’ve ever seen. He’s been addicted to Bubble-gum, Model Rockets and Boy Scouts. He had a fifty dollar a week Raisin Bran habit till he burned himself out, then he started hittin' the hard stuff, the Grape Nuts.
He has been addicted to Hearts, Golf, Bowling, Bob Dylan, Fishing, and Gardening. I caught him playing Risk all by himself one night. He has been addicted to Badminton, for Gods sakes!
And now... your dad is completely addicted to Narcotics Anonymous!”

It was at this point that I had to come out of the kitchen, flailing my hands about and shrieking like a madman:
“I’m addicted allright, and I just can’t stop !!! Its too late, I am hooked on NA, and I just keep going back to meetings almost everyday! I have it bad!!”
It was then she said what she always says at times like that, which is:
“Are you going to let me finish?”

ART WILL BREAK YOUR HEART

This is like a Film Noir in color. It depicts an utter hopelessness that is exceeded only by the incompetence displayed due to the fact that the subject cannot seem to get the bullets into the gun.

It is the anti-thesis to the movie "Dirty Harry" where Harry and the Perp have lost track of how many shots were fired.

Here it looks athough there are 9 bullets out of the gun, and the Observer is left to wonder:"Is there one in the Chamber?"

Truly, the question appears to be moot because we have what appears to be a bomb, styled in the classic "Spy vs. Spy " Tradition, the fuse already lit and about to blow. So the question has to be:

"Is this my lucky day? Well, is it, Punk?"

Which might make a great title were it not a bit lengthy.

I call this one "Dirty Harry".

HONOR ROLL

March 2nd was my first visit to Jail.
I was in the Ninth Grade, stolen car, two 14 year old chicks that would come out their window at 2AM when you knocked, and me driving down a country road smokin' Swisher Sweets and honking the horn at 3AM.
They were wearin' skinny little Halter tops and them cut-off britches and too much mascara and my God were they built for bein' 14.
I was wearing white hip-hugger jeans and a jean jacket 2 sizes to small unbuttoned to expose my 14 year old chest.
Cops pulled us over and took us to Jail; no DL, no ID, we looked like runaways and we had to call our folks to come pick us up.
If I'd have been my Dad, I'd have killed me.
The car?
It was my Aunts. Somehow, I had mananged to have a key made.

I never made the "A" Honor Roll again.

WEDNESDAYS CHILD

I got a crush on a Redhead.
She is a writer of some sort. Took me to a Writers Workshop last night. They recognize everyone that got rejected, then they recognize any one that mighta got accepted then they announce all these contests to enter and talk about the upcoming “Conference”.
Then they break into small groups and people read what they wrote, and then people critique them.

The first one was a lady writing a story about a troubled teen that was starting to do drugs. I don’t think that this lady has ever done any drugs, but she has 8 books published, so I guess she must be good. In her story the drugs wind up in a pond and she says the fish in the pond will be "happy". If she had ever done any dope, she could find a better word than "happy".
The second lady wrote about an actress at an audition that fell off of the stage and went to the hospital and fell in love with the Doctor…"Dr. Smith" to be precise. She had a lot of incomplete sentences like
“There it was. A tree.”
I think maybe it might have been for dramatic effect, but run on sentences seem to work better for that I think don’t you?
The third was a grey haired man that wrote about an Airline pilot that women found irresistible; his latest girl, Jody, had a layover in Houston, and he couldn't help himself…
I think he might have been writing about himself, only lying, the way I do.

Anyway, it did not cure me from wanting to write, but it sure did almost cure me from wanting to read…
Its hard to listen to someone read.
It is for me. I mean, I haven't had anyone read to me in a long time. When I read, I have to re-read some words, even some sentences in order to chew the story I guess. If I find a paragraph I like, I'll re-read the paragraph.
Maybe I'll learn to listen better after a while.

The other funny thing was this dude that introduced himself as a "Highly successful blogger". He said the name of his blog. I just now went to see what his highly successful blog looked like. He only had 12 entries since he started his blog 3 months ago.

But I’ll go probably go back; the redhead is my cup of tea.


So heres what a chickenshit wimp weiner I am...

After the Writer Conference the redhead and I are talking in the parking lot:
I'm like "Well, I guess we better get home, long day tomorrow and all"
And she's like "Yeah, I have to be up at 5AM"
So I say 'Well, I'll like... call you before the weekend... and maybe we can get Angela (our friend that introduced us) to come and hang out or something"
And she says "This weekend?"
So I'm like "Yeah"
And she gives me this funny look and says like "Its Wednesday, you know"
And I'm like "Um, yeah, Wednesday, I know"
And I get in the car and drive off.
What the hell am I waiting for?
Thursday?

DANCE TIPS AND ETIQUETTE FOR MEN

"Rule #2. Lead her off the dance floor, and return her to where you found her."
(CLICK HERE FOR MORE)

THE HIGHWAYMAN

I was a highwayman.
Along the coach roads I did ride
With sword and pistol by my side
Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade
Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade
The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five
But I am still alive.

I was a sailor.
I was born upon the tide
And with the sea I did abide.
I sailed a schooner round the Horn to Mexico
I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow
And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed
But I am living still.

I was a dam builder across the river deep and wide
Where steel and water did collide
A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado
I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below
They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound
But I am still around..I'll always be around..and around and around and
around and around

I fly a starship across the Universe divide
And when I reach the other side
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I'll be back again, and again and again and again and again..
WRITTEN BY MR. JIMMY WEBB

GRAZIN' IN THE GRASS

Have you ever been to one of these Metaphysical Shops? They have stuff like big plastic Green Buddha’s, necklaces with Unicorns and Fairies made from silver; Incense, Voodoo pins and Salvia.
You can buy a Crystal Ball, a Wizards robe, books on the Occult and candles black or white to go with the books.
Somewhere in the back of the shop they probably have a used Magic Carpet they would love to sell you.
My friend Kissyface wrote about one of these places last year.(CLICK HERE, REALLY, DO, ITS GREAT!)

They also have Magic Rocks. They have little ones, big ones, polished and unpolished, all the colors of the rainbow that will bring you all manner of peace and healing and relief.
The really nice rocks are the crystals, Quartz and Amethyst and such, nicely sitting on a wooden stand that will keep them from scratching the glass of the counter or once home, the top of your table. The thing is, if these rocks were truly magic, they wouldn’t need the stand but would levitate all by themselves, floating on air just like I did in my Recovery Dream.
Before I got clean, I used to buy Magic Rocks that came in a little bag. They were more magic than the ones at the Metaphysical Shop.
When they get a magic rock that floats on air, I’ll buy that.
I am glad that they don’t try to sell me that stuff down at NA. Instead what they try to sell me is a set of principles written so simply that I can apply them in my everyday life.
They call them ‘Spiritual Principles”.
I used to be a pretty good little Church boy, I sang in the Choir and everything.
I have heard the whole long list of the Ten Commandments.
I’ve heard the 23rd Psalm and the story of Job; I've even heard the Sermon on the Mount, but I had never heard of a Spiritual Principle before I came to Narcotics Anonymous.

So here they are:
HOPE, SURRENDER, and ACCEPTANCE;
HONESTY, OPEN-MINDEDNESS, and WILLINGNESS;
FAITH, TOLERANCE, PATIENCE;
HUMILITY, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, SHARING AND CARING.
Each of the 12 Steps coincides with one of these Spiritual principles. These steps seem to be not only keeping me from buying the little Magic Rocks that don't float, orthe ones that come in a liitle bag, but they are providing a sense of peace and healing, and a sense of relief. My life has become fuller and richer because of this program. I have found faith in people that believe in me and want to help me with my recovery.

There was a sentence in a reading that jumped out at me a few weeks ago.
It said that:
“The true measure of our recovery is in the daily maintenance of our Spiritual Condition”.
Man, they got all this Spiritual shit going on down there all the time. The truth is when I came to NA I had no Spiritual Condition. I thought that we were all just carbon compounds and noble gasses, and when we died we were dead, and we were dead a long fucking time.
It made me think of when I was 18 and what Spiritual meant to me back then.
Spiritual to me in 1975 was a mountainside in Oregon with a group of long haired freaky people wearing Earth Shoes, grokking in fullness with the forest, growing vegetables, living without electricity and plumbing in a Tepee, smoking a lot of pot and having a lot of free sex, singing John Lennon songs around a fire every night.
John Lennon might even be there, because, well, it would be such a groovy place that John would want to be there.
Spiritual to me back then was smoke rings and mushrooms, paisley and patchouli, incense and peppermints.
It would be beautiful man, at least until it turned ugly and spawned a modern day Charlie Manson or two.

And even though I used to be a pretty good little Church boy, sang in the Choir and everything, I’d never really heard the term “Spiritual Condition”.
I referred to my Recovery Dream earlier in the post. (Click here) The dream may have been partly explained with a reading the next day that said:
“The gift of the 12 Steps is coming to believe in a God of our own understanding”
I have to be honest with you, you who may think I’m getting all spiritual and shit. There is something about this idea that seems to be more of a threat than a blessing.
It scares the shit out of me.
But its keeping me away from the Magic Rocks man. And I’m not just doin’ it…I’m diggin’ it.
I’ve got 565 days clean now. I might could have done it without meetings and the 12 Steps and a power greater than myself, but I seriously doubt it.
And even if I had.. I’d be miserable.
My life has become fuller and richer because of this program. I have found faith in people that believe in me and want to help me with my recovery.
Its a gas, baby can ya dig it?

WE ARE SPIRITUAL BEINGS HAVING A MORTAL EXPERIENCE

This life is just a flash, just a moment, just a painful orgasm.
There are mountains, long conceived, still being born into this Mortal Experience.
A Mountain so large it creates its own weather system, Named 'The Ancient One" by the Indians, it is the highest point on the continent.
There is a river that has patiently carved a gorge into the earth over the last 2 billion years; a canyon that is a mile and a half deep and 18 miles wide.
And another river whose mortal experience disappears into burning sand 280 feet below Sea Level: the hottest, lowest and driest place on the continent.
There are forests of trees so old they have turned to solid rock, a mortal experience in a forest immortal; And trees still growing that were saplings during the time of Christ, long before Rome ruled the world, before the Greeks built the Parthenon, before the Egyptians built the Pyramids.

Tress that are the trallest, largest and oldest living things on the planet.

Our brief mortal experience spins on the surface of the earth at 1,000 miles per hour, 24 hours a day as our solar system glides around the galaxy at 550,000 miles per hour.
Who is to say how quickly the Galaxy moves through the universe?
Who can say when it began, and who will be there to note the time that it shall begin again?
“We are Spiritual Beings having a Mortal Experience”
This life is just a flash, just a moment, just a painful orgasm.

Credit to my friend Greg U., John Muir, and the Ken Burns documentary for most of the assembled verbage for this post.

SCOTT AND I

FRONT ROW CENTER

I was a 98 pound weakling at the start of the 7th grade year. In the locker room after Football practice there was a big kid picking on me.
A guy I barely knew stood up for me. Even though he wasn’t much bigger than me and wasn’t near as big as my antagonist, he shook his fist right into the bully's face and said:
“Why don’t you find somebody your own size to pick on.”
It was not a question.
That is how Scott Thompson came to be my best friend.
Scott introduced me to Model Rockets and the Beatles all at the same time.
On Friday nights, he and I would stay up till 3am building a Model Rocket, then we would ride our bikes down Hurstview to the 7-11 for an Apple Beer Soda. By the time we got back home we were so giddy-drunk, laughin' and fallin' off our bikes. We could barely stand up. We would turn Scotts record player up full blast and listen to ‘I am the Walrus” one more time, dancing around the room like a Walrus might, before finally crashing on the floor of Scotts room.
And somehow between 7 and 8am we would manage to drag our tired, Apple-beer hungover asses out of bed and truck our bikes and Rockets to Bedford Junior High to launch.

My very first rocket Scott helped me build had a little flight problem. As I set it up on the launch pad, one of the four fins fell off. I had waited all night for the glue to dry, and I wasn't going to let something like a little loose fin deter me or force the mission to be scrubbed. I took the fin, licked it, and stuck it back onto the rocket, held it for a moment and let go.
It worked!
The fin stayed on the rocket as I gingerly placed it back onto the launch pad.
We were good to go!
I ran back to my launch button and said to Scott "Here goes nuthin!" and flipped the switch.
SSSSSHHHHHRRRRRRUUUUPPPP!
Into the sky it burst, a white cloud streaming from the exhaust. It got about 10 feet off the pad, took a right hand turn and headed straight for Scott and I.
"GANGWAY!" I yelled and Scott and I hit the deck.
It all happened in less than a second.
I was hooked!
The next year I was President of the Rocket Club. They called me "Rocket Renfro".

And Beverly, the Secretary...man, she was hot!

Check out Mr. McNatt's legendary comb-over. After 38 years he is still at the same scool, teaching the same classes, sporting the same hairdo. They say he looks exactly the same!



Check out the High-Water Straight Leg Jeans and my "Rifleman" Belt Buckle!


Sometimes Barbara wonders how much of my satories are true. Let these pictures serve as substantiation that this one happened exactly as I say!
I didn't even need to re-name McNatt! We used to call him "Superfly".

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE

I'm sorry to say for the three readers I have left that I am forced to add one of those verification things for the comments in order to filter out all the Spam coming this way, even though in some measure the Spam is more interesting than what I have posted. You should see it all that has come in bulk on posts from a year ago.
No, you shouldn't.
No, I do not want a Russian Bride, I am not familiar with the Forex-Nurma-Biopic Formula, I will not follow the linky in order to increase my virility, nor can I by any stretch of the imagination offer any aid towards getting a fortune in platinum ingots out of Lasa-Apso.
But I wishing the many of you to be good luck and improving well.

"Maybe you're just too blind to....see"

I used to tell people that I had seen Leon Russell at Market Hall in Dallas on New Years Eve in 1973 and the floor was dirt and the beer ran like a river and everybody got muddy-drunk, and you couldn't see the stage for all the smoke, and that Leon was at least 6'5" and weighed 300 pounds and he could bench press both Elton John and Billy Joel at the same time. I thought his song "Tightwire" was the coolest song in the world, because it sounded like maybe he was so stoned that he forgot what he was singing and playing in the middle of each chorus, which really appealed to me.

But none of this was true.

I actually spent New Years 1973 at Smilin' Tony's parents house in a closet underneath the stairs making out with a roly-poly homely lookin' girl with a mole as big as a nickel on her left breast.
She was a great kisser, and that mole was her second best feature.

'Cept Smilin' Tony says his parents had no stairs.

Whatever.

HAITI CALLING

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

bob dylan, a hard rains a gonna fall, 1963

ROCKET RENFRO

My very first rocket I built back in the 7th grade had a little flight problem. As I set it up on the launch pad, one of the four fins fell off. I had waited all night for the glue to dry, and I wasn't going to let something like a little loose fin deter me or force the mission to be scrubbed. I took the fin, licked it and stuck it back onto the rocket, held it for a moment and let go.
It worked!
The fin stayed on the rocket as I gingerly placed it back onto the launch pad.
I ran back to my launch button and said to Scott "Here goes nuthin!" and flipped the switch.
SSSSSHHHHHRRRRRRUUUUPPPP!
Into the sky it burst, a white cloud streaming from the exhaust. It got about 10 feet off the pad, took a right hand turn and headed straight for Scott and I.

"GANGWAY!" I yelled and Scott and I hit the deck.

It all happened in less than a second.
I was hooked!

The next year I was President of the Rocket Club. They called me "Rocket Renfro"

A HIGHER POWER

I had a Recovery Dream…
I dreamed I was standing at the side of the street. There were a lot of people I did not know. I said to the man standing beside me ‘Watch this” and I stepped out into the street and floated as though I was on an invisible skateboard across to the other side of the street, never once touching the ground.
As I floated I had recited to myself the first step:
“Step One-We admitted we were powerless over our addiction and our lives had become unmanageable”

Having landed on the opposite side of the street, a crowd now formed around me there and a young woman asked me if I could do that floating thing again.
“But of course” I told her and began to float back, slowly flapping my arms as if they were wings, to the other side while reciting my Second Step:
“Step Two- We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

As I landed, there were “Ooohs” and “Ahhhs” coming from the two crowds now gathered on each side of the street. Everyone was now watching me. I pushed away from the curb and did a Triple-Toe Loop, a Camel spin and finished it of with a Quad as I announced:
“Step Three- We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him”
I "moon-walked" back, floating inches from the surface of the street:
“Step Four- We made fearless and searching Moral Inventory of ourselves” and went on to the Fifth Step:
“We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs”

At each crossing the audience would cheer and clap. There were some who were trying it themselves, but they could not float.
And in the dream no one, including myself, had made the connection that it was something to do with the 12 steps that were allowing me to cross the street in such an elegant fashion.
Here I will list for you the remainder of the 12 Steps and leave it to your own imagination the graceful ways I devised to float my way back and forth across the street.

6) We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7) We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8) We made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.
9) We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10) We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11) We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12) Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

The crowd went wild!

So, having demonstrated the 12 Steps, a man in the crowd asked me how it was that I could float like that while reciting the 12 Steps.
I had to tell him that I did not know. It was then that I woke up.
Most of my dreams are pretty simple, pretty easy to find the metaphors. My subconscious tends to stay close to the surface I suppose.
Still I did not entirely know the answer to his question until I went to a meeting two hours later and read the daily meditation.
This is the last sentence from the first paragraph. I think it speaks to my dream:

"One of the greatest gifts we receive from the Twelve Steps is our belief in a God of our own understanding. "




AND THE JUDGES GAVE ME....
ALL TENS!

"SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THIS MONSTROSITY"

"My dream is not to live in a world where we tolerate our fellow man in spite of his differences; my dream is to live in a world where we love our fellow man because of them. The differences between men add value to my life."
Dave Mows Grass

Well, maybe not so much this guy.

DONNA, PART ONE

In the second grade in Mrs. Shermans class, we had an exercise in the book where we were to draw lines between objects that matched; a dog and a doghouse, a hat and a pair of gloves, a hammer and a nail, a bat and a ball and so on.
I drew a line from the dog to the ball, from the house to the hammer, the bat to the glove and the hat to the nail.
Mrs. Sherman said it was all wrong, to try again, but it had made perfect sense to me.
I had no idea what they wanted me to do. I did not understand their box.
I had to sit there through recess and stare at my paper.
To the point of tears.
When the kids came in from playing, the nice little girl that sat next to me named Donna, she helped me.
But as per usual, I got caught cheating and had to take my paper home that night with a note that scolded me:
“This is Donna’s work!!!”

I realize now that there really were no wrong answers.
I can think outside anyone’s box.
And this is how I came to fall in love with Donna.

"A DOG AND A DOGHOUSE? HOW BOURGEOIS!"

"A LITTLE TASTE OF LIFE ON THE EDGE"

A BULLETHOLES NEW YEARS EVE REDUX

Back in 1999 I was lucky enough to live in a very bad part of town.
As I would pull down the gravel alley at 5:30 in the morning on my way to work, there were two girls on the corner that always asked me if I wanted a "date". Being a bit of a rube, it took me a while to figure out what was going on there.
But before long, as I would pull into the alley at the end of the day, and they would wave at me and I would holler out the window
"Hellllloooo Ladies!", "Yabba-Dabba-Doo!" or "Honey, I'm home!"
And these girls would all laugh and wave because, well, am a funny guy, even to a whore.
Some times I would go to the corner and talk with them late at night, staying out of sight so as to not drive off any prospects. There were probably 3 or4 girls that worked that area at any given time.
One night a guy I knew from High School pulled up.
Boy-howdy, was he surprised to see me!
But thats not what this story is about.

This story is about the very pretty little whore that would work the streets on occasion. She had beautiful, soft looking, well groomed hair that she would toss about in a very sexy way. She seemed different from the other girls…very different. She was pretty and clean and wasn't all schitzed out, mumbling to herself, or pacing back and forth incessantly.
I figured she was a "Part-Timer"; a bored housewife that came out on occasion for a little taste of life on the edge.

One morning in my driveway I was checking the oil in my truck. This pretty little whore was passing by and so I said
“Good morning”, because really, I had been dying to say something to this pretty little whore.
She stopped and tossed her hair back and shielded her eyes from the sun and says
‘Whatcha’ doin'?”
I looked at her as I slid the rag slowly down my dipstick.
“Jus’ checkin’ my oil “ I says, and added with a grin “Would you like me to check YOUR oil?”
She didn’t miss a beat and fired right back:
“Would YOU like to check my oil?”
She was smiling pretty as she tossed that sexy hair around again.

Well, I must have turned about 5 shades of red, because, yes, I would have liked to check her oil, but I really did not have the guts to go about it.
Of course, she already knew all this, but decided to let me off the hook.
“You don’t “date” do you?”
It was less a question, and more of a statement spoken as a matter of fact.
“No ma’am, I don’t…I’m probably better off all by myself”. I don’t think I have ever felt more embarrassed my whole life.
“OK” she says, flips her hair back and starts away.
She got a few steps away. It may sound silly, but I had some notion that maybe I had hurt her feelings. So I added as she walked away:
"You are awful pretty though.”
She stopped and turned around and just laughed and flashed a big pretty smile, and said
"And you are awful sweet, and are probably better off all by yourself” and tossed all that sexy hair as she turned away while waving good-bye. She had let me off the hook again.


A few nights later on New Years Eve, a happy married couple I know saw her and they pulled over to the right in their Convertible Rag-topped Corvette. It was nice out, and they had the top down. They wanted to know how much she would charge to take on the both of them!
Just a little curious, they were... just wanted to see what it might cost for a little taste of life on the edge.
Before you could say “Tit-Bit and Gimme a Dollar” they were surrounded by the Vice Squad.
They were arrested and spent New Years Eve in Jail.
Yep. You see…
That pretty young whore was a Cop.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!
YA'LL BE CAREFUL OUT THERE!

TIME WARP

So I went to my friend Angela’s for Mexican food on Christmas right?
That gal can cook, I tell you what, and she sent me home with these killer Chili Relleno’s, some refried Black Beans and some Chicken enchiladas. Saturday afternoon I started playing around on the computer. After a while I got hungry and warmed up about 10 of those Rellenos and ate them all. Then it was time for a nap.
I fell asleep.
I slept hard.
I dreamed I was on a boat in Los Angeles, Ann Margaret sitting in my lap.
Then I was on a ski lift in the Sierra’s, about to hit the slopes with Britt Eklund.
I was exploring the ruins at Mesa Verde’, looking good in my Indiana Jones attire, digging in the dirt with Kim Basinger.
I dreamed Susan Sarandon invited me up to do the Time Warp at her place on New Years Eve.
That was the best one.
I slept real hard, I dreamed long dreams. I woke, fell back into my slumber, woke again and got a blanket and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

I woke up. The clock said 7:00.
My god, I slept all night! I was starving! I had pillow face!
I turned on the computer, there were several people on Facebook. I sent out a message that read
“(yawn) I’m hungry”
I got a reply back from Carol
“Hi Steve! Merry Christmas. How are you?”
“I’m sleepy Carol, and I am hungry. I have been asleep since yesterday afternoon!”
“Are you sick” she asks.
“No, I just ate a bunch of Rellenos and they knocked me out”
So Carol replies with
“I get up every morning at 6:00 and drink Brazillian Coffee”

Now what this statement does is cement in my mind the notion that it is 7:00 on Sunday Morning.
And while I am a bit surprised that there are actually half a dozen people on Facebook this early in the morning, I don’t give it much consideration because I have got this cold hollow feeling in my gut, and my mission has turned to one of procuring some FOOD!
I’m thinking Donuts, Ham and Egg Croissants, Pancakes!
And now its almost 8:00, and I promised the crazy church lady I would be at Sunday School this morning.
So I hop into the shower and get dressed.
I’m really hungry. After all , I haven’t eaten since I had those Relleno’s yesterday afternoon at 4:00.
I’M FRIGGIN’ STARVING TO DEATH JUST THINKING ABOUT IT!!!
I go into the kitchen to take my medicine. Oh my gosh! I didn’t take my meds last night, so I double up on my dosage this morning.
I think I even have time to go to IHOP and have a “Fat Boy Breakfast”. That will be so good, and then I’ll stop for donuts to take to Sunday School, and pick up more for my 10:00 NA Meeting.
I turn out lights, and get to the TV which has been on all night.
Huh...what is “Americas most Wanted” doing on at 8:00 on a Sunday morning?
“They must replay it” I think to myself as I turn the TV off.
I go to the door, step outside and turn to lock the door…
Theres something funny going on here, I sense it, and I turn to look at the sky…
My God in heaven! Its black as night out here! And then it dawns on me…I did not sleep all night. I slept maybe two hours.
Its 8:15 Saturday night and I’m all dressed up with no place to go and I forgot to get Susan Sarandon’s phone number.
I’m caught in that region known as the Twilight Zone.

"PLEASE DON'T GO STEVE, I WANT TO TIME WARP AGAIN"
(whenever you say, Susan, whenever you say)

CHRISTMAS ORANGES

I gotta get me some Christmas Spirit.

The Secretary brought me a basket of fruit. It had these little Oranges in it that she grew herself and wanted me to try. She was very proud of them, these little Oranges.

She said 'They are a little bit tart maybe".

I bit into one and made a bitter beer face and said "WHEW! They could make Listerine out of these!"

She laughed and said "You are a Chef; they must be good for something?"

You know what I said?

"Yeah, they are good for freshening up the garbage disposal!"

You should have seen her face. That hurt her feelings and now I'll be all week trying to make up for it.

I can be a real idiot sometimes.

Merry Christmas

499 DAYS

"We begin to see positive results from the decision we have made. We begin to notice changes. While the circumstances of our lives may not change, the way we deal with those circumstances does. Because we have made the decision to allow spiritual principles to work in our lives, we may notice a sense of relief. We are being relieved of a burden we’ve carried far too long: the need to control everything and everyone. We begin to react differently to the situations and people around us. As we gain acceptance, we cease to struggle against life on life’s terms. Striving to maintain and build on our surrender, we are better able to live and enjoy life in the moment."

SUMMER OF LOVE

I was the lead singer/songwriter for a band called "The Batmen" in 1967...

We had 4 songs, all to the tune of "Louie, Louie".

Our best song was called "Its Murder", all about homework and having to wear school clothes and things we thought we knew about girls and stuff.

They made me the lead singer, because I had a southern accent, which was unique as I lived in Detroit. We had moved there from Texas when I was in the first grade. My voice gave us a chillin' "Motown" sound, with just a touch of Hank Williams yodel, as my boyish voice was changing.

I played the Tamborine too, but the drummer he got all the chicks, except for Cathy, who was just a slut but I didn't care.

Hell, it was the Fourth Grade and I didn't even know what a slut was.

We had a gig in a basement one time, and someone turned out the lights and Cathy let me feel her breasts, 'cept she didn't really have any, but in the Fourth Grade, whats the difference?

After all, it was the Summer of Love, and like most rock stars of that era, I don't know how we lived through it.

INFLATION-WALK BETWEEN THE RAINDROPS

THEY SAY THE PRICE OF GOLD IS WAY UP.
Reminds me of the time I ditched a car because I couldn't see the road for all the smoke. Thought there might be a forest fire somewhere, except the smoke was all between me and the windshield.
It would have been sad it it weren't so funny.
I was so stoned I was only going about 8 miles an hour and still lost control. It was like the steering wheel had turned to rubber.
I had a choice between a creek and a light pole.
I hit the light pole. It turned out to be one that the traffic signal light is strung up on. The pole toppled onto my car, and the traffic signal dropped to the middle of the intersection.
It was like "WOW, MAN, WHAT A TRIP!" and I got out of my car, leaned on the hood to keep from rolling on the ground laughing, and just cracked up.

Then I realized there were a lot of electrical wires on my car, and that sobered me up considerably. Made me stop leaning on my car too.
Got rid of my stash and waited for the cops to arrive.
I even drove the car away after they got the pole and live-wires off of it.
Like walkin' between the raindrops.

Whats really noteworthy though is inflation.
In 1975 the cost for a light pole, traffic signal and all the amenities was like $2000 including Labor.
What do you figure this would cost today?

SUNDAY SCHOOL

I hadn't been for a few months but I went to my old Sunday School class the other day. I told them I now had 480 days clean and sober.
One shouted 'Hallelujah!" and another "Praise the Lord!" and that made me feel good.
But another lady there looked at me very kindly and said "Jesus already took care of all that at the cross for you."
I don't know what thats supposed to mean to me.
This is why I don't go very often.

CHARM SCHOOL

A true story inspired by Kissygirl's comment over at UF Mikes...

Dear Kissygirl:
I was at the donut stand a few days ago and there was a really pretty girl there behind me. I said "Good morning!" and gave her my best morning smile. She looked me up and down and gave me a great smile back and she laughed at all my jokes and just kept smiling and "checking me out". She even touched me lightly on my left arm TWICE as she laughed and fluttered her eyelashes.
We carried on for a few minutes like that!
So when I got to work I went into the bathroom and washed my hands, I looked in the mirror and was very surprised to find that my shirt was on inside out, and my left arm had a sock there where my bicep was s'posed to be.

So I have to wonder, Kissygirl:
Did she notice?
Did it matter if she did?
is there enough charm in the world to overcome being a bonehaed?
Or would I have been "knocked out of the park, however gently"?
Would this ploy count as "having game"?
I'm thinking I might put it to the test.
What the hell.

MOM

Dad had an old Brownie Camera, the kind that the top unfolds and the image is reflected up as you look down through a thick piece of glass.
One day at the store, Mom asked if I might want to take pictures with the camera and bought some film. I was 5 years old. She put the film in for me and set me on my way, out the door and into the field next door. I asked her what I should take pictures of and she told me “flowers”.
When I came back, I handed her the camera and a bouquet of flowers I had collected.
“Stevie, what are the flowers for?” she asked.
“Just in case the pictures don’t come out Mom”
She just laughed and kissed my head.

In the second grade we were allowed to walk home from school for lunch. Its hard to believe they let us do that. I always walked with Donna Hartlieb. We would part at the corner and meet again to return to school. Every day my mother gave me a Baby Snickers Bar for the walk back. I would split it with Donna on the corner. One day I asked Mom if I might have two candy bars.
She inquired as to why I would need two. I told her about Donna. I'll never forget the look on Mom's face.
"Why, yes, you certainly may!".
She was beaming! (to be continued)

It was 5:00 A.M. when Dad got to the Southlake Police Department to pick me up. Other parents had been called as well. We were all 15 years old, and Born to be Wild. There were no charges, just a case of returning minors that were out too late, driving family cars without the benefit of Drivers licenses, to their proper guardians.
After arriving home, Dad and I "went over a few things" and then we went to the parents of the several young ladies that had been a part of this episode in order for me to apologize.
When we returned from this thorny but very proper errand, Mom was waiting with a present for me. It was wrapped in paper with a bow and everything.
I unwrapped it wondering what it could be.
It was a watch.
As I slid it over my wrist Mom said to me in the most forgiving voice I have ever heard:
"I want you to always know what time it is".

WHAT WEIGHS MORE: A POUND OF GOLD OR A POUND OF FEATHERS?...

One of my NA Facebook pals asked me what I thought was the "measure of a man"....


I'm not too good at straight answers.

I'm still in a Scarecrow mode, so I'll answer with an anecdote from "The Wizard of Oz" that puzzles me from time to time...
"When it came time to give the Tin Man his heart, the wizard says:"The size of a heart is not measured by how much it loves, but by how much it is loved by others""
On a lighter note, I have attached a picture of Roy Rogers... without Roy.

I LOVE ROY ROGERS

By the way its the feathers that weigh more.

BEING SCARECROW

SUITS ME, DONCHA THINK?

Heres me and the Catwoman (Julie Newmar) cuttin' up in a cornfeild back when I was just a little bale of hay.

STEP TWO

"We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity "

"Belief in a Power greater than ourselves does not come easily to all of us. However, we have found an open mind indispensable when we approach this step. If we look around us, we find many reasons to believe. Our belief may simply be that we can recover from a life of active addiction. The freedom from the obsession to use may be our first experience of a Power greater than ourselves at work in our lives. Perhaps for the first time in many years, our obsession with drugs no longer controls our every waking moment. Knowing that we don’t have to use today is a powerful belief in and of itself."
From NA Literature "It works: How and Why"

I went to my first NA Meeting a year ago today. The first thing they told me was that this program was simple and would take a long time. I knew that they would try to sell me some kind of higher power and wondered how they would do that. but what they didn't tell me was how much difference just not using, just for today, would make in my life.
And that it would make a huge difference in my life inside a year.

I don't have to believe in Eden, or the God of Abraham, Issac and David, whoever they are supposed to be.
I don't have to believe that dogs licked the blood of Ahab, or that Shiva will destroy the word, or that by abandoning myself I will find enlightenment.
I don't have to believe or disbelieve that "There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his Prophet" or in the Six Articles of faith.
I don't have to believe in Life everlasting, the Second Coming, or Gabriels Horn

No, for guys like me that last sentence from the text really keeps my world turning...it asks little and guarantees nothing.
"Knowing that we don’t have to use today is a powerful belief in and of itself."

THE PROMISE

I went down to Glenrose two weeks ago at the invite of a friend (to read all about her, click here) to see the outdoor theater presentation of ‘The Promise”, a play all about the life of Jesus. There are several of these around the country, but it seems the one in Glenrose is the only permanent set. It has been in operation for 21 years now. For more information about “The Promise” and its season, venues, show times and how to get tickets, click here.

Now I used to be a pretty good little church boy. Maybe not so much anymore, but the life of Jesus, the story, its not entirely foreign to me, and I was very interested in seeing how “The Promise” would present three of my favorite scenes from the life of Jesus.

The first is the scene at the river, when Jesus meets John the Baptist and asks John to baptize him. John recognizes Jesus as being the Messiah, and tells Jesus he is "not worthy" to Baptize him.
Jesus says:
“John, you Baptize folks with water, but I come to Baptize 'em with fire and with the Holy Spirit!”.
So John goes ahead on and dips Jesus into the river. As he does there is a loud clap of thunder, and a puff of smoke over the stage from which flies a White Dove, representing the Holy Spirit. The dove flies over the audience and away into the night.
Then comes the booming voice of God himself:
“This is my only Son, with whom I am well pleased!”

The second scene I would like to describe to you occurs after Jesus has left John, and gone into the Wilderness for forty days and nights, and where he is tempted by Satan.
Satan is dressed in red and black with a menacing look and a long red cape. He comes to Jesus in the dessert and says:
”Come up to this high place, and throw yourself down. If you are truly the son of God, a band of Angels will catch you before you hit the ground.”
This is done on the stage, but at some point in that dialogue Jesus and the Devil both suddenly disappear from the stage, only to reappear just as suddenly on top of a 30 foot tower at the right of the stage. I do not know how they did this.
Maybe there is a trap door and a cable that quickly transports them, maybe its done with lights and mirrors, maybe there are doubles on top of the tower, or maybe its just a miracle!
I don’t know, but it’s a very cool scene.
Of course Jesus reply to Satan is that he “will not put the Lord my God to the test”. I’m not entirely sure what all that means, but I always liked the answer. I imagine it could be a bad habit to get into, and might really wear on the Lord.

Finally, the third scene I will describe to you comes after Jesus has performed many miracles. I had hoped that they would use this in the play as it is one of my favorite parts of the story, and I sat at the edge of my seat in anticipation. There are four women on stage, and they are singing a really beautiful song about what wonders they have seen, and how wonderful Jesus and his love and message has been. As Jesus moves through the crowd, he passes by one of these women singing and she drops to her knees and barely touches the bottom hem of his robe. He continues walking as if he did not even notice this light touch, then suddenly stops and turns to the woman.
He tells her that it is her faith that that has healed her, her faith that has made her whole.
Perhaps it is because I have so little faith that this scene appeals to me so much.

Whatever your belief, the story of Jesus is a great story, compelling and poignant in all its parts, and I always enjoy hearing it.
We come now to a time of year that the story figures prominently, and I hope that no matter what our beliefs might be, that we all can consider that which Jesus asked that we do:
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.


Here is Jesus explaining to ol' Satan that "Man does not live by bread alone, but by ev'ry word of God"

"THE WARM THRILL OF CONFUSION"

Fella said:
“No way I’ll ever do any dope again! I have completely lost the desire to use!”
I had to give him a funny look.
“Is that right ?” I said.
“Yep” he replied, “You could put a big pile of dope on that table right there, and I would have no desire to use any of it. I’m done”
I said "Man, I wish I could say that, but I’m not so sure”
“Why not?” he asked.
‘Well, with me it could all depend on who it was that threw down that dope, and how do she look. It if was Velvet Skinned Annie dancin’ with a rose between her teeth, I’m afraid I might be right tempted to have a go again.”
Fella just looked at me kinda sober like, and went back to his seat.


******************************

See, that’s the way it is for an addict like me. I got rid of all my phone numbers, all my connections, all the people I used to use with. But the fact of the matter is that a relapse is only a phone call away, two at most, and by the end of business today I could be high-igh.

******************************

Its just different for me. I went to a movie Monday night. It was made by a couple of 20 year old kids, one of them being the son of a friend of mine.. It was about dope, and kids that were dealing, and one of them gets beat-up, and another gets shot and another OD’s and it was supposed to be all about the intense danger that looms in every users life. Not many movies can begin to portray the insidious nature of drugs, or reveal the depth of the insanity that makes their use so attractive to people like me.
And this movie, "Thrown", did not, though I have to say it was a major accomplisment and a grand venture for a couple of High School kids.

This post is not meant to disparage the Movie, but to illuminate the space that my addict mind sometimes occupies.

Some people might be able to watch a movie like this and think “Oh, gosh, I’ll never do any drugs! No way!”.
But you know what that movie did for me?
It made me want to go use some drugs.
It made me want to snort something, even if it were only Pop-Rocks.
See, I could make all that insanity work for me. I know I could.

I wanted a piece of that action, that confusion, that excitement. No one is going to get beat up, or OD or get shot. No, I’m too slick for all that. At least that’s what my addict mind wants to tell me.
After the movie, they had a question and answer period with the audience. People asked questions like “What kind of camera did you use?” and “Did you shoot that scene over by the Bedford library” and “How long did it take to film this movie?”

It was all I could do to sit on my hands and not ask two questions:
‘Have any of you ever done any dope? I don’t mean experimented, but really done the deal?” and “How much dope was used to produce this movie?”
A good friend of mine stood up, and he never asks any questions, but he likes to make a statement. He said
“I just hope some young people see this movie and it keeps them from ever using any drugs.”
I would hope so too, but my own experience is that it was the excitement and danger and counter-culture phenomena that led me to drugs. I needed more of a thrill than what the Chess Club and Methodist Youth Fellowship had to offer.

I left that theater and went straight to a meeting. These days I just thank God for Narcotics Anonymous, whose message is:

“Anyone can stop doing drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live.”

"GOOOOOOD MORNIN'!"

I had a date this weekend!
I went down to Granbury, about an hour from Fort Worth to see an outdoor play called “The Promise”, all about the life and death of Jesus.
My friend lives in Granbury, right on the Golf Course. She has a sweet Greyhound named Gracie.
After the play I spent the night in the guestroom.
Just before turning in, she asked me:
“So, are you a morning person?”
To which I replied in my usual quite animated style:
‘You better betcha I am! I wake up, and the birds are chirpin’, and I pop out of bed and feel like a million bucks! I dance around, and sing a little song, sometimes ‘Rhinestone Cowboy” or ‘Baba O’Riley” by the Who or ‘Stolen Child”, that WB Yeats poem. I just feel so good, and love to be happy and friendly in the morning! In fact, my daughter says I am kinda hard to take in the morning”
She gave me a real sweet little thin grin, and then between clenched teeth, she said
“Well, I’m not!”

So the next morning I get up and true to form I am dancin’ and singin’ and jabberin’ away all kinds of nonsense the way I do.
By the end of breakfast, she had had about enough of me.
But that’s OK.
She was a very good hostess, and I never felt nervous or uneasy, and I even slept like a baby, which I don’t usually do when I am away from home.
And she might be able to say of me that I am goofy, silly, insane, immature, irresponsible and incompetent, and that I wear on ones last nerve like nobody she has ever met….
But she cannot say
‘That asshole was a real jerk”

CREATION

I can almost hear the conversation....
Man: "God, how did you create all this stuff?"
God: "Create? I learned to instigate it, and to some extent, to guide it, but the results are hard to accurately predict."

I found the dialogue over at Souby's...and I added the names.
It seems like it would fit to me.

"YESTERDAY"

Another UF Mike impression...

There is a very hostile undertone to this song which McCartneys Vienna choir-boy voice belies.
I was at a dive bar after Super Bowl 31 in the early days of Karaoke. A big hairy man in a tank-top took the stage.You could see just by his posture that he was angry, he was enraged, and he wanted some butt.
The ass kickin' kind of butt.
He brought out a side to this song I had never heard before. Mad as hell, he spat out the opening lines:

“Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so far away”
And today someone was going to get their ass kicked over it.
"Now it looks as though they’re here to stay"
That’s worth a major ass-whuppin’ right there.
But then this angry man with the scathing voice blurts out:
“Oh I believe in yesterday”
Frederich Nietzche called this a “re-sentiment”, later shortened to the more familiar “resentment”, in which one locks their heart forever to the past, and replays over and over again circumstances beyond their control, circumstances which, with a little sober effort, would obviously reveal themselves as having been brought about by their own defects.

So this big ‘ol boy, mad as hell and locked in the past gets to the chorus:
“‘Why she had to go…
I DON’T KNOW!”

When he said” I don’t know”, the glasses behind the bar rattled and nearly walked off the shelf.
There was no remorse, no guilt, no shame or contrition in his voice.
No, this guy was truly pissed that anyone would leave, and he was clueless as to why she might.
He really didn’t know.

"HEY, BRING THAT F'n MICROPHONE BACK. I WANNA SING "MUSKRAT LOVE"

DEAR DIARY

I took a girl out in High School and before we had our second date her mother found her diary.
There was no second date!

It reminds me of an old Bread song about a Diary from their album "Baby,I'm a Want You".

I found her diary underneath a tree.
and started reading about me
The words she's written took me by surprise
you'd never read them in her eyes.
They said that she had found the love she waited for.
Wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it
Whoa, Nellie!

Nobody ever kept their Diary underneath a tree. Not unless they were a squirrel in love, a sensitive, deeply emotional right-brained squirrel with a lot of love to give. But squirrels generally do not keep diaries, no.
They are too busy gathering nuts. And tweaking. Ever see one jump sideways 20 feet and scramble 100 feet up a tree? I used to have friends did the same thing.

I have walked past, by, and through a great many trees. My granpa had a Pecan Farm, I've been to the redwood forest, and the piney woods too; there were squirrels everywhere, but never once did I find a diary. I've never heard of a Diary Tree, where diaries grow like ten dollar bills on the branches, falling with the leaves in autumn to sprout into little Diary Tree saplings.

No, the only way you are going to find a diary is if you are a sicko control freak or a jilted lover with a confidence problem. and you break a window or pick a lock and ransack someone’s house, looking through their drawers and under their bed and on the top shelf of their closets until you finally find the wall safe behind the Renoir, and you tear it out of the wall, drag it out to the car and speed down to the river bottom sticks where you can blow the lock and read all about yourself.

Or you can send your lover out for pizza, then ransack their house.
That's how you are going to get your hands on a diary.
No one leaves them "under a tree".
That would simply be bad journalism.
Maybe not as bad as this post.




My Diary! Gimme back my diary!

LIVED NINE LIVES GUNNED DOWN TEN GONNA RIDE RIDE LIKE THE WIND

Down here in Texas, everybody knows Christopher Cross.
“Ride Like the Wind” and ‘Sailing” were huge hits from his 1980 eponymous debut album, and together they brought Mr. Cross fame and fortune, earning him all of the "Big Four" Grammy Awards in one year, a feat that is yet to be equalled.
There were two #1's and three other songs that made the top 20 that year from that album.

He seemed to be everywhere all at once in the 80's.
After that it was hard to find anyone 'round these parts that didn’t have some connection to the ubiquitous Mr. Cross.
I know at least 10 people that have lived next door to him.
I know 20 people that lived in the same apartment complex.
I know at least 100 people that saw him regularly at the Piggly-Wiggly check out line.
Apparently, he attended 3 Major University's here in Texas, on no less than 11 campuses in the space of eight years.
I know a guy that studied with him Pre-Med and another guy who took his Bar Exam with Mr. Cross.
I knew a man whose father said he knew a man who was there the day Christopher Cross was born.

Me?
Hell, I played Badminton and drank lemonade with he and Lowell George at the Governors Mansion.

POLITICS

"Politics would be a helluva good business if it weren't for the goddamned people"
richard nixon

"Call it what you want, Rebate, Redistribution, Rodeo, whatever.
It all comes down to being just a good old fashioned bribe, hush money for the masses, the Cornerstone of Capitalism and Free Enterpise.
All things being equal, what is wrong with that?"
bulletholes


Richard Nixon presenting me with my Debate Trophy Belt Buckle from my very First Debate

RESPECT

Went and bought me an outfit to wear to court.
Khaki pants, Slate Grey shirt with broad Tan and thin Lavender Plaids, with a nice Oleg Cassini Forest Green tie.
Totally Masculine, yet tres sensitive.
I haven’t worn a tie in 14 years.
Thought I’d show the event the respect it deserves.

SLEEPIN' NIGHTS AIN'T SO BAD

Stayin’ clean for 440 days has not been that tough.
Its not near as tough as handing a guy you barely know and who has no visible means of support 100 bucks with the hope that he will be back in the next hour or two.
That he will be back at all.
Its not near as tough as concocting an explanation for why you have no Drivers license, Inspection Sticker, Registration, and your socks don’t match.
Its not nearly as difficult as trying to get through the next week with $4.58 to your name.
That’s tough.
Its not as hard as looking into your rear-view mirror and having a blood-clot heart attack because a cop is right behind you, or turning into someones driveway because you see one a few blocks up.
Its not nearly as hard as trying to remember the last place you put your shit can be, especially when the last time you slept was in line at Jack-in the Box four days ago.
Nope, sleepin’ nights really ain’t so bad.
Really, it ain’t that bad being able to look your boss, your kids, and your friends in the eye again; to make new friends and learn how to buy groceries, chew your food before you swallow, and clean a little on a regular basis instead of a 12 hour binge every 3 weeks.
Of course, I'm still working on that one.

Tomorrow, I graduate from my Probation, my case dismissed.
Funny, a year ago I figured that I would go get commode-huggin’ snot-slingin’ drunk after graduation. That I might even want to do a little dope in celebration, you know, what the hell.
The Court system brought me to Narcotics Anonymous. thats how most of us addicts get there. We come like prisoners, like refugee's, and the first thing they tell us is that we really don't have to use drugs today.
They tell us that we can lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live.
Narcotics Anonymous really did give me a new way to live.
I might have been able to stay clean for 440 days through the court system, but still, I would be lost.
I would still be so lost.

MINNIE AND JOE

Minnie Ripperton sang “Lovin’ You”, a real Sweet Potato of a song and kept up her high pitched whine throughout with lyrics like:
"Lovin' you is easy cuz you're beautiful"
followed by the redundant
“Lalalalala,lalalala, lala-lala-lala,lalal, la-la-ah”
If it were not for the comma’s and the “Ah” at the end, one might fall asleep, except Minnie does liven it up with the suggestive
“And every time that we oooooh”
And that keyboard!
It had the energy of an old guy that to played a one man show at a bad restaurant I used to work at.

I remember driving down the street in 1974 with my buddy Steve Holland.
"Lovin'' You" came on the radio and Steve got all excited and said “I love this song”.
I do not know what a 16 year-old boy must be going through to like this song, but I always felt sorry for Steve after that.
If I had only had an FM radio in my car, it would never have happened.

Through sheer creative genius, the DJ’s of the period would often follow Ripperton’s offering with Joe Cocker, croaking out his hit “You Are So Beautiful”.
Now I liked this song, it even got me laid one time, but the overall effect of playing it after "Lovin’ You” was somewhat akin to treating a sprained ankle by submersing in ice, then applying heat.
Only without the health benefits.
And when Joe would try for that high note at the very end of the song, you can almost see him convulse spasmodically up on his toes and about to rip his pants from stem to stern and come up still a bit flat.
So there you have it.
Anyone seen Steve Holland?



WITH A CAR LIKE THIS, WHO NEEDS FM RADIO?