This could be titled Phlegm 3, but I got tired of the nasty connotations of that word. As I have sat at home today, thinking, praying, pondering, and being generally disgusted at how little I can do, I had these thoughts, mostly as a result of my time in the hospital. If I am physically unable to carry on a conversation or my hand is shaking when I try to hold the phone to answer a call, it is ok not to take said call. Its probably not that important anyway. I MUST start my d

It has been so long since I’ve visited a troutstream, I’ve almost forgotten the wonder of it. So in order to remind myself, I went back to an old post:, exercitatione: As the sun rises the mist morphs from pink to a dull white turning brighter as it moves downstream to the sun. All the shadows are cast parallel to the flow of the river now, making the leaves in the sun glow an iridescent green while the shadowed leaves are a milder, darker tint. The water has been segregated

This is the root of politicians and pundits feeding the public “alternative facts,” “fake news,” and “revisionist history.” When people choose not to see, they have little choice but not to show, not to explain, not to admit, etc., lest they see and are therefore seen. Selective invisibility is one of the most effective tools of less than forthright clergy, politicos, and, by the way, terrorists. Who’s to say what’s real and what’s fabricated among these invisible things we t

How many people have either wondered if they were, or wished they were, or maybe wished they were not, invisible, at one point or another? That one girl or guy that doesn’t seem to know you exist; that car that pulls into your lane as though you weren’t in it; or that gathering where you’re standing alone in the middle of the room and no one seems to notice when you finally leave. Or maybe you wished you were invisible when you spilled the tomato sauce down your clean white s

Last night we stayed in a rustic cabin at Colter Bay, Grand Teton National Park. No tv, no wifi, no radio, no cell service. Glorious. It has a metal roof, so when a shower comes through the valley, we enjoy the audio benefits without the downside of being cold, wet or miserable. And we engage with one another. That’s mostly good. As in it’s good after people have had a meal, or a nap, or even shower. Before any of those activities, sometimes I wish some people had a distracti

Our next stop would be the most fascinating yet. Given the source of what we were witnessing, I repeatedly wondered how Dante Alighieri would have described it. We saw multitudes of hydrothermal land features: geysers, vents, fumaroles, boiling ponds, paint pots. Ridiculous. Colorful. All the result of the fact that thousands of feet below was a lake of boiling magma – one of the largest active supervolcanoes in the world. And all these features are the means by which it let

Our first encounter with bison was our sighting of a small herd snacking at a stream in a valley. Calves were frolicking around the huge beasts without a care that there were cars lined up on the road above to gawk and wonder how close they could get with their respective soul-grabbing devices. The Tetunka were content. At that point we were the Y-stone newbies who pulled over in amazement upon sighting a buffalo. I’m not ashamed. As I type this, at the end of Day 2, we are t

I awakened to sunlight streaming through the blinds at 5:47 a.m., and made sausage and egg biscuits for MCL as they got up and began readying for the day. I think I woke up at least 4 times to use the bathroom in the night, and on the last trip I may have broken my second biggest left toe when I hit the black coffee-table between me and the bathroom. After a long squelched wail of agony, I stayed up and started the breakfast. C said he woke up about 20 times because L hogged

Family Vacation. The phrase divines images of rv’s, wood sided station wagons, rambunctious kids, Chevy Chase and Christie Brinkley, and lifelong memories – good and bad. One of the top bucket list destinations for the classic family vacation is Yellowstone National Park. Halfway between the equator and the North Pole, if a nature lover thought of our remaining unspoiled lands as a giant temple, this acreage could be called the “holy of holies.” Yellowstone is one of the few,

I’m no Jimmy Buffet. I already know there’s no woman to blame for my troubles, if I’m honest about it, though sometimes I blame her anyway. I’ve tried a rum drink in the Caribbean and couldn’t tolerate it. I’m not a fan of sand in places where it grinds off skin, and I won’t wear flip flops long enough to blow one out on a pop top. The rest of my group were floating around face down, looking at fishies and coral and getting odd shaped sunburns on their backs. Back on shore, w

Upped my lexapro. How it works I don’t know. World was dim hard to go out, like my head was full of phlegm. stumbling around in the dark for a key to a door that’s already open.* Upped my lexapro and I wake up hearing the morning trill of the birds flitting about in the morning chill I would have never guessed the world could be so different because of a little pill. *old Police lyric #work #dark #zen #poetry #anxiety #peace #poem #nature #Depression #panic

In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Mr. Pirsig relates a story of some pilgrims climbing a holy mountain. Though I read it years ago, the story struck a chord with me. I paraphrase by memory: One particular climber was trudging up the mountain, his pack seemingly becoming heavier and heavier with each step. As he slowed his pace he noticed that other pilgrims were passing him on the narrow trail, even though they didn’t look any more fit or well trained than he was.

What would incline me to think I might be a redneck? Why would I strive for such a goal? I’ve never had a skoal ring faded into the back pocket of my jeans (but my friends did), never drank beer from a can (but my friends did), never milked a cow (my parents and cousins did), wasn’t raised fishing, hunting or even shooting (friends were) and I can’t spit more than an inch or so and even that usually leaves a little on my chin (i know a “girl” in Birmingham that can hit a stop

(Continued from redneckus wannabeus) As far as I can tell, a key skill of an average redneck is the ability to drink beer from a can. My sources say that the best redneck stories begin with either of two phrases: “Hold my beer,” when the event that will become a story commences, or “We had been drinkin’ a little,” to begin the telling of the story. I wouldn’t know, because I don’t like beer. Oh I’ve tried it. I’ve tried a few “american beers” and a few “stouts” but none of th

I’m not a redneck. Believe me I’ve tried. I just lack the knowledge and skill set for it. Before trying, I held the misguided belief that being a redneck was a vacuum of knowledge – a default position at which a country-boy would languish if he lacked the initiative to rise. Only in trying to be one did I learn that it is actually a specific set of knowledge and skills, not to be the subject of condescension. My efforts turned out to be a comical series of lessons in humility

Sometimes, life is routine stuff, and that’s o.k. Get up, go to work, finish the work day, stop at the grocery store, go home, dinner, kid’s homework, bed, start over. A few hundred times a year. Nothing exciting, no big travels, no births, no deaths, no disasters. Sometimes the routine is comfortable. In 2004 when I returned from Belize I settled into a routine. I was running my law practice, attending church, raising kids, and being a husband. I often under-value the “norma

I think I may have mentioned before that I’m a percussionist. I know that in Pilgrimage IX I spoke about music a little, but not much.  I haven’t played much in years, but it is still in me. I think in these terms still. I listen a certain way because of this. I generally enjoy pianissimo people more than fortissimos. I can really appreciate a political speech or a sermon if the speaker knows how to use dynamics, and when to be stacatto, or maybe most importantly, when to res