a stranger day at walmart


the crayon colored couple passed about a half dozen cops wandering around cashier central, while I tried…in vain….to concentrate on Miss Yapping Cashier’s rant. how do you tell a man with a giant butt-crack to turn around so you can work? I dunno. I really dunno, mam. mention something about a plumber? I dunno. i was too distracted by pink-crayon-girl and turquoise-soy boy skipping past the giant rocket advertising Pickup…to engage in intelligent conversation.

Miss Yapping finished her routine, and I pulled out some crisp green bills, grabbed my white racist plastic…three bags…inside other bags…hiding in enough plastic to make a toothbrush,,,and escaped Lunaticland for the never ending parking lot. Out in the rain I searched….while others wandered around doing the same….telling myself I really should use the car alarm to find it…this time…wandering until the lane I thought I was parked in, was actually four lanes from my vehicle. 

it always rains really really hard when you realize your car is parked four lanes away. and then it hit me…this never happens to people parking in the handicapped spaces. they are the only spots with nice artwork in the entire parking lot. The rest of the parking lot looks like it was painted by a guy with a 20 degree hip tilt…everything in the asphalt kingdom leaning the same way. 

why can’t they paint the parking spaces different colors? that way, I could always park in the plum purple spot and know where to find my stinkin’ car when I get out of Walmart. not like today. or any other day…

it was nice having a fig bar…the kind with lots of sugar so you really don’t taste the figs…and gulping a vitamin water. rehydration and sugarization is good therapy after enduring another round on the merry-go-round. which was particularly necessary today.

it started as I was approaching the deli with my eyes on the rotisserie chicken, only to look up and discover a man with his left hand completely stuck down the back of his pants, as if there was a rectal thermometer buried in there somewhere. you know your stomach is iron-clad when can you say excuse me to the contorted freak and reach in to rescue a warm chicken from 12:30PM, and disappear like Artemi Panarin on a breakaway. The deli girl actually ignored the eejit, but I purposely got her attention, trying to get the eejit to move away so maybe his woman…or whatever gender pronoun she resembled…could rescue the hand from the nether regions. 

I changed my mind on the tasteless looking item labelled “potato salad” and headed for the back of the grocery where I could at least find yogurt, if not some peace. maybe.

an older man with one of  those neat shopping cars was motoring around the glass cases of eggs and butter, so I asked if he needed any help. of course, I should have ignored him and gone off to my own little world, but it was an interesting five minutes reminiscing about a war I was not alive for. his granddaughter or great granddaughter returned with more food and tried pushing him, to his amusement.

my mind was wandering….when I realized the windshield was lashing with rain, and I thought it best to get home before the road started flooding.

driving down the highway, the rain mixed with some fog…and I was just about to cross a bridge into a small town on my way home when I saw two women…one quite thin, and one behind her rather rotund, walking in the pouring rain along the road. Like most men , I just glanced over for a minute…well, I was going to…but it become brutal outside, so we were nearly stopped in the wrath of the oncoming rain.

she had just enough on that I noticed a nice winter jacket. and that’s all. no pants. absolutely none. she must have taken them off when they got soaked. cars passed, trucks passed, on the other side of the road. we were stopped. maybe there was a train ahead. I dunno. no pants mam walked on, behind a thin wafer of a woman, toward the off-ramp… 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Diagnosis: Hope


the lostkerryman

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The word “hope” here goes way beyond the same concept of  “hope” we have in English because it is literally “a knowing assurance based on spiritual truth as evidence.” But one can only operate in that kind of hope with a mindset that is literally “renewed.” How else can you place faith in something impossible to everyone else around you? When you’ve been told there is no hope, there is only hope to line yourself up in the place God calls righteousness. That only comes in a right relationship with God. And a right relationship can be tenuous unless it is fed that substance called faith.

The bible states that it is impossible to please God without faith. Living a life of faith requires trust in what many will call crazy. But, you know what? I…

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the burning earth


somewhere between New Straitsville, Murray City, and Shawnee, a fire is burning, burning the earth beneath, unquenchable. way back in 1884, a group of striking miners, sent a “take-this-job-and-shove-it” message to their bosses by sending several coal cars with oil-drenched timbers deep into the mine. at that time, the known vein of coal there was at least 14 feet thick, but nobody knew where it stopped, where it branched off, nor when nor how it would die out…

finding the evidence of the still-burning fire is like a patchwork mystery, especially since much of the surface now is under the authority of Wayne National Forest, and the government would rather you not off into the woods hunting for signs of it…

sign

….but it is still burning. I know, I smelled the sulfur coming from what at first looked like a cave…

but when I stepped near the entrance and took a look inside, I knew I had discovered a mine. so now, over a hundred years later, I knelt down near white sand and saw a tree limb covered in an ashen-like material inside the mine opening.

minewithwaterrushingout

ashenearth

less than a mile down the road, mounds of coal still lay exposed on the ground, and I caught a whiff of the pungent scent of burning coal…

coalpile

a few locals- descendants of miners- told me over the years that you could tell where the fire was if you went looking for steaming patches of ground not covered by fresh snow in the winter time. but asked if I could find remnants of it any other time of year, they said that it was unlikely anyone would find it today.

do you think they may still be embarrassed that their ancestors set the earth on fire?

 

 

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a family of flowers near an empty house


DSC00394.JPG

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best seat in the house…


This unusual bird sat on the edge of a second story gutter, across the street from my view….on a busy street this morning…as a police car, then an ambulance, rushed past….and I ducked back into my vehicle. A utility truck came around from the back alley to the street to check the telephone lines…while we both looked on, me waiting for traffic to die down, the bird scratching at the metal gutter above. still, the bird had the better view, as I got out and walked across the street…

bird04232018.JPG

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The Face-To-Face Social Network


…after an unpleasant gaze at the fields of facebook, I have resolved to readjust my thinking as I go about my random social interaction daily. one can only take so much of fake this and fake that before becoming bummed out and bug-eyed…and I am up to here with it (sorry you cannot see where “up to here” is, but I trust you can use your imagination…especially those who grew up on “SpongeBob”).

back in the day…in the old days…well, back in olden times, I could simply pull myself aside somewhere, consult with my brain concerning the matter, and act upon my heart’s or mind’s decision. that was then, this is just “somewhere else.” sure I can communicate with people, but….will they like my visual profile while I am sitting at the table on the far side of the restaurant? will they give me a thumbs up if I smile at no one in particular, and pretend to be on my tiny ear phone? how can I get a “wow” out of people? why oh why do I need validation?! ugh…

…it is a lonely world out there…one where various strangers find themselves walled-off in mental realities that may or may not include yours. one in four people seem to be having trouble dealing with reality on a daily basis, which means that I may or may not get a rational response from the guy right behind me at the deli counter. he may have the mental acuity of potato salad, which does me no good if I want to strike up a social experiment…I mean “conversation”…about the abnormally low price….$1.99…of the “Homemade” Cole Slaw. it is also why…some women do not find me attractive. ever. the part of their brain compartmentalizing “responses to males” has a never-ending run time error. then again, if I was a Labradoodle, I might get a better response.

still…I am confident that this new Face-To-Face social network should prove more interesting than at least half of the status updates I have read in the past two billion years…or, more likely, two weeks. in fact, in my social experimentations so far, I have discovered that people are actually learning to respond to a man speaking directly to their faces! maybe, just maybe, the world will be a better place for it, and we will be able to commune on a higher level than a mouse click. if not, I might as well buy a one way ticket to some remote atoll. and live out my life like Tom Hanks did in “Castaway.” please God, please God, no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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lament


looking back over the past year, as it slips into memory and history, I sit here pondering what has happened. whether it is because of age, insight, or too many trips around the merry-go-round, I am a bit depressed about the sad state of a part of the human race. some time while I was sleeping, someone totally brilliant decided that…

haircuts that look like a chain saw or beaver attacked the back of the neck are championed by some rural hairstylists 

the ladder of success is too often measured by how many birth fathers contributed to your immediate family

there is gaining devolutionary thought that the Earth is actually flatter than a 13 year old French runway model

pedophilia not only exists, but is practiced by sick politicians someone actually elected

I sit here lamenting because time is short on this Earth, and fewer and fewer wake from their own deluded fantasies. To wake one, even one, from falling off into the abyss, is worth it. But some, even those who we have held closest to us, have left us suddenly, in an instant gone.

So, it is with a sober heart I wish you a peaceful new year. and I pray that this year, you will come to know why you were created, and what God has in store for you this year.

Slan go foil…

 

 

 

 

 

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prelude to a promise


HighlandRidge102017

Though snow cover the whole world white

and death descend on the land like night

this season will pass ‘neath a coming storm

to wake us anew in a heavenly form…

 

 

 

 

 

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Autumn answers


plantseeds

seeds waiting for new life in the coming cold

decayingleaves

and leaves joining others in sleep

colorsoffall

there are some who choose to color the dying landscape

yellowtree1

and refuse to blend in with decay

 

 

 

 

 

 

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questions in the dark


when I was twenty-three, I thought life was chocolate cake…

yet so many sobering faces confronted me

from the crowd that lived the longest-

no sunshine in their veins,

nor smiles in the topo lines etched in flesh 

their passing like the scent of a faded gardenia

or an old musty beige house,

sadness lingered like a mist about them.

 

solace was my grandmother’s friend

but a clueless mystery to a boy of nine

clinging to the porcelain edge while taking a bath

as if the flood of memories would invade the bathroom

and I the drowning captain of a big white boat…

but solace slept with sadness

and I saw her sleeping at an instant

when the grey eyes drooped and the mouth dropped.

 

but it terrified me at six when I tried to remember the sobbing sound

that came when I closed my eyes and opened my ears in the

dead of night, the purple black.

listening to the snoring wheezing of an old one in the room beside me

and wondering if it was catching, this sobbing sound-

would I get it too when I became as crusty as the old woman?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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