Pardon my astonishment

As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his folly.

                Proverbs 26:11

pardon my astonishment, but it never ceases to amaze me…when a woman I have known well…who, in her flowering youth, speaks boldly about what she will do in the world….seeking to escape the degradation she has endured….begins her post-adolescence running from job to job, and man to man, burning through them like fire through grass and leaves….like a fireball…destroying lives and the hopes and goals of others…until sometime after menopause, crash landing a few blocks away from where she started, a reflective lesson of a life wasted on selfish ambitions, only to collapse into a state of uselessness.

no woman…nor man…should land in middle age like that. if, after 50 years, you have no legacy of love that lasts, that changes lives for the better, that reflects your creator…what in the world is your purpose in life? i am appalled at how many people i meet…who could care less what happens to their children, their wives, or their husbands…who, in their selfishness see only their own flippant desires- which sometimes are the opposite of love, hope, and peace- as their gods, their reasons for existence.

you were not created to wallow in stupidity, nor to throw sense to the wind and live with no focus on what life is all about. Nor were you meant to love half-heartedly, wounding lives in the process, while claiming that you are the one having been injured. To live in such selfishness is to live like a dog who returns to his vomit…it lacks all reasonable sense.

I am not God, so I do not know if there is any more hope for her. I pray there is. But, it does appear that there comes a time when a selfish person is given over to what will destroy them, because their minds have been so warped that they literally rage against God. 

So, while there is still daylight in this world, pray for….and confront those…headed down the road to destruction, that somehow they will come to their senses before it is too late. 




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random concerto # 3, by Konstatin Kaffeine, in b minor

that moment you realize… you will be up for the rest of the night…

is there no antidote?

why is there no antidote?

why can’t I have all the benefits of caffeine…no more headaches, a lighter bladder, sharpened ponderings at unearthly hours of the night…

without insomnia?

drinking too much caffeine when you are already tired is like being stuck on a twelve hour flight to the Vatican with a plane full of nuns…no way out of this sluggish spiral…

…until you crash land in your nice, comfy bed.

but first, let’s all go to the restroom…

again and again.

and again.

of course, we can solve all this….at 3 AM…by making a sandwich. Yes, a sand-which or -wich. Whichever works for you. Excuse me while I  go eat another lunch…


Well now, that was nice. Kind of reminded me of yesterday. Only yesterday was not a day  separated by a sleep time, a night.

it does help make me sleepy. a little bit. maybe. possibly. if I crawl into bed, maybe, just maybe I will fall asleep.


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New Project


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Pleasantries and Pungentries

if you happen to drive on Pleasantville Road, you’ll find it is pleasantly straight. in my youth, such straightness would be appalling. Now, it is glorious. Akin to driverless transportation…pointing the car in one direction and dreaming through the next fifteen minutes…it is the future of vehicle travel- driving with the subconscious.

But Pleasant Corners Road is not so pleasant. Drive fast for a mile, then hit the brakes and swing 90 degrees to the right. Foot to the pedal and before you can count to three…swing 90 degrees left. Drive north. Straight north. But if you go far enough, you will smell the pungentries.

Maybe it seeps through the doors…I don’t know…but the smell could kill you. it is like inhaling Jalfrezi sauce at 90 miles an hour…except more pungent. As in cloves, cardamom, curry, and spices your mother never warned you about. If you are a curry virgin, beware, because you’ll never be the same again.

life changing, stimulating. pungent.

Not like a locker room full of 13 year old boys without deodorant. More like sitting on a sandy beach snoozing in the summer sun while a strange but unmistakably tantalizingly enrapturing aroma…so pleasant, it is like your first tasty kiss, your first successful romantic meal, your first turn at the wheel driving a super-fast speedboat…inhaling a fragrance, a dream. You want more. You suck in the breeze, becoming delirious with happiness…

…or at least, becoming enthralled that you just spent $7.99 on an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet the size of a pre-hibernation dinner. and it is in that moment that you realize that….all the pleasantries in the world cannot replace the pungent joys in the world.

am I hungry?


but sad. it is sunday night. and the buffet does not open on Mondays…











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A New Year in The Middle Ages

I resolve, within the hours remaining before the big hand and the little hand are both on the twelve, to (1) be soberly considering a theme for the New Year (2) be engrossed in some sort of activity that appears to be of the utmost importance, and (3) be aware of the copious amount of soup that I consumed earlier in the evening when planning the rest of the Pre-New Year’s hours and the immediately following Post New year’s Eve hours.

after all, I  am now a serious adult, in that beyond-normal-adulthood, when everything must be as serious as an attack of dyspepsia…or some other ancient sounding malady.

….such is life in “The Middle Ages,” that time of life when all the sharp ideas we had when we were 12 seem to be lost in a fog of forgetfulness, and we have to fight back against nursing passing fancies  of  what could have- should have- would have- been if we had had a moment of destiny with so-and-so, who went off to the Big City, married another man, and twenty years later got lost in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve and was never heard from again…

….but may someday be found wandering around in a small New England-like town where Christmas, sleigh bells, and amnesia are common…and can be solved with a chance magical encounter with a QC magazine cut-out man (who also happens to be signed to a dubious acting contract). I, personally, have never met a woman with amnesia wandering around one of my favorite small towns, but I suppose one must find that particular place in order to escape “The Middle Ages” and find said Princess Charming, who obviously would melt in my arms like the finest butter in the whole wide world…

or not…………………………………………………………………………

suffice to say I will celebrate the New Year like a Castaway on an island using seashells as currency, rather than in a crowd of the most interesting people in the world (according to their blogs). if you do happen to see an amnesiac, an amnesia-ite, an amnesiatic …please send her my way. she may in fact be a long lost crush from when I was 12, and when she still had a perfect …sense of humor…at the time.

until then, I hope you enjoy these last fleeting minutes before it is time to get used to 2017, and all she brings.

Ah go on…have a Happy New year!



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Stalking the not-so-wild turkey


a long, long time ago in a state of mind far, far away, things were different. people were different. even animals were different. and some of it was good. people knew to throw out expired food, smart people did not converse using infantile slang like “bae” or “vacay,” and the pope was not as left-wing as your dumbest presidential candidate.

yes, there were still clowns, and yes, many of them were in politics, but the woods were not filled with scary clowns during election cycles.

other cycles, like menstrual cycles, and motor cycles, were not wildly popular with those who did not have to mess with them.

back then, you could order a mess of beans, or go foraging for a mess of wild onions armed with your STALKING THE WILD ASPARAGUS. you might entertain romantic ideas about a creature in the woods, without being relegated to a fake news channel.

but you might be relegated to other things….like being picked last when it came to choose players for dodge ball, an aggressive sport Snowflakes would not survive during the long wintry process of choosing sides.

choosing to procrastinate in school was much easier then. the “ubiquitous they” did not inflict students with multiple remedial classes when they forgot to do their homework, lost their essay in the lawnmower, or simply decided to be an anarchist for a six weeks grading period.

still, not everything within that period was peachy keen. if you were ugly, you were told you were ugly, and to what extent. if you were pretty, every last single guy in school wanted to shove anonymous love notes into your locker (from a “secret admirer”) because as a young man it was not as painful a process to imagine yourself waking up to that face every morning.

but, there were only so many pretty girls…and someone…usually a nice guy like you…was left with the turkeys. not wild turkeys, mind you, but the kind of turkeys only a turkey could look at every morning. and you knew that if you married that turkey, you would wake up every morning to…ugly.

and hormones being what they were…back in the day before video games took away the testosterone…even a turkey had a hope, as long as she did not stumble and fall while trying to balance her weight as she clucked forward.

so the boy who was always picked last ended up being chosen last in the turkey trot of high school life, despite his efforts to avoid the tournament completely and claim celibacy and a longing for the monkhood, ended up face to face with a not-so-wild bird who teetered and tottered. Feeling sorry for the bird, the boy, feeling like a pinball wizard, decided to take a walk on the not-so-wild side.

alas, the poor hormones, completely befuddled, failed to see the truth right before their eyes. and before taming them, the boy overshot his pinball and tilted the game. the turkey saw that she was indeed ugly, but she had a great personality. unlike  the other turkeys that fought gravitational pull, she stopped eating everything in sight, became the face every boy wanted to wake up to, and ended up a beautiful princess.

so…the boy went back to the back yards in search of chickory, the woods in search or morels, and the old barn yard…in search of the wild asparagus.











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I’ve counted up the cost, and you are worth it

A thought for this season…

the lostkerryman

“I’ve counted up the cost, and you are worth it.”

It’s a line from an Irish band, Rend Collective Experiment. It’s also a thought that has been tugging at my soul tonight. As I sit here alone, I am thankful for the place God has allowed me to be, even if it is not what I imagine as ideal. There has been a cost to following after Christ, to live life deliberately, to live on the edge…to be ready, at a moment’s notice, to walk in faith…

Many of you will have no idea what I mean. Let me fill you in….

Imagine you are at WalMart and you see a haggard woman  sitting on a bench across from the checkout lanes. She has a saddened look on her face, about to cry, and you think about how sad this picture is….when, you have an unmistakable urge, against your own…

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It’s beginning to look a lot like Bird-Mass

There will always be those who fight over what is thrown away…


Rather than throw away what you don’t want, or give it to the birds, give to the person who cannot give back.

You are a blessing waiting to happen to someone else.



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Pilgrims Not-So-Progress

so….you sell everything and start a trip to go move half way across the world, punctuated by failure and deceit that would throw most groups into certain turmoil…with certifiable idiots who sabotage their own boat so they can “just go home and forget about the whole thing,” and a badly timed trip that takes you twice as long as it should (Are we there yet?)….only to arrive at your new place to find no bed, no walls, and a frozen snowy ground. what do you do?

not what the textbooks told you they did.

not what you have been lead to believe.

the 100 or so who arrived had agreed to form a rigid, socialist commune, based on some ideas from a Greek philosopher who spent all day in the liberal bastions of “education,” supported by the wealthy. this form of government was instituted in a place where survival was the true law of life. after two years of failure, and more than half of the group dying, the governor took some advice from a Spaniard who had written what becomes of such a wilderness governed by anything less than freedom. Slowly, those who were governing, loosened the chains of control, until the community began to take ownership in the general betterment of themselves and the community.

each time another group of people joined their ranks, the community struggled through another winter. they relied heavily on someone else- the ships that came- for provisions, when the country they resided in had all they really needed. If it was not for the sobering of the governor and his leaders, turning to God in prayer, the Plymouth colony would have perished within the first four years.

Many of the stories that are told in American classrooms are simply not true, or are skewed so much that they have no depth nor truth to them. as with any other history, it is best to read the actual words of those who went through it, rather than to believe an account that is made to shorten the story, or make a particular group of people appear to be “honorable.”

as America celebrates “Thanksgiving Day” today, it should be noted that it was God’s grace that prevented those naïve settlers from dying altogether. and it was God who the settlers thanked when they came ashore on the coast of the New Land…not the “Indians.”


(see the text of the original history at Project Gutenberg, The History of The Plimouth Plantation, by William Bradford.

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hitting a wall of pain



have you ever had one of those days where you run into someone’s wall of pain, so hard, you have to  leave the pavement to take a break from it all? well, I have, and I did, not long after lunch. and after a systematic trip through the recesses of another human being’s personal and public oral description of their life in hell on earth, I climbed back into my vehicle feeling 80 years older. Checking my phone, the time blinked 3:00 in the afternoon, and by my internal calculations, every last remaining appointment would now have to be rescheduled for another day. sure, maybe, just maybe, I did some good in this world listening and all, but…

well, the whole thing makes me tired. I just wanna take a nice little nap.

so….I quit early, drove down the road…drove down the road some more…until I fond a nice little spot with a luxurious leather lazyboy and accompanying grill and…I mean, a nice little parking space alongside a nice little stream with nice little deer running around. in other words, 10,000 times more relaxing than a documentary on the joys of wart removal, than how they actually make chicken McNuggets in real life, than a 2 hour conversation with someone who has 10 times more problems than you, your dog, and your neighbor’s dog combined.

sure, it was a bit brisk out there today, but the air does wonders for a brain beset with the frailties of man (or woman). there, amongst the piney woods, I could drink in the aroma of the manly trees, and feel at home, out among the pine needles, dirt, and fallen leaves. I could sit in the symphony of the breeze, the music through the trees, and find my Maker so much closer than before. Because, the natural is closer than the man-made.


and here the subtle…spiritual…becomes more focused. when you ask for a sign from God in the busy man-made world, the noise and mortality of it confuses the mind. but far from the man-made, God’s signs are there, waiting for you. you have to be in the right place. and you cannot be in the right place when you are surrounded by  the things that won’t last, the things some chase after, the cares that weigh heavy on too many hearts…that mean so very little in the light of the full timeline of life. like the run on sentence I just wrote, life becomes a run on sentence when you are looking for God in all the wrong places.

so, I saw the sign clearly, when I looked up…and turned. and found the best seat in the forest. and sat down. and..



found the place I needed to be.

it is so important to find that place where you can spend time with God, without distractions, so you can find the God of peace in the place of peace.












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