For Joe and Megan’s Anniversary

Today is our son, Joe’s and his wife, Megan’s, 5th anniversary.  It seems just yesterday we were all standing on the beach in Maui in a surreal surrounding watching as they committed to a life together. Life is measured in these moments as if we are wearing a large watch with special moments instead of numbers on it.

As Robert Fulghem said in his book True Love, “We’re all a little weird.  And life is a little weird.  And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness – and call it love – true love.”   They have found that a successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person . . .

Joe and Megan Wedding - Maui 2008 162

A close friend of mine, Albert Hoillan and I recorded this for their wedding. song  I hope you enjoy it

Saturday morning music

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom, for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue, and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces, of people going by
I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do
They’re really saying, I love you.

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more, than I’ll never know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Yes I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Oh yeah…

Friday morning music

A red brick heart, a cobblestone soul,
Meandering arteries and veins,
A backbone of good hardwood,
And lungs of pink, unstained.

Clear, clean skies that tantalize,
A crystal blue display,
Twinkling stars like eyes at night,
That hide away in the day..

Fingers reach out to the country,
They shyly beckon and seduce,
They lead to farmers’ roadside stands,
Selling veggies and fresh fruits.

There’s a rhythm to a small town,
A slow, care-free, easy beat,
All day long it plays its song,
Then at night lulls folks to sleep.

Bees buzz, and crickets chirp,
Old pick-up trucks shift gears,
Tiny songbirds can be heard,
And small baby’s coos and tears.

Train whistles blow both day and night,
As trains chug by the city hall,
The Local stops there twice a day,
The Express doesn’t stop at all.

No throughways nor freeways,
No Interstate through town,
Just quiet, simple, byways,
One barely hears a sound.

Small towns always wake at dawn,
Because they sleep so well at night,
Lullabied by nightingales,
Then waked by roosters at first light.

Not much variety,
Little change from day to day,
Small town dullness stays the same,
Never seems to go away.

The small town – a place of calm.
From the beginning to the end,
Room to stretch – room to spread,
Unlike piggies in a pen.

All one language and one tongue,
Folks speak easily to each other.
But petty tiffs sometimes cause rifts,
Between ever loving brothers.

No matter where one is … or isn’t,
There’s lots of room to spare,
And of the people who are near,
Most likely someone cares.

God and Satan do compete,
Though Satan seldom wins,
Small town folks know better,
They thumb their nose at him.

Relatives and family,
Busybodies, lovers, friends,
Living with each other
Knowing how to make amends.

The stillness and the quietness,
The boredom, the routine,
Anything and everything,
Either dies or is redeemed.

One can’t escape the small town,
Even when one packs and leaves,
It is embedded in one’s guts,
Like a lingering disease.

Ah, the small town – the sleepy small town,
A place to love and hate, you know,
People dream one day to leave it,
But it will never let them go.

~ Virginia (Ginny) Ellis


I promised her my hands wouldn’t get any larger

“But she’s decided we need to trace them in case I
turn out to be wrong. Every morning she wakes me
with a sheet of paper. In the beginning, she stowed
all the tracings in a folder, until one day I said I’d like
to at least see where this is going, and from that point on
we hung them on the wall chronologically. When I
study them, they look back at me like busted
headlights. I wear my lab coat around the house to
make sure they know who’s observing whom. If we
can ensure records, if we can be diligent in our
testing. I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Nothing
feels smaller yet. Not her, not the kettle nor the key.
If my hands do grow, they should also be the kind
that can start a fire with just a deer in the road.”

~ Oliver Bendorf


I don’t care

“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!”

“You do care,” said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”

~ J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix