MIXBAG OF MUSINGS

We purchased a bird feeder, my daughter and I, and a large bag of "Wild Bird Food" just last week. We've seen many birds dancing gaily from fence to fence where the surrounding neighbor's and our backyard meet. They sit on the wires, or nest in the branches. Our small jungle gives them a veritable amusement park, with it's abundant variety of banana, avocado and palm trees. When the sprinklers come on in the late afternoon, you see them speedily landing to take their highly anticipated showers. After a long hot day in the Florida sun, they make it look extremely enticing. More than once after witnessing this event, I've had to let my daughter jump over the sprinklers herself. Next to jumping in the pool, it's one of the most refreshing things you can do in the summertime. After mowing my lawn, with the grass shaved thin and the soil exposed, and once I've walked inside to get myself a drink, our winged friends pounce down on the poor unassum

I stand by what I say...most of the time. I mean, I'm not afraid to change my mind about something when I see the light; I'm perfectly willing to admit I was wrong if you can prove to me I was. So if years ago I spoke out about something and steadfastly held on to my reasons for doing so, and now I'm suddenly singing to a different tune, well, it's not necessarily because I'm wishy-washy, it's because I've seen a different perspective since then that's altered my opinion. Clear enough? Good! The reason I'm bringing this up is due to two completely different factors that have brought it to mind lately. First, it's an election year, and candidates are bound by things they said, votes they made, or positions they took in years gone by; in this case, a change of heart or opinion is viewed as weak. Second, weblogs. I've found that most bloggers choose to safeguard their privacy by revealing very few specifics about who they are. Oh sur

Part of my library...messy, I know...what are you gonna do?   In my youth, I always derived a sweet, slightly pathetic satisfaction out of finishing a good book. Oh, I don't mean the Stephen King thriller of the week, or a Sydney Sheldon page turner. I'm talking about the true books - the classics, by Tolstoy, Hugo, Joyce, Faulkner, among many others. Sweet, because I'd managed to work my way through a powerful tome and had (seemingly) assimilated its essence. Pathetic, because in reality that didn't amount to much of an accomplishment. I read a lot in my early twenties. I felt that my function at the time was to obtain an education, and I never believed my professors were able to teach me half as much as I could learn on my own. I still think I was right. I'd put away one or two books away weekly, which wasn't easy when you're working and going to school full time. But when you're alone in a big city there's not much else to do with you

I felt alone then, as if abandoned by the world. My fiance and best man together, I was left with nowhere to turn. Who's there left to speak to? Where do you seek solace when it's your very loved ones who've fucked you over? I remember holding my tongue about it at work the next day. My crew could sense it. I worked in the California oilfields then, on an oil rig. Part of a three man crew. There came a point, when we broke for lunch, that Bob said "Hey, is everything alright with you? I mean, you seem a little down." Joe jumped right on it: "Something's wrong man, I can tell. Something happened. You're not telling us." I blurted it out right then. I couldn't keep it in. It's wasn't out of a sense of friendship, it was just a desperate attempt to get some sympathy. I just needed somebody to help me cuss the bitch out, pat me on the back and tell me I'd been wronged; make idle promises to cut my ex-best friend down in some ba

The stories were gory. They told of many a soldier who met his maker while patrolling the Czech border with West Germany. The same border I found myself guarding for a month at a time, every three months, back in '85. Today's children grow up unaware of the Cold war, but back then it was something that affected everybody in the western hemisphere. We spent our border tours gated in a few miles away from the line. We rotated on weekly "Reaction Force" shifts. Reaction Force members had to be on alert 24 hours a day. From the moment the camp alarm went off we had 15 minutes to be fully dressed in field gear with chemical suits on; our weapons clean, loaded and operational, and our tanks rolling out the main gate. We had so little time to do this that we could never afford to be out of our chemical suits. We kept our boots on at all times. Hell, we weren't even supposed to shower! We would spend all our time studying classified border terminology, proper interna

Green Parakeets  Close up!  I took some pictures of these birds this morning, as I was warming up my car to go to work. I see them around quite often, but this time I actually ran inside, pulled out the camera and snapped a few pictures. Unfortunately, I don't have a zoom on my digital and they flew off as soon as I approached them. This is the most I could spread the layout without losing too much resolution. I'm always somewhat awestruck by the fact that these birds live around here. It seems like they belong in a more tropical setting, or maybe in a jungle somewhere. Not that I know a thing about birds, it's just my impression. Hell, I'm not even sure if they're parakeets! But they're a beautiful tone of green and they have parakeet-like beaks. Anyway, if anybody knows what these guys are doing in South Florida I'd love to hear about it.

This is my beautiful dog Tasha's last picture before we laid her down to rest  .

Debbie was asking this question in response to a comment I made earlier. This is what I came up with: Well, now you've got me thinking...what the hell was I referring to? I guess what I meant to say is that, regardless of your initial purpose when you started your blog, there is a certain pressure to produce once you get an audience. Having people read your stuff is an incentive to keep putting it out there, and whether we admit it or not, we want people to keep coming back to see if we wrote anything else worthwhile. Otherwise we would just keep our writing to ourselves, and maybe just save it for posterity on our hard drive. Once you begin writing to please others it becomes a task, and then the whole thing becomes more difficult. And trust me, whether you want to now or not, or whether your only purpose is to release your mental notes uninhibitedly, you will want people to read your blog.

About six months ago, some buddies and I planned a trip to go see Formula One's U.S. Grand Prix this June in Indianapolis. It actually falls on Father's Day. I've wanted to see one of these damned things for as long as I can remember. I figured I owe myself a little getaway because, Christ, I don't do a damn thing but work my ass off to take care of my family. It's hard for me to do anything else because my wife works at night, so I have to take care of my daughter. Which I love don't get me wrong, but I could use some release. Anyway, I reconciled the whole trip in my mind and decided I deserved it. My wife agreed. But what's wrong now? I feel like a total shit. I get two short, lousy weeks of vacation every year and I'm going to blow one of them on myself? I mean, what the hell does my daughter get out of this? I'm not being fair at all. Already I find myself frequenting the Disney World website, checking out hotel rates and availability. It

A question arose at the dinner table last night, while eating with family: Is it always necessary to say "you're welcome" after being thanked for something? My sister contends that in some situations, "no, I didn't request a thank you" and should therefore not feel forced to welcome it. It is the person receiving the service who is responsible for showing his or her appreciation, and the person who provides it should not be obligated to further indicate (many times falsely) that it was a pleasure to do, or at the very least not a bother. But I believe that every show of thanks or good will merits a response, or some sort of recognition. In the same way that salutes or hellos should be returned. It's basic courtesy. When I hold the door open for a woman, whether she be a stranger or not, I expect a thank you and I respond in kind when received. But many women take it as their god given right that men should be there, opening doors for them, and so ne