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It Comes To This
Time comes when a man realizes, truly and finally, that he will never do any of those things he’s kept in the footlocker of dreams in the back of his life’s closet. They call themselves the Chicks now, because they’re ashamed of the word “Dixie” and because they’re progressive and they’re on the right side of history. Mind you, they don’t have much of a career anymore, and they’ve never been introspective enough to take the blame for their Maines-inflicted fatal wound, but they were once very enjoyable. And the lyrics to this song are poignant and powerful. And tonight, the lyrics are personal. UPDATE — I replaced the video…
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May’s First Week
I took advantage of the mild, warm weather on Saturday and tackled a project I’ve long been delaying…cleaning out the small barn. I figured I’d get it done during the morning, and then use the afternoon to clean out and organize the old goat shed so I could use it as a firewood shed. Ah, the best-laid plans. The small barn took all day, and I have been paying for it ever since. While I slept the last two nights, some imp from below snuck into our home and poured ground glass into the base of my spine, along my shoulders, into the soles of my feet, and behind my…
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Long Walk Home
The day started with the usual routine: Jinx awakened me by sticking his nose into my ear and snorfeling and snarfeling around like a Texas javelina, we made coffee, fed the dogs, got showered and dressed. Off to work, and everything was calm until a few miles from my office. That’s when the car started vibrating, pitching and yawing. Oh, man, I thought. Flat tire. But I happened to glance down at the dashboard and saw the Check Engine light flashing on and off like a strobe light at Studio54 in 1978. I’m no mechanic, but I know enough to realize that when that particular light is blinking, it’s bad…
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Old Man In Winter
This morning the air is balmy and mild after a night of heavy rain. The temperature is supposed to rise to about 60F today, which will be a nice break from the grip of cold. A nice break for my joints, as it were. When I opened the door a while ago to let Jinx out, I could smell a skunk on the air, and I hoped that Jinx would not find the aroma delightful and decide to go investigate further. I have recently spent much time thinking about my life and what remains of it. Sometimes the plainest facts elude us until one day when they come home with…
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Fall’s Beginning
Yesterday I turned a corner of sorts. I had to begin using a cane while on my walks with Jinx. I usually carry a stick or a bokken (wooden sword) in case we encounter any less-than-friendly creatures on our rambles. But age and arthritis and the changing weather seized up all my joints yesterday, and I moved slowly all through my day’s duties, and when the evening had come and it was time to go exploring with the spotted menace, I needed something to actually lean on. The cane was one I bought one day in an antique store. I wonder who the original owner was? I wonder if the…
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A Capital Spring Day
Rarely have I seen a season on this spinning earth make its entrance with such perfect, almost stereotypical grandeur. Yesterday was gray and raw and sparse, the birds and beasts and even the rocks themselves seeming to flee from the scudding clouds, riding the wind. The night came, and all was silent. And then this morning, it had all changed. Remarkably warm, the day began in the dark with the birds gathered in a holy choir loft that very much resembled a bowl of trees and fences. They sang the sun into the sky, and they spent the day announcing their joy, their intentions, their meditations, their feathered vocations. When…
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Aches And Pains
Sometimes I feel ancient. When I do, I look over at the little Texas girl I married, and I remember, and it all softens down into gratitude and the fullness of life that only comes with quiet ruminations, heads close together, shared sighs, shared tears, shared worries, conversations without human speech. We’re together. And for me, together is enough, because even death will see us holding on with the grip of love. Of love. ~ S.K. Orr
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Farewell, Miss Barbara
I stopped at the grocery store on the way home yesterday to pick up a couple of things. The store, part of a small, local chain, sits at the foot of a mountain next to a bank, a gas station, and a fast food joint. The adjoining mountain is part of the store’s charm; in all weathers, the sheer slope with its trees and crags rises up in a dramatic sweep when one steps out of the store to return to one’s vehicle. The mountain looks almost like a dormant volcano, with its near-perfect cone shape and its accompanying sense of looming and watching. Waiting. Patient as a jove. When…
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The Unquiet Mind
This morning’s lectio divina reading highlighted this verse: The things that thou hast not gathered in thy youth, how shalt thou find them in thy old age? Ecclesiasticus 25:5, Douay-Rheims version Thinking through the implications of the question, my mind is unquiet. How shall I find those things I neglected in greener years? And how many of those things are there? ~ S.K. Orr