THANK YOU, YAHOO

July 23, 2006
THANK YOU YAHOO

Yesterday, my computer started acting goofy; e-mail was not being sent with usual cyber-speed, I kept getting signed off and logging on repeatedly, and most functions were slowed down to a crawl. The computer's a bit dated, having only 12.63 Gigs, and my musical files taking up 98 percent of its capacity, I figured that I had too much stuff jammed into the poor thing, so I started deleting some music files, but the situation worsened. I went into the control panel, and did a disk cleanup, but things did not change. I logged off from everything, and ran a virus sweep, even though I had just run one earlier in the week, but alas, no cigar. I ran a disk defragmanet analysis, but was informed that it was not imperitave to run that. I re-booted the modem, and the computer several times, meanwhile, my blood pressure stepped up a bit. I prayed over it, but got cut off all together. My side toolbar was giving the weather in Honolulu, then Hong Kong, and I knew something was really wrong! Finally, I dug out my Verizon-Yahoo files from the notes I filed when I signed up for DSL, and found the telephone number for tech support, and called. I was put through all the automated paces, and then on hold waiting for a real human being to walk me through the calamity. I was informed that due to high volume of calls in at the time, to call back later. Stubbornly, I kept calling, talking to the automated voices, and waiting, and getting hung up on. Eventually, I got through to a real voice. I asked him how the weather was in India, but he did not make any small talk with me. I followed his walk-through instructions, and only then did he inform me that Yahoo was having trouble with the system! Why didn't he tell me in the first place? I turned off the computer, and picked up a book, and tried to relax. Each hour, I tried to get on line, but with no luck. Finally, I went to bed. This morning, all systems were fixed, and no more weather reports from Honolulu, or Hong Kong. Instead, I was greeted by the current news headlines:
Israeli jets targeting Hezbollah strongholds, Palestinians fire rockets at Israel, 33 killed in suicide bomb attacks, Fla. family die in murder suicide, 33 killed in Iraq by suicide bombers,US military urged abuse in Iraq, and Episcopal Bishop in Ark. OK's gay blessings.
Thank you, Yahoo for separating me yesterday from all the terrible news sweeping our world. Thank you for the e-mails I did not receive from friends who let me down this week, and thanks for the good nights sleep I got from the ignorance of the tragedies.

HOLD ME JESUS FOR I AM WEAK

Hold me Jesus for I am weak
I hunger for your presence
Seeking the rock to plant my feet
How glorious, my Savoir

Wrap me in your warming cloak
I'm shivering outside it
Only you wash clean my stains
My precious God, my Savoir

Camping Comfort

CREATE A BETTER RAIN FLY FOR CAMPING

Anyone who camps knows what its like to get rained on especially if everything gets wet! Here's a handy tip for modifying a tarp to serve as a foul weather rain fly as well as a fair weather shade. For years, I used an ordinary tarp, tied to trees for a canopy over my campsite. I used to tie the four corners of the tarp off to nearby trees. No problem, as long as the weather remains fair. But when Mother Nature decides to throw a curve ball at you (usually in the middle of the night) the above mentioned tactic may not keep the rain and wind at bay. We all want to get out there and enjoy all nature has to offer, but when everything gets wet, the mood changes pretty quickly. Now, its no fun. In some cases, the average family may decide to pack it up and retreat. I managed to camp for a few years, using my old method of setting camp without mishap. But, one year, the rains came, the winds whipped, forcing me from my tent in the dark to try to tie things down better in the dark. My camp site got soaked, my tarp tattered, and my patience tried. Nothing was protected, and in the end, my stove would not light, my sleeping bag, soaked, tent flooded................
Here's a better way; cheap and easy.Get a tarp of decent quality, 10 X 10, 12 X 12, or so. This is enough room to make camp for a small party to keep dry under. Get a grommet kit. They are pretty cheap, and with a little practice, not hard to use. Spread out your tarp. The idea is to add a grommet inbetween all the existing ones in the tarp, doubling up on the number of grommets. In the middle of the tarp, the idea is to secure a flexible bungie strap to a thick leather patch, and sew and glue it to the center, creating a waterproof seal, and strong bind.
Select your camp site, and using nearby trees, secure two parallel lines to the trees with 1/4 inch line on each side of the fly area. If the trees are not exactly in the immediate area, use larger line to go the extra distance. Next, using thin line such as parachute cord, cut 12" strips, and tie them with a simple knot through each grommet. Begin tying the fly to the tree lines. At each corner, run the parachute cord around the tree line, and wrap each end in opposite directions around the line two or three times, and secure the ends with a simple shoe-tie bow knot. By wrapping the lines as I mentioned, the corners will not slide along the line. Once the four corners are secured, simply tie the remaining grommet lines to the tree lines using the bow knot, just as you tie your shoes. By placement of the tree lines at suitable angles, you can create a fly with some pitch to allow for rain runoff. Next run a third line in the vicinity of the center of the fly to attach your center bungie strap, thus creating a center peak in the fly. By adjusting the tension of the center cord, you can achieve the proper pitch to end up with a nice tight, windproof , waterproof canopy to set camp under. You should have enough room for your tent, a fire at one end, and you are apt to enjoy your camp in both sunny and rainy weather.

Iraqi Civilian Death Toll

I just read the civilian death toll in Iraq. The first six months out of this year, 14,338 civilians were murdered. I'll put this in easy perspective, that would be enough to fill 14 1/3 of ships like the one pictured above. That would be the passengers on 261 Greyhound busses. that would be more people than would fit in our Blue Cross Arena, here in Rochester, NY. My, we are doing such a wonderful job over there, creating Democracy. Just may and June alone, nearly 6,000 people have died. And that's only a rough estimate, for many deaths go unreported. I haven't looked at how many US soldiers have been fed into the sacrificial fires; thats too depressing. And then there is Israel, and Lebanon. There was an old Star Trek episode, where on some planet, they had no wars. Instead, they had a lottery system, and picked people at random to be euthanized. They simply sacrificed people, no bombs, no guns, no beheading, just organized euthanazation. I just don't get it!!!

SICK OR WHAT?

I read this fact inside the cap of a bottle of lemonade:"Real Fact # 368
In 2003, a six year old girl from Naples, Fla. was ticketed for not having a permit for her lemonade stand.
Now, I ask you, Whats up with that? How sick and ridiculous are we going to become before we come to our senses?

High School Youth Conference/Steubenville 2006

I thought I'd post more pics of "Unchanging" Teen Youth Conference I attended with our Youth Group this weekend. My testimony can be found following this Photo Display!

I figured my el-cheapo camera (or any for that matter) was not going to capture the immensity of this event! Ya just had to see it with your own eyes in person!

Its nice to know that in this world of sex on TV, drive-by shootings, internet porn, Major World-Wide violence, pre-marital promiscuity, and corruption to the highest degree (at the highest levels) that still, great masses of people (including our next generation) are getting together to praise, worship, and adore he that is soon to come to judge the living and the dead. Are YOU still gambling with your eternity?

God's Unchanging Love

I just got in from a Youth Conference at Franciscan University of Steubenville, Ohio, where I helped chaperone teens from the Parish in Rochester, NY, where I play guitar in the band each week for Life Teen services. Life Teen is exactly what the name implies; church services geared specificity for our younger next generation. Life Teen is a Catholic nationwide movement, and Church of Annunciation has been sponsoring almost two years now.
This year the Youth Conference's theme was titled "Unchanging" a very well described theme describing God's unchanging and unconditional love for us. The exact attendance figures, I am not sure of, but my estimate is at least 2500 people; anotherwords---Big!!
Our busload from Rochester totaled 54 teens and adult chaperones. We left Rochester, Friday morning, arriving in Stuebinville, checking into a local school nearby serving as a dorm , bedding us down that weekend. We all dropped our gear off, and boarded our bus to the Franciscan University, and joined the endless appearing crowds gathering there. Bus after countless bus pulled up and unloaded teens (and chaperones) from all over the country and Canada.
The first Friday night event was an eye opener to say the least, but I was informed it was merely a prelude to the Saturday event culminating in the evening. Between the early start for me, the long bus ride, and hitting the ground at a run in Steubenville, by the time we got bussed back to out dorm, late Friday night, my eyes snapped shut at the instant my head hit the pillow. My other two chaperones with me kidded me all the next day about how fast I fell asleep! Our accommodations were a hard gym floor, a sleeping bag, and my flannel shirt, my pillow. There must have been over 200 kids sharing the gym with me! The morning brought a nice shower, and thank God for Starbucks coffee to pump me up for the upcoming schedule that first full day on campus.
The morning sessions included praise and worship, followed by mass, then a men's (as well as women's) seperate workshop sessions for us, lunch, then our choice of various workshops offered to us. Later that afternoon, there was a chaperone's workshop to "prepare" us for what would take place later that evening. We were nicely informed about the night events, and how the young people were vulnerable to emotional break-downs from the excitement they would experience. We were made aware of things like hyper-ventilating, hysteria, uncontrollable laughter, etc. which may occur in some when things got under way.
I must admit a tiny bit of selfishness on my part as to my chaperone role. You see, already, I was becoming overloaded with the holy spirit myself, even before the "Main Event". After that workshop, I stayed there in the chapel to pray. A guy was playing guitar and some were singing with him, while Father "J" offered prayer. I moved up to the front pew, and started singing with everyone, but soon, choked up, and tears started pouring out in spite of me in the midst of all these strangers. Time stopped for me, as I prayed, sobbed, sang, prayed........ I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was one of other chaperones sent to drag me out of the chapel, for dinner was underway, and scheduling was tight.I almost did not go; I was in the spirit totally. I left the chapel, and tried to eat, but couldn't. I guess I was full from the prayer and worship that seemed more natural than physically eating food. Than, it was time to get to the Main Event of the weekend. Even though I had just attended the chaperone's workshop and knew we all were in for an emotional evening, I still was not prepared for what came next.
The Finnigan's Fieldhouse was packed to the seams, the electricity was just about visible in the thick air, the teens were revved as if they were at a major rock concert. The event, titled "The unchanging power of the Holy Spirit" got into full swing, the band was rocking the house, and by the time they rolled into Eucharistic Adoration, sure enough, as predicted, kids started to freak out in all the ways they described earlier. I found myself on my knees, my arms reaching for the sky, the tears streaming down my face, moved like never before. Physically, I must not have been there to feel my knee-caps becoming one with the hard floor, or my arms sky-high for time out of reckoning. A friend had slipped a soft kneeling cushion under my knees, but I still couldn't feel the fatigue from my raised arms so long. Nothing mattered except worship and adoration. Slowly, I realized that my hysteria was quelched, and the adoration was more intense than ever. To exactly recall what took place inside me would be impossible to describe, but I felt a calmness amist the loud surroundings, no more uncontrollable emotions; but the most definitive awareness where everything became so crystal clear in my brain, as if gazing through a high powered telescope image but with my naked eyes. I knew then that I would make some life-altering changes in my life, starting then. I knew then, that my hunger for the Lord's presence had magnified to the power of 10 if not, 100. I stumbled out of there knowing changes had taken place; boy had they! We gathered up our group, and talked about our experiences that night. I was startled at how a couple of the teens who seemed disconnected before, were now talking with amazing clarity and relevance. Later that night when we got back to our rock hard "beds" I think I konked out even before my head hit my flannel shirt pillow!
At mass the next morning, I found myself moving to the front of the alter when asked if anyone was considering giving their life to the Lord. Like Father Stan said, it was not yet the exact time to get measured for my frock, but I knew a change had come, decisions made, and a conviction to give the future up to the will of Jesus. I know not what doors will be opened for me, or when, but I stand at the brink of a proverbial cliff, toes on the edge, waiting to plunge. I may back up a bit, and re-approached the cliff, many times before I jump, but when I am clearer on what God's will is, it will be done.

In the Navy (cont)

So, twenty years old, away from home for the first time, newly-wed, baby daughter, and new in the Navy, all the last six months of 1968. Wow, talk about an adventure a minute! A lot of new things to get used to, including the absence of my beloved moustache. Eventually, I managed to slip that back on my upper lip.
I went to Great Lakes, Ill. for bootcamp, Storekeeper A School in Newport, RI, and my first real duty station, the USS Sierra AD-18. It was home ported in Norfolk, Va. Legend has it that I took the last commercial prop plane flight from Rochester NY to Norfolk, but don't hold me to that one! There must have been buses at the airport, out of reckoning now, but when I walked down that pier, and looked up at this huge 530 foot long monstrosity, I was spellbound. I felt like an ant on the pier under the shadow of the mighty Sierra. I didn't really know where to look first; there were ships everywhere, many moored outboard my ship. My first vision of a submarine, and and aircraft carrier, and even from far away, that baby was huge.
I felt dwarfed under the load of my virgin seabag, as I reported aboard, a mixture of excitement, apprehension, and elation, cursing through my body. Up the gangplank I went, approaching the duty officer, I snapped a salute, and croaked out" Seaman recruit Gelo, reporting for duty, Sir" the salute was returned, and a pair of twinkling eyes peer out from a pair of bushy eyebrows, and the officer said " Ah yes, Jello, is it? We've been expecting you!" The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of activity, as I got settled in and shown around my new floating home for the next couple years. By dinner time, my heart had resumed occupation of my chest once again, and my jitters gave way to seconds in the mess line, which seemed to amuse the commissary personal. The food was passable, plentiful, and my new life began to take form as my first day came to a close.

Sicilian Crusty Treats

Minulates, Milulates, who can say for sure how its spelled or pronounced, all of the old Italians close to me are gone; but what it means is crusty personal-sized rolls baked with pork, onions, and spices. Oh the flavor, is truly indescribable!! I have only encountered two other non-relatives in my life that made this tasty Sicilian treat. Heres how to make them........

The Bread Dough: Get good ingredients, and you'll get good for a king results! I use white
unbleached, un-everything but flour! Start with a couple cups of warm water
and yeast, 1-2 packs. Warm water means you can run your arm under it,
and not get burned. Stir the yeast in, and give it 10 minutes or so to "wake
up." Add a little salt, less than a tablespoon, and start adding flour, small
amounts at a time, stirring, stirring. I add about 1/2 cup in at a time. Keep
adding and mixing the flour, till the mixture is too hard to stir with your spoon.
The Kneading: On a floured board, dump out the flour mix, and season your hands with
flour. Add small amounts of flour to the mix, and gently start mixing it in
with your floured hands. It will be sticky at first. Keep adding a little flour, and
mix, and turn constantly, into a ball. Replenish the flour on the board as you
go. When the stickiness is gone, the dough should be workable, but tacky.
Using the butt of your palm of your hands, start punching or kneading the
ball of soft dough. As it flattens out in front of you, fold it in half, sprinkle
a bit more flour, turn 1/2 turn sideways, and keep kneading. Do this for about
10 minutes until the ball is consistently satiny smooth as a baby's behind.
Grease a bowl, cover with a tea towel, and let rest in a warm area till doubled
in bulk. 1 1/2 -2 hours is about right for white flour.
The Onions: Peel and cut about 1 pound of plain ole onions, and saute in olive oil till soft
and yellowy. Use the regular olive oil, not extra virgin; that tends to burn faster
Set the onions with the left-over oil in a bowl to cool.
The Pork Butt: At the store, seek out a pork butt roast, as fatty as you can find, and small.
Ask the meat guy (or gal) to course grind. Generally, the blade they use for
sausage.
The Assembly: Get the oven pre-heating at 375, get your risen dough back onto a floured
board, and again, sprinkle with flour some, and punch down and knead a
minute. Start rolling out the ball with your hands, then the rolling pin. Roll
to the likeness of thick pizza crust. Rub olive oil lightly all over the top, and
begin to sprinkle the ground pork butt over the top. You don't need to cover
every nano-inch. Come back around and add the onion, again not too thick.
Now for grated cheese; Romano, or Parm, or combo; get the good stuff!
sprinkle the cheese over everything, and follow up with fresh ground black
pepper. Now pretend you're cutting a pizza, and slice the dough up into
pizza slices. Take the narrower end, and roll up into a roll, and shape.
Grease lightly a cooking sheet, and sprinkle yellow corn meal and lightly
spread evenly. Place your milu's on the sheet, and into your nice hot 375
oven for about 45 minutes. They should get nice and crusty golden brown.
The Finish: No shortening goes in the dough, for the pork butt is adding that. The oven
must be nice and hot; you are cooking the raw pork butt into the roll. Do
not pre-cook the pork; It is ground, and will cook nicely flavoring the roll
as it cooks! You'll most likely have enough pork butt to do another batch.
I still cant make up my mind whether or not its best hot from the oven, or
cold the next day. One usually makes a meal for me! No advice on keeping
the left-overs; It has never lasted more than a couple of days here!

The Era of the MG

The Era of the MG
The third car I ever had (They did not last forever back then!) was a 1957 MGA. Made in England by Morris Garage, the "A" Model was a sleek modern design breaking away from the TA, TC, TD, and TF Models with the bigger rounder fenders and wood frames. They made the Roadster convertible, and the Hardtop Coupe, both two-seater models. It sat low in spite of the 15" wire wheels, and when seated in the driver's seat, you were looking through the steering wheel rather than over it, to give an idea of the feel of it. I found mine used (of course) in a garage in a run-down inner city neighborhood in Rochester, NY. The whole convertible top, frame and all was gone, and of course, it wouldn't start! The guy let my friend Lonnie and I hook a rope to it and tow it up and down his neighborhood to try to jump-start it, but nothin. I don't honestly remember what I paid for it, but negociated "something-something" with the tow rope still tied in place. In those days, there were no expressways, which is most assuredly just as well, knowing my young mentality-one speed only-Full! Anyways, we headed for home, about 25 miles east of Rochester, with myself towing the MG and my buddy, Lonnie steering and braking from the lifeless sports car. unbenounced to me, Lonnie put the MG in third or fourth gear and the ignition turned on. About halfway home in the four corners of Webster, the ground shook from a resounding backfire, and as I glanced in my rearview mirror, Lonnie and the MG disappeared in a cloud of dense black smoke! Even before the smoke cleared, I heard the distinctive clatter of an engine running in spite of missfireing, and stinky old gas. The smoke cleared reviling Lonnie grinning from ear to ear, gently feathering the gas to keep it going. Wow, the engine was running, but only on three cylinders out of the four. Now, he kept the car in neutral, letting the engine idle, and we towed it the rest of the way home. It turned out to have a cracked head. The local junk yard in Ontario had a used head, and I was up on four cylinders. With the two carbs fine- tuned, it was the snappiest thing I had ever driven. I realized the starter did not turn, the first time I shut it off. I parked it on hills to roll down and jump start it after that. One day, I noticed a crank hole beneath the grillwork. I found a blacksmith to fabricate a crank handle. You can imagine the double-takes I got from observers when I got out there with my crank! It didn't matter that water splashed in from holes in the floorpans, or that the gas tank weeped a bit, I was driving something other than all the other Fords, Chevys, and Plymouths. The Lucas electrical system was a corroded nightmare, and the suspension was probably struggling beyond its life expectancy, judging by the vigor my girlfriend bounced off the seat when we encountered bumps! And yes, I got caught out in the rain many a time with the top down, because as I forementioned, the top was missing to begin with. It did have a tonoue cover, which covered the seats, and snapped up to the dashboard. Then there was assimilating the proper lingo that came with the British autos. The hood did not cover the engine, but was really the top! The generator was the dynamo, and you could probably guess what the windscreen was. Wrenches were spanners, and on and on! To fight the winter cold, I would bring the bottom cushion of the seat in the house and warm it over a heat vent. By removing the defroster hoses, I had extra heat blowing at my lap. The doors only had an inside handle, and the windows, or "side curtains" slid into the door top on two posts, and were made out of thin plastic of some kind. The years had diss-colored the transperincey of the material, making it hard to see out of to say the least, but with no top on the car, I hardly ever used the side curtains. The electrical system was 12 volts, however, it utilized two 6 volt batteries linked in series, and straddling the propeller shaft under the vehicle. Eventually, I located a working starter, and the crank got retired to the "boot" (trunk) Under the "bonnet" was a snappy four cylinder OHV engine capable of 1500 CC, two SU down-draft carbs, and a compression ratio wanting for high octane gas.
I wasn't the only one getting into foreign sports cars, many of my buddies from high school got equally, worn out, rusty, but indescribable fun. There was another 57 MGA, like mine, a 61 MGA MKII with overhead cam, a 57 Triumph TR3, a 56 Jaguar XK-140, a beautiful 56 Porsche, and lets not forget my buddy Mark's Alfa Romaro!
Ahh, the life of open roads, and cheap gas!!!

The Life and Times of Herbie

The Life and Times of "Herbie"

Ahh......Herbie; Where do I start? Well, Herbie is a Snapper riding lawn mower from the late sixties-early 70's. No one remembers anymore; we're all too old! And as I talk about him, the legend continues to roll and build!
Why write about a stupid lawn-mower? As an American, I've been programmed to believe that the lawn must be mowed each week during the growing season. My brother-in-law bought a new house in 1967, and soon afterward, the lawn-mower from the "farm" musta gave out, and Herbie came on the scene. My sister's kids were young, then, and affectionately named the new lawn-mower " Herbie".
Herbie's main task was to mow the nice, new, flat, suburban, grub-free, fertilized green lawn at the new house in the Rochester, NY suburban neighborhood in Penfield, NY. No big deal for a new lawn-mower.
Well, Herbie continued to mow the lawn in Penfield, for the next 28 years! I was living with my sister and bro-in-law at the time. When the time came for me to move on, Herbie was a token parting gift from my brother-in-law, to aid my re-location to an old farm-house in Palmyra, NY, where Herbie and I moved in. The house was in what I'll call "whats left of the country in upstate New :York". My landlady's property came with about 8 acres of land, but her lawn is probably way over and acre. We can break it down into about four separate lawns.
When I moved in,. most of the four lawns hadn't been mowed in time out of reckoning. The first section I picked to mow, the weeds stood about chest level to me. Sitiing on the seat of Herbie, it was about eye level. Starting out in 2nd gear, (1st was useless in those tall weeds!) I moved ahead, the mowing deck as high as it would go. Inch ahead, till the mowing deck was overwhelmed, and put the clutch in, stop, let the engine pick up RPM's, maybe back up, and get fresh start, and plunge ahead at a crawl. I really couldn't believe I was actually plowing through this stuff!
Things went OK till I plunged into "something", under all the over-growth. Something, turned out to be a pile of telephone poles, laying on the "lawn". When I hit the poles, poor Herbie stalled out. I climbed off, and pulled him back from the weeks for inspection. One edge of the mowing deck had bent, and broke away leaving jagged metal protruding out. I lifted the front end up, and stood Herbie on his end. The brake assembley was a twisted convoluted mess. I cut the cable, and pulled the brake shoes off the axle, and from then on, Herbie was "brakeless". I straightened out the twisted, rusty shards on the side of the mowing deck, and pulled the starter rope. Herbie sprang into action, in a blue cloud of smoke! Re-engaging the blade, I continued mowing.
He continued running, with many break-downs, but refused to stop. this has been going on for seven years. At the present time, Herbie's sporten a new disc drive plate, a new V belt for the mowing deck, and a new shear pin in the right rear axle hub.
All I've got to say is Snapper made one heck of a machine back then!!!

Alone

June 2006


Alone
How long have I been alone? 15, 16 years? I suppose I could investigate the matter by looking through old checkbook registers; they're always a wealth of information. Funny, the exact year is unknown to me, yet the pain seems as acute as yesterday. Like old wounds; they heal. but the pain never really goes away. The exact dates and times are only an oblique distorted images, fuzzy on the fringes, but unwilling to exit my mind, as if woven tightly into the brain tissue, double-stitched, permanently epoxied, never to separate from the memory banks without ripping out my brain tissue with it. I suppose a lobotomy would take care of it. Do I feel any love for her any longer? I think not. She appears in dreams now and again, but very cleverly hides her face, never looking into my eyes, never talking to me, but there in a brief embrace for a split instant, then vaporizing before my bewildered eyes. Like this morning at 2:00. I awake, my feet twisted and entwined by the sheets, a cold sweat permeating my body, and that familiar pain, never looked for, but none the less making its cameo appearance all the same. They say time heals all, but that of course is just not true. Is it because the pain is as a mutating virus, continually changing its structure omnipotent to any antibiotics, or a cancer that is so ingrained in the soul that it will never be cut out, or eradicated?

Visions of childhood

I must strain hard to define what my young eyes saw in my infantile days. The inside of the house on Rosewood Terrace; I only remember patches of wallpaper, the beautiful dark trim wood inside that I now know as gumwood. The tall ceilings, and dad using a ladder to trim the upper stretches of the Christmas tree. There was a stack of firewood along side the garage, and to me it was a stagecoach. I would sit on top up front, and a team of imaginary horses would dash me off to distant places that opened up to my senses. The inside of the small garage, with the smell of old wood, cobwebs, dad's tools hanging here and there, and on the inside wood framework makeshift shelves. Everything seemed terribly old, the tools, flashlight, oil cans. Tobacco tins holding nails and such. I seemed to be witnessing the ushering out of an era. Watching the rag man come down the street with horse and wagon, the delivery of milk to the box built into the side of the house, and walking to the Italian deli down the street. Even outside the door, the aroma of the hanging cheeses and meats would arrest your senses, as I gazed round the counters with their huge jars of olives, and cans of olive oil.
I know I walked to school, but I don't recall the route, or the first school at all. By the time I hit the second grade, we moved from the city proper of Rochester, NY, to Irondequoit, less than three miles I guess. We moved in the middle of the school year, and they could not fit me into the closest school to us. The next school was not that much farther, but It sure seemed like it when you are six years old! There was the issue of crossing the busy Empire Blvd. to get home, and my grandfather would be waiting there sometimes, and help me with the crossing. He spoke no English, and I very little Italian, but somehow, we managed to live with each other for years. He smoked those Italian crooked cigars, which burned with a silvery ash, and gargled with a shot of whiskey, each night before bed. He loved to garden in the warm weather, and had managed to bring a few fig trees from Italy, which he wrapped in burlap each year, and buried to protect them from our harsh NY winters.
My neighborhood was at the top of a big hill which lead down to Irondequoit Bay. It was heaven tramping through those little woods leading down, and surrounding the bay. There was so much to see and hear; the turtles, sunning themselves on logs, dragonfly, flitting and hovering around the water, the red wing blackbirds, perched in the tall reeds of the bay, finding paths and learning their secrets. There was an indescribable allure to those wood and water lands, that has been re-enforced and continually instilled throughout my life.
About the same time I was living in Irondequoit, my uncle Jimmy bought a plot of land right on Lake Ontario, several miles east of Rochester. At the time, this was only farm lands and orchards. There were no expressways, and the drive there took forever (especially to an impatient little rug rat wanting to get his feet in the lake) He started building what turned out to be quite a magnificent cottage. When the shell of the dwelling was up, we started spending the weekends there, while the construction continued. It was sorta roughing it for a while, but I was in my glory, with lots of room to run, and one of the Great Lakes lapping at our doorstep. It was outdoors heaven.
To try to convey proper perspective on how simpler the times were 50 years ago, I was allowed to take the bus downtown by my self at age 8-12. The trip included a swim or other activities at the YMCA, and a stroll down Main St. window shopping, a soda at the Five & Dime store, lots of people watching. And then there was the music stores. I was beyond fascinated by all the instruments, and overwhelmingly disappointed when the clerks would not let me touch anything!
I was drawn to the showier things like drums, the hardware gleaming, the cymbals so shimmerry, the big bass fiddle (which I took up) but as I was young, so was the newest musical craze, rock n roll. The guitar invoked feelings and emotions that words will not convey properly, so lets just say, I lived, dreamed, and craved a guitar. Nothing, I mean nothing had any significance close to the compelling drive to play. At 10 years old, I celebrated my communion, and a little party and some gifts ensued. Someone had given me a twenty-dollar bill; all in one piece! I'll bet a dollar to a doughnut, that my mother had intension of putting the $ 20.00 in savings or something to steer me in that direction, but I must have ducked, and weaved, and even my ten year old resources led me to a used guitar for $ 20.00. Oh the joy. Of course, the mere procurement of the instrument only gave way to the self evidence that I had no idea what to do with it, and in fact handled it upside-down for some time! I had no direction, no instruction whatsoever on even tuning it. I was devastated when the high E string broke ( a common calamity, I learned later) That put me at my father's mercy to take me to procure a replacement string. Only the Lord knows how much I appealed to him, but eventually, we went to an appliance store that sold guitar strings, and I got my first glimpse of a paper envelope with Black Diamond printed on the front, and the shiny steel string revealed under the flap. The next hurdle was putting the string on and tuning it. Of course, not knowing how to allow for some slack and a few turns around the gear post, when I cinched the string up and started to tune it, it broke with a resounding pop, and half of the thing slapped me in the face! My disappointment knew no boundaries, and mortified, I realized that I had to notify dad of the developments.
I struggled along for the first two years, with no real knowledge, only hit and miss, when I procured a book from somewhere. I don't really intend to say that I remember, but after that, I seemed to inhale the knowledge, and the secrets were presented as more self evident. I still had no formal training, but once in a while, I would "stumble" across something that would take me to the next level. The biggest revelation was having a basic chord book depicting the fingerings for chords. One day, I must have made the realization that the chords A, B, C, D, E, and G, had distinctive fingerings. They were all formed at the end of the neck, or the first three frets. I was curious as to how I could play those fingerings farther up the neck scale, with any logical conclusion. I discovered that by fingering the same chords using fingers that would keep my first or index finger free to "trail" behind the others, and sliding up the neck, I was forming the same chords anywhere I wanted to, and the same fingerings produced different chords depending on which fret I started out on. That realization, put me into outer space! In one day, it seemed,. I found paths never explored before, and I was playing something meaningful.

Gone Paddling

The Blog is closed for the day; Gone Paddling!
To be among the orioles, kingfisher, and heron
Reflect, meditate, pray, and pull at the water. Yes, dragonflies, I'm coming. Oh how the willows and ripples beckon, as God makes known his supreme majesty.

Where does the time go?

June 28, 1968 The day I married my first wife. Today would be our anniversary. 38 years. Wow, where DOES the time go? And why am I even aware that it is this day? We were married 11 years, I haven't seen or heard from her in 27 years. Yet this morning, as I glanced up at the calendar, the day still stood out in my mind. Would I even recognize her, should I chance to run into her? Will she remember today, or even reflect on our past life, the kids whom she never has seen since they were children. Will she understand how she ripped all of our lives to smithereens with her abandonment? Does she feel even a twinge of guilt for her actions? Does she not wonder what the kids grew up to become, and their kids? These burning questions I'm sure I'll take to my grave.

Volkswagen Car for the People

Ahh, the Volkswagen! Car for the people; it was my first car, a 1961, faded red, upstate New York rust, no heat to speak of, dim 6 volt headlights, fun beyond my teenage imagination! First conception was in 1932, by Ferdinand Porsche, the dad of VW. Actual production began in 1945, and a whopping 1,785 "beetles" were built. In 49, the same year the convertible model was introduced, two VW's were sold in the USA! They were very simplistic cars, not even having Hydraulic brakes until 1950. I still have today, Chilton's Repair & Tune-Up Guide, covering ALL TYPES AND MODELS from 1949-1968. Mostly, I relied on a book called "How to keep your Volkswagen alive, or The Complete Idiot's Manual" I wish I still had that one. It was written by a laid-back hippie in Calif. and got me from emergencey side of the road repairs, to complete engine overhaul. This guy assumed you did not know left from right, and took you from there, in a witty, understandable, calming persona. The above photo, shows my favorite of all my VW's, a 67 convertible. No, the feet sticking out of the engine compartment was no joke; I was replacing the Transaxle. I could write a book about my travels and adventures in that baby! They say those babies would float, but of course that would be assuming the floorpan was not rusted, and all the door seals were still in place, which I certainly could not attest to! But it was forgiving, peppy, cheap to run, easy to fix, and best of all MAXIMUM FUN TO DRIVE!!! Even pedal to the metal (I was young!) jack-rabbit starts, and pushing it into the curves, it got way over 30 MPG on its worst day, but who kept that close a track with gas being less than 30 cents @ gal. With the back seat folded down, the stowage capacity was deceiving, but with the top down on the way to Virginia Beach, the radio cranked, kids in back, cooler in trunk, we did the weekly pilgrimage to the ocean in style! When a freak snowstorm hit Virginia Beach, dumping 18 inches in 6 hours, my VW was one of the very few navigating the roads with its light imprint and rear-engine traction. And ya had to love the horn! As long as you kept a check on the oil, and fanbelt tension, changed the points (or filed them in a pinch) you were good to go till the cows came home. All in all, I ended up owning two "Beetles" and a Camper with screened in, curtained windows, AC/DC fridge, bed, closets, and yes, even the kitchen sink!

Ahh, memories of a bygone generation.

In The Navy

St Valentines Day, 1968 Off to take my physical for the Navy! Let the games begin. The weather was horrid by any standards, but I managed to plow my 57 MGA through all the snow drifts in the upstate NY country roads to catch my bus to start my long new adventure in life. The Vietnam "conflict" was of course in full swing, but at 18 years old, its just as well that all the implications did not sink in. Anyways, I was drafted, and would have gone into the Army, via personal invite from my buddy Richard M. Nixon.
On April Fools Day, I caught a train from Rochester to Buffalo, repeating my oath back to the recruitment officer, the train rocking back and forth, and creeping slowly west, my past life slipping away at one quarter impulse power. Reaching Buffalo, all a blur now, I somehow got on a airplane to Chicago, my first of many flights to unknown destinations!
A train in Chicago (faster than the one to Buffalo) propelled me to Great Lakes, Ill. where a bus was waiting, a guy screaming everything at me from then on. I think by the time I got to Boot Camp, I realized that all I had to do was listen, and act like I was enjoying myself, and I fit in fine. Thus beginning my new career in Drill Company 5920. Oh Boy!!!

Summer of 65

I found the 66 Yearbook from Wayne Central High, in Ontario NY, where I grew up. This was my senior photo, taken the summer of 1965. I think it was the best time of my entire life. See the photo caption? "A real wild child"

What that meant, was I played guitar, had a band, wore my sweatshirt inside-out on occasion, two different colored sox (Mostly from dressing for school in the dark wintry morns) and was more inclined to set the trend, rather than follow it. Of course, back then, if you sang "Louie Louie", you were under immediate suspicion, anyway. "A Real Wild Child"

Youd'a thought I was a trouble maker, if one was to mark my "visits" to the principal's office! In fact, I've never even been in a fight in my life. I never stole or vandalized anyone's stuff. Maybe my open smile gave way to that Eddie Haskel aura, only I really meant it! Luckily, between the school nurse living across the street, and giving guitar lessons to the gym teacher's son, I managed to keep my teenage head above the proverbial drink, though there were a fair amount of "threats" of expulsion.

The summer of 65, I managed to have a few bucks in my pockets, from guitar lessons, I didn't have a car yet, or any expenses, no real responsibilities, two long legs to carry me, a beautiful girlfriend (or two) and the living was easy. Louis Armsrtong had knocked the Beatles off the Billboard no 1 place for a couple weeks with "Hello Dolly", but I was inhaling the Beatles, and could care less about Satchmo (at the time).

My sister had a little basket shop, complete with a Coke machine outside. It served short cold little bottles of Coke, Tab, and Fressca for a dime. The ole Coke machine was the normal meeting place and jump-off point for my other "wild" friends. None of us legally "drove", but growing up in the country, we all had a vehicle or two at our disposal. We had a 1948 Oliver tractor, but my first choice of cool, was a 1953 Ford Pickup, with the doors removed, every nano-inch of the body telling a story of my early driving escapades, and the affectionate name of "The Beetle" (This had nothing to do with the band, The Beatles)

When I think back on how our parents gave us kids a pretty wide berth, I guess I have to realize how simpler things were back then. We left our ignition keys in all the vehicles, hitchhiking, was fairly common place, though we spent many a late night, walking down Lake Rd. From a dance at Sodus Point Beach House, with no cars coming by at all. A few of those walking sessions and there wasn't anything that my buddy Tom & I didn't know bout each other.

I was picking up guitar pretty quickly, and taught Tom as I learned along. It wasn't too long, and we were playing parties, school dances, and the legend Hall. We both plugged out guitars into an old "hand-me down" guitar amp. Later, someone donated a microphone (also plugged into the same amp) We tried out a couple drummers, and the Chillers were born. That summer of 65, we added a bass player. He couldn't play, but he sang great, and he had a car!

And then, there was Kathy Keeley..........

Stay the course/Cut & run

To all world leaders---especially, Americans:

We are never going to get it right. Lets cut our losses, and get out of Iraq. More than 3,000 people died on 9/11, more than 2500 Americans in the Middle East since then. More innocent Iraqis each day. Meanwhile, we argue our political strategies with vigor. Stay the course, cut & run, pull out within a year, pull out when Iraq can handle its own affairs. One doesn't know what or who to believe anymore. I believe our President got us over there under false pretenses, lied, used the American public's rattled 9/11 horror to sway us to invade Iraq, when Iraq, had nothing to do with 9/11. Scores of innocent folks are being murdered in the most brutal ways known to mankind, and Republicans and Democrats alike are arguing over whatever political agenda moves their party to the next rung up the ladder of political anarchy. Up until only monthes before 9/11, America was backing and funding the Taliban. The very Taliban that struck the Twin Towers. We have put more bogus regimes in power than Carter's proverbial liver pills. All in the name of Democracey. The only certainty is that these idiots are going to make a big imprint in the history books. The biggest question burning at my mind is how many generations from now will it take to sift all the lies, and misleading deceipts out of history? And how many more innocent people die for nothing? How far can we twist the Constitution to suit the evilness of our brave and pius leader? Will we allow him to pull so much wool over our eyes that black will seem white? So that 2 plus 2 = 5? Am I the only enraged person in the world? How much thinner can we spread ourselves out in the world, before we are destroyed and ruined? Our response to Katrina was a perfect example. We cant take care of our own affairs, let alone spread our inaptitude throughout the world. Frankly, I see little difference between communism, and what we define as democracey. I did not get to elect our leading official, democracey has mutated to such a joke, that Bush stole the election, and got away with it in the most supreme fashion. If we woke up tomorrow, and learned that all the oil in the Middle East dried up, how long do you think we'd have an interest in Iraq, or Iran? I am sadly amazed by the number of Americans still stupidly supporting this senseless and perverted war, and the poor misguided soldiers who seem to believe that the cause is so just that they are willing to die for it. I served in the military during the Vietnam conflict. I was drafted, and went to serve my country as told. I did not believe in that cause then, but, had it been now, I'm sure I would have balked to the highest degree. If the draft is enacted today, and my 23 year old son is drafted, I will do anything in my power to keep him out of this senseless conflict. I am not speaking as a coward, but as a man with stronger beliefs than to go along with a corrupt president who should be tried for war crimes himself. As a Christian, I am supposed to pray for our world leaders. It boils my blood to think that I should be praying for such a band of thieves, and murderers. Sleep well tonight, George W. Bush, and remember, your judgment day will come just as all of ours will.

Sir Isaac Newton was Wrong!

I just saw a documentary on Sir Isaac Newton. It described him as an alchemist; one who can turn iron into gold. He came up with a mathematical formula for everything. Even the date of the end of the world. His calculations has Jesus returning on 2060. He spent his entire life in recluse, working day and night on his formulas; barely eating or sleeping. We are still using many of his mathematical formulas today in modern science. His theories were so astounding, that he had to invent his own math to correlate his ideas. Truly, the most phenomenal mathematician the world has ever seen, even to this day. So, what about his formula for the end of the world?
I flunked math on every level. My science skills are nill. I am a musician. I run on emotion and feeling. Music is self evident to me, though the math behind it, and make no mistake about it, music is math; never enters my mind. I seemed to find another dimension I enter. One where there is no key signature, no time signature. The big room, some have called it.
Pure emotional energy. I'm sure the Newtster would have come up with a mathematical formula for just that. Anyway, what I'm getting at is I must be the complete opposite from Sir Isaac.
I don't personally see how its possible for the world to continue on its course for another 54 years. The rate of the violence, the wars, the immorality, how could we last that long? Newton's formula has got to be wrong. The past 54 years have brought changes that I never would have believed possible. I don't mean the technological advances; I mean the voracity of the evilness. In spite of all the history we have analyzed, we have corrected nothing from our previous mistakes. I grew up as most Americans, believing that our country was the most wonderful place on earth. I now realize, the wonders I have appreciated over the years have come at a great cost to the entire world. All through history, each civilization, has plundered, captured, capitalized, and raped the world of everything available to feed the greed machine which poisons every society. The United States of America is no exception. And we named other small potato regimes the "axis of evil!" Have we not become the United States of Gomorrah? Are we not the axis of the "doomsday" process, ourselves? We twist the facts, create our our own laws to correlate our agenda, send the cream of our crop to its doom; all in the name of Democracey. All in the name of protecting our freedom. I now understand that our freedom comes at so great a cost, that we are slaves to the entire process. We have bombed, polluted, exploited, poisoned, murdered, and alienated ourselves, as we sweep the entire world into our evil cauldron of apocalistic lurching. It wont be long before we genetically alter our civilization into oblivion. Was Orwell way off the mark with his futuristic novel "1984"? He just got the year wrong! Everything is now controlled by our evil pandemic pace; the news media, our sick perverted so-called laws, indeed, our own personal thought control. We have managed to take barbarity to new levels in our disengaged, inhuman evolution. As all the great ruling civilizations of history, we will fall as Rome, Greece, Sodom, Gomorrah; only this time dragging the entire world to its apocolistic doom.

Beware the Deceiving Serpent

Was at church rehearsing with the band for the Life Teen service about to start within the hour, when a strange man entered the church. He knelt in a pew, and prayed. He then moved to the alter, and knelt for a bit. When the band took a break before the service, he came up to me and asked to talk, moving to the back of the church. We sat down, and he introduced himself, and then I noticed his head was all black and blue. He told me his car broke down, and he was mugged afterwards. He explained that he was trying to get to his home about four hours away. He asked for money, and a ride to meet someone who was going to give him a ride home.
I have heard countless sermons about helping those in need, and how we are all called to live our faith throughout our lives. I must confess, I did not ponder his peril all that long; and found myself giving this guy money, and a ride. My friend, and band director, showed trepidation about what was taking place, but I left the church with this man, and away we went.
He did con me into taking him farther than we bargained for, but I took him, and dropped him off where he asked. He did not fill in all the pieces to his plight, and I nervously joked that I did not have to worry about him robbing me, for I gave him all the money I had. He told me that several doors were closed in his face, when he asked for help.
I did not tell him that I was unemployed myself, or the hours I put in the day before earning that money helping a neighbor with his haying operation in the 90 degree sun. If he was deceiving me or not, I told myself that he needed the money a lot more than I. One thing for sure, if he deceived me, he surely did not deceive God. If we enter into acts of kindness with suspition and trepidation, no one would ever get a helping hand.
I returned to church, and my friend expressed his fears for my safety, recounting stories from the past about those who he encountered under false pretense. My answer to him was centered around the question, what would Jesus do? I told him it was all in God's hands, and that I felt I had to help. We are constantly called to live out our faith as we go through life. Yes, my pocket was $ 40.00 lighter, but my heart was lighter beyond measurement. Did a small part of me experience the joy of commiseration over someone else's trials larger than mine? I'd like to think that I did receive a much greater appreciation of the evaluation of my blessings. We go through life, only too much with great disregard for the things we should be grateful for.
If this snake bit me, only God knows for sure, but I know that I am still the better for it.

The continuing adventures of Ugly

The continuing adventures of Ugly

To the best of my recollection, it was in 1975, but what does the date really matter!
I was living in Norfolk, Virginia since I discharged from the Navy. How I ended back
up here in upstate New York, is another story. Anyway, one night, I got a phone call
from Ugly. "I'm in Suffolk" he said; "and how do I get there form here?" I instructed him
to the Portsmouth tunnel that would bring him into Norfolk. I would be waiting on the other side of the tunnel in a yellow MGC. He laughed; "I wont be able to miss that" he retorted; "I"m driving
a 72 Lincoln MK something or other"
I gave him time to get there, estimating for his lead foot, and left to meet with him. I parked on the Norfolk side of the tunnel, and waited for him. Sure enough, the unmistakable bulk of a
Lincoln emerged from the tunnel, and I flashed my lights. It was dark, and light traffic. The car pulled up next to me, an electric window slid down, and there was Ugly grinning from ear to ear.
He said something about, "where's the beer?" and we laughed. I pulled ahead in the MG, and
we did our best to expend an exorbitant amount of rubber on the road, as I observed his car
in my mirror, leaning in the tight curves, as he punched the Town car to keep up with the C.
We got to my apartment, and he explained that he was coming from his mom's in Florida, up to New York. The Lincoln was being shipped up to Rochester, and Ugly was the shipper. We talked
till early morning, and caught up on news. Ugly had been all over out west, and one story led to
another! His hair was down to his butt, and he asked my first wife, Sue if she would cut it.
That was a mistake; she hacked it off to about shoulder level, and he left the next day with
a strange resemblance to the kid on Dutch Boy Paint cans!
Over the years, there many other un-announced visits from him. Once in a baby blue 35 Ford Pickup, another time in a mid-fifties Vette. The big grin never changed over the years; our hair
got thinner, greyer, but his eyes, and smile were un-mistakable!

Reflections

Reflections



I sit in solitude, the music turned off, only the background drone of the computer hard drive, the clack of the keys under my digits, and my mind straining to form the theme for what I am about to say. I struggle with collective thoughts of times past, and perspectives present. I go into dark corners where I feared to tread before, coward that I am. Does time really make it easier to go there now? I don't think so. Broken bones mend, but the fracture is ever evident in the X Ray.
Do recollections of the past help mend the rift, or inject the agony with increased fervency? Is not the analysis of the history a pertinent part of the process?
I have tried blocking out the black past, but the energy expended to maintain the anisotropy, draws power from all vital functions.
No, no, this all has to be carefully examined from every angle. No detail should be left for dead. The entire puzzle must be put back together, even if the surface is completely black. Like a jigsaw puzzle, only one piece fits in its right alignment, and so, even all black pieces will fit into their designations.
It should be absurdly trivial to look back into one's own mind, and make perfect sense of everything. After all, who should know me better than me?
But you see, that's just it! I'm too doggone smart for me. I have managed to encode the message so completely, that now the code is un-breakable.
Am I digging too deep, or is not the information right before my blind eyes? Shall I be spending the entire balance of my life endeavoring to crack the code, or is it not the meaning of life itself?

Who Am I?

WHO AM I?
I awoke today, a man in a strange body, in a strange bed, in a strange house. I rise, dazed, my legs unsteady as a new born colt, cognizant thought peeping through my consciousness, as slim rays of sunlight burning through riffs in a massive grey cloud. As I attempt to clear my head, shake off the heavy dream-like cords binding me to another dimension of time and space, gravity pulls me down into surreal bath of impenetrable substance, and binds me in a web of continual sedation. Am I awake and dreaming at the same time? Logical reasoning, and willfull control are altered to such a degree, familiarity, and opaque enigma totter forth and back on razor's edge, and I am removed completely from my body, and watch in worried fascination.

Thankfulness

As I read the news of the day, the kidnapping, beheading, the bombings, the nerve-bleeding tyrannical drums that never cease; Its hard to keep in perspective all the things to be thankfully for.

My day is blessed. The sun shines, The world still turns, and amid the violence, the heartbreak, armed with the morning Bible passage, and my grand-daughter's big deep eyes, large as dinner plates looking back from a photo, I start my day with renewed vitality and my eyes on the cross.

Kathy-Jo's Gardens

Outside the doors of Kathy-Jo's house, gardens abound before your eye. Every day since late winter, early spring; new fresh blossoms open to the most delightful display. Just today, I walked round the house, camera in hand, and between the butterflies, and the bees, blossoming flowers sprang forth from bushes, from annuals planted in ages unreckened now. Ferns, Wild Flowers,
bulbs, bushes and trees. Not that Kathy-Jo hasn't kept adding each year; a Dogwood tree here, a couple of Cherry trees there, Hemlocks, Barberries, just to name a few. Each year, she gives me the garden tour, and points out False Salamon's Seal, Jack in the Pulpit, lilies, Hostas, Day Lillies, whole banks of them, and on and on.........

So today, I got to enjoy these marvelous delights, while I mowed, weed whacked, swept, and smelled the most lushes aromas , especially, right outside the kitchen door. Mnnn.....

The Adventures of Scven

Years ago, I had a 1972 Volvo, that I named Scven. I got it cheap, for it had a bad clunk in the rear-end when you shifted it. It was that bright orange. I was driving home late one blustery winter night, when Scven died on me. I pushed it off to a side street, walked up the next block to an all night store. There, I got a flashlight, and cheap gloves, and trudged back through the snow to the car. I got in and turned the ignition to the first position. At that point, I would always hear the groan-like droan of the fuel pump. The groan was not there, quiet with the key on. Armed with a piece of cardboard, my new flashlight and gloves, I slid under the back. The fuel pump was loacated outside the gas tank (thank God!) I could see a broken wire at the punp. The wires were stiff and shrunken, and did not want to reach the pump any more. I looked in my tool box, and came up with a short piece of wire, and a cotter pin, and crawled back under. Stripping the broken wire, I twisted the extra length to it, and the new end, I twisted to the cotter pin. I jambed the pin into the hole where the wire broke off. I got back in the car and reached for the key, but first, a prayer. I turned the key, and to my delight, the pump groannnnned into action! I drove home. The next morning, I drove the car to work, and dropped it off at the corner station to have the wires repaired. The guys at the shop all looked under the car and laughed at the repair, but I pointed out that I was able to drive it here! Ah, They dont make em like they used to!
PS After a few years, I fixed the clunk, and drove that car far!

Dear Anonymous

I posted a poem about loneliness, and received an anonymous comment" Dude, Your mind is warped, and your thoughts so dark about everything you write. Your thoughts are as you were like Satan himself."

Dear Anomyous,
You are not without validity to your statement. The Loneliness poem is dark and void of all joy. I wanted to create a visual imagery to stimulate the emotions. Even your negative response proves that I have done that.
But I thank you for your response, and will try to be more aware of a balance between the joyful, and the dark. I have many things to be thankful for, (as we all do) and I will strive to bring out the good MORE.
On the other side of the coin, my dark expressions are my way of handling the loneliness, the betrayals, the heartache. Your comments are important to me, and thank you for taking the time to even bash me some! Read some of my other posts, and I'm sure you will not find my resemblance to Satan.

The Reluctant Poet

Winter 2002

THE RELUCTANT POET
Bucky Gelo

I'm the reluctant poet; there is much to say, yet I sit silently, lips pursed
Frozen in time, while thoughts portage the endless labyrinth of the mind
at speeds un-calculatable, lost in the infinite network of timelines,
past and future consciousness
Surely by now, everything has been said by those with their predictions, theries,
die-sections, bye-sections, mandates, criticism, quantinized, sterilized opinions.
Where is my small voice to be heard amid the babble of a civilization so vast,
so numerable, so near- sighted, so deaf, so greedy, so intelligent, im-moral
So i sit and dream of a communique' a universal language for the masses
A voice to be heard, a voice to speak for all the little voices, frozen, imprisoned,
meek, oppressed; a voice longing to be heard, just once above the rest.
An emotion yet to be felt.

I'm the reluctant poet, too cadaverous to cast out the careworn, eroded net
into the sea of predatious, sightless, razor-lipped entropic carnivoire.
Too content, agencies, recluse. Safe in my apocalyptic space
warm in my superstructure of isolation
Deaf from the shadows, blind from the tyrannical drums
Under the blanket of the blood of the sewn lips
I hide, ashamed, defused in the odious, unspoken enigma

I MISS UGLY

Its Memorial Day morning. A time to grill out, reflect on those passed. I miss Ugly
I guess I need to explain about the name Ugly. A long time ago, back in high school, Ronald Paul Albright, a couple years younger than us, started hanging with us. Us, consisted of me, my friend Tommy, the Bennaway's all the closest neighbors my age. We all grew up in rural Ontario, NY. and in those days, it was just a village. We lived on the lakeshore of Great Lake Ontario, amid the fruit orchards, grape vineyards, and the smell of the seaweed backing up in Bear Creek.
One day, Tom and I saw Ron peddling up on his bike, and Tommy blurted out" Here comes that ugly Albright kid!" For whatever reason, from that day on, Ron was called Ugly. We had a good life, growing up in the rural environment; camping in the near-by woods, swimming and boating on the lake, "Terrorizing" the town in our rebellious teenage ways. Ugly was a part of my first real friends, always consistent in my life, and still everpresent, though he has passed. So, today, as I reflect on Memorial Day, I think of Ugly. I think of how he lives on in so many people's memory. Of all the lives he touched, of all the giving he had for humanity, of the opportunities I missed to have another moment with Ugly.

Awesome Expresso-Choc. Cake

Simple, quick! Pre heat: 350

2 oz Baking Choc. 1 TS Vanilla
1 Egg 3/4 cup Expresso
1 Cup Sugar 1 1/3 Cup Flour
1/3 Cup Oil 1 TS Baking Powder
1 TS Baking Soda

Melt Choc. Set aside. Grease & flour 8" Pan
Combine beat egg, and sugar (add slowly)
Add oil, Vanilla, Choc. and coffee; Beat well
Mix Flour, Baking Powder & Soda.
Add slowly to wet mix, and beat well.
Spread, and bake about 40 Min (Till toothpick is clean) Try it, You'll like it!!

New Glasses Require Piercing of Bridge of Nose!

This amused me yesterday!! The new glasses that incorporate a barbell assy. pierced through the bridge of the nose to hold the glasses on. PLEASE somebody, explain to me whats up with this concept? Have they run out of "other " body locations to pierce? And why is this so better looking then the conventional method of holding the specs on? And, what about a big whack in the face? Wont that feel good, having that barbell ripped out of the nose bridge? Soon enough, at birth, they will just pierce the nose and insert a bull ring, because, we are becoming as cattle, all being led to the latest fashion trends, more vibrant tattoos (wait till those folks see them in 40 years!) more bizarre body piercing locations, more STUPIDNESS.

One thing I'm sure of; My eyesight will be 20/20 when I get to heaven!!
No corrective lenses needed there.

So go ahead people, pierce, tattoo, and disgrace your bodies to your hearts content, and live by your fleshly fads. Apparently, the natural beauty of ones' eyes, or smile is not enough to get one's attention anymore!

Pain relievers Heart Failure Risk???

I somehow was not overly surprised to see this News Headline yesterday!
Three or four years ago, I suffered an injury at work, and my doctor prescribed common pain killers to control the symptoms. The cause of the pain, he just kept referring me to different specialists to figure out. But my doctor's fix was to have me take large doses of Ibruprofen, Naproxen, and others I since then forgot the names of. The idea of having to take something all day, everyday, did not bode well with me. I WAS in pain, and started taking the pills. I noticed two distinct things happening to me; The pills did not help the pain one bit. Not only did they not help, but they started giving me stomach problems. The next step the doctor took, was to prescribe yet another pill for the stomach problems. Quoting one of my favorite cartoon characters Popeye, " Woe, I aint no doctor, but I'm loosing me patience!" The stomach pill seemed to help, till the Drug Store and I decided to make a switch to the Generic brand of medication. That did not work. I made a judgment call, and stopped taking the pain medication. Within the month, I noticed my stomach problems started to go away. Hmmm, lets see now, if I stop taking one pill, I dont seem to need the other. Isnt that special? I ended up treating my pain problems with acupuncture. I cant stress enough how that helped my situation. Pain under control, and no medications. What a revelation! Then I see the news headline yesterday. Am I surprised? Of course not! In the midst of trying to get to the bottom of my back pain, my doctor's treatment was to refer me to countless specialists. And of course, prescribe pills. He even Clearly stated that much to me. That was his function; prescribe medications. Well, that doctor is HISTORY! The pills are history. It is my feeling that there is a substitute for pills for almost anything that ails ya. We all put our trust in doctors, of course. But do not blindly discount the other options available to us. Acupuncture has been around over 5,000 years. What does that tell you? Anything we injest in our bodies for any length of time other that short, temp, relief, will have effects in the long run; Count on it.

Loneliness

Loneliness knows no boundaries I can be immersed in a throng of thousands but
Loneliness prevails above all else

loneliness has no allies save the forces that seep into every crevice of the brain
loneliness de-moralizes

loneliness saps the strength from a giant and brings him to his knees
loneliness is Heartless

loneliness poisons the soul and corrupts logical reasoning beyond category
loneliness is addictive

loneliness is absolute with its unpenitrable armor reeking havoc against the unprepared
loneliness is complete

loneliness is Satin's mistress with her perverted senseless allure
loneliness is evil

Today's News Headlines

Saturday May 20, 2006

Here are but a few of today's cheery Headlines:

Blast wounds Palestinian Intelligence Head

Residents flee Militias in Mogadishu

Suicide Bomber Kills 5 in Iraq

19 Killed in Baghdad bomb explosion

Youth arrested over knife murder outside London School

Guards and Detainees Clash at Guantanamo

3 Die, 2 Missing in Ky. Mine Blast

Those are only the headlines. Those are only the "Major" stories shaping our world today.
If I tried to post all the bad news of the day, I am sure this Blog Sight would not handle the load.
It would be very old news indeed, by the time I got l done publishing all of it.
I did not mention anything about the violence in Brazil, the threats form N. Korea, or Iran.
I did not mention the countless other murders committed in every city in the World.
Will we ever get our ducks in a row? When we are down to the last two people on Earth, one of them will most likely murder the other one. Hail Mary, full of grace.....................

We walk by Faith

ROLL BY FAITH NOT BY SIGHT
Last night, I started of driving to church to play a service.
I drove 4 of the 26 miles to church, when all the dashboard
lights came on, glowing in sickening orange-red. I turned the lights
and radio off, and drove to a gas station, and popped the hood, engine running.
The alternator belt had broken. The other belt on the engine, drove the water pump
and power steering. So, the engine was taking all electrical energy from the battery.
The question in my mind was, how far can I drive on the battery power? Besides lights
and fuel pump, and computer, I made a judgment call, and decided to drive on.
My stomach started to ache as I drove and eyes transfixed on the dashboard lights
glowing. I began to pray, "Lord, get me to church to glorify your name; I've waited for
this night to worship your Holy name." I kept praying, and giving Jesus updates on how far I had left to go. My stomach ache receded, and I drove and prayed. I was 15 minutes later
than I wanted to be, and I drove and prayed; no use worrying about what time it is, and
how far I have to go. The closer I got, the signal lights were all green, giving me the go ahead, and I prayed and drove. I pulled into the church parking lot. I grabbed my guitar and headed in. It was then I realized that God did not keep the car going for me, he kept me going
for me. By acting on faith alone, I kept the composure to know I was going to get there.
Faith. A hard thing for us ultra smart humans to rely on. We don't like it when things are not
in our control. By putting my mess in the hands of God, I was not in control; God was.
This realization was not a new revelation to me; just last Sunday at church, the preacher
spoke just those word to us. We walk by faith, not by sight. In fact, we all repeat those words each service closing. The trick is to actually practice what we say.
Last night, on the way to church, staring at those ugly Volvo dashboard lights, it was
easy to practice. Not a life and death situation, but just ordinary life's trials and tribulations.
We Walk By Faith Not By Sight

Visions at the Laundromat

Saturday at the Laundromat, My favorite chore; I gaze round the room, people watching
The Mexican migrants with their brushcuts, quiet ways, and tinted windows
A mom and daughter folding their warm clothes, the mom but a child herself
The young woman in her 20's approaching obesity, her face in a book
A couple young guys in Bermuda shorts in spite of the snow outside, talking football
Perpetual puddles eating away at the floor tiles, the scarfaced change machine that
vandals attempted to violate, the droning of the clothes extractor The
squeaking of an occasional cycle-change of a washer, and the endless clinking of quarters
dropping into machines that appear to be ancient. What used to take two quarters
now takes fourteen

Double Shot of Jesus

For the last year and a half, I have been playing in the "Book of Life" Christian rock band doing the Life Teen services at a Roman catholic Church. I had initial reservations about how well a 57 year old guy would be received by the teens. As things progressed, I was aware of many adults attending the Life Teen services also. My reservations evaporated, when after service one night, one of the Alter Girls not only complimented the band, but informed me that all the teens thought I was so cool! Wonders never cease, but then again, they are seeing me at what I do best, and at my best with the Holy Spirit pouring out of my guitar. The satisfaction I get from playing the Life Teen services spurred me on to explore other venues to further my musical ministry. One night at a service, the theme of the night was how God was using various people from many walks of life. The Preist spoke first, describing his life changing decision to be ordained. Then a nun got up and also presented her biography, depicting her evolution unto God's work. My friend who is studying to be a deacon gave a wonderful dissertation on his calling, as well as the Youth Minister. Both the deacon, and the Youth Minister are married and explained how their calling effected their spouses' lives and how they sorted through the important issues that would impact their lives from then on. Then the church admin. Director got up and spoke. Her story made a huge impression on me. She made the decision to give her life to the Lord, as a single woman, using her talents in the name of God. She spoke very quietly about her life, and I found myself leaning forward to catch every word. All of these people said the same thing; that the decision did not come over night, that they never dreamed they would be contemplating what would change their lives forever, and that with prayer, God opened the doors and revealed possibilities to turn their prayers into reality. The night was a real eye opener for me. I went home, and prayed hard. I prayed to be used. My gift from God is my music, and I prayed that I could expand my musical ministry to gorify his Holy name. The very next morning, I noticed an add on the internet for a guitar player for a Gospel band. I found myself clicking off to respond to the posting almost automatically. I got a response back, and an invitation to their services at the Walk of Life Christian Center. If I told you I did not have trepidation about driving to the inner city, I would be telling a lie. But, this is one of those classic cases where one must rely on faith, rather than sight. Even as a visitor, I was welcomed by all. I explained to the Pastor about my calling, and wondered if they really understood. They do. I play there , the only white guy, twice a week. I have introduced songs from the Life Teen band to them, and in turn brought songs back to Life Teen from them! Its been five months now, and I continue to pray to be used further, and thank God for this chance to do his work. What I did not expect (though I don't know why) was the spiritual effect the Walk of Life has bestowed upon me. I know now! I cling to the words of the Pastor, and they ring in my head all week. Then I go to the catholic Church and play. The Preist's message is geared for the Teens, of course, and is simple, short, catchy enough to keep their attention, and I found that I too, take each week's simple word home, and reflect on all week.

Hold me Jesus, for I am weak I hunger for your presence
Seeking the Rock to plant my feet How glorious , my Savoir
Wrap me in your warming cloak I'm shivering outside it
Only you wash clean my stains my precious Lord, my Savoir

The Whole World's Turned Upside-Down

My recent posts spoke of saving gas, slowing down, tailgating, and crazy driving. Well, the stakes just got higher! Sunday, when I got to church, I was informed that one of Teen Alter Girls was hit by a car while crossing the street. Speeding, complete carelessness, and pure meanness (tried to get away) were all playing a part in this senseless act. Its as if a pandemic virus of evilness has befallen us. Yes, Satin's power of suggestion is free to spread, and grow in this perfect environment. But lets not forget that this is the only sway Satin has on us, the power of suggestion. The real blame is on us, the free choice Humans. We make those choices ourselves, not Satin. We all have the power within us to fight back against him with our full armor of prayer, and constant vigilance. We all underestimate the powers we each bestow in ourselves in prayer. Yes, the whole world is turned upside-down crazy! The only way to survive in this evil environment, is prayer, and Jesus. My prayer to the whole world is, that the believers pick up the prayer pace, and the unbelievers, I pray that "something" or "somebody" puts the seed of righteousness in your garden, and as the tiny mustard seed has the power to grow and flourish, so does my sublimial seed sowing takes in your heart. Super-Natural Evil abounds, and we cant fight this on our own. We must use Super-Natural Powers available to us. Remember, faith is the word, and the word is God.

Unreasonable Search and Seizure

More Breaking Big Brother news!
NSA is building a data base using most of the major phone companies' records. They say they they are not eves-dropping, but building a data base to investigate "patterns" What patterns? There are so many calls going on, that the patterns are so vast, that the possibilities are endless on what they can do with that information in the future. And why are so many Congressmen so troubled about this issue?
I put a hold on the G. Orwell novel, 1984. I want to re-read what I read and joked about 35 years ago. In any event, Orwell was only off 22 years, and things can happen fast in this day and age. So today, they say this is in the name of fighting terrorism, but tomorrow, who knows? Today, I have the freedom of the press, but tomorrow, I may be scrutinized for what I'm saying today. So, make no mistake about it, Big Brother is Watching. Right now, they are collecting. Lets see exactly what they do with this infamous data base collection.

Tailgater, Keep Back !!

So, my last (relevant) Blog concerned getting the most out of your tank of gas, and changing your driving habits.
This week, its more than about saving gas, but saving your life, your car, and getting me angrier than a nest of ground hornets.
Its you tailgater out there!! Either you have forgotten one of the first rules of the road, dealing with a car length distance for each 10 MPH traveled. If I can clearly see the whites of your eyes at 35 MPH, you are too close to me, but at 60 MPH, I must say, is plain UNACCEPTABLE. What are these people thinking? I am not comfortable with my rear mirror completely taken up with the entire grill of an SUV, or Hemi truck. Yesterday, two incidents come to mind right off the get-go. My usual approach to this matter is to tap the brakes a couple of times, and if they are really close, raise my hand in protest. The first tailgater jaw dropped outa sight, and eyes widened, quickly backed off and got the drift. The second vehicle, was a shinny new black Impala. Their response to me was both people in the car got their arms out the windows, and demonstrated 50 different ways to express obscene gestures. That car passed me as soon as possible, repeating the hand gestures , and moving off to the next car in front of them to tailgate further. By the way, they made no headway on me, for a few minutes later, I passed them in my lane, smiling as I passed by. I lost one of my best friends on a motorcycle because of a tailgater, and now I am even less tolerant of that practice.
The next no-no is the car that passes you and cuts you right off, taking up all the car lengths your vehicle is paced at, all the while applying their brakes, for the car now ahead of them is going much slower than they.
My response to these incidents, are real tests of my Christian faith, I gotta tell you!
Please people, slow down, and think about what it means to be traveling at 60 MPH!!

Oh Bloggy-Oh Blogga

Yikes, Its May and I haven't Blogged yet!! April was my first month of Blog. I've spent time over the past month, reading some other people's Blogs and trying to figure out just what its all about. Folks seem to use Blog for anything; Its amazing. I don't care too much for the ones with a gazilion links, and abrupt music making me jump start in the chair! And some, are very interesting, but they have their comment box locked. I am more or less flattered when I get comments; mostly from friends, (Thanks Tommy & AL !) but not all. Cool. I will try to keep my Blog to something I'm passionate about, or really upset about. Like the deer in my yard right now!Five, I snapped off a couple photos, but they were moving too far for my $ 118.00 camera! Ah, a great start to the morning, black coffee, nature passing right out my window. Now to pack up my instruments, and ready myself for The Walk of Life Christian Center for my morning worship, and my musical ministry. Praise the Lord. Amen