On the edge of the ocean

On the edge of the ocean is where the sea nymphs play.

Roiling waves reach for the sky and fall to the deep. 

Horsetails abound if the offshore winds join in the frolic.

Swells from far offshore arrive to meet the waves retuning from the beach and lift higher and higher until gravity pulls them down to crash in beautiful whiteness racing again to the shore.

My life is better because I witness the sea nymphs dancing and prancing by the beach.

My heart lifts as waves lift and rejoice in the curl unoccupied by surfers.

Calm ascends over my soul as turmoil engulfs the edge of the great Pacific and repeats the crescendos in the bright sunlight.

Does a wave crash if no one there to watch and be amazed? Is the surf performing for me today?

I yearn for winter storms to churn up the sea so I can seem to sit precariously atop each wave till it falls.

I fall back in my recliner, spent, and hopeful.

Thank you Neptune for sending your silly, sweet, laughing sea nymphs,

On the edge of the sea.

  

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Leftovers

The carcus is in the soup kettle, along  with vegetables,

To make turkey soup, turkey enchiladas, and sandwiches.

The feast was yesterday, a fine meal with a friend and family.

My daughter complains about not finding homeless to feed,

It is cold outside at this time of year, as night freezing.

Many people are, metaphorically, leftovers.

Some are left over from previous wealth,

or at least sufficiency,

and now unable to provide the minimum for themselves.

The guy who bought my SilverWing motor scooter,

though now owning his own home and semi outright,

had lived in a cardboard box previously.

The woman friend, mentally and physically disabled,

lived on the street and in the bushes for weeks on end

and suffered brutality from her boyfriend and the police.

Alchoholics, mentally challenged, special needs abound

among the leftover people.

We lock up many of them, drug related, misfit, and ill prepared to

defend themselves against our outrageous onslaught and vindictive nature.

Leftovers who don’t attend school try to find a place to fit in

without an education given  freely to those apparently entitled,

smart, rich (comparatively) and trauma free.

Sometimes leftovers don’t appear any different,

Sometimes they are leftover from organized religion,

Sometimes from love,

Sometimes from war.

When you see a leftover, take them to the feast,

a feast of turkey and all the stuffings,

a feast of love and prayer,

a feast of friendship and kindness.

Make a soup of the leftovers, keep  them warm and let them blend with you and yours. Watch the flavors come out, aroma therapy.

The leftovers help you fully appriciate the life you live in isolation from them.

And, they will love, instruct, and enrich your life too.

Bless you.

  
– Small town boy

The crystal

I hang the crystal in the window.

  
And when the sun hits it and scatters rainbows everywhere we say my mother has come to visit.

(She died 37 years ago)

This is Thanksgiving and a time when she comes to mind.

Today is bright and cold.

The sun shines into the crystal.

Rainbows abound.

   
    
 Mom is here for Thanksgiving.

I give thanks.

I love you mom.

Thanks for all you did to raise the five of us since 1950 when your husband took his life.

You are a major hero in my life and a constant measure of my successes.

Happy Thanksgiving.

  

No Thanks

I give no thanks for war.

Nothing for hate either.

I give no thanks for betrayal,

Abuse of any kind is not on my list for appreciation.

Cancer, so close to me this year, remains I thanked for the loss of a dear friend.

Accidental death far from home and loved ones, no thanks.

Death, dismemberment, injury in war, nope. Is this a redundant wish?

Heartbreak leads the list for me, though mine remains intact, patched, but healthy.

Mental disability and/or homelessness provoke no happiness in my heart.

Abandonment, whether child or pet, is harsh.

So?

What am I thankful for?

Your love, my dearest, your love.

And my love for you.

God bless.

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
 
– Small town boy 

Flooding in Tillamook

My wife is at the coast getting ready for Thanksgiving. She reports:

Came into tillamook to hit Freddy’s. Ain’t gonna happen. The highway is under multiple feet of water that actually is rushing from one side to the other. All the fields r lakes. There is even high water on sand lake road. At Safeway. U can’t even get off the highway at most side roads including to air museum. But there was a gorgeous double rainbow!

Be safe out there.

Giving Thanks

It’s that time of year in the States,

Thanksgiving.

In the Lane family, my mother was a Lane,

We used to gather in Lakewood, Colorado

At my Uncle Emmet’s house for the traditional Thanksgiving meal

And a huge candy centerpiece that they made that held the position of honor on the table.

My grandfather and grandmother, Albert and Sadie, were the head of this family

And so he got to carve the turkey, with a big carving knife and a knive sharpener near by.

Uncle Emmet’s family included his wife Louise, son Allen and daughters Karen and Christie (three more were to come along later)

Uncle Clark was the eldest son and his wife was Irma and three sons, Norman, Robert and Neal.

Uncle Howard’s wife was Ruth and there children were Jim and Judy.

My family was headed by lmy mother, Ruth Elizabeth (Betty), daughters Gladys and Donna and three boys, Lloyd (me), Ron and Don the twins.

Big family.

Sometimes Neal and his family might come if they were visiting from Arlington, VA. He was in the Department of Agriculture and his wife was Mary, their daughter Patricia and twins John and Robert. 

Margaret and her husband Monty, from Kent, Wa might  show up for the  summer Fourth of July gathering with a new Oldsmobile they drove back from Detroit with three sons and two daughters. He was a veterinarian there. Sons: Clark, Ted, Dennis and daughters: Emily and Mary.

The youngest member of the  family, Albert, was inTucson at the University of Arizona and might come with his daughter Pamela.

No Thanksgiving passes without thoughts of that family gathering.  All of the adults and some of the  grandchildren are gone now.

But I give thanks for this family that stood by us when my father  committed suicide and we moved back to Colorado from Coleridge, NE in 1950.

We were given a 1936 Buick Victoria to drive as we didn’t have a car then. We had  to stop on a  hll near Broomfield to refill the radiator to make it from Fort Collins to Lakewood.

In order for Thanksgiving to truly be Thanksgiving I must smell turkey cooking and take home leftovers.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with family memories.

  
– Small Town Boy

The tyranny of the car

I have reached a new awareness

Since I voluntarily surrendered my driving license.

I’ve noticed that I see more of my surroundings from the passenger seat.

I am happy to let others do the driving.

But mostly I feel free of the tyranny of the automobile.

I don’t worry about gas anymore, or the price of it.

I will not be buying another. At the current prices that frees a lot of my income.

Though I still use highways and streets I can appreciate less asphalt and more grass or gardens.

I don’t watch for motorcycle police with radar guns.

I don’t pollute the environment with CO2, CO, or any of the other internal combustion harmful emissions.

I have no interest in Middle East oil, fracking, or Texas and Oklahoma oil fields.

I’m not concerned about oil lobby, auto lobby, or any other related lobbies.

I’m free of car insurance for life. A big savings.

I’m not scheduling appointments at University Honda, Les Schwab, or the car wash.

I ride by the auto parts stores with a smile.

What do you think. Imagine your life car free.

PS: the driver for Dial a Bus who just drove me home said he voluntarily gave up his license years ago and rides his bike everywhere, including cross the country.

Now he drives Dial a Bus so he won’t forget how to drive.

  
And I ride my e moped!

– Small Town Boy

e moped

So my drivers license is suspended (by me)

Till I can take a test my neurologist arranged to  see if I’m fit.
So I got an e moped from a woman (Rachel) in Eugene who loved it.

My wife, Rachael, and I wrangled it into  the Element and take it home to Corvallis.

My Son-in-law helped me unwrangle it from the Element here.

I decide to take it for a ride, but I forgot which button to push on the key fob,

And the alarm repeatedly sounds.

After due diligence I get it on and run it around the neighborhood.

What fun, and quiet too.

Later I take it on the bike path by the Willamette River near my house in South Corvalli.

Part way into the park I get a call from the man who wants to  buy my motorscooter helmet.

He’s in  the neighborhood again but coaching football and doesn’t have his car.

I ask him if I can bring it to him, anxious to use my new e moped.

He says he will meet me at the Monmouth Bi Mart.

So we arrange a time, I return home and pick up the helmet

and ride via the wonderful Corvallian bike paths

to the Bi Mart near Philomath, checking with him again that it is the one on 53rd and Philomath Hwy.  He tells me to call him when I start and he will meet me.

So off I go, through Avery Park, down the bike path that parallels the highway and suddenly about 4 miles into my 5 mile trip, the juice is running low and my speed is cut in half.

I nurse it the rest of the  way by pedaling, walking, and using less juice.

I make it to the Bi Mart and am lucky enough to find an external plug and a bench to wait on.

But when he can’t find me, I realize I’ve gone to the wrong Bi Mart. Mine is southwest of Corvallis. His is 20 miles north. Oops.

I read over our texts and notice that he said Monmouth about 5 times and each time I read Philomath.  (He had been to Philomath a week ago coachiing a football game last week)

So there was nothing to do but to sit and wait for the e moped to charge.I texted Rahael and she kept me e company  and shared other tips abouot owning her e moped, Thanks Rachael.

Finally after an hour of charging and talking with cyclists of all ages who parked their bikes in  the bike rack where I was  sitting, I got the beast unplugged and was on my way.

Rachael was sure that one hour would be sufficient to get me home if i kept the powere switch at 1 insteead of 3 and that turning on  my lights wouldn’t drain my batteries.

She was right. I slowed a little when I got close to home, otherwise it purred like kitten.

I named her Rachael after my new e friend.

( the last texts were to remind me which buttons to push to turn it on.)

PS At 11:11 p.m. I awaken from a sound sleep.  Get up and pee, and check  my  text  messages. He  writes, “Are you up?  We’re coming through Corvallis on our  way back to Newport.”

Hell yes,  I’m up. I meet a giant  of  a man and his giant son wants  my XXXX helmet.   HooHa!   SOLD!!


– Small Ton Boy

The Snake

“Can I borrow a drill?”

My son (25) came over from  his apartment to  borrow a drill.

Mom said, “We don’t have a working drill. You borrowed them and didn’t return the chargers and they can’t be purchased separately. Why do you want a drill?”

“I have to  drill some holes in some plastic.”

“Why do you have to drill holes in plastic?”

“For the snake.”

Jac has changed his mind about having a rat as a pet and now wants a snake.  He will use the 10 gallon aquarium from his older sister in which her son had a two foot corn snake that he used to feed mice for food once a week.

“What snake? You can’t have a snake in that apartment.”

“I have to go to Eugene to get the snake. I need to borrow your car.”

This is  after he has had my Trek mountain bike and my Aprillia moped stolen. Also  he has just lost his second job in three months and didn’t use the car to talk to the supervisor about his absences due to illness.

He says the snake is eight feet long!

Mom tells him he won’t be able to get the snake in  the little plastic storage box he is taking and that the snake can’t live in his apartment.

But he had decided he wanted the snake for a pet.

“Have you asked your sister for the aquarium yet?” “No.”

After she took him home, she called and told him since we co-signed the apartment he can’t have a  snake in it, and that’s final. This is an impulse.

He’s not talking to us right now.

An 8′ snake! In a styrofoam cooler?

Oh Jac.

  
– Small town boy