s t r e a m     o f     c o n s c i o u s n e s s     p a r t     d e u x

craig's list? who's craig? this is the dumbest name for a website ever. unless your name is craig. then maybe it's brilliant. hmmmm. i wonder how many craig's there are in the united states. more than two probably. what if there were only two craigs in the whole united states? my cousin's named craig. if there were only two, that would mean that i've met at least half of them. isn't there a craig on late night tv? i've never met that craig. i think he's very funny though.

babel fish? babel had something to do with the bible. i remember studying about it when i was in the cult. i think it's where god changed the languages of all the people. they were building a tower or something. it was probably the first trump tower. god was probablly right in screwing with them. i don't like donald trump. i do like his apprentice show though. i guess that's a paradox. pair a docs? one of the first jokes i remember. i remember my first dirty joke. my dad told it to me when i was twelve. why did the blonde buy her husband a toupe? she heard he'd got bald at the office. i didn't get it until i was in high school. my dad, brothers, and sisters all laughed at me cuz i didn't understand it.


 

I had the distinct pleasure of spending this past weekend at my first poetry retreat with my heart's twin, susanL . I'm not sure that my simple words can do justice to what a sublime weekend it was, but I'm going to try.

We were planning on driving up Friday night and taking part in the evening activities of smores and poetry readings by the shores of the enchanting Horseshoe Lake. But, due to circumstances beyond our control, we got a late start and rented a room in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota instead. We probably missed out on some poetic moments taking place at the retreat, but any time spent alone with my precious soul mate is poetic, so I'm sure we at least came out even.

Having arrived at the motel after midnight, both of us exhausted from the drive, we chose to sleep in Saturday morning. We hit the road again around a quarter to eleven. I estimated we'd be there some time before two in the afternoon, so I called the cabin to check in. It was nice to hear that they were as excited about our arrival as we were.

Unfortunately, a heavy, summer downpour and a convoy of military vehicles headed for Camp Ripley made my two o'clock estimate unrealistic. But Susan and I enjoy each other's company immensely and we chatted, goofed around, sang, and laughed until we pulled into the most charming, lakeside cabin, just a stone's throw away from the picturesque Merrifield, Minnesota, at about five minutes to three.

Sue Chambers, the organizer of the event, met us at the door. A writing program was already taking place so she directed us to some available seats and we watched and listened as the accomplished poets before us let forth with their winsome words. And winsome words they were.

One by one the smiling, unassuming poets read their latest offerings. I felt more than a little humbled but eager to participate. Once everyone had read their poems, Sue introduced us to the group and they in turn, introduced themselves to us. Then we took a small break for small talk and stretching, and started another program.

The programs are created by the poets themselves. Each attendee is required to lead one. Some give instructions on using a particular poetic form, others are biographies of a favorite poet or readings from a treasured book. All of them, however, have some kind of writing exercise.

The first one Susan and I participated in was from a lady named Linda who drove all the way from Ohio to attend. She had us think up a phrase and then write it fifteen times. After each repetition, we had to write whatever came to our mind regarding the phrase. By the end of the assignment, we had a poem, or something very close to one and we read them out loud to the group.

Sue Chambers followed with a program featuring American poet, Mark Doty. He is going to be the keynote speaker at our LOMP (League Of Minnesota Poets) convention in Duluth next year, and she wanted to familiarize him to the group. Quite a fascinating man. He has a way of describing touching and heart-wrenching events in a very down-to-earth and simple manner. Sue believes he will one day be the poet laureate for the United States.

Her writing assignment for us was to write about an important event using simple language and terms. Susan did a touching narrative poem about watching her daughter play softball and I wrote a free verse tale of when my mother asked my father to leave. Both of them need a little work, but we have the foundations for some lovely poetry.

After Sue's program, we had a delicious supper of hamburgers, pizza, coleslaw, salad, fresh fruit, crackers, chips, and scrumptious ice cream pie for desert. Everyone helped with the clean up and then we were back to the main room for more poetry.

One of the most delightful poets I've ever met, Ed, lead the evening program. It's hard to tell how old Ed is because he has long, cascading white hair and a matching beard that flows almost to his toes. He wears thick black glasses that scream "SCHOLAR," and he carries himself as someone on the verge of something brilliant. Just being in his presence is both intimidating and inspirational.

His glasses low on his nose, Ed looked up at the group and told us he would be reading aloud some stories. We were to listen and see if we could come up with a narrative poem based on what we heard. He suggested we write in first person and from the viewpoint of the opposite gender.

He started out talking about the Ojibwa. I don't remember all of the stories he read, but the underlying theme was water. Susan picked up on that better than I did. I wrote a narrative about a fictitious Native American tribe and their first female chieftain and Susan wrote about living in a water-starved section of Oklahoma. I just love her work.

That was the last program for Saturday. We spent the rest of the evening, until way after midnight, taking turns reading the poetry we'd brought from home. Susan and I each brought a packet and while I felt a bit intimidated by many of the narrative poems, a form which I find more difficult than others, we did hold our own. We both started out by reading one we wrote for the other. It was very romantic and sweet.

One by one, the group broke up and we headed off to our assigned rooms. Susan and I were given the orange room. I forgot to ask why it was called that, but it contained a bed that was at least three feet off the ground. Just getting on it was a challenge. Once we did, it was so soft that getting out was the last thing we wanted to do. So we did the first thing we wanted to do instead.

The next morning, we all had breakfast together. Nothing elaborate, whole wheat pancakes, ham, toast, breakfast cereal, juices, and coffee. But it was so cool to be once again eating with so many creative people. After breakfast we sat down to do the final three programs.

Susan's was first. She chose a two-part writing assignment out of the book Now Write! edited by Sherry Ellis. It's the book I gave her as a present the first weekend we spent together. Being a guru with description, she chose one on describing a piece of food. For the first part, we had to describe the appearance, smell, texture, and taste of any food we chose as if we were explaining it to someone who had never heard of it before.

It was a very successful program. The LOMP poet laureate, John Calvin Rezmerski (http://www.mnpoets.com/poet.php) came up with a hilarious poem about pineapple upside down cake. I wrote a two stanza iambic quad about a blueberry.

For the second part, we had to describe a vivid memory we have about a food. Out of this exercise, I created my second favorite poem of the weekend. My memory was of a baby sitter I had as a kid, Bernice Kunde, and how I loved to go to her place and help her bake. Susan wrote about her grandma's cream of wheat.

Meredith Cook, editor of The Moccasin, LOMP's yearly chapbook, provided the next program. Unfortunately, she was suffering from laryngitis and couldn't talk very much. So, she set out some books on poetry and referred us to the page dealing with the Rondolet. It's a French poem, consisting of seven lines. Lines one, three, and seven are identical. Line four rhymes with the identical lines and lines two, five, and six create a second rhyme set.

Susan and I wrote love Rondelets for each other. And, since we sat next to each other, we got to read them together too. John wrote a Rondolet parody of Rondelets, Ed wrote two of the little buggers, filled with clever word play, and Meredith, an exploding fire hydrant of poetic water, wrote four.

My program, titled Repetition in Writing, was the final one of the weekend. Sue Chambers introduced me with the traditional "last but not least" passage, but after seeing how wonderful the other programs were, I seriously wondered if maybe the last and least WOULD share the same spot this time.

I opened up by telling the group I was a paper-phile, pun intended, and passed out the handout I had created. It contained a number of famous poems that use repetition effectively, some examples of repetition in general literature, and a small collection of poems I had created using repetition.

I spent a small amount of time introducing the poems in the handout and then briefly explained the different types of repetition. Finally, I set them to work on my assignment, writing a list poem. A list poem describes something in depth. It looks at the subject matter from a variety of viewpoints and connects them together, usually by repeating the subject at various points throughout the poem. My poem, "Invalid Item"  is one example.

I didn't feel that my program was as effective as the other ones until I heard the poems that the people created. Ed created one about grass that floated so high above its mundane subject matter that I felt a lump in my throat. Linda and Sue each created one about the cabin we shared for the retreat. Linda described it physically, and Sue, one of the owners of the cabin, described its meaning to her on an emotional level. I wrote one too, even though it was my program, but I didn't like it at all. Susan wrote a beautiful poem about the things she cherishes.

After the final poem was read, we broke for a final meal and then shared in the final clean-up. All in all it was a simply amazing weekend. Driving away from the cabin I thought about all the wonderful experiences I had on this retreat. I thought about how I feel even closer to Susan. I thought about how I'm even more sure that she's my soul mate. Then it hit me. This wasn't only MY first poetry retreat and HER first poetry retreat. It was OUR first poetry retreat. I smiled at her. "I think we'll be doing a lot more of these," I said. She just smiled back.
 

I wasn't sure what to write about for this topic since I'm not much of an authority on either dolphins or kayaks. So, I put both of them together into a google search. What I found, got me to thinking.

One of the links, the second on the list, is for a page called Swim with Wild Dolphins. (http://www.damarisdrewry.com/wilddolphin/) It's run by Damaris Drewry, Ph.D. Psychology. She claims that , "A dolphin adventure will help transform your approach to living, and life's approach to you." Doesn't that sound intriguing?

It sure sounded intriguing to me. So I read on. In the very next paragraph I learned that, "people who describe themselves as transformed physically, emotionally and spiritually by dolphin encounters have difficulty putting the experience into words."

Hmmm. Transformed physically? By a dolphin? Is that even legal? Transformed emotionally? Will I learn to accept rejection better? Do I have to tell the dolphin my problems? How come my therapist has never informed me about my "dolphin" options?

But I must read on. "[Dolphins] seem to know when people are in a state of of transition, crisis, or illness, or when we are just plain curious -- and they respond with joy and playfullness(sic)." WTF? Is there any way to gauge whether this is even true or not? Hmmm, a claim that's impossible to substantiate... I don't know about you, but my bullshit meter's getting curious.

So why does this renowned doctor host these retreats in the first place? She writes, "The reason that I organize and facilitate these Dolphin Spirit Retreats is because I have an extraordinary kinship with dolphins since I was fifteen years old." OK, poor grammar aside, what does she mean she has a kinship with dolphins? Is she descended from them? If so, maybe she's the missing link that evolution's been looking for.

She continues, "Even then I wanted to be a translator between dolphins and humans (1966 in Phoenix, AZ)because I knew dolphins had great gifts for people of all ages." Ummm, doesn't being a translator between two "languages" require that you KNOW both of them? Are we to belive that she, at age 15, learned how to speak dolphin?

She continues, "As life happens I didn't go in that direction until I was 44 and grieving the unexpected and pre-mature death of my husband. I wasn't just curious about swimming with wild dolphins, I HAD TO DO THIS!" What does this mean? She HAD TO DO IT? Were the dolphins blackmailing her? What information did they have over her?

Still, she continues, "Joan Ocean ("The Dolphin Connection") was my inspiration and my life-changing experiences were almost identical to some of hers." Really? Well some of my experiences are almost identical to Robin Williams, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Farley, and Bill Murray. We all eat, pee, and poo. Hmmm, I think I just came up with the name for a new children's book. But really, this is a misleading statement. We don't know what connection or connections she shares with this lady, yet we are to assume it's something profound or spiritual regarding dolphins.

But she's not done yet. "To say this this is a 'calling' is an understatement. I view the experience as a sacred honor, and one of unbridled JOY! I recommend that everyone read her book before coming to the retreat." Notice how the good doctor still doesn't tell us what experiences her and Joan Ocean have in common, but she wants us to read this lady's story and assume that theirs are nearly identical.

I don't know if this is intended fraud, a poorly designed website, or what, but are you at all curious what the lady charges to carry out her "sacred honor" with "unbridled joy?" Eighteen hundred dollars for six days in a dorm room or twenty-two hundred for six days with just one roommate. That includes accommodations, two meals a day (for only five of the six days), and plenty of frolicking fun with the dolphins. Hmmm, I guess I chose the wrong profession.
 

Don't we all have a certain amount of dysfunction? I believe so, but for the longest time, I sincerely felt that most people were normal and that I was one of tiny minority who just didn't quite fit in.

At 38, when my second marriage disintegrated and I no longer had the heart to live 2000 miles away from my familial roots, I moved back to Minnesota to live with my mom. I'd been on my own for over eighteen years and only made it back to visit every couple, so my mom was tickled to have me move in.

Well, four years later, I'm still there. Not because I couldn't make it out on my own, but because we both benefit from the arrangement. She benefits from having a man around and I benefit with cheaper living expenses. Plus it's nice to once again be close to my family.

For quite some time, however, even though I've been working and taking care of myself since I left for the Army in 1986, living with my mom, at the age of 40 made me feel too dysfunctional for dating. After all, what kind of woman is looking for a loser like that?

It isn't just living with my mom, though, that's made me feel too damaged for normal society. I've had two failed marriages. I have psoriasis that gets more and more noticeable every year. I spent 18 years in and out of a high-control, apocalyptic cult, and I always feel like I'm out of step with the rest of the world.

But as I've become more and more comfortable with my own idiosyncrasies and quasi-disturbing affectations, I realize that while I'm far from living in the magical world of "normal," I'm not too far off from whatever's considered average.
 

I don't like to admit it, but I'm not a big fan of change. I've seen enough of it to know that it's not anything inherently evil or ugly, but being a creature of habit, I don't like it when my routine, however dysfunctional it may be, is modified without my consent.

I've also seen enough to know that change doesn't have to be violent or deadly to be a major pain in the ass. It doesn't have to hurt to make me cry and it doesn't have to cut to make me bleed.

Luckily, I've learned that I'm not required to like change to benefit from it. It's perfectly alright for me to feel crappy for awhile when something unexpected crashes into my life and tosses my equilibrium into the garbage disposal. I'm allowed to bitch.

But once I've finished bitching. Once I've spent a few hours or a few days buying rounds for my pity party. Once even I'm sick and tired of my whining. Then, I'm ready to assess the situation and move forward. I'm ready to find out which aspect or aspects of the change are going to be a blessing and which I'm just going to have to deal with.

Historically, all of the changes I've been through have benefited me in one way or another. All have at least made me wiser. And most have made me better off in some other way too. Sometimes change is a chance to start over fresh and change the trajectory of my life. Sometimes it's just an escape from an abusive person or situation.

The bottom line is that even though I complain about and fight against it, change has been one of my most consistent allies.
 

This past weekend, my girlfriend and I were looking for books for her kids. We wanted to get something for each of them and they have rather disparate tastes in reading material. So, we found ourselves spelunking through the children's section of the Ames, Iowa Borders book store.

Being surrounded by so many memory-inducing books, like Frog and Toad are Friends, Where the Sidewalk Ends, and Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham, brought out a lovely conversation about what children's books we remember most. For my lovely girlfriend, it was A Wrinkle in Time. What was mine?

Growing up, I loved to go to the library. I read Pippy Longstocking, Babar the Elephant, Curious George, and Richard Scary, but my favorite of all was Encyclopedia Brown. I just couldn't get enough Donald J Sobol's boy detective.

You see Leroy Brown, or Encyclopedia as he was known by everyone but his parents and his teacher, wasn't just a typical grade-schooler. He could solve any mystery set in front of him. What made him the coolest, though, was that while he wasn't big, Bugs Meany, the town bully, was afraid of him. Not because Encyclopedia was especially tough, but because he was exceptionally smart.

Plus, he had a friend and partner, Sally Kimball, who not only seemed like one of those forbidden girlfriend thingies, but who could beat up Bugs, literally, if Encyclopedia got in over his head. From a short, shy, and nervous boy's perspective, Encyclopedia Brown seemed to have it all.

All in all, there are over 25 different Encyclopedia Brown books. Each one contained ten separate mysteries. One per chapter. The first chapter of each book usually sees Encyclopedia solving something for his police chief father. The second usually involves Encyclopedia thwarting some dastardly plan of Bugs Meany and the third details Bugs futile attempt for revenge.

I had to find out if they still carried any of these books. Border's makes finding books easy by providing a computer, equipped with a printer, that customers can use. I entered Encyclopedia Brown in the search window and in just a few seconds, I received not only confirmation that they did have them in stock, but where to do to look for them. They were sold out of the first one in the series, Boy Detective, but they did have a few of the other ones, including Gets His Man, Takes the Case, and Solves them all. I bought a copy of Takes the Case.

Later on that evening, I read through the first three stories in my motel room. The warm, nostalgic feeling transported me back to the days of Wacky Packages, candy cigarettes, and elementary school detectives who were smarter than the adults. And I'm happy to announce that I was able to solve two of the three mysteries I read without looking at the solutions in the back of the book. So while you can't always go back to when you were a kid, every once in a while, you can.
 

What is the balance between creativity and community? Is there a formula? Can I enter my age, average words per month, and preferred genre into a chart somewhere and come out with my ideal CvC index? Will cutting bacon out of my diet help?

Yes, I'm being facetious. I'm being facetious for two reasons: One, I don't think there's anything inherently opposite between creativity and community and two, I'm really trying to find something to help me cut down my intake of bacon.

On the serious side, though, I do feel that community and creativity belong together. Doing something unselfish, in my experience, motivates my heart and thus my desire to write. Have you heard the concept that you can't teach somebody without teaching yourself at the same time? That same idea applies here. When you give to someone, you are giving to yourself too.

Another reason that community and creativity are connected is in the way that creativity is stimulated. One of the most effective methods is to step outside of a normal routine and do something different. Take an alternate route home from work. Hold your coffee cup with the opposite hand. Switch the order that you complete your shopping list. Anything you do to escape autopilot can stimulate your creativity. So, when taking on community projects, look for ones that are going to be a challenge or cause you to think in a fresh or novel manner. That way, you won't have to separate your creativity from your sense of community.
 

I don't think I have ADHD but I do have tangentitis.. It isn't so much a condition as a way of looking at life. Basically, for me, everything is related to everything else in one way or another and it's my job to trace the connections.

My primary way of doing this is through tangents. For example, have you ever taken a bite of a succulent strawberry pie and while savoring the exquisite taste wondered why pterodactyls had hair but not feathers? Or maybe, after a quiet stroll by a slow, tranquil stream, you imagined whether grapes and raisins attend the same high school reunions.

Well, my friends, welcome to my world. When everything is somehow attached to everything else, there's no telling where your mind will lead you. One minute I may be enjoying a delicious, mocha frappuccino, analyzing its texture, temperature, and taste and the next minute be drawing up mental plans to reorganize my DVD collection in alphabetical order based on the producer's middle name. Yes, the two are undeniably intertwined.

Some people find my tangential abilities to be charming. Other people are down right annoyed. Most people just raise their eyebrows, wonder if they somehow missed a portion of the conversation, and figure I must be one of them long, lost Flutterminds everyone is talking about.

Speaking of Flutterminds, did I ever tell you about the time I...
 

s t r e a m     o f     c o n s c i o u s n e s s

lub a dub dub, three men in a tub. are they gay? does it matter. if they were, would they lose out on heaven? no tubs in heaven? or no gays? it doesn't make sense. making sense is as difficult as making cents. i wish i could make cents the same way i make sense. i'd be a billionare some days. i'd be in the poor house the next but at least i'd have the memories. or would i? how would i know? maybe i've done a lot more than i remember. if i didn't remember it would it still have happened?

lub dub...grub...shrub...bush. yucch! eight years of increasing pain. embarressment. embarressment <--> em..bare..ass..ment. coincident? i think not. why are we embarressed by nudity? there are only two varieties. nearly everyone has seen both. why do we care that each one varies a little from the rest? who taught us embarressment? is there a cure?

lub...lubely...she's a lubely lady...why am i stuttering? or am i lisping? why do i confuse lisping and stuttering? do people who lisp and stutter have it worse than those who just lisp or those who just stutter? is it preferable to have just one speech impediment or are you better off with running the gamut. gamut? what's a gamut? where did that phrase come from? running the gamut. running the gamut. i run the gamut all the time and i have no idea what i'm doing.

lub dub. lub dub. lub dub. lub dub. lub dub.
 

I wonder what it would be like to always be in the spotlight. To know that no matter where I went, people would be watching, listening, even following. Could I handle a life like that?

Would the constant click, click, click of the cameras ever feel normal? What about all the questions. The accusations. The endless analysis of every move I make. Would I ever find a way to cope with such an invasion of my privacy?

I'm not sure. And yet to some degree, I crave the opportunity to invite these unwelcome circumstances into my life. For they are part and parcel of the realization of my dreams, knowing that people the world over have been moved by my simple words.
 

Rumors. They can be so destructive. They can ruin friendships. They can ruin reputations. They can even ruin lives. The only way to effectively combat them is head on.

So, in that vein, I would like to address the rumor that MaryLou is a lying lesbian named Larry. Even though it rolls off the tongue effortlessly, almost magically, it simply isn't true. Her name isn't even Larry, it's Mary. MaryLou to be exact. And as she so eloquently stated in a recent blog, "how could anyone named MaryLou not be sweet?" She might as well have asked, "how could anyone named MaryLou be a lying lesbian named Larry?"

So if you run across a rumor that you suspect isn't true, after examining it for a couple days by sharing it with other people, for verification purposes, and making a "random" phone call or two to the person's significant other, intimating the gyst of the rumor to see how someone close to the person responds, let it go. If you don't, you just might ruin a friendship, a reputation, or even a person's life.
 

What the heck is a "threefer" you say? Well, if you look over to the little month thingy to the right, you will see that I have three blue dates in a row. That my dear friends is a threefer. I don't think I've ever gone past a twofer before. But since I'm taking part in mood indigo 's "Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  contest, I could, theoretically anyway, turn this thing blue from here on out. WOW! That would make it a twenty-threefer.

The real purpose of this particular post is to let those few precious souls who regularly risk the waves and freezing temperatures to dive into my sporadically updated blog why I've all of a sudden started spouting words like some speed-crazed humpback whale.
 

I've tasted the tempting, succulent offerings of both religion and atheism. In the end, though, neither of them satisfied me. I feel just as condescended reading Richard Dawkin's The God Delusion as I do sitting in a pew, hearing an "expert" describe the likes and dislikes of the supreme intelligence of the universe.

From where I stand, the universe emanates an enticingly powerful sense of intelligence and order. Yet at the same time, it displays such a callous dedication to efficiency that I'm tempted to wonder whether this supreme intelligence has somehow become devoid of heart.

Upon closer examination, however, I find a universe that's still in the development phase. I have a lot of questions. Like why do carnivores play such a major roll in a universe where we become emotionally attached to living things? And as far as that goes, why is death necessary in the first place? But I find enough reasons to believe that the answers are worth waiting for. Religion and atheism both try to answer these and other questions. Unsatisfactorily, in my opinion.

There are as many different religious explanations as there are religions, but one of the most prominent in western culture teaches us that we die because our first parents were naughty.

I'm not questioning God's ability to punish all mankind for the sins of two malcontents and I'm not questioning Her right to do so. But for me to believe something, it does need to have a ring of truth to it. So basically, what's in it for God. What does She benefit from punishing all mankind? I've never found a single religion that could answer these and other questions satisfactorily.

But the ice is just as thin under atheism. And, just like religion, there are as many varieties of atheism as there are atheists. Under the heading Definitions and Distinctions, in the article on Atheism, wikipedia describes the situation like this:

"Some of the ambiguity and controversy involved in defining atheism arises from difficulty in reaching a consensus for the definitions of words like deity and god. The plurality of wildly different conceptions of god and deities leads to differing ideas regarding atheism's applicability. In contexts where theism is defined as the belief in a singular personal god, for example, people who believe in a variety of other deities may be classified as atheists, including deists and even polytheists. In the 20th century, this view has fallen into disfavor as theism has come to be understood as encompassing belief in any divinity."

So, for the purpose of this discussion, I'm defining atheism as the belief that there isn't ANY God. The problem with this concept is that even though we can't scientifically prove that God exists and snap a picture of Her, as it were, we can see many examples in nature that go beyond what natural selection or survival of the fittest require.

Love for example. What use does love have in a universe where only the strong are destined to survive? If natural selection is true, then why do parents sacrifice their careers and goals to take care of an autistic or terminally ill child? Why don't they just let it die, since it is obviously not one of the fittest? Why are waterfalls, ocean sunsets, mountain vistas beautiful? For that matter, why do we even have the concept of beauty? It isn't necessary for survival.

These and many other accoutrements of life suggest to me that someone with a large heart is behind our universe. I don't understand this person very well. I may never be able to, but I do believe She exists and I do believe She has an ultimate plan. I don't, however, believe She has whispered any parts of this plan to a "chosen few."
 

I haven't been feeling very good lately. I work in the basement of a major computer company, surrounded by high-end servers, and to help safeguard the machinery, they keep the temperature at a brisk 60 degrees year round. So, even though it's almost ninety degrees outside, I'm wearing a sweater today. Not feeling well, I didn't get up in time for breakfast. So I stopped to get something at a BP store on my way to work.

The clerk, a kid around 18 or so, looked me over and frowned as I walked through the door. I collected my breakfast, a bottle of Aguapure water and a chocolate-chip muffin, and set them down on the counter in front of him. I handed him my money. He took it and asked, "Why are you wearing a sweater on a hot day like this?"

Anyone older would have just thought I was weird or something, but he was young enough to want to know why. So I told him about the rare immune-deficiency disease I contracted while hunting the exotic, three-toed Snaqualma bear in Alaska two years ago.

He jumped back, a worried expression on his face and threw the twenty dollar bill I'd handed him on top of the till.

"Don't worry," I told him. "It isn't contagious from one human to another." His expression softened a bit and he picked back up my money, put it in the till, and laid my change on the counter. "Nope, you don't have to worry about a thing," I continued. "The only way to catch what I got is through sexual intercourse with this particular kind of bear." Then, I grabbed my change and muffin and headed out the door.

Note: This blog is only loosely based on the truth. Some or all of what's listed here may not have actually happened. Those parts that did actually happen, may have happened completely different then portrayed. In fact, if held side by side, like in those old Tide laundry soap commercials, the truth and this blog may appear to have been washed by disparate detergents.

Note: Tide laundry detergent is a registered trademark of Proctor & Gamble .
 

Every summer, Crossings at Carnegie, a cultural center in Zumbrota, Minnesota, sends out the call for photographs. Photographers from all over the area send in their prints in hopes of being chosen for the annual Poetography event.

Judges select their favorite twenty-five to thirty entries and then post them on the web for all to see. Once the photos are posted, the call goes out for poets to write their magical verses based on the chosen snaps.

Once again, the judges go to work. They wade through the swamp of epics and lyrics, couplets and sonnets and select one poem for each photo. Finally, on an elegant Friday night, surrounded by friends, family, wine, and goodies, Crossings holds an awards ceremony. Each of the winning poets and photographers takes their stand in front of the group. The poets read their poems, and the photographers describe their photographs. It's a truly fabulous night

Both of the past two years, I've been blessed to see my poetry and/or photography accepted for the event.

Two years ago, I got to showcase both a photograph and a poem.

Note: A precious friend, susanL , thought this would make an interesting blog story. So, thanks to her suggestion, here's my version of Home Alone.

When I was four or five, our family decided to have a picnic at Oronoco park. I think it was for the 4th of July, but my memory's a little hazy on this part. At any rate, it was in the summer time and enough of our extended family were involved to necessitate taking two cars.

The men loaded into one car. The women loaded into the other car. And together, the two cars took off for Oronoco. The men thought the women had taken me to gush over and the women thought the men had taken me so I'd learn manly things. Unfortunately, neither noticed that little Tommy was left behind.

We lived in Goodhue at the time, a good half hour or more from Oronoco and when I realized that they'd forgotten me I'd become a little scared. Just a little though. So, I ran through the back yard, into the alleyway, and up to the rear door of Dierchs's store. I yanked the old screen door open and bolted inside to the front register. Mr. Dierchs was waiting with the same brown, cardigan sweater and warm smile he always had. Mr. and Mrs. Dierchs were both wonderful people. Eventually, they'd end up helping my family out quite a bit when my dad became ill. But that was a few years after this incident.

So I looked around at the candy behind the register like I always did, probably honing in on the tootsie rolls, and then I told him that my family had gone on a picnic. I don't remember what else I mentioned, but he seemed concerned enough to let me take home a can of pork and beans. The Dierchs's were always good about letting us take things when we didn't have the money and then billing our parents later.

Anyway, so I run back home and come walking into the kitchen with my Van Camps pork and beans. I find the can opener and figure out how to attach it. Then, just as I'm struggling to open it up, in through the door flys my dad and grandpa.

I don't remember this well enought to confirm, but apparently, I wasn't crying or scared, just standing on a chair at the kitchen table trying to open the can of beans.
 

I found a link to a survey in Deelyte- Chillin' 's blog.

When I filled it out on why I read her blog, it asked that I post it in mine as well.

So, if you read my blog and would like to fill out a short survey as to why, here it is: "Invalid Item" 
 

I think I'd kind of given up on the idea of meeting my soulmate. My heart's twin? Nah, I didn't think I'd find her. But I had a revelation about a month ago. One that helped me heal a spiritual wound I'd been carrying around for many years. I finally made peace with God. I don't have any preaching to do or any epiphanies for sale. But it sure does feel good to be his friend again.

What am I leading up to here? Well, making peace with God has given me the peace of mind and balance I needed to take stock of my life. While doing just that on my birthday a couple weeks ago, I found myself chatting with my best friend. We had recently gone through a little spat over something silly and it felt sooooo good to have made up.

We talked and chatted and laughed and apologized and somewhere in the middle of it all, realized that we've been in love with each other for some time now. I'd say the realization hit us like a ton of bricks, but it was more like a box of cotton balls.

Now, after that lengthy build-up, here are three poems that her pure heart and gentle love have inspired me to write.

Every Detail
From miles and miles and miles away,
you somehow managed to see my kind heart.
But standing so close that our lips were entwined,
You caused my defects to all but depart.

So please do not be filled with dismay.
The love that I have is not based on a scale.
Your heart and your soul for me were designed -
I cherish you each and every detail.


Fuzzy Bunny Heart
Soft and cuddly,
warm and snug,
like a new pair of slippers
or a tall, shagg rug.

Your love envelopes me,
cushions the blows,
keeps out life's hailstones,
watches me doze.

There isn't a worry,
too big for your net.
There isn't a problem,
I've reason to fret.

I'm safe in your bosom.
You make danger depart.
I couldn't feel more protected,
by your fuzzy bunny heart.


Lovely Whispers
Tiny drops of warm, spring rain,
fall upon my hungry ears.
They make me feel I'm young again,
washing away my unborn fears.

Directly from the source they come,
a luscious mouth so ripe to kiss.
Like cotton hailstones on a drum,
your lovely whispers bring me bliss.

dedicated to my heart's twin, susanL
 

One of my favorite online sites is 43 Things. What I love about it the most is how easy it makes it to be an encouragement to other people. Encouraging those who have doubts and building up those who can see the vision but who can't quite see themselves holding the prize is one of my passions. So I just adore how easy they make it.

For example, one of the items on my list is buy a stranger something from their Amazon wishlist every month. I started out fine with this, purchasing something for two separate people but then I found myself in a financial situation that wouldn't allow me to continue. Well, I'm finally back to a point in my life where I can take part in this again and that's what I did today. I bought a lady named Amber from Brighton, Illinois, something from her Amazon wishlist and she should receive it some time this week.

You can probably guess how awesome this makes me feel. It was definitely worth the fourteen or so dollars it cost me to have it shipped.
 

My second karaoke judging experience is under way. Just like before, I can tell it's going to be a blast. We have three judges, my brother Ron, my friend Jenean, and myself. My brother's playing Randy, Jenean's playing Paula, and I once again am playing Simon. And let me tell you, I had some patently Simonesque opportunities this evening.

First though, let me go over the rules. This time around we are having five weeks of qualification and five weeks of elimination. During qualification, if the singer is good enough, we give them the thumbs up signal and they are in the contest. If they didn't do so hot, we tell them what they need to improve and they can try again during one of the other qualification weeks.

All those who qualify go onto the elimination rounds. That's where the real judging happens. Depending on how many survive qualification, we may be having to get rid of two, three, four, or more contestants each week. We will have pared it down to five for the final night.

Tonight was the first qualification round and also the first time we judges had worked together so we're still getting a feel for things, but overall it went very well. Of the eleven who participated eight were given the go ahead and three were asked to try again.

One of the three was simply too drunk to sing. It was funny and fun to watch, but it didn't have any musical merit at all. The second person eliminated was tone deaf. And I'm not sure she realized it. She really seemed to think she had done a great job, but she sang the entire song with the same note. When it came time to critique her, being that I was playing Simon, I asked her if that was her best song. When she told me it was, I simply reminded her that the American Legion has bingo as well and that maybe she'd be better suited for it. She took it well.

The final lady who was eliminated had a good voice but chose a song that she couldn't sing. We gave her some suggestions for songs that were more in her range and encouraged her to try again next week.

Mark, Deb, and Kelly, the staff from BAM Karaoke, did a wonderful job running the contest. All in all, I can tell that just like my first judging experience, this is going to be something that stays with me for the rest of my life.