Why I like Garrison Keillor

I like Garrison Keillor. Yes, I do, and I always vote Republican. It's a contradiction, I know, but I did have a very liberal artist friend who always told me that I really was a Libertarian. It made him feel better to say that because he liked me.

And I like Garrison Keillor.

He is coming to the Fox Theatre in Atlanta on June 4th, 2016 with his Prairie Home Companion show.  I saw that show in Brevard, NC last year and I would spend twice the amount this year for the tickets at Fox. Why? Because Garrison Keillor is funny. And I need funny right about now, and I guess I needed it back last year in Brevard. The show was top notch in music, humor and entertainment.

I think he is also on the other side of 'so vain no one can stand you'. He took himself seriously with a grain of salt coming up as a writer, and I like that. As intelligent and serious as we want to be, there is always a time when your zipper is down, and I think he knows that.

Also, the liberal author, humorist, entertainer seems to have a soft spot for God - or at least hymns that point to God. How surprised and delighted I was to hear, a cappello - a voice in intermission rise up from the side of the seated area singing old hymns, and as it increased in strength, it was a thrill to see the liberal bard himself coming in from the sidelines singing and leading the audience in traditional old time hymns. I don't think he is much of a hypocrite, not any more than the rest of us, and so I think he may actually believe in at least some of what he sang.

Looking at my bedside table at The Keillor Reader, I remember fondly what I have read so far in this book, and in earlier ones - Lake Wobegon books where I laughed my way all the way through. And so, I like Garrison Keillor, even though he likes environmentalists and Democrats.  I think he is funny.

Prairie Home Companion

Trump not - Importance

It is March 4th, 2016, a day after a Republican Presidential nominee debate and a day after Mitt Romney came out against Donald Trump, and I am irritated, enough to write this. It's not so much about Mitt Romney, who lost the election he ran in with a milquetoast stance, nor is it about Donald Trump, who I do not like, but this blog post is about how these candidates and the news agencies that report their antics rob you of your life. They do!

First - I know no one reads my blog except a few friends I love and appreciate so much. But I have to say this! I voted for Ben Carson in the Georgia primaries. I believe in voting your conscience in the primaries, and I did. Now it's on to the finish line. I will decide who to vote for at the election and I will vote the best of the pick in my opinion. But there is a lot of time between now, March 4, 2016 and election day, November 6, 2016.

And so brothers and sisters who have families and love them and have jobs and work them and who go to church and serve there - what will you be doing between now and election day?? I say, forget it!
 Live your life. Love your family. Go to church, play your sports, take care of your elderly parents. Keep your eyes on your life and living it as you should - then when election time comes, vote.

Don't give the news stations your time, distracting you from your life. I'm listening to Fox News in the background as I write this as another family member listens and I know that the words coming from that broadcast are distracting the listener from their life and the only winner is the station that has the viewer captive.

So - whether you are a Democrat or a Republican - please consider this: Please read 2 Kings 23:1-25

I read this scripture this morning in my devotions. I was shocked - very shocked to find that after King Josiah did so much to do what was right when he came to rule, even so he died fairly quick, and at the hand of his enemy. It did not seem fair! I did not like reading that - and then I read the footnotes and this is where I want to ask readers to think about their lives in contrast to or in consideration of their current life and culture.

"Though Josiah was himself righteous (v.25), it was not enough to turn away God's wrath from the nation that had done such evil...."

I'm saying this - don't waste your life on the time between March and the election in November 2016, listening to media. Live your life as if an election was not in the future. Love your kids, your wife, your friends, your parents.  Work your job, play your sports. Worship in church and at home. Live your life and vote in November.

Georgia - What I Like Best

I moved to Georgia from Florida in 2014. Traveled from the Florida Panhandle through Milton, Florida,  then up Interstate 65 to Montgomery Alabama to Interstate 85 into Metro Atlanta -  to I75 to I575 - to Woodstock, Georgia - and,  I never looked back.  I  love Georgia.

What do I like about Georgia? I love the seasons. Driving the same county road through the year and seeing the leaves coming out in spring and then the full green explosion on those same trees in summer is like a gallery opening every time!

In the fall the leaves begin their slow exit, and suddenly, after a day of full blown wind, you have barren limbs showing the same roads you have been driving all this time yet suddenly you see barns and pastures you never saw before. It's like living your same life with a daily surprise.

I like Georgia because they like their sports, and they celebrate that.

I like Georgia because their State Park system is excellent. Whether you camp, kayak, hike, like to camp in cabins or tents, fish - the State of Georgia has a wonderful state park organization. I even walked a portion of the Appalachian Trail in Georgia. In my area, the biking trails are absolutely fabulous - well maintained and safe.

I like Georgia because they fly fish and I want to learn.

I like Georgia because they like their churches, and are not ashamed to attend every Sunday.

But most of all, I like Georgia because my children live here.

So anyway, this is my blog post today - appreciating Georgia and that I live here!

Georgia State Parks - LINK

Georgia Biking Trails - LINK

Georgia Scenic Driving - LINKS

Beware the Eye Glasses!

My birthday was fun, May 24th. It happened to be on a Saturday and so I went with hubby to GNC for vitamins -  then we went to lunch at Nori Nori in Atlanta  - interesting concept of sushi and really good Asian dishes buffet style. Food was good. I enjoyed the large fish tank at the entrance, And we moved on to shop - which brings me to to the point of this post.

We went to Lenox Square. Hubby went one way - to the Apple Store - I went another. I was wandering around in Macy's kind of in a daze. I was trying to find a casual dress or two. It is not easy at my age. I'm not trying to look younger than I am by allowing more skin to show than prudent, nor have I completely given up, but back to the wandering. I turned to go another direction and there, standing in front of me was a tall, elegant African American woman, dressed in a black pants suit, closely cropped hair, with the most enormous pair of thickly framed eyeglasses I have ever seen in my life. Towering over me, I was prey. I was also mesmerized by the glasses. Perhaps it was a tactic. She held a can of Dior face makeup in her hand and asked me something about make up. I can't remember what exactly she said, the spell of the glasses held me and somehow I found myself following her through the store to what I now know was her cave, disguised like a chair. I sat, foggy headed and dazed by eye wear. I think the initial question she asked me in the store aisle had to do with the product in her hand, but somehow as I sat there I agreed to a full facial. I still don't know why I was so weak.

It began. My face was cleansed, then layer on layer of Dior product was applied. Cleanser, anti-everything cream  - (at my age I guess I shouldn't be surprised) - then eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, layers of eye everything, four kinds of stuff for lips - all the while other Dior employees drifting by to gaze upon my lovely face to declare an awesome transformation. My captor told me I could not look until she was completely done. She "never let's her clients look at her artistry until complete".

Finally done. She leads me to a full length mirror near her station and I finally get to see...a clown! Simply MB was staring at a clown. Where did those eyebrows come from!? Behind me stood the tall, elegant enormous eye glassed proponent of Dior products large and small and I just stood there and...lied. "Oh how lovely"! Not.

Back to the chair. A sinking feeling as product after product is presented to me being pulled from a hidden location near the cave chair. I ask how much. I feel trapped. I feel obligated. I feel miserable.
After discovering that she is trying to sell me over $1,000.00 worth of product - which surprises me because I wasn't dressed like that would be an easy purchase - but then again maybe something about me singled me out - like the wounded animal in the herd - I try to get out of there as quickly and as inexpensively as I can without looking like I am without the means to buy anything. Maintain my dignity in it all, you know. I purchase a few basic skin care items and leave. And as I walked away rubbing my eyebrows with saliva wet fingers to remove the pencil applied to my poor pitiful eyebrows, I looked back and I know I saw her yawn with sleepiness. Like after a big meal.

Just in case you want to buy Dior click here!

the tree - her

the tree has
nowhere to hide
stripped bare
against a winter's sky
...pausing
   ...waiting
       ...undone.

fingers extended reaching
every which way - perhaps stretching
to the sun

who holds her clothing.

A Boundary Supposed

A boundary supposed is the shore.

Walking its edge

and nakedness,

beauty revealed

and being revealed

by elements soft and harsh

beating against her existence

carving

new shapes and colors

so brutal and beautiful

that I can only cry

with relief

that she is alive.

When that man came to gaze

upon her power-less-ness

he ran to collect a covering

so that he only

could partake of the beauty

so raw, so real, so gritty…

it was to be his own.

But the shore has a secret

that the man can’t know,

she is one with the sea

and

a cousin to the wind.

She cringes not at change

and doesn’t cry out

from a beating

with no regret

of the transformation.

Remembering Ivan

September 16, 2004 - that was not a good day. I have been going through my photos tonight and I ran across some Hurricane Ivan photos I shot and I realized that we are coming up on an anniversary of when Hurricane Ivan hit the Pensacola area. When something that dramatic happens to you, it's as if you go into auto pilot, at least it was for me and it's only afterwards that you realize how deeply the experience affected you. Looking at the photos I still can get a bit emotional about it. Anyway, here are some photos I shot and a poem I wrote - I think they helped me get over it.

How could you have done to us what you did, salty, beautiful blue?
Why roar at your gazing lover?
Sue, who gardened by your breezes has gone.
No voices or crabbing adventures and grandchildren playing...
who knew that one day YOU would grow ENRAGED
and take it all away.
How can I love you, trust you, though you woo me daily with your calm lapping, making up to me.
Breathing your scent I can't help myself.
Lover again.

The Canoe

On a night when
sounds drift for hours
upon the waters still
as sleep,
and the moon hovers over,
glowing upon it all,
the canoe waits so
beautifully determined,
at shores edge.

She is a patient vessel.
She is streamlined and light.
She glides easily, away.

I was sleeping when I
saw her. Encased in
sheets and sameness, resting
on favored comfort, I
saw her there, clearly,
waiting.
Sitting up, I wrote,
acknowledging her presence.

And I can't stop
loving her.
And I have no power
to un-hear
the lapping and licking
of her sides
as if each taste of her
knocks upon my heart,
"come!"
The stillness that surrounds
her cries,
"hurry!"

And the moon complicit
in illumination, steadily
declares the presence
of departure, still.

Rock(s) of Gibraltar

It's not easy being a Mom. Perhaps that is the understatement of the year, you think ladies? I just returned home from the place where my own Mom is loaning her body to temporarily, Barrancas National Cemetery on NAS Pensacola, Florida. Of course a trip such as to the last place you left your Mother tends to promote reflection and so I find myself before my computer making this post.

The Rock of Gibraltar is a high cliff in southern Spain, at the south-western edge of the Mediterranean Sea near the town and port of Gibraltar. When people say solid as the Rock of Gibraltar they mean something safe and firm. That certainly was the situation with my Mom. Having run across something I wrote for her back in the 80's, I thought this might be a great time to bring it out of moth balls and send a solute to the Mother's of the world who daily continue on, even when they really don't feel much like it.

My mother...
As a child she was
helper, provider, security
Rock of Gilbraltar.
As a teenager she was
enemy, adversary, foe, spy
or so I thought. Young
cloudy eyes see
dimly, looking out
at a world
so confusing.
Days last forever, weeks turn
to eternity.
My relationship with
my mother all cracked
and frayed...
but maturity came to
me
or caught me after 
forever days and
eternal weeks.
Time heals and
I grew up even
I who ran 
from myself or 
possibly my mother.
Today my mother is
someone to me
who I need and who I
pray needs me.
Time healed and my mother
became my friend.
She is 
helper, provider, security,
Rock of Gibraltar.
She is my mother,
I love her.
She is my friend.

And here is a shout out to mother types around the world - Happy Mother's Day.

The Unnamed Storm

The Unnamed Storm

Perhaps             to name you

was to                           know you.

Your gradual                            approach

allowed                                                the denial.

…as if preparations were

unnecessary            or            not            to            be            rushed…

maybe your landfall would be soft

            in the middle of the night as

I slept,                                                  unknowing.

Oh but that doesn’t ever happen with

            a hurricane.

The steering currents warm

with energy

made certain

that

your arrival would be                                  noticed.

You brought a power greater than                 mine.

I stood helpless                                     on the shore

to

hold you back             

or                                 keep it as before.

My belongings                                     scattered…should I search              or

are they ruined by                    your caustic            pounding and should I

just       let        them                                        go?

Say What?

I really debated about making a blog entry with this poem. I wrote it many years ago and I know it's very dark. Depressing. But for some reason it's coming back around to me and in an attempt to be true to what is that strange thing inside I call a spark of creativity, here it is.

At the time I wrote it I was contemplating on how exactly over 900 people would follow a mad man to their death - it had to start somewhere far from that moment when they took their lives and even the lives of their family members. I think it's so important to be careful in religious matters - and not so gullible. People do deceive others and some of them MEAN TO. Anyway, here it is - And turn back if you want to be reading a more uplifting message!

A Kool Aid pile of persons                    

longing for a taste  of

the Promised Land.

An abstract presentation,

performance art of futility

and a colossal lack of planning.

The connecting sinews show in

the promises made…

then discarded…

dumb sheep following blindly

the mad man.

The old model car

making a noise through town,

ugly it seems and

the sameness of your breath makes

the day less important when…

Oh, it’s not a choice to be

so unsatisfied.

It happened naturally,

by comparison.

When the media god spoke

the review was wanting

and

the canned promise of better productions

allured the players to the story

then to the story teller

then to…

Their last glimpse was of

empty eyes.

Almost Tupelo Honey

Tupelo Honey oozing over me.
Wishing to dance
away
with the melody.
Yet, not yet.
Not quite yet.

The sound of waves crashing
on distant shores;
I can almost smell the sea.
But not yet,
not quite -
just almost of me.

The sound of
your thinking
mixes with the noise
of mine -
together going
clickety clack clack;
almost a song
but
not a finished one -
not ready, not yet.

I have a pen but no shoes.
You have a blank piece of paper.
I wait and tell you,
not quite, not yet but
almost free.



Van Morrison - TUPELO HONEY:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eq3YLhtuzTQ