You Can't Teach an Old Dog........

........They have to teach themselves or they will always just be somebody's bitch.

Well, this seems to be the case for me anyway.  I have had a lifetime of sensory input that was slanted, tipped, and worked me to favor one fact, view or notion over another.  Teachers who taught me the accepted history, which conveniently left out almost all the back story and what I had accepted as truth was in fact not very close to the truth, the whole truth.  Spiritual and political leaders did their best to mold me into one of the lock step faithful.  The fact I briefly considered the priesthood as a teen and remained a Republican until 1980 proves they almost had me in their clutches forever.

The Three Sides of the God Coin

Over the last 15 years or so, I have tried my best to not get sucked into conversations of  God and religion.  But some comments I read on one of my Alexandria posts nudged me back into the fray.

The topic brings out the worst in some folks, especially those who are firmly planted on the belief side and those who are solidly on the non-belief side.  That I am an agnostic has not served me well in either camp.  "Fence sitter",  "waffler", and other less civil words have been flung my direction from both sides.

I am comfortable with my religious views only because it took me so long to finally decide that a book of parables written by humans and then re-written under the watchful eye of a monarchy was probably 90% bullcrap.  The book does nothing to prove or disprove God's existence.  Yet, the faithful are positive of God's existence and will offer up the Bible as proof.

The atheists are no better.  They operate on the assumption that God does not exist because God has not shown him/herself.  That for the lack of tangible evidence to the contrary, it must logically follow that there is no supreme being.  Just because you cannot see it does not mean it does not exist.

Cold War Comfort

I am told the Cold War is over.  Yet it would seem both the old USSR and the good ole USA still insist on drawing lines between each other based on the supposedly dead in the water Cold War that was quite effective in maintaining a solid Mexican Stand Off between the evils of the Red Empire and the moral decay of the Capitalists from the West.  The two of us had the World neatly carved up and would use proxies to fight each other.  And though the World is no longer under either's thumb completely, both still insist on using their old school tactics whenever possible.  The World is suddenly much more dangerous than it was during the Cold War.  And sadly, it appears neither the good ole USA nor the old USSR can get their heads around what to do about it other than pulling out the same old tricks out of the same old hat.

The Gates of Love

" Their gated mansion is not just a testament to affluence, it is a house of love. "

I read this phrase I paraphrased in an article about an aging Pop star who had amassed a pile of money her heirs will have trouble spending.

I found the phrase odd.  Maybe it is just me, but the first thing I think of when passing a gated anything is not love.  Gates and Love, well ..... it seems Love can only exist if gates are left open in some way.  Physical and/or emotional.

So when I pass a gated mansion or community, the notion of Love is not even on my radar.  That isn't to say Love cannot exist inside this gated area, but the notion of gates and walls seems almost antithetical to the grandness of Love.  It would appear to me the only love that could really exist inside a gated house, community, etc would be a very narrow beam of it.  Love would stop at the fence, the guard house, not to be shared with those who pass by.  As it turns out, that gate also seems to keep a large portion of the Love available outside it's perimeter from getting in,  Both sides lose.

Gates keep people out.  Love lets people in.

Just my ten minute thought on the matter.  Gotta head for the dump.........

Later.....

Favorite Things

We all have favorite things.  Objects, songs, books, plants, people, ideals and notions...whatever.  Often, why a particular item is favored over another of similar construction and purpose are hard to pin down.  It becomes a prized possession for any number of reasons.

Longevity perhaps.  We have had this thing in our lives for so long, it's presence is taken for granted and when it is gone or destroyed, a small hole is left where it once stood.  Take my life long love of bicycles and the activities associated with them.  I cannot remember my first bike ride.  All I know is bicycles have been part of my life for as long as I can remember.  I love riding them, building them, fixing them, and selling them.  Should I lose the ability to enjoy any or all the facets of cycling, the quality of my lifestyle would plummet.

I had a favorite coffee cup once upon a time.  It held 16 ounces of Joe, was decently insulated and was shaped like an old Coca Cola glass, the kind you might have used to enjoy a true soda fountain Coke while your mom shopped til she dropped in Kresge's or whatever five and dime you had in your hometown.

Clueless and Useless

I've had it with the bullshit.  The stupid focus on events and ideals that have very little to do with people getting through their days.  The Pro Lifers, the Pro Choicers, Bible thumpers, Tea Baggers, Left Wing loonies and the over the top animal huggers who feel we need to "humanely" cook lobsters all manage to keep the nation's focus on stupid shit.  In the meantime, the deep pockets continue to get deeper by picking the pockets of us slobs on the streets.  They love the distractions.  It allows them to carry out their sleazy dealings in Congress and Wall Street outside the smoke filled rooms they used to have to use.

I know we are probably just going through the beginnings of an adjustment from top dog to just another dog fighting for scraps, but this is what makes our whacked leadership so dangerous.  We are still powerful enough to create real problems for our citizens and citizens elsewhere.   Our leaders have become knee jerkers and straw graspers.  And we are letting them get away with it.

So like I said, I have had it with the bullshit, the snake oil promises, and the barely veiled allegiance to the 1% who control the purse strings.  But most of all I have had it with Americans.  We deserve whatever stupidity our leaders dream up.  Lookin for someone to blame?  Look in the mirror............collectively that is.

Later................................

Seppos Proving the Stereotype

I just caught the news about the Aussie in Okie-land who was shot and killed by 3 bad examples from our diverse population.  A thrill killing.  Just for shits and giggles off someone because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  America is often it's own worse enemy.  Add this stupid waste of life to the rather large quiver of Americans acting badly.

I understand the cries of outrage coming in hard from Down Under.  Shouts of Boycotts, reprisals on Americans in Queensland or someplace nearby.  There is no excuse.  There is nothing I can say or do except stand up and call for these losers to be fried, or at least locked away for the rest of their useless lives.

I actually dropped my head and slowly shook it in shame for what some of my own pulled as a lark, just to see someone die.  That I do not understand it any better than the folks from Australia or anywhere else matters little now.  That I hope these assholes suffer the worst kind of treatment available behind bars is of little or no solace to the surviving group of family and friends I am sure.

Adding insult to injury, more shame waved over me when I heard a grandma of one of the young assholes say, "He's a good boy."  No, Grandma, he isn't.  Not even close, not in the same ballpark or even in the same galaxy most of us live in.  Your grandson is evil and deserves the worst the state of Oklahoma can dish out.

Enough said.................................

Ten Minutes

Ten Minutes........A measly ten minutes is all the time I have.  I have been looking for some way to goose myself back into writing on a more regular basis.  This every now and then shit is giving me a case of writer's blue balls.

Okay.  I know. I can see the flippin clock.  I have seven minutes left to make a point, write that one sentence that will make even the manliest man swoon and maybe shed a tear.  The ladies?  Well, the ladies will just melt once they have taken in the one great sentence I now have only five and a half minutes to create.

So I am going to incorporate an exercise  - a writing exercise into the already full to the brim morning routine.  I am going to attempt to make myself write for ten minutes straight each day.  Whether I continue to write is but a bonus.  At least I will have begun picking up where I left off so many months ago.

Given my less than stellar record of seeing things through, especially things that have only me to over see, I am not holding out much hope..........Nah.  Let's face it.  Good intentions are easy to have, it's the follow up that separates those who do from flounders like me who usually don't.

Well, times up.  That one great phrase will have to wait it's turn.

Later.............................................

Privacy Has Left the Building

I jumped in with both feet back in the 1990's when I discovered the Internet.  I saw a world wide electronic network evolving that would bring the World together and maybe, just maybe some quieter times along with it.  My wide eyed optimism however is turning the corner towards grumpy pessimism. Twenty years later and the World is hardly a tighter knit community.  Twenty years later and all I see is more hate and discontent for the most part.

The electronic network that spread like a spiderweb around the globe is just more of the same old same old.  Instead of a melding, all we have now are bigger mobs who waste their time trying to shout down the noise coming from the other mobs.  Instead of a place to exchange ideas, I see a community where hucksters and rip offs ply their trades with impunity from thousands of miles away.  Instead of creating conditions for better social and political change, I see more paranoia and mistrust than ever before among government, religious and social leaderships and their flocks.

What I neglected to figure into this in the beginning was people.  You can give people better tools, but they are still people.  The Internet has had no effect on the base faults we all cart around in our bag of character traits.  If anything, the Internet has freed us to act out in negative ways while thinking we are protected from repercussion because we use a fake handle.  

In reality, we have opened ourselves up to more scrutiny, more intrusions, and more ridicule than we had before we plugged in.  Privacy has left the building.  We held the door open and kicked it in the ass as it passed, all the while pissin and moanin about our loss of it.  Cake and eating it too comes to mind.

To be fair, my original wide eyed optimism has not been completely shot down.  I have seen and experienced first hand some of the positive wonders of the Internet.  In ways, both large and small, change has happened and is still happening.  The inventive genius types have found innovative ways to use the Internet to enrich the lives of many people throughout the world.  Some are obvious, while most float around unnoticed by all except those who benefit.

When it is all said and done, the World Wide Web and all of its spin offs are in their infancy.  We are still figuring out just what it is we have here and how far we want to take it.  By its very nature, the WWW will most likely always be evolving into something new and improved different.  And realizing that it is but a reflection of ourselves, we will or should expect that along with the Good, Evil is but a step behind.

Later...........................................

Shovel Feet

I am not sure why I have had a life long hatred of shoes.  Maybe it is the triple E feet I was blessed with by my mother's half of my DNA. She called them my "shovel feet". Maybe my shoe allergy was the result of the two years I spent as a wild child at Hickam AFB in Hawaii.  I still remember getting a tanning for throwing my shoes away on the way to school and showing up in class barefoot.  Regardless, as I grew up, I wore shoes as little as possible, even going so far as to try to go a complete year in college wearing no shoes.  I didn't make it, but I did last into December.

At some point I started wearing shoes more and bare feet less.  Seems it was around the time I got married about 33 years ago.  Marriage apparently brought quite a few changes to my lifestyle.  I would occasionally indulge in romping around the yard with no shoes, but for the most part, my barefootin days were over.  Being the responsible adult took over.  Responsible adults wear shoes.

So now it is 33 years later.  I grew accustomed to shoes.  I even had a couple of pair I really liked.  Until they wore out.  A few years ago I began to really hate shoes again.  Not the rebellion driven hate I had as a child, but the damn things became painful to wear for more than a few hours at a time.  My wife contended and still does that it is because I choose to wear bad footwear.  Flip flops, sneakers, slip on shoes, blah, blah  blah.  More sensible and higher quality shoes she said would solve my problem.

I bought more sensible shoes of higher quality.  Maybe there was some improvement, maybe there wasn't.  Since I have the history of bare foot rebel in my blood, I was not willing to recognize any tangible improvement that justified the price increase for the "more sensible shoes".  Shoes made my feet hurt and that was that.  Throwing $100 at a pair was not going to change anything.

Earlier this year the time line between no pain and true discomfort seemed to shrink.  Some pairs I owned I just could not wear any more.  I tried not tying the laces so tight, essentially turning the sensible shoes into non-sensible slip on's.  It was better, but I was still having issues after only a few hours with my dogs wrapped in leather and laces.

Must have been about the middle of April I began to go barefoot whenever I could.  I drove to the bike shop barefoot.  I worked barefoot.  And at home I stayed barefoot when not doing yard work or walking Stub over at Mary's Park across the road.

The result has been dramatic.  My feet have not felt this good in years.  Yeah, I've dinged them up some by stepping on some odd wire from a brake cable, or a screw carelessly dropped on the bike shop floor.  There is always something laying in wait for the fool who wears no shoes.  But cuts heal, bruises go away, and besides, the ding is local, not foot wide.  Should have done this years ago.

So this morning about 3:30 AM when I woke up and could not go back to sleep, I took a walk around my house and yard.  We had had some rain and when I walked back into the garage I left wet footprints on the garage floor.  I do not usually notice my footprints other than to acknowledge their existence.  But it was dark-thirty in the morning and with nothing else to do, naturally I thought I might as well have a Kodak moment.  The image at the top is the result.

As I had never really paid much attention to my footprints, I was struck by a couple of things.  It looks like I only have 8 toes.  The little piggies on both feet seem to have run all the way home and then past to some other home down the road.  Yet when I look down, there they are still attached in their original locations.  Guess they don't like getting wet is all.

I noticed my high arches were still high and had not fallen like so many that have walked the planet for 60 plus years.  And I assume that is a good thing.  I understand flat feet are no picnic.

I guess what I am taking away from this new found love affair with bare feet is that sensible shoes only make sense if they solve the problem.  Orthopedic shoes and their less expensive Dr Scholl insoles are only useful if they make your feet feel better.  I would say if your feet hurt and nothing else works, trying setting them free once in awhile.

Later..............................................

The Pole Thumper

I lifted the garage door this morning around 6:30 AM I guess.  The cooler than usual air that came in made me wonder if I shouldn't have some shoes on and maybe a long sleeve shirt.  I stepped outside  anyway.  The pavement felt ice cold under my bare feet.  The air made me shiver.  I loved it.  After a couple of months of hotter and wetter than usual weather, I was once again experiencing the Maine I imagined many times during this summer of shitty weather.

I leaned on the back of the pick up and took in the sounds of the morning.  Birds getting busy, the slight breeze that had made me shiver, and the old cock rooster that lives behind us.  A few minutes into my quiet time with my dooryard, I heard the sound of something heavy hitting a sold chunk of wood.  It came from my left.  All I saw was the orange warning light of a CMP truck.  The truck then moved down Sam Page and stopped next to the telephone pole we get our power and lights from.  A big fellow fought his way through my manicured pucker and swung a good sized mason's hammer at our pole.

"Thwack", followed immediately with another thwack as if to reinforce the findings of the first thwack.

I was curious and feeling unusually friendly for this early in the morning.  I walked over and engaged the big man in conversation.

"Checking the poles to see if they're solid?"

The big guy was almost back in his truck, but reversed himself and looked at me.  "Yep, only have have 1200 more on this circuit to check."

"How many poles on this circuit?"

"4700 or so.  It's a big one, must have 10,000 customers on it."

"Well, how's this one?"  I looked up at our pole that had been crooked since the first day I saw it.  "Seems it has some age on it.  Been here since at least the early 1960's."

"Jeez, this one's mint.  But the cross bars on the top will have to be swapped out.  All of them on this section will have to be.  Some of them are just barely hanging on."

Not particularly interested in the notion our power lines were hanging from crossbars of dubious integrity, I was more focused on the poles for some reason.

"What's the oldest pole you know of still in service."

The big guy did not say anything for a moment.  He watched the the 2 1/2 pound mason hammer swing like a pendulum in his right hand.  A few swings later he looked up at me and said, " Well sir, there's some poles over to one of the lakes in Shapleigh that date back to the 1930's."

"Wow.  Were they still solid?"

"Oh yeah. they're still in service."

I smiled at the big guy.  "Well, I won't hold you up.  I'm sure you have a lot of poles to thump today.  Keep it 'tween the ditches."

The big guy smiled back and said, "Oh yeah, lots of poles to thump today.  Hope it doesn't rain."  He climbed back in his CMP pick up and drove the 40 yards to the next pole.

This conversation got me tossing many things around in what is charitably called my mind.

We are a society of consumers who consume mindlessly without regard to what it takes to bring the consumables to our dooryards, TV sets, computers, and refrigerators. We only pay attention when we have been cutoff from those consumables.  And even then, all we want to know is when the gravy train will pick up again.

Pole thumping may seem a lowly and boring job.  After all it is but another of the anonymous chores and duties performed on a daily basis by millions of citizens everyday.  Pole thumping is not glamorous.  I would imagine there is very little drama in pole thumping.  And many might consider it a job with no life or death consequences.  All I know is I consider the pole thumper an important guy.  If not for him checking our pole every five years or so, the power I depend on to run the burner in the oil furnace during the dark of winter would probably not be the dependable, take it for granted service I have become accustomed to.

It also occurred to me that we as a society are very selective when praising the efforts of the various workers who provide us with goods and services.  When is the last time I thanked the guy who pumps out my septic tank?  When's the last time I stopped and thanked the town crew who keep my road clear of snow and the ditches hoed out in the summer?  Well, I cannot remember when if ever I had done that.  I appreciate the results of the efforts of these people, I just have never really thought about what they did to make me content.

Yeah, I guess I could say to myself, "Your pay check is all the thanks you deserve", and leave it at that.  But then I realize that these folks are performing necessary duties I have no interest in but without them, my lifestyle might be completely different.

So instead of applauding the movers and shakers who seem mostly full of hot air and empty promises, I would like to thank the folks who labor hard under the radar to keep this country moving in spite of the stupidity their supervisors and presidents come up with.

Later.............................

Route 109

Rte 109 is Acton's main artery to the World outside.  Roughly a north, south highway, it passes through Acton on it's it's way from the ocean to the eastern edges of southern New Hampshire.  The road outside my dooryard, used to be Rte 109.  When they re-routed it  about a 1/2 mile to my south sometime in the late 1960s, my road then became "Old 109".  It turned into Sam Page Road I guess about 10 -15 years ago when some bureaucrat up Augusta way decided that in order to make 911 work even worse than it did then, everyone had to have an address and every road had to have a name.  "Old 109" would not do.  A founding father from back in the day of oxen and log cabins was chosen to grace the the new green metal signs that sprung up one night or later the next day when I wasn't looking.  We were assigned an actual street number and given no choice as to whether we wanted to hang it out there for all to see. Welcome to the 21st century.

I don't know what my road was called before it was Rte109 and then Old 109.  I do know that it has been a main drag in this part of southern Maine for a couple of hundred years anyway.  The image above was taken from my lower driveway sometime around 1920.  The view, an overlook of the bustling downtown 500 yards west of me.  The church on the hill is still there.  The white house is too.  What is not still here is the house the dirt driveway on the right lead to.  It burned in the early 1950s and the barn was disassembled and moved down South Berwick way where it sits tall and proud today.

109 is a fine road.  By Maine standards, it is almost a super highway.  Has a shoulder and lines painted on it.  The state fixes it up more often than some other roads in the area.

I had a point before I began this post about a country road in southern Maine.  And damned if I didn't let myself forget what that point was.   Maybe it was how roads endure, even if we move them, destroy them, or forget them.  They will always lead us where we want, need, hate .....to go.

Keep it 'tween the ditches................................................

Following Butterflies

When the adults in my childhood wanted to inject themselves into my world, they all seemed to have the same quiver of ice breakers they would pull conversation starters out of to initiate an interaction.  " Hi, what is your name?"  or Well now, aren't you growing like a weed?"  

The question that I remember as probably the dumbest question an adult could ask was, " What do you want to be when you grow up?"  When I first had to field this question I had not even gotten my head around the concept of "growing up".  I was still struggling with the notion of simply existing.  But like most kids, I wanted to please the adults in my life, so I would hem and haw for a a time and if they did not offer a suggestion I could jump on board with, I would say something like, a cowboy, a jet pilot, and sometimes an Indian  At the age of say 6, what I wanted to be depended on what I was into that week.

I never did find anything I wanted to be when I grew up.  Oh sure I flirted with this or that career choice in my mind, but when it came to doing something about it, I just fell back on my struggle to simply exist.  My road to where I am now was not a clean, straight run.  I followed butterflies.  Not one career, but several mini ones were used to pay my way.  Not one of them though did I ever feel was a true calling.  When I became tired of one butterfly, I would find another.

My road wandered aimlessly with no destination in sight.  There was always another butterfly around the next corner and there always will be.

Later...........................................

Inversion

Do I need to understand the technology that now rules many aspects of my life in order to take advantage of them?  For the most part, no.  Show me what button, what icon, what door to open and from there many of the gee whiz gadgets, processes and fun stuff is waiting me me to dive in. 

On occasion, .......hmm...well on more than a few occasions, I find my lack of knowledge and understanding creates some roadblocks in my progress through the digi-app maze.  I seem to be particularly prone to opening those pop up teases that entice me to foolishly once again "complete a short survey".  They suck me in with promises of $400 I-Pod, smart gadgets or $500 coupons off my next technological wonder down to Best Buy.  I keep thinking I am too smart now to get sucked in.  But no, those internet weasels are some clever.  More clever than I am, that's for sure.

Anyway, I took the above picture on my 6 year old digital camera.  A camera that is now I am guessing an antique based on how fast the digital world is moving along.  It still does the job for me, but I will say that the images it produces can be matched by the images taken on many of the new high falutin "smart phones".

So I capture this Kodak moment a few mornings ago while the dew clung heavy on anything it came to rest on.  I liked the image so much I rushed into my home office and downloaded it into my Picassa file.  Picassa is a free image program from the geniuses at Google.  It is not as sophisticated as the store bought image programs, but it has some nifty bells and whistles that a moron like me can figure out how to use. I can manipulate the images in all kinds of ways.  Crop them.  Inject text. Lighten darken, enhance, go black and white and of course reverse the colors, which is referred to on the tool bar as Inversion.  I made a copy of the original image and just to see what "Inversion" meant, I punched it.  The above image is the result.

Obviously I like this image.  Enough so I wanted to share.  I was going to make people guess what it was a picture of.  As I already have blown it with some serious hints, I offer up the original as a kind of contrasting bookend to what I started with.  It is a shot of two spider webs on the small Mug Pine I planted in the rock wall last year.

Keep it "tween the ditches..............................................

A Brief Visit

Gee and I were rough housing in the garage earlier this evening.  When Gee has had enough, he tosses a claw or maybe takes a nip of the closest piece of hide.  He very seldom breaks the skin.  Just a "Heads up Asshole, Iv'e had enough", warning.  Well tonight Gee caught me perfect.  There I was beating him soundly and with extreme vigor.  Had his head buried into my gut.  When he had reached his limit, he tipped his little feline head back and bit into my right nipple.

Now I have heard women have more sensitive nipples than men.  That may be true.  But I tell you what Mr Man, my right nipple might not agree.

As usual, the entertainment here in southern Maine is cheap if you know where to look.

..............................................................Later Gator
____________________________________

Image is from this morning.  Mama Robin set up housekeeping right below the NW window of my kid's bedroom.

May Day Report

My part of the world has been enjoying a wonderful run of perfect weather these past 5 or 6 days.  The weather folks insist it will continue for the next 5 or 6 at the least.  If I had to pick the best day of the bunch so far it would have to be yesterday, May 1st, 2013.

Cool enough for long sleeves at 6, warm enough for tee shirts by 7.  The Sun came up hard and fast and in my face.  It was as if the Sun wanted everyone in my part of this planet to know it was back and still had an attitude.

Yesterday, May 1st, was also my father's birthday.  Had he lived this long he would be 108.  Damn.  He punched his time clock back in 1980.  Had 75 years on his terms and made no excuses. 

The image above was taken yesterday about 9:00 AM.  The ancient Weeping Cherry tree in my dooryard proved once again it had what it took to add beauty to my world.  And look at that sky.  What a beautiful morning.

Later Gator.................................................

The Dark Archive of Un-Posted Posts

Not sure why I am not posting what I write.  I have wasted some hours creating "The World According to MRMacrum"  this past week - hours I could have put to otherwise useful endeavors.  I intended to share my opinions, perspectives, and righteous indignation about a few of the the never-ending crush of incidents, accidents, and dastardly occurrences that unfold every day.  Yet all of those posts sit unread, unshared, early into their afterlife gathering dust in the dark archive of un-posted posts.  I am sure there was a ryhme or a reason to let them hang in limbo. At the moment I just do not care. That was then, this is now.

I guess I can only react to the stupidity and silliness of the human species for so long.  At some point I apparently decided that no matter how low human futility and folly sinks, it was never going to end.  I now just make note of it and move along with my day.  I did write a couple of thousand words about the Boston Marathon and the ensuing insanity.  I railed against the cruelty people inflict on others for reasons of religion, politics, and just because they want to.  Typed hard and fast.  Really let it all out - all my sadness and anger.  I re-read it, sat back and realized I had been here before writing in anger and sadness.  Many times before.  I realized Life was nothing but a series of recurring comedic and tragic events unfolding in different locations.  I thought, why give a shit?  Nothing I write, say or do will have much effect on the big bad world outside the local confines of the one I exist in everyday.

Seems with each year I toss onto the pile of years I already have, I give less of a shit about the World.  It didn't listen to me all those years I tried to push it in positive direction.  It refused my help and apparently seems to content to turn down any aid I might come up with in the future.

The planet has it's own agenda.  I know that now.  I probably knew that way back when, but I just had to add my voice to the deafening roar of all the other voices trying to steer the species onto the right path.  Humanity is untidy, selfish, kind, and oftentimes very, very brutal.   No other animal has the capacity for mindless maliciousness like Man does.  To be fair though, I guess no other animal on the planet has the capacity for generosity and kindness to the degree humans do.

This ability to be both kind and ruthless may or may not be a result of being at the top of the food chain.  I am fairly certain being sentient has something to do with it. I will say without some kindness to offset the brutality at different times, this planet would either be total Hell or like having Sunday dinner everyday at your Aunt Betty's house.  Pleasant, but one day a week is enough.

So Humanity...........Keep on keeping on.  At least you are not boring. 

Later...............................................

Mr Domestic

So I'm cleaning cat litter trays earlier this AM and I remembered the almost promise I made the other day on the BoZone to return soon with another titillating post about the life and times of one MRMacrum.  I decided that once the litter trays were cleaned, the laundry dried and folded, and any other small token domestic chore I could think of was taken care of, I would pour myself another cup of coffee, sit down at the 'puter, fire it up, and punch up the blog.  I considered some multitasking.  Seemed a grand notion while typing whatever this will turn out to be, I could work on that new playlist for the MP3 player I have plugged into the stereo in the Ford Ranger.

So that is what I did.  Seems I'm not doing either one very well, but at least I ain't folding laundry. 

I do not want to give any impression or slyly toss in a hint that I may lay claim on the title, "Dutiful Husband" or even "Thoughtful Spouse".  You see it is Tax Season.  My wife, the accountant, is peaking right now.  Staying out of her way and helping out some may not even the dreary chore scales in our marital bliss, I will say making myself scarce and looking busy when she finds me to vent keeps my skin intact for the most part.  Staying busy playing Mr Domestic provides the perfect escape from the pent up tension and stress all accountants seem to pack on as April 15 approaches.

After what?......30 uh well after 30 plus years, I have gotten used to being the occasional whipping boy.  When I committed way back in 1980 I guess I meant it.  I knew I had my issues and baggage.  I had to be willing to accept her baggage if I expected her to accept mine.  Fair is fair.

~.~

After a decade or so with my green thumb on hold, I have decided to focus once again on tilling some soil.  The urge returned to dig in dirt and shove plants of varying kind into it.  I am hard into home owner agricultural planning.  I checked inventories of starting pots, soil mixtures, and clay pots I have on hand.  I created a list of what I needed to once again begin a Spring ritual I am not sure why I stopped in the first place.  Growing stuff is a rewarding endeavor.  Doesn't cost much more than some time and calorie burning.

I have shrubbery I want to take cuttings from and pass safely rooted and ready to go on to a good neighbor.  I might even keep some and sprinkle them around the yard.   I have some old raised beds reclaimed and almost ready for something...................foodwise or otherwise.  Yeah, it's time for me to reclaim my green thumb.  Oh I have maintained the yard these past years.  But only to control it. No pleasure, just doing the minimum to keep off the shit list here on Sam Page Road.  Time to step it up again.

The image up top is of the juniper variety living in the bed near the garage after a heavier than usual dew last summer.  Had to bum out the local spider population seeing as how the dew ruined the transparent factor of their webs during that early morning hunt. I imagine the one spider poking his head out is pissing and moaning about what Ma Nature left in his dooryard that morning. 

Later..............................................

Helping Nature

I've started umpteen numbers of posts and declined to either finish them or publish the ones I felt were as full as that moment had.  I have filled a dictation notebook with handwritten thoughts and perusings, yet still failed to do more than read them for my own pleasure or otherwise.

Getting back into blogging after such a long absence is difficult.  Lord knows I certainly have opinions on anything I am aware of and could easily form an opinion on anything I am not aware of if asked.  And my many years of steady postings proves I do enjoy sharing my thoughts.  Hmm.......  What to do?

Get back on the horse I guess would be the logical thing to do.  Damn the inanities, the boorish and self centered tendencies I carry in my character make up bag.  Just sit down and write like I am now.

So here it is, my crude rebirth as they say.  Hopefully I will follow up tomorrow or the next day with something at the least only mildly uninteresting.

BTW  - The image at the top is a Kodak Moment I caught the other night.  This fat cat or big mama is absolutely the largest Salamander I have ever seen in Maine or anywhere else for that matter.  For ten minutes this big bruiser laid stretched out in all his/her glory and did not move a muscle.  As soon as I placed a ruler next to him/her so I could document his/her imense-ness, the little bugger started moving.  Take my word for it, he was almost 12 inches long, tip to tale.  Once he got his steam up he relocated into the garage and was joined by a smaller salamander.  They retired under the fuel oil tank for several minutes.  Maybe an hour later, I saw him/her hook up with yet another even smaller salamander.  They headed over towards the work bench I use for gardening.  I can only imagine what went on among the clay pots and fertilizer.

The whole time I had left the garage door open in an effort to not interfere with the time honored traditions of nature during early spring.   Critters meet, they mate, and then go their merry ways.  So around midnight I woke up on the couch and remembered I had left the garage door open.  It is not a good thing around here to leave garage doors open.  Thieves clad in fur, some with fangs, will violate the sacred garage space and tear into trash bags and leave their scent on boxes and crates.  So I hurried down to check for damage and to close the door.  Damned if the Salamander Dance was not still in full swing.  All three Salamanders with Big Boy/Mama protecting their rear, were hot on the trail of a very small frog who had decided to tease them.  I watched as the frog allowed them to get close and then hopped away to a new spot.  Salamander patrol would inch their way close again, and hop went the frog. 

I was tired and this sort of entertainment is fine when in the mood for it, but I wanted to go to sleep.  My quandary was what to do with the door.  I could not, would not leave it open.  But I wanted the outside animals who were currently inside to be outside once thier business was concluded.  I found a rock and dropped the door on it, leaving enough room for any and hopefully all of them to find their way back outside by morning.  I could live with them in the garage, but my wife, well, she has hard and fast rules about what critters she considers inside critters.  Having closed th door, I went to sleep and in the morning, it appeared all had found the egress and returned to the wilds of the outdoors.

Later...................................................