Fire Alarm

I wrote my first memoir when I was 10 or 11. I can't remember if it was 4th or 5th grade. Regardless, the assignment was exactly that, "Write a memory from your past". Of course there was much discussion and silliness that ensued. None of the kids in the class, including me, could get our heads around the idea of "the Past". Yeah, we had heard of it, but it was something only old people talked about around the dinner table at dinner. My mom and dad often told stories of their younger days to fill in dinner conversations when the topics became too toxic or just ran out of steam.

The assignment of course was much more than telling a story from the earlier days when we were younger. It was an exercise in penmanship, thought construction and punctuation. There was no word limit to meet; It just had to be as neat as possible, with the periods, commas and spelling laid down as cleanly and correctly as possible. I cannot remember my grade, nor do I remember it being highlighted in any way by the teacher in front of the class.

I do remember the subject however. I wrote about the time I set off a fire alarm in kindergarten when I lived in Japan. The whole school emptied, I freaked and ran to the teacher outside and immediately admitted I did it. I didn't however snitch on the older kids who kinda teased me into it.

The type of fire alarms we had in that school had small thin glass windows designed to be punched inward with something thin, like a pencil or maybe even a finger. Some big kids, they must have been at least 2nd graders, spotted me looking at the fire alarm. They encouraged me to break the little glass window without setting off the alarm. They insisted that they did it all the time. 

"Go ahead kid, I dare you", or something along those lines caused me to step up to the alarm and use a pencil to punch the glass. Instant Chaos erupted. The big kids looked at each other with huge eyes, turned and disappeared into the depths of the school. I remember a panic I had never felt before. I probably spun a few circles and who knows, I might have peed my pants. If I did, I buried that part of the memory deep enough to not really remember if I did or didn't.

I remember writing about it because in my young life at the time, it was a memory I had still not really gotten over. Seeing all the kids in school standing in lines out on the playground, looking at me as I had been marooned and condemned to stand next to the principal; well, I never forgot that.

The magical moment came later at home where I had been cooling my heels in my room for several hours. My dad came home and immediately came into my room; in full uniform no less, his tie still tight and his cover still on. He sat down on the bed next to me. I fgured it was spanking time. I was not a stranger to spanking; seemed the natural "next step". Instead, my father talked to me, well, he sort of grilled me. I ended up snitching on the big kids. He looked at me and chastised me for allowing anyone to influence my decisions. He stood up and left. No spanking, no yelling, just a lecture on not allowing people undo influence on my actions. And even cooler, he didn't tell the school there were others involved. He allowed me to take the blame.

Of course, my short essay in 4th or 5th grade about that incident in kindergarten was nowhere near as deep of a dive as this post is. I just remembered now that the essay was the first memoir I ever wrote. It might have also been the first essay I ever attempted also.

To me, it seems logical that as an adult, I would follow up with over 200,000 words in 280 blog posts about shit I did in my Past.

I will add this one to the post count and move on.

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

_______________

This past weekend, my wife and I joined our daughter and her husband at another Rustic Overtones concert. It was held at Tuckerman Brewery in Conway, New Hampshire.A day sitting in comfortable chairs, swilling excellent craft beer and listening live to the band I have seen more than any other band ever. My first concert of their's was also my daughter's first concert of her life. It was held at the worst music venue in New England, the Portland Expo, a very, very large quonset hut tunnel. The reverberations in the hall made it impossible for me to enjoy the music. Lis loved it. She loved Rustic Overtones.

Almost 30 years later, we still go see them play. I guess I have seen them 20 times; Lis , many, many more. They are an old favorite.

Here is a favorite song, "Combustible"

Another Needed Reminder to Be Grateful

I originally wrote this post on March 11, 2011, over 15 years ago. I was obviously wound up more than usual. Maybe it was the current political scene that affected me or the trials of owning a main street bikeshop. Or maybe it was just time for one the many re-adjustments forced on me or I forced on myself over the years in order to stay grounded. 

Of course, events that have unfolded since 2011 have become more intense and more grave than anything that happened in 2011. Those times are looking like the "Good Ole Days" now. When I found this post languishing in the "Back in the Day" files, I told myself I needed to come up with another bit of writing that would help me regain some perspective again. Writing has usually helped my state of mind, especially when my thoughts are scattered because I was upset.

But why think up a new twist when this old Twist still represents how I want to feel about my life and its relationship with the rest of the World. Re-reading it certainly smacked some perspective back into me that I did not appreciate was missing again.

Yeah, times are tough. Just how tough is better understood when we try to walk in another's shoes.

Moving along now. Here is the post from 2011.

< ~~ >

Life gets in the way of the things I want to do.  I try to convince myself that what I want to do is what Life should be focusing on.  But no.  Life has its own damn agenda and it more often than not, only includes me as so much excess baggage.  I get swept along by events unforeseen and not prepared for.  And suddenly the comfortable little rut I had constructed for myself has become a minefield.

I sidestep as many mines, pitfalls, and incidents that promise ugly outcomes as I can.  I cannot avoid them all...................................................... And then I notice that while I have become totally wrapped up in my own puny problems, elsewhere on the planet, folks are dealing with problems of the Life and Death kind. 

Suddenly I feel foolish.  Suddenly I realize that for all the little irritations I have to deal with, there are people right now whose home washed away and their family is missing, or they are on a desert road with their life's belongings on their back and hoping for food and water when they finally stop for the day. As bad as I would like to pretend my life gets from time to time, I am fairly sure a sizable portion of the planet's population would love to switch places with me.

Owing more money than is coming in is a laugher when held up and compared to say, being buried up to your neck and watching the village line up next to the rock pile.  Water in my basement seems a minor league distraction when watching a tsunami take out a town of 17,000.  Scowling and cussing under my breath when another ATV/Snowmobile screams by disturbing my peace seems so petty when somewhere over the desert of northern Africa, fighter jets are screaming by and strafing lines of people whose only crime is trying to get away.

Being a typical American human,  focusing on my problems first rather than anyone else's is predictable if not understandable.  Average dimwits such as myself tend to do this.  But then we really have to focus on what's in front of us.  It's all we have and for the most part all we can do.  We rise to occasions as needed and fall back to normality when the fires have been doused.  Dealing with the mundane is what keeps everything afloat.  Dealing with disaster is what we do to try and get everyone back on the boat so the focus can again be directed to the routine problems of keeping a society cohesive and moving in a good direction.

Anyway, just some early Tuesday morning thoughts after watching our latest calamities once again visit some fellow humans.  Sadness settles in with that second cup of coffee and I sit stunned.  My only consolation is my gratitude for the relatively peaceful existence I have been blessed with.  No matter how bad we think our lives are unfolding, there is always someone else carrying a burden we wouldn't wish on our worst enemy.

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

________________________

I thought I might try a tune that dovetailed nicely with the post. Then I scrolled into a song I had not heard for over 50 years; a song from an album I bought out of the back of the record truck at Clark's Tank and Tummy, Sanbornville New Hamshire in 1969. I liked the image on the cover. The record guy said it was a Blues band from across the big pond. 

I had already fallen in love with an early Fleetwood Mac album with Peter Green playing lead guitar. Blues was a new experience for me back then. I jumped on it. Sadly, all my early Fleetwood Mac albums and the ClimaxBlues Band album were among the stolen record collection I lost when someone broke into my room a week before I graduated from Charlotte Hall Military Academy in the Spring of 1970.

A two fer  today. First up, "So many Roads" from the "Climax Blues Band Plays On" album. Recorded and released in 1969.

Now a cover of a Robert Johnson classic, "Dust My Broom" by Fleewood Mac with Peter green playing lead guitar. It's odd how I had to discover the Blues through the music of wankers from across the pond. The original recording was released in 1968.

 

I've Got the Will Lord, if You Have the Toe

No matter how I try to ignore organized religion, I cannot ignore the massive pain and suffering organized religions have caused Humanity since the first time someone thought it was a good idea to make up an imaginary figurehead to run things. I say imaginary, because tangible proof of a Heavenly Father has yet to exist.

That declaration I just made might indicate I am an Atheist. If nothing else, it is a basphemous statement that should insure I will be hunted down and mightily smote down in the next thunderstorm. But I am not an Atheist. I am an Agnostic. My pocket Webster dictiionary I used in school defines Agnosticism:

Atheism and Theism depend on contrived and unproven absolutes. The Universe, the planets, and all of us assholes who live in said Universe could have had a creator, but as of this moment in time, it is Faith that people use to support their steadfast belief in a creator or not a creator. Both views depend on speculation.

I have no gripe with either train of thought. Believe what you want. Don't believe what you want. My only gripe is when religious people organize themselves into an organization; Religion can quickly morph into very strict hierarchial systems that can be easily turned into ugly times for millions of people. Oftentimes, religious dogma can be twisted through forked tongue rethoric and become the driving forces of governing systems of brutality and intolerance. It has been an all too common tendency since the beginnings of organized religions. Is there a theocracy existing today that is not draconion in many ways. Organized religion can become communities of exclusion not inclusion.

The extremists of Atheism are no better; though I will say, the numbers of Atheist extremists are miniscule compared to the huge numbers of religious extremists. For most Atheists, it is enough for them to not believe. Any extension of that into action seems to die on the vine.

Over the years and the many thoughts I wasted over Religion, I decided that if indeed we had a creator or creators, the only interest they might have had was to get this whole shit show started. Once they got the ball rolling, they moved onto other projects or maybe just retired to the big bar n grill in the sky where they fed their faces and drank cocktails with umbrellas in them. They don't seem to care what we do. Remember, the Christians believe we were handed "Free Will". That let the God crew off the hook and gave them plausible deniability should we screw the pooch and destroy ourselves. 

Humanity created Good and Evil after milleniums of interactions with each other. We wrote the 10 Commandments. We wrote the Bible and then re-wrote it for white men who decided it was to their benefit, if they portrayed God and his only begotten Son as Blue eyed blonde haired WASPS from Connecticut. Of course not to be outdone, those pesky Babtists down South had to make Jesus into a Chuck Norris impersonator with a strap on Glock and a big buck knife sheathed but ready for close contact battle when the godless heathens managed to get in close.

Organized religion, particularily American Christianity, has become a joke. The different sects can't seem to agree on what makes a good Christian. They look down on each other, yet are not prone to criticizng the worst overreaching of the more extreme groups. If someone claims to be a good Christian, they don't have to live it. All they have to do is claim it.

What makes it so very funny and ironical lately is the Christian Nationalist Right insisting the Pope should stick to theology and leave politics out of his sermonizing. I am guessing this contradiction goes unoticed by them as they also seem prone to excuse the many contradictions found in their rule book, the Holy Bible. Stretching the truth to them is as easy as breathing.

Don't get me wrong. I understand that the majority of church going Christians are fine, regular folk. But unless more of these fine regular folk step up and call out the worst extremes of their religion, the fine regular folk will be looked on as enabling losers who are allowing their religion to be taken over by assholes. 

That is all I have this mornin...... or make that, this afternoon. 

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

_________________________

I first heard this song when I was driving for SHOWCO, hauling Rock n Roll music from arenas to stadiums to wherever and back again in the mid 1970's. I was in one of my country music phases and would tune in to country stattions on my FM radio as I pounded the super slabs. 

I think I was in Arkansas after leaving Dallas. This song came on and played. It struck me so funny, so Country, so much like Texas Redneck High School booster music would; the first chance I got, I found the album on cassette and bought it. Bobbi Bare was one of the old guard country singers who had his share of hits, but never quite made it to Merle Haggard levels.

"Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life" reached #17 on Billboard's Country Chart in 1976. ....... I repeat, it hit #17 on the Billboard Country Chart. But it's classic country like I grew up with and I liked it. I would occasionally get shitfaced and start singing it. It was even more fun if folks around me joined in.

Enjoy.

The Mo

I have lusted after a Mohawk from that afternoon I watched "Last of the Mohicans" (1936 version) on our old B&W TV when I was 7 or 8. I was smitten. Mohawks were cool and I wanted one.

A couple of months ago, I almost gave myself one. I'm no barber, that's for sure. Common sense kicked back in and I put away the antique electric clippers I inherited from Aunt Helen. 

Just turning them on scares the shit out of me. They remind me of the countless buzz jobs I suffered as a child at the hands of bored Air Force barbers who all seemed to be the same guy; at least the the haircuts were always the same and the clippers all sounded evil; the way they buzzed like angry bees on steroids.

But back to the Mohawk. A Mohawk is absolutely the best tough guy Hair-Doo ever to top the head of Mankind or Womankind for the matter. You want to impress people with your manic ways, create your own mohawk. 10 inch spikes are a nice touch, but that's just my opinion. Meanwhile work on bulging out your eyes. You won't have to do anything more to make people step out of your way. There is no way, sporting a "Mo" makes one look like a libraian, or a 4-eyed pencil pocket protector packing geek, or the little fat dough boy always standing on the sidelines of the local neighborhood kick ball game. Wear a Mo and you will get picked first.

I was not bold enough, brave enough to sport a Mo once I had control of my own hair. It must have been that new kid syndrome I had developed after the years of constant re-location. One of the basic new kid rules when trying to fit in. Don't look different. Looking different is a magnet for all kinds of local assholes to find you and put you on their list of dimwits to harass. I never sported one until I made an attempt to get one 15 years ago. Bike Shop Jim's now ex-wife had a hair salon in Sanford on "The Square". She was a damn good hair cutter. But she was too sensitive to the possible reactions of a dissatisfied customer. She couldn't know that I had become resigned to whatever haircut I ended up with once I sat down in that chair.

When I asked her for a Mohawk, she tried hard to talk me out of it. I was having none of it. I had finally manned up and decided that was going to be the day I finally got the haircut of my dreams...... No, seriously. I have had many dreams of wearing a Mohawk over the years. They started after I watched the first Mad Max movie in the late 1970s. So what was her idea of a "polite Mohawk"? The image to the left should answer that.

I still have time. We'll see .........................

_______________

I picked a song by Ferocious Dog. They are a Scottish Folk-Punk band from ..well, Scotland I guess. Folk music with a serious edge and no rules. Their front man, Ken Bonsall, used to sport a great Mohawk. Apparently he outgrew it or that receding hairline he has in the snap shot just couldn't support that first spike anymore.

I am not sure when and how I found Ferocious Dog. I think it was a drive by taste on Youtube over a decade ago. If memory serves, it was the song, "Broken Soldier" that caught my attention. These guys are different and very talented.

Because I feel their music should be shared. Today, here is another two fer. First "Broken Soldier" followed up by maybe their best known song, "Slow Motion Suicide". 

Enjoy. ..... The violin solo on "Slow Motion Suicide" is fantastic.

I Ain't Dead Yet

Almost every day when I was a child, a new wonder would catch my attention. Those moments of wonder were not always pleasant, but most were needed to help herd me toward the real goal, Adulthood. I was sure that adulthood was when all the magic began. Adulthood meant being free of someone standing over me, yakking in my ear and insisting that if I wanted to make it to Grown Up World, I needed to smarten up and fly right. My parents kept a history it seemed, of all the stupid kid capers I was prone to . My parents nagged me relentlessly. I certainly felt they did.

• "Don't touch that".
• "Don't eat that, you'll spoil your dinner"
• "Goddammitt Bug, stop bothering me".
• "Stop aggravating your brother and keep that tongue in your mouth."
• "Aunt Helen is coming to dinner, best clothes, best behavior, okay?"

The list was endless. Adulthood meant Freedom from rules.

Riiiiiiiiiiiight .............

Sure, being an adult released me from the rules my parents pounded into my brain as a snot nosed little punk. But what I found out after it was too late, those childhood rules would be replaced by adult responsibilities sternly regulated by adult rules with potenially harsher conseqeunces than the childhood punishments that were just steering me back to the road they wanted me on.

Adulthood and all of the responsibilities and challenges I started to stack up after my salad days as the irresponsible loose dog twenty something, did not have much effect on my blissful naivete until I hit my mid thirties. That was my first acknowledgement that being human included getting old. I thought about it for a minute and blew it off. But the seed had been sown.

The married working part of my life went by in a blur. There was a mortgage, a kid, and the struggles to make it cleanly from one pay check to the next. BA and I made it happen, but it took all our focus and  noses to the grindstone to keep on top of it. Fun, relaxing moments had become farther and further apart.

Time passed. We saw our daughter safely out of the house and into the World. We lived with and buried more than a few pets. We each owned and ran our own businesses. Then eight or nine years ago, I sold my bikeshop and retired. 

Finally I thought, there were no more rules to follow or break anymore; Mortgage was paid off, vehicles were free and clear, and our child was totally on her own living her life and looking like she was living it in the right direction. Nothing but time to waste if I wanted. I was sure I was now truly and convincingly Free. ........................

Riiiiiight ...........................

Now, after eight or nine years of my percieved Freedom, I have a new  set of rules. They snuck up on me as most new rules do. Never saw them coming, but should have.The shift boss of my new life experience is brutal and relentless. He speaks to me with painful reminderss of the years of self-inflicted damages and the natural decline by sending harsh pains that say,

"Don't do that again, it might just hurt even more the next time." 

I am stuck in a growing rotation of new and familar aches and pains. My body has become my enemy. 

My body rules the roost now. I wake up in the morning now. I will pause before getting up and ask myself, "What will hurt today; what new handicap will find its way into my life today? Every day is a new adventure now, just like when I was a kid. But now, instead of my parents guiding my life, my body does that for me now. 

It's like I am a child again, living a crater filled circular road trip that will end where it began.

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

______________

Charlie Parr is a favorite musician of mine. There is no performer I have known that is more Salt of the Earth than Charlie. I picked his tune, "I Ain't Dead Yet" for two reasons, the song's point has a dovetail feel to go with my post and the story he tells before he starts singing is hilarious.

Dark Sands Revisited

A recent facebook post by PW talked about his 25 year battle with Depression. Depression has had many names over the years. I don't know it as fact, but my guess is Depression is the most common mental issue humans have to deal with.

I have had my own battle also. I wrote the following well over a decade ago.

Depression crept up behind him and slithered in unnoticed.  Like sand in a hour glass, the dark grains accumulated in the bottom of his soul.  After 62 years on the planet, his soul could hold no more.

He had not left his house in weeks.  His wife walked around him and sadness filled their home of 35 years. No one called.  No one stopped by.  He was no longer part of the world that had no problem leaving him behind.

He did not feel sad.  He had passed sad many floors ago.  He felt guilt and shame.  Guilt for what, he was not exactly sure.  Shame for letting himself and everyone else down.  But guilt and shame was all he had now, so he wrapped himself in the guilt and strapped it on tight with his shame.  The longer he wore them, the more comfortable they felt.  He felt his soul imploding, shrinking, trying to hide from itself.  He did not care any more.

Sure he was nearing the tipping point, he began to make plans.  Complicated plans.  Simple plans.  And many different plans in between.  He tried to plan recoveries.  He tried to plan a variety of ends.  But try as he might, he just couldn't get off his ass to implement a single one of them.  Instead, he slow cooked in his misery and discontent, hoping some day he might find some relief. 

< ~ >

Depression is one of the human conditions we humans historically have denied. To be depressed is a character flaw, something we can control if we just "man up". It has been that way for millenniums. No one really wanted to admit it existed. They had all kinds of names for it through the years. No matter what name it went by, the condition always carried with it, a stigma, an unspoken feeling by others that the depressed were somehow at fault; that all they had to do was snap out of it.

Let just say, that pit can seem so deep, "snapping out of it" was the last thing on my mind. My depression became so awful after a bad experience with some meds in the early 2000's, I attempted suicide. I don't know if it waas a call for help or me just not thinking through the actual mechanics of how to kill myself. I survived the attempt and now, well over 20 years later, I understand Depression better and how it relates to me. I have learned how to ride it out better. The path I have taken has been prescription drug free only because of my fear of pharmaceuticals after the suicide ideation I developed from taking drugs prescribed for me as a cure for Hepatitus.

A friend asked me some years back what did Depression felt like.  I am sure everyone has their own notion of what it is or isn't. I told him that for me, it was non-existence with my eyes open.  Nothing mattered.  Nobody cared, least of all me.  The out there world was a fantasy land that was maybe or maybe not just a fig-newton of my imagination. 

In my mind identifying and facing Depression was the first big step. Ignoring it didn't work. Denying it certainly didn't either. Admitting to myself I was prone to it and then coming out of the Depression Closet was the best thing I ever did to fight it. It has been a much easier chore to deal with these past two decades.

Being in the middle emotionally may not be true happiness, but I figure it is probably a great place to start looking for it. Existing in the Pit or riding the Wave of Mania offers either No Hope or False Hope. That is not safe way to live.

Later Gators ..............................................

________________________

I may have played this video before. Today, I will play it again. I play it often now days because I like to remind myself how close I was to blowing it and how stupid I was for making that attempt. The artist Ren, is an awesome songwriter and musician. In his short life so far, he has dealt with many worse issues I than I have over the 73 years I have taken up space on this planet. Here is "Hi Ren", by Ren. It's not necessary to like it, but to listen to it might create a connection.

Keith

Anyone who has read anything I have written knows I just love the sound of my own voice. At the drop of a hat, I can write 1000 words and end up with nothing of any worth.

But I sit silent now, speechess, muted, and stunned into silence as I try to make sense of a great friend's passing.We had so many good times, I cannot find any that stand out over the others. The petty squabbles we had over the 30 plus years we were friends, I counted on one hand. No, make that less than on one hand; maybe as low as one or two. 

Anyway, Keith is gone now. Though I was aware of his health issues, I denied the possibility of his passing as a moment that would occur sooner than later. I guess if we keep moving like nothing has changed, it keeps the worry level down. But in the end, the price of burying that worry can turn really ugly.

I will miss Keith. I will miss his tendency to smile first, look angry way later. It was bikes that first connected us. I will miss even more now, the bike rides we shared over the span of our 30 plus year friendship. 

So, I finish with one short tale of a ride we shared at some quarry in Vermont or was it northern New Hampshire?

We were riding on single track that flowed among and around large exposed sections of ledge and quarry cuts. Often, there was not much room between the trail and some kind of drop off, usually not too high. I was 100 feet behind Keith as he entered a hairpin turn that flowed around a huge section of exposed ledge. As we passed each other, Keith on one side, me on the other; he smiles, raises his hand, waves at me, and immediately disappears, gone like he was never there.

I hurried around the turn. He wasn't on the trail anymore. Because of the pucker on each side of the singletrack, all I saw was crushed pucker brush where "the car went off the cliff". I remember a sick feeling as I pulled up at the departure point. Instead of looking down and seeing Keith laying in a heap many feet down, sprawled, broken and sad, he was sitting up and looking at me from maybe10 feet down a short slope.

"Where's my Bike? ....... Find my bike."

I knew in that moment, he was okay. And I started in on him, busting his chops about his chump way of riding. 

He was a better friend than I deserved I am sure. 

R.I.P good friend, R.I.P.

___________________

The one area Keith and I had endless discussions regarding music while we killed time traveling to and from a ride location near or far away. Your band sucks, mine doesn't....... 

Keith was adamant The Doors sucked. He said their music was boring and that Jim Morrison got too much credit. He was just a malcontent the chicks were all in love with. I disagreed vehemently. The Doors were and still are on my top 5 Classic Rock list. Mostly though, we agreed on our favorites, even if they may be on different levels on our individual lists. Three artists / bands we definitely agreed on was David Bowie, Neil Young and Queen. In keeping with our mutual passion for all thing Bicycle, please enjoy by turning up to WOW, "Bicycle Race", by Queen.

Gout

Of all the Old Fart ailments I have to deal with, Gout is the worst of the bunch. Before I came down with it, came up with it, or found it, I knew next to nothing about it. All I knew, it was very popular in the olden days, the Dickens days, the Shakepeare days, back when Knights were bold and fair damsels were nervous.

Gout is a type of arthritus. It is caused by an accumulation of uric acid in the joints, usually the feet, but it can crop up in any joint apparently. Staying hydrated, losing weight, and avoiding purine rich foods like seafood and red meat are some the ways to mitigate it's flare ups. I have lost weight; 60 plus pounds over the last 2 years.. I drink a lot of water. Avoiding seafood and red meat though has been an issue. Regardless, the problem is nowhere near as bad as it was a couple of years ago. 

My first experience was twenty years ago. I had a very uncomfortable and painful week and then poof, it went away. Since it came and went so quickly, i stopped thinking about it. Apparently the earlier Gout experience was just a trial my body decided to run by me and see how I fared. It sucked, but it only sucked for a week or so. My feet were like new once it went away.

Flash forward to the here and now. Gout roared back into my life a four or five years ago. Since then I have had it in both feet, one foot or the other, my wrists, and recently, it attacked my right knee. I know it is gout because of the way it comes on and the way it punishes and then disappears so quickly. The joints affected may differ but the overall experience is the same every time. 

The Gout meds I have now do a decent job of keeping the worst of it at bay, but damn, when it hits now, it can still incapacitate me.

This brings me to how much fun being old is. Experiencing a body breaking down brick by brick and a mind begining to rust through has been and is a real hoot. Everyday I wake up to pain of some kind. And now I have learned to appreciate pain. It reminds me I am alive and at this point in my life that is a good thing. I am still enjoying existence on this side the grass.

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

________________________________

To hopefully offset the bummer post I just wrote, here is a repeat from more than a few years ago. Please enjoy Iz and his medley version of "Over the Rainbow" & "What a Wonderful World". And yeah, it still makes me puddle up.

Embarrassing Myself in Front of Myself

Not sure if I dare write a post this morning. My recent efforts at moderating duties some minutes ago were a real clown show. I thought I was approving a post for a group page I help moderate. Apparently I brain farted and sent it to Internet limbo instead of to the group page. Took me awhile to find it elsewhere again and repost it. I dutifully apologized in the comments and moved on.

I still felt my face flush, though no one saw the mistake or worst of all could not see my face. I hate embarrassing myself in front of myself. It is the worst kind of embarrasment I can imagine, ............ Uh well that is not exactly true. No, it is not even close to true. Over the many years I have been alive, I have managed to embarrass myself in front of others many times. It has been a chronic issue, always waiting just around a corner, only a misspoken word or misstep away. Some of those moments were definitely more embarrassing than the moment I suffered a little while ago.

As I grew up, I became used to my self inflicted uncomfortable moments. I considered them an integral part of my Life cycle. Some of us have to be the fools for the Hipper Cool Kids to maintain their aura of superiority.There has to be someone we they can laugh at. I stepped up and sacrificed my self respect like a good soldier many times. 

What I hate though is when I cause myself to flush red and no one is looking. It seems like such a waste if no one notices; especially since years ago I embraced my tendency to create laughter in others at my expense. Doing it solo does nothing for me. It just pisses me off.

So, today I decided to admit that I spent more than a few minutes floundering around and totally screwing up the job I had been tasked to perform. 

You can laugh now. It's okay. Matter of fact, I hope to see some laugh emoji's. I deserve them.

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

___________________________

So what song would drive home the point of my post? Don't know, but maybe my choice will add to the embarrassment I crave and deserve.

When I found this tune, I switched gears. I was going to offer up "Loser" by Beck. But then "Pepper", by Butthole Surfers crossed my feed. I have been looking for this song for many years. I just did not remember who sang it. 

Well on second thought. I am including "Loser", by Beck as a bonus.

Regardless, here is the day's offering.

Unreasonable Anxiety

The world beyond my small patch here in southern Maine is involved in the most upheaval, hate, anxiety, and discontent I can remember since the 1960s. Just like today, bad news seemed to land on our doorstep every day. The Bomb, Segregation, Assasinations, the War in Vietnam; there was always some major ugliness to deal with; some horrible circumstances that affected our lives directly. Many Americans felt totally powerless as they watched their country go to war with itself.

I feel the same kind of helplessness now, 60 years later. Just like then, I have moved from incredibility to SSDD. The Hate and Discontent still lingers though; never far from the surface I guess. 

Okay.  I tell myself:

"Move along asshole, you have chores to do. You have this to consider, that to accomplish."

 So I move along, all the while in the back of my mind, I still worry about things I have no control over.

Eventually, I will reach a limit and shut down. My shutdowns don't usually last very long; a couple of days, maybe a week, and occasionally longer. When I was a working man, I kept the essential parts of my life going. Now that I am retired, well, shutdowns for me can mean total withdrawals from almost all interactions with the world beyond my dooryard. My concern is, the times of normality are becoming fewer and further between the moments of unreasonable anxiety.

I make no apologies. I am not looking for sympathy. Just relating how it is for me now as I struggle to understand my place in a world that has once again, gone insane.

When I consider my situation and begin to wallow in the worst parts of it, I realize that I am nothing but a sniveling whiner who has had up to now, lived a life many people would have loved to have. I had to deal with trauma, and loss as kid. But not much trauma and loss. I have never been hungry; at least not in the swollen belly, haven't eaten in weeks type hungry. I have always had a roof to sleep under if I wanted it. And I have enjoyed a small circle of good friends and family who had my back when I needed it. The basics of my life have always been covered. Many folks on this planet don't even have that. 

For the most part, Life has been a breeze for me. I am one lucky sumbitch. For so many others, Life has definitely not been a breeze. Maybe I should feel guilty, but well, I often fall back on the tried but true Life lesson, "Life is not Fair". As soon as I do, the guilt comes back.

Now that I am on the downstroke, over the hill, looking towards the end, I no longer fear for myself and what might happen to me. My fears have now shifted to the future my daughter and everyone else will face twenty years from now. Where are we headed? What the Fuck are we doing about facing what might be in the future? From all the indications I am witnessing at the moment, the vision of the future I scare up is more often than not, a very dark future.

( Picture me shaking my head as I realize that what I just wrote is not what I intended to write)

I will leave this bummer of post right here and get on with my day. I do feel better though.

Later Gators ....................................

____________________

I made finding a tune that fit the Blues I felt this morning much harder than it should have been. The post above came out of nowhere. There was no good reason to feel so down in the mouth. I had a great dream last night. I frolicked with friends next to a body of water, some times it was a stream, somethines it was a lake or pond. I rode down impossible trails and caught a humongous fish I could not identify. 

Why then, when I woke up did I feel so off. I had good news from by the doc after having my colon checked out. And just the other night I cooked a chicken and gravy meal and absolutely nailed the gravy. It was awesome. I really do not have a right to piss and moan.

I finally gave up the search and returned with my go to my favorite song about feeling down. I have used it before and will use it today. Most likely I will use it again. Here is David Bromberg with "Someone Else's Blues".

Gotta Be Tough to Grow Old

I listened to a Blues tune the other day. "You Gotta be Tough to Grow Old", by Old Old Joe dovetails well with what I perceive as the lifestyle I find myself in today. 

At age 73, I know I won't survive getting old. None of us do. I also know it was I who created the situations and most health issues with my previous life choices and career paths. I will say, I did last 25 years longer than some of my high school peers thought I would.

I have come to terms with how uncomfortable growing old is. Now I just shake my head when I remember how surprised I was in the first place. Over the years, I had more than a few cases of aging play out in front of me. I chose to shrug off my certain future of dealing with many of the same ailments and indignities that come with getting older.

Denial runs strong in the Human Race. We love ignoring the unpleasantness we know we are probably headed for down the road. It is part and parcel of the idea to live for today and fuck tomorrow. I have been a lifelong adherent to that notion, that's for sure. Now I am beginning to reap the rewards for my careless disregard for sane living.

I pushed many limits. Crossed many also. That I am here today writing something resembling coherent thought still surprises me every time I do it. And therein lies the secret I guess; the secret of being content and accepting the results of what I sowed so many years ago. I have no complaints. Any extra time I get now is icing on my cake.

You gotta be tough to grow old or lucky or maybe blessed. It seems that successfully growing old takes some tolerance and backbone........ Maybe more than I can muster................. We'll see.

Later Gators .......................

_______________________

Glad to Be a Crooked Tree

I have enjoyed living life as a crooked tree.  ..... Like Molly Tuttle's song, "Crooked Tree", I long ago learned to embrace my quirks, my minor faults, and most importantly, the loose dog ways I developed as a child. I was never meant to be that disciplined often grumpy worker bee, whose rigid spine and puckered asshole prevented smiles or tears from ever entering his heart. No, I have never been one to be a robot.

I have laughed and cried my way through the last 73 years. I have won, I have failed. All the while, once I was finished licking my wounds, I moved on; often moving on to a new something entirely different from what or where I was before. With each disappointment or joyful moment, my character changed. Sometimes the change was palpable immediately. More often than not, it was a slow accumulation of small changes before I noticed I was headed down a new path. Regardless, I went willingly for better or worse.

Each new change twisted my tree a little more. As the number of twists and turns added up, I found it easier to recover my equilibrium even though my branches may have indicated otherwise. Any bad times I had, I now view with a mix of melancholy and reverence.  For it was those moments that really created who I am today.

I think my early nomadic life as a military brat helped me develop a high tolerance and yes, even a keen interest in change. My tree growing in different directions provided me with an interesting life. Along with a serious dose of good luck, I survived the worst of my bad decisions. Timely luck allowed me the time to appreciate how much dumb luck has to do with a life.

This brings to mind why Molly Tuttle might have written "Crooked Tree". One read through of the lyrics and it seems likely that she, like all of us, had challenges in her life that helped form who she is today. Rather fight the negativity found in her past, she embraced those moments and it appears she is not allowing them to permanently define who she was today. When I glance back into my life, I realize that I didn't either.

Don't let the stupidity and anger of others ruin your day. Smile, chuckle, do anything but give them  the satisfaction that their assholery affected you in any way. .......................... 

I know, I know, ....................Easier said than done.

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

____________________________

I did not give Molly her due when I first started listening to her music a few years back. Then I watched the video below and was awed. She is a very very talented musician and lyricist. She picks just like the big dogs in the tall grass and the lyrics of "Crooked Tree" prove her composing chops.

Hope you enjoy this.

 

House Keeping

Damn. Take a break from Facebook for a short while and when I come back, there's a Gajillion notifications, chat heads ups, and a sizable number of friend requests for me to deal with. Okay, okay, it wasn't a Gajillion notifications ......... Well, maybe it was. "Gajillion" is not an official word. I can't find it in any dictionary on my selves. But it is listed online as;

"An informal and hyperbolic term for an unspecified number....."

So there. The AI wizards have embraced it. Time to get on the band wagon. So yeah, I had a Gajillion notifications waiting for me to deal with.

I got busy and cleaned up the mess. Now I sit here with nothing to say because of course all the crap I was chewing on over the last 6 weeks while I was elsewhere is MIA now. It's like all of a sudden I am on the stage at the podium and about to speechify. I stand there numb as a box of rocks with a blank mind, not even the faintest idea of what to say.

Thankfully, I am not really on a stage standing mute while an audience of Gajillion begin to twist and squirm in their seats. I am at home self flagellating, totally unembarrassed because I know getting back into writing is a process that often needs me to just start writing, whether or not it makes sense, has a point, or is of the slightest interest to anyone, anywhere the Internet goes.

With all that in mind, I will cease the inanities and silly shit and walk away from the podium.

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

_________________________________

I re-discovered a song from my youth. It was a hit during my Teen Club days in the 1960s. Only now, I listened to it with 73 year old ears, not the young ears of a kid not sure what was good music and what was bad.

Here is the Zombies with their hit , "She's not there". Definitely a much better song than I gave it credit for when I was young and numb.

Soul Never Dies

This meme popped up on a Facebook Hippy group page I joined awhile back. Similar memes have passed by over the last so many years. It seems my generation and others, my parents, my kid's and her  friend's kids seem to believe that "their music" was the best ever. There is no, nor ever will be, any better music out there.

Bullshit. 

Bob Seeger was wrong when he wrote this and he is still wrong.

I responded with:

Yeah, I used to think that Music of today did not have the same soul as what I listened to with younger ears. The reason was not because there is no new music out there with soul. It is because for too long, I stopped looking for it.

Don't let your rose colored glasses stop you from looking for new joy like you had "back in the day".

Don't get me wrong. The music of my youth will always be my favorite. The songs I grew up with, the songs I nervously danced to with nervous girls at teen clubs and the music I hauled for several years all over North America, ..........

Well, that was then, this is now. Now I am still searching and still finding music that moves me like it did before.

So, in line with Music having soul or not, I would like to offer up these two You Tube videos. Both are covers of the music many of us still hold close to our hearts. Both are performed by youngsters still wet behind their years. Hope you enjoy them.

First up are The Graystones with the their cover of "The Logical Song", recorded in 1978 or was it 1979 by Supertramp. These kids punch way over their weight class, especially the sax player.

The second tune is from a family band, Missioned Souls and their cover of "Highway Star, by Deep Purple". Enjoy.

All this points out that "Soul" never dies. It never leaves. If we do things right, we pass it on.

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

__________________________

US Route 1

I have my marching orders now. I have been tasked with locating various materials that will be used in an effort to drive home some salient points regarding my wife's and my anger with what the Right is doing to our country.

Tomorrow we protest. Tomorrow we park our asses on US Route 1 in Wells, Maine. We will have signs and cowbells. We won't be there long, but there we will be.

Hopefully our token participation will add to the overall disgust a majority of Americans seem to have for Trump, the GOP Congress, and all the slithering slimy little weasels who make up his Administration. It is sad to see them take so much pleasure in their efforts to destroy what took so many years to create.

My job today is to cut up some cardboard for the signs, locate and fabricate sign holders, and find the spray adhesive I used for something awhile back.

We debated for a few weeks about whether we should go or not; both of us in different conversations vacillated from yea to nay and back again. Well, this morning BA came in the kitchen and told me she was going. Was I coming also?

45 years of marriage has created a pecking order, a quiver of intractable tendencies, points of view and most of all, a variety of looks and stares that tell both of us, no discussion is needed because discussion will not happen.

I wanted to be snarky and say out loud, "Yes Dear", with an appropriate snarky look pasted on my face. Her look warned me not to. This was serious..... She is right; it is nothing to make light of. Still, it is damn hard to go against my nature.

"Okay, how big do you want the cardboard, and do we want sticks or are we going commando?"

Our local protest here in southern Maine is only set up for a hour or so. It has a perfect location; a location filled with a slow moving captive audience.... the annual summer log jam on Route 1in Maine. Tomorrow, the punishment the folks from away will have to endure will be intensified as they travel anywhere on Route 1. There are protests spread all along Route 1, north and south.

Of course I have also been ordered to consider what we might put on the signs; Maybe show support for the recent "No Kings" series of protests going down across the country. I suggested, "DHS - The New Gestapo". Not sure how BA took it. That usually means no, she was not a fan.

So, tomorrow my wife and I join millions of people across this country to show our anger and ask for some sanity from Trump and his newly formed Gestapo, the DHS. My big hope is that the protests will be so massive, so spread out, that no lying sycophant's can ignore the fact that no, the idiots are not in charge. They just think they are.

I hope the apathetic rise up and at least pay attention and maybe decide to join the fight with the unthinkable stupidity that has our nation by its short hairs.

Anyway, BA and I will be in Wells in the early afternoon tomorrow with signs and ringing cowbells.

No matter how useless resistance may feel, besides our vote, it is all we have. 

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

_______________________

The logical and ever so pertinent song to include here was not going to be my choice. It was too predictable. "For What It's Worth" was recorded by Buffalo Springfield in the 1960s to bring more awareness to the civil upheavel that was so prevalent back then. It is a great, great song. Powerful without preaching.

So as I began to rationalize why I did not want to include it, I realize I had to. I remember playing this song often when a protest was coming up in DC or on campus in the early 1970s. Traditions don't mean much to me. But this one does.

Another Life Lesson Ignored

It's dark thirty in the morning. The leg cramps I have been dealing with since trying to sleep for the last 4 or 5 hours finally beat me down. Okay, Okay, I'm up for chrissakes. But what to do?

After so many years on the planet, I still have trouble paying attention to some Life Lessons. Hydration is one of them. I try to be good and keep pounding down the water, but sometimes like yesterday, I totally ignored water and all it could do for me if I just took a drink once in awhile.

But that's what cramps are for I guess; to remind me in an instant of agonizing wakefulness of how repetitively stupid I was.

"You dumb ass, you did not drink enough water yesterday and now look at your sorry ass self; your face all twisted up, your legs locked, toes locked, and what's worse you had been enjoying a really really cool dream." 

My brain snorted derisively and finished, "Might as well get up asshole, you ain't sleeping comfortable anymore this night."

I rush to the kitchen knowing that sucking down water now will have no immediate effect on the cramps. This evil cycle will have to play itself out. "But definitely take a drink dimwit, the water will eventually ease your pain.... sometime tomorrow". I could hear my mind chortling in the background.

I had to chuckle as I re-read this. Some nights were not meant to sleep through I guess, fun dreams or not.

You may return to your regularly scheduled program now...................................

________________________

What kind of music would dovetail with the whiny little rant above?

I opened up YouTube Premium and there was a suggested tune for me. It was Anita Hardcok's Banned 1940s song, "It Isn't Gonna Eat Itself". Reading the words "Banned", I was curious how low the bar was for a tune from the 1940s to be struck from the airwaves. So I played it.

Let's just say, if one of those 1990s Parental Advisory tags were available in the 1940s, this song would most likely have more than one. It's Crude. It's Rude. And I love it. Maybe the Good Ole Days really were the Good Ole Days after all.

The eighth grade me would have loved this song. Hell, the 73 year old me agrees.

Cortisone

I had some Cortisone injections in the 1990s for issues I was having with my right elbow. Overuse and abuse caused it. The cortisone shots were extremely painful and in the end did not do squat for the pain. I decided Cortisone was way overrated, deciding I wouldn't go through that ever again.

Flash forward to my burgeoning Old Fart career in the present. I have enjoyed overwhelming pain in my knees for at least the last 5 years. At first I thought I could tough it out. After all, toughing it out had a damn good track record. Ignore it and eventually it will go away.

That was before I had accepted being an old man who now realizes that any new pains are likely to move in for the duration and if I am really lucky , they will drag along some of their distant pain relatives to move in also. I accept now, there is pain and discomfort that is most likely payment extracted by my body for taking it for granted for so many years.

I was called into my doctor's office a couple of weeks ago. He was concerned about a blood test I had just had. I went in for the meet. He told I had tested positive for Hepatitis B. He quizzed me hard. Had I been engaging in dangerous behaviors with drugs or , Gasp, sexually? I assured him I had not. But being a smart ass, I said something to effect of , "Well, I saw a monkey the other day that I knew wanted me. And I almost caved. But no Doc, we did not hook up. My wife frowns on that behavior. I always come home with banana breath."

The look on his face was hard to read. He ignored my pitiful play for some humor and said, "Well, it must be a false positive then, The only way to tell is to order up another blood test, but a test specific to Hepatitis, and not a general wider range generic blood test."

I said okay and then asked, "Are we Done?" His only interest at that point seemed to see me out the door. Then he asked, " Any other issue, complaints, questions?"

It was a generic covering bases kind of question. I looked at him. "Yeah , my knees. They are driving me bonkers. I don't walk anymore if I can sit and even sitting hurts".

The Doc asked me to walk down the hall, turn around and return. I did my best, but it was more of a gimpy limp than a walk. He reckoned it was finally time for me to see an orthopedist and why hadn't I taken his advice the first time he mentioned it 2 years ago? I had no good answer. I just glared at him and mumbled, "Yeah I was a bonehead, but if all he wants to do is cut into me, I'm outta there."

Doctor A didn't say anything. He looked at my chart on his computer screen. He then told me he had not even brought up knee replacement, he just wanted me to see an orthopedist, nothing else. He followed up with, "It looks like you may have bone on bone arthritis. Cortisone shots might help. If nothing else, I am scheduling  X-rays and once that is done, someone will contact you. ...... Now, get out of my office.

He smiled. I smiled. I left.

On the way home, my attention was taken up by the positive result for Hep B blood test. I stopped thinking of x-rays and bone doctors. A day or so later, I received a text setting up the X-rays for my knees. I soon had an appointment on the following Friday with an Orthopedist over to Saco, about an hour away. 

The next Friday, I found the Orthopedic offices in a industrial park behind a scrape yard in Saco, Maine. Not the usual medical office set up. When I went in, there was no one in the waiting room. I signed in, sat down, and cursed myself because I had not brought my phone in ....Before I could finish chastising myself, a nurse type woman dressed in appropriate nurse type garb asked me to follow her. 

I had spoken with the Orthopedist as he poked my knees and looked at my X-rays. He agreed with Dr. A's diagnosis and asked what I wanted to do. It was indeed bone on bone arthritis. He advised cortisone shots in the beginning with some Physical Therapy. He never mentioned knee replacement. I nodded and said let's try it. His assistant already had 2 syringes ready and waiting. Bing Bang Boom, before I could catch my breath he was finishing applying the 2nd band aid. He shook my hand and left the room. The whole visit lasted less than 10 minutes when I found myself outside walking , not gimping back to my car. 

What just happened?

The shots were not painful, not really. I barely noticed them. This happened last Friday. I have been almost totally pain free since. I have gone for a walk, worked in the yard, and shook my money maker to a Youtube playlist while I cleaned up the kitchen.

Just when I have decided the Medical Industry is only good for picking my pocket, something comes along that makes me eat crow. 

Maybe now I can stay ahead of the pain by not being so sedentary. Maybe even attempt riding my bikes. Nothing would make me happier.

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

* AND a BIG BTW - the original positive test for Hep B was indeed a False Positive. Hallelujah !

______________________________

I figured the song I danced to in the kitchen would be an appropriate symbol of how much better my knees feel now.

Here is Gangsta Grass, a group who really can't be pigeonholed cleanly. Please enjoy "Nickel and Dime Blues". Play it loud and don't try to ignore the urge to tap your feet or even better, do some shit kicking, heels up dancing wherever you might happen to be.

Reflecting Pool

 There are some of us who have always stood up for others and some of us who have only stood up for ourselves.

Then there's the rest of us, never really sure which way to go

And that's just sad

_________________________

This is the variation of a thought that came to me for a comment on someone's Facebook post. I have expanded it to include myself. I would love to claim the high ground of standing up for others, but well, I have failed from time to time to be that guy. I can also remember a time when selfish interests ruled and I knew I should have been more considerate.

And now, after so many years of inconsistent support for those who needed it, I have begun to speak out more, donate more, and most important, try to recognize what personal actions I can change that would benefit others without being judgmental or attaching any debt to my help. 

I know now that help saturated in pity will often make the situation worse. People generally do not want to be pitied. They can become resentful. They may need help. They may even want it. But when it is waved in their face, often it causes them to draw back from it.

It would be easy for me to sit back at 72 years old and not give a shit about anything or anyone. It would be a logical step after becoming a card carrying Old Fart. But It makes less sense now to not care than it did when I was in the middle of the busy productive part of my life.

Whether it is a good idea or not, I have been doing a lot of reflecting these days. I have the time now to reflect on years past; the triumphs, the failures, the moments of pleasure and pain.  And though it has been my position that I have no regrets, well, that is probably just some Bullshit I tried to fool myself with.

I used to passively deny regrets with, "There are things I would have done differently." Who am I fooling? That means regret; no getting around it. Thankfully, any regrets I harbor are shoved aside by the overwhelming wave of the things I did that I did not regret. I am pretty much happy with my performance as a human so far. Now, I want to see if I can clean up the rough edges I developed as I wore myself out making it paycheck to paycheck over the years.

I need to stop now. The Reflecting Pool is beginning to ripple. Besides, Maggie needs to go out to pee.

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

_________________________

I spent more time finding a tune for this post than I usually spend I guess. Or I just became frustrated and impatient sooner than usual. Regardless, I chose a Nickelback tune, "When We Stand Together" for the music to listen to when reading this post. Hope you like it. I did.

Riddle Me This

I have always admired the ability to think up riddles. My dad had that ability. He used to twist my brain every chance he had with the latest one he had thought up or one he had discovered that he thought was worthy.

I can only remember besting him once as a kid. I was grade school age, maybe 7 or 8 when he asked me:

 "What is supposed to arrive, but never does?"

My brother just recently reminded me that this is how I first heard this question. He was at the dinner table that night when Dad asked it. All this time I remembered it not initially as a riddle, but something he just declared. My brother remembers because he couldn't guess the answer either.

After too many moments leaving us hanging, Dad said:

"Tomorrow never arrives. By the time it is Tomorrow, it is Today."

We all chuckled or more likely groaned.  I wasn't able to shake the point; it bothered me. I knew damn well Tomorrow arrived. It was one of the certain truths I had filed away early in my life. Anything that was supposed to happen always started out as a statement regarding the future, which in my mind meant tomorrow. 

I kept straining my brain to figure out how to prove that riddle wrong. It took quite awhile. We had moved and I was in another school , so at least 6 or 7 months. I finally had my Eureka moment and confronted my father with my conclusion that disproved the conclusion of the riddle, that "Tomorrow never Arrives".

"Tomorrow does arrive. Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow"

He was dutifully impressed. Though I think he might have been more impressed with my tenacious attitude of trying to one up him than the answer I came up with.

I only bring up this exchange with my father because of my life long love/hate relationship with riddles. I have solved a few, but most of the time it seems I was unable or unwilling to waste the band width in my brain solving them. 

Then this morning as I filled water jugs, a riddle came to me that I think may be my one and only original riddle.

I have 6 empty jugs. I filled all 6, yet 5 remain empty. How is that possible?

It's a light weight riddle I am sure. But I have to start somewhere........ Right?

__________________________

I am constantly surprised how many songs the are under the Sun for every damn thing under the Sun. Here is "The Riddle" by Five for Fighting, another previously unknown group to me. Excellent piano. I always like good piano.

The message is right for my current state of mind. Maybe it contains messages we should all have in mind:

There are secrets that we still have left to find

There have been mysteries from the beginning of time

There are answers we're not wise enough to see