SEASONAL

For the past several years, I've spent endless hours in seasonal jobs where bottom line is too often the holiday mantra.   Some call it "the madness."  I concur!  This year, my seasonal experience vacuumed up all of my remaining joy and good tidings.   Somehow I always end up in desperate circumstances come the end of each year.  It's not from materialism.  I don't buy anything.  It's not from gluttony.  I often eat one square a day.   It's not from pride.  I have no problem accepting even the most remedial of tasks.  It's just life.    But from now until Christmas, it is my quest to locate the Electrolux that has claimed my once child-like Christmas spirit.

It begins with honest prayer and then moves on to simple fare...like...a good read and a hot cup of joe.  Or some homemade raisin cookies and  hot cocoa.  A piece of sweet potato pie and an old picture show.  And to top it off, a thank you to God for all the white snow.  

  

Hinterlands

The autumn months fuel my passion for rural life.  Despite my suburban residential status, I'm always daydreaming about the rugged landscape where I learned how to handle a fishing rod and a Winchester.  From leaf peeping to Friday night lights, the air of autumn always cleanses my cynical pallet and whisks me away to the hinterlands of Creation.

With a frugal mindset and a realization that there will indeed be a next year, I have traded my quest for bragging rights for repeat trips to the library and picture books.  I have traded tramping the hills for hand holding and afternoon strolls with my better half.  I have traded camp coffee and outdoor dunnies for loose-leaf tea and warm showers.  Not a bad trade.  But next year maybe I'll be blessed with both.  In the meantime, I may just write Santa about that new bb gun I long to call my own.

The Bear in a Cage

At a podunk dot on the map near the prehistoric Painted Hills lives a bear in a cage.  His name is Henry and he appears content but how often we cloak our melancholy souls with a tame grin and a nod.  He is well fed at least physically.  An occasional Oreo cookie and perhaps some avocados help him through his mundane existence.  But God created him wild and ferocious.  Henry deserves better. 

Lately I associate with Henry.   I look forward to a homemade twinkie or a bowl of freshly picked marionberries to lift my spirits.  And despite being able to roam freely, I know my home is elsewhere.  I long to be wild and ferocious free from the confines of the skyscrapers and "Yes Men."  I want a more civilized pace where the almighty greenback takes a backseat to love, fresh honey, and a lazy fishing trip.  I'm guessing Henry longs for the same!

Pickles

Have you ever found yourself in a pickle where it seems impossible to swim through the vinegar and the shoreline is nothing more than a baby gherkin patch?  I recently found myself in a jar of sour cornichons.   Sometimes we encounter obstacles so daunting that even a homemade twinkie can't provide relief.   I constantly remind myself that millions rarely get a cup of clean water on a daily basis so a big gulp full of pickle juice isn't all that bad.  But problems are problems nonetheless and a life in the creative arts is definitely paved with Prickly Pears.  So as I continue to swim amongst the sharks, I begin to understand Jonah's little side trip in the belly of a big fish. It stinks in here.  

Support excellence!

Waffle House

I was amazed to find out that some of my musical buddies earn next to nothing for playing a gig.  Mind you these are some of the most skilled and talented jazz rats in the nation.  Then I learned that a musically bankrupt disc jockey can earn hundreds of dollars playing tired remixes through homemade cabinets and refurbished mixers.  I'm definitely out of the loop.  And then I discovered that some popular artists and not so popular artists charge six figures to perform a sixty minute set of cookie-cutter hooey.  That's when I picked my jaw up off the floor and went to Waffle House for an All-Star Special and a glass of sweet tea.   So when the greed gets to you and you're done griping and groaning, take an hour and a hard-earned ten spot and pull up a chair for some bantering waitresses and cussing cooks in the one place where status and personal hygiene is ignored.  God Bless America.  

FRY BREAD

One would think eternal sunshine should yield happy, content drivers.  After all, you don't have to drudge through those cloudy, dreary days that keep your arms locked at 10 and 2 while the snow piles up and the plows plaster your new ride.  Well I'm once again wrong in my assumptions. Sunshine and heat yield angry, aggressive drivers!  My passion for the desert runs deep but I must admit I was longing for a small, mountain retreat in the French Alps this past weekend. Tires a spinning, accidents a happening, and tempers a flaring.  It was borderline comical had people's lives not been in jeopardy.  But we made it safely around the valley and gobbled up some fresh indian fry bread basted in butter and honey to celebrate our safe travels.  Now that keeps me smiling.  

I Need A Donut!

There are many reasons to eat a donut.  Perhaps your least favorite co-worker was transferred. Maybe your youngest child is finally toilet trained.  Or maybe, just maybe you are genuinely excited for someone else.  I'm that bloke.  I'm stoked (to use 80s terminology) to be sharing in someone else's success.  After all, it seems most of us are quick to celebrate the failures of our peers.  I choose to eat a donut in honor of my wife's academic success.  That's right, my wife is one smart cookie.  But a cookie will not suffice today.  It's time for a donut.  Not just a stale supermarket special.  It's time for a real donut...a Hostess raspberry-filled powdered masterpiece.  One half dozen to be exact.  Now my wife has true discipline.  She prefers cupcakes. But me, well, I like donuts.

Have a stress-free day!