There are times when I’m really a surprise to myself. Those times are when I turn into the macho, beer drinking, Monday Night Football watching guy I’m really not. But writing about weddings? You see I didn’t post last week so I made a promise to myself no matter the prompt I would write. So as you can see I’m stuck and the guy in me is out full force.
I like to think I’m this sensitive guy who always the romantic, you know him he’s into walks along the beach in the moonlight. So why shouldn’t it be easy to write about a wedding or about the advice I’d give my daughter at her wedding, talk about a scary thought. I hope she waits until her 30’s. More time for dad to think up a wise and thoughtful piece of advice that will serve her all through her married life. More likely Mr. Football will kick in and I’ll use the opportunity to advise the groom to be, that if he ever hurts my daughter I’ll be kicking something besides a Football.
You see macho is what us guys do, even us sensitive ones. Weddings are a woman’s territory. Have you ever read those wedding stories in the newspaper? She wore a Shimmering Autumn White Gorgonzola gown with three hundred and twenty eight hand beaded lustrous pearls hand picked by pearl diving expert Jorge Ramón de Santiago. Even the diver has a fancy name!
Don’t get me wrong here I’ve been the groom at two of these events, so I’m experienced. The first wedding should have been a warning to me about the marriage I was about to embark on. The power went out on the whole west coast. The world went dark; most people would take that as a clue. Then we spent the morning decorating the hall her quote for the morning was “GET HIM OUT OF HERE, HE’S DRIVING ME CRAZY.” And so it went until the advice I got from my best man. He said, “Hey look a back door it’s not to late!” The ceremony was beautiful. Everything was perfect. But really I was a guest that day. Mr. Macho sure didn’t save me that day. I was more like the deer caught in Mr. Macho’s headlights.
So move forward thirteen or so years and I got a second chance. They say you learn from your mistakes and I think that’s true you see, our wedding was wonderful, simply done in her parent’s back yard, with just our families there. The rain that was forecast never appeared. It was easy, enjoyable and a chance to share our vows with those we loved. And what about Mr. Macho? Well, really who needs Mr. Macho when you’re married to Mrs. Right.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Coffee
A young goat herder by the name of Kaldi awoke one day to find his herd missing. He was worried as any goat herder would be. It’s sort of like being the IT guy who finds all his computers missing. So of course Kaldi went out to find his herd of goats. He searched and searched and finally found them. But the goats weren’t quietly grazing. They were dancing. That’s right dancing. Well, Kaldi was shocked and closed his eyes, thinking it to be a dream. Goats did not dance. But when he again opened his eyes they were still at it. This time he also noticed that some of his goats were eating the fruit of a nearby bush.. Kaldi thought he would try the fruit as well and man’s relationship with coffee was born.
Ah the wine of the bean. Coffee has had mans’ attention since that Ethiopian boy tried his first bite. Coffee wandered about in the Arab world until the 1600’s at times being banned due to it’s stimulating effects. Then it found it’s way to Italy. Christians thought it to be a Muslim drink. Many sought to ban the brew calling it a “bitter invention of Satan.” However, Pope Clemet VIII said "This devil's drink is so good... we should cheat the devil by baptizing it." So the battle of the bean was won and quickly the drink spread throughout the christian world. By 1675 more than 3,000 coffehouses existed in England. Surely with so many on every corner they would decide to close a few.
The bean traveled far and wide around the world, mostly with the help of the East India Companies. The raw beans were guarded and protected to the extent that the Emporer of Brazil sent Francisco de Mello Palheta to French Guinea to aquire beans for Brazil. But Palheta would be turned away at evey corner. That is until be met the Govenor’s wife. Palheta promptly seduced the wife and in turn she provided him with enough beans to send Brazil on it’s way to becoming the leading Coffee producer in the world.
So no matter if it’s a Starbucks double half double sweet latte or just a plain ol’ cup of joe remember the history that proceded that first sip.
Ah the wine of the bean. Coffee has had mans’ attention since that Ethiopian boy tried his first bite. Coffee wandered about in the Arab world until the 1600’s at times being banned due to it’s stimulating effects. Then it found it’s way to Italy. Christians thought it to be a Muslim drink. Many sought to ban the brew calling it a “bitter invention of Satan.” However, Pope Clemet VIII said "This devil's drink is so good... we should cheat the devil by baptizing it." So the battle of the bean was won and quickly the drink spread throughout the christian world. By 1675 more than 3,000 coffehouses existed in England. Surely with so many on every corner they would decide to close a few.
The bean traveled far and wide around the world, mostly with the help of the East India Companies. The raw beans were guarded and protected to the extent that the Emporer of Brazil sent Francisco de Mello Palheta to French Guinea to aquire beans for Brazil. But Palheta would be turned away at evey corner. That is until be met the Govenor’s wife. Palheta promptly seduced the wife and in turn she provided him with enough beans to send Brazil on it’s way to becoming the leading Coffee producer in the world.
So no matter if it’s a Starbucks double half double sweet latte or just a plain ol’ cup of joe remember the history that proceded that first sip.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Somewhere
Somewhere is not here. It’s someplace I’d rather be, but it’s really not here. It’s right next to anywhere. That’s being somewhere.
Just plain where is another place altogether and begs us to ask. Where? It’s not here though, but it’s somewhere.
Everywhere sounds like a great place, but who has really been there? I’ve not been there but it’s somewhere indeed.
Wherever, is not really somewhere it just seems to be hanging around.
No I think somewhere is really where I’d like to be!
Just plain where is another place altogether and begs us to ask. Where? It’s not here though, but it’s somewhere.
Everywhere sounds like a great place, but who has really been there? I’ve not been there but it’s somewhere indeed.
Wherever, is not really somewhere it just seems to be hanging around.
No I think somewhere is really where I’d like to be!
Friday, August 22, 2008
How I met my Grandfather
I thought this would be about my father and although it is. It’s also is about my grandfather someone I’ve discovered I have more in common with than I thought. Writing will do that. My father always came with a question. I knew the man who raised me. The question was who he was before I was born. Who he’d been before he’d met my mother.
Before I was born my father was a drifter. He stopped in a café in 1955. Even though I wasn’t there I know the conversation. “Miss, what kind of pie do you have?” My mother would mention apple, peach, and cherry, but none would interest him. She’d smile and add banana to the list. Banana pie was his weakness and pretty waitresses his other. He spent the winter in that western panhandle town. There wasn’t any real reason to stay except for the sagebrush, the cold north wind and of course banana pie. It’s funny they always seemed to have banana. He ended up working in an upholstery shop and dating my mother during the winter of that year. But when the weather turned warm again he left, promising to return. You see, drifters don’t stay in one place very long.
Where he went was a mystery. Maybe, it wasn’t to my mother. But to my grandfather it was. It was a mystery that needed to be solved and he’d find out just who this guy really was. As the Justice of the Peace he knew people. He had friends who worked for the state police. They’d find nothing, which irritated grandfather more than anyone knew. Little did he know two ex-wives and someone else pursued father.
As the leaves turned red and gold and the air became frosty my father returned. He ordered pie and went back to work repairing furniture. Grandfather had spent the summer trying to get a lead on this guy. That helped grandfather make his decision. He’d have to get rid of him. No drifter would date his daughter. But grandfather was too late. My mother and father ran off to see another Justice of the Peace. This JP was in New Mexico, far away from Grandfather’s control. When they returned Grandfather had a new son-in-law.
The new son-in law never went by his real name he was simply Buck a name given to him by his older brothers when he was the youngest and the toughest of the bunch. But grandfather needed more. He asked to see the marriage license. He knew he had him. He knew father’s given name would appear on that certificate. But when grandfather looked the line only had two initials on it.
So, as the weather warmed and spring came, mother and father left. Grandfather would be left with more questions than ever. The letters would come from all over the Midwest. Nebraska one week Texas the next. He’d keep searching for answers. He’d never really find out the truth. You see, drifters don’t stay in one place very long.
Before I was born my father was a drifter. He stopped in a café in 1955. Even though I wasn’t there I know the conversation. “Miss, what kind of pie do you have?” My mother would mention apple, peach, and cherry, but none would interest him. She’d smile and add banana to the list. Banana pie was his weakness and pretty waitresses his other. He spent the winter in that western panhandle town. There wasn’t any real reason to stay except for the sagebrush, the cold north wind and of course banana pie. It’s funny they always seemed to have banana. He ended up working in an upholstery shop and dating my mother during the winter of that year. But when the weather turned warm again he left, promising to return. You see, drifters don’t stay in one place very long.
Where he went was a mystery. Maybe, it wasn’t to my mother. But to my grandfather it was. It was a mystery that needed to be solved and he’d find out just who this guy really was. As the Justice of the Peace he knew people. He had friends who worked for the state police. They’d find nothing, which irritated grandfather more than anyone knew. Little did he know two ex-wives and someone else pursued father.
As the leaves turned red and gold and the air became frosty my father returned. He ordered pie and went back to work repairing furniture. Grandfather had spent the summer trying to get a lead on this guy. That helped grandfather make his decision. He’d have to get rid of him. No drifter would date his daughter. But grandfather was too late. My mother and father ran off to see another Justice of the Peace. This JP was in New Mexico, far away from Grandfather’s control. When they returned Grandfather had a new son-in-law.
The new son-in law never went by his real name he was simply Buck a name given to him by his older brothers when he was the youngest and the toughest of the bunch. But grandfather needed more. He asked to see the marriage license. He knew he had him. He knew father’s given name would appear on that certificate. But when grandfather looked the line only had two initials on it.
So, as the weather warmed and spring came, mother and father left. Grandfather would be left with more questions than ever. The letters would come from all over the Midwest. Nebraska one week Texas the next. He’d keep searching for answers. He’d never really find out the truth. You see, drifters don’t stay in one place very long.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Observations
It was dark and black outside. He watched. It was what he did watching, not your normal watching mind you. He watched, really watched, looking for what others could not see. He left the house late to go to work. While everyone else was getting ready for bed or watching Letterman, he was going to work. To watch and he’d watch all night.
It started when he was young. His dad encouraged him. Gave him everything he’d need. When the time came he went to college and he watched.
He drove a lonely road no one ever came here. He was alone except for the car radio. As he drove he would sometimes watch. But that was dangerous and he tried to concentrate on the road. He was almost to work now, just another few miles down this desolate road. Mostly he worked alone sometimes he’d have help, but really when he watched he preferred quiet and solitude. He liked being alone.
He questioned whether he was really a watcher. It was more than that, much more. Really, he thought of himself as more of an observer, and with that thought he rounded the corner and saw the observatory.
It started when he was young. His dad encouraged him. Gave him everything he’d need. When the time came he went to college and he watched.
He drove a lonely road no one ever came here. He was alone except for the car radio. As he drove he would sometimes watch. But that was dangerous and he tried to concentrate on the road. He was almost to work now, just another few miles down this desolate road. Mostly he worked alone sometimes he’d have help, but really when he watched he preferred quiet and solitude. He liked being alone.
He questioned whether he was really a watcher. It was more than that, much more. Really, he thought of himself as more of an observer, and with that thought he rounded the corner and saw the observatory.
Friday, August 8, 2008
ASK
If you can ask just one question what would it be? What a challenge. It’s sort of like being offered three wishes. Do you ask the “BIG” question? Don’t we all want to know why we’re here? Or, do you ask the little question? How do hummingbirds fly? By asking the little things do you get the “BIG” answer?
If you ask the “BIG” question are you allowed to ask follow-ups?
Me: Why am I here?
God: I PLACED YOU HERE.
Me, Follow up: Who are you?
God: I AM GOD.
Me, follow up: Why did you place me here?
God: Because I’M GOD.
Me, follow up: But why am I here?
God: I’m sorry you only get three questions. You’re times up.
I never get a straight answer from that guy, and even he has that 3-item limit just like the genie in Aladdin. I should have asked about the hummingbird thing.
Anyway, what if you get this wonderful answer that explains it all? I mean really if you know everything there’s not even any reason to watch Oprah. Every time she opens her mouth you get to say. No, Oprah that’s not right.
Seriously knowing everything would be boring. You would have no purpose. You could share your knowledge, but then you’d just be the guy that knows everything. All day long answering questions. Would they be good questions?
They’d probably go something like.
Question guy: Why am I here?
Me: GOD PLACED YOU HERE.
Question guy, Follow up: Who are you?
Me: I AM THE GUY WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Question guy, follow up: Why did God place me here?
Me: Because he’s GOD.
Question guy, follow up: But why am I here?
Me: I’m sorry you only get three questions. You’re times up.
Well it at least explains why god gives me the answers he does. That guy has a tough job and he’s expected to work miracles too!
So I guess it’s really not a good idea to ask the big question and just be content to ask the small ones. Now where’s that Wiki on Hummingbirds?
If you ask the “BIG” question are you allowed to ask follow-ups?
Me: Why am I here?
God: I PLACED YOU HERE.
Me, Follow up: Who are you?
God: I AM GOD.
Me, follow up: Why did you place me here?
God: Because I’M GOD.
Me, follow up: But why am I here?
God: I’m sorry you only get three questions. You’re times up.
I never get a straight answer from that guy, and even he has that 3-item limit just like the genie in Aladdin. I should have asked about the hummingbird thing.
Anyway, what if you get this wonderful answer that explains it all? I mean really if you know everything there’s not even any reason to watch Oprah. Every time she opens her mouth you get to say. No, Oprah that’s not right.
Seriously knowing everything would be boring. You would have no purpose. You could share your knowledge, but then you’d just be the guy that knows everything. All day long answering questions. Would they be good questions?
They’d probably go something like.
Question guy: Why am I here?
Me: GOD PLACED YOU HERE.
Question guy, Follow up: Who are you?
Me: I AM THE GUY WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Question guy, follow up: Why did God place me here?
Me: Because he’s GOD.
Question guy, follow up: But why am I here?
Me: I’m sorry you only get three questions. You’re times up.
Well it at least explains why god gives me the answers he does. That guy has a tough job and he’s expected to work miracles too!
So I guess it’s really not a good idea to ask the big question and just be content to ask the small ones. Now where’s that Wiki on Hummingbirds?
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Do I have to?
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
But it will disappoint my parents.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
But I could be fired.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
But my wife might leave me.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
Yes you probably do. Life is like that. Starting with that first breath in life you make a decision, and the decision is to breath. And what if you decided not to take that breath? You would have disappointed your parents. Then life continues to revolve around that one question “Do I have to?”
Do I have to do this? No you don’t, but the moment you raise the question you are doomed. By simply asking it you’ve already answered it. It appears as a fork in the road, turn to the left and you don’t have to, turn to the right and you have to. It’s truly not such a fork you are destined to turn right by the question. The question itself is the answer “Yes you probably do.”
It’s the ultimate guilt question. Something unpleasant will happen if you don’t. You know it, society knows it. A statement always follows the question and that statement is the answer, or is it another question veiled as a statement. It will cause your brain to explode from over analysis and your back to the start.
And finally
Do I have to write about this?
No I don’t
No you don’t.
But it will disappoint my parents.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
But I could be fired.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
But my wife might leave me.
Do I have to?
No you don’t.
Yes you probably do. Life is like that. Starting with that first breath in life you make a decision, and the decision is to breath. And what if you decided not to take that breath? You would have disappointed your parents. Then life continues to revolve around that one question “Do I have to?”
Do I have to do this? No you don’t, but the moment you raise the question you are doomed. By simply asking it you’ve already answered it. It appears as a fork in the road, turn to the left and you don’t have to, turn to the right and you have to. It’s truly not such a fork you are destined to turn right by the question. The question itself is the answer “Yes you probably do.”
It’s the ultimate guilt question. Something unpleasant will happen if you don’t. You know it, society knows it. A statement always follows the question and that statement is the answer, or is it another question veiled as a statement. It will cause your brain to explode from over analysis and your back to the start.
And finally
Do I have to write about this?
No I don’t
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