All the Wrong Reasons

I've become far too accustomed to removing various articles of clothing at the behest of strange young women. I mean, they're all X-ray techs, but I feel so used. Am I a slut? much peace, tjb

Blood of the Lamb!!!

I don't give a flying fuck about the co-opted reason for the season; I just hate the motherfucking season. Bad music, bad movies and more blatant greed and profiteering than at any other time. Every divorce begins with Kay, buy your wife a BMW, your kids are entitled to a truckload of forgettable crap..etc., etc., ad nauseum. ... and don't get me started on Black Friday. I automatically hate all of you fat slobbery piglets frothing at the mouth while you push and shove and oink over the latest must-have small consumer goods. Give me some would-be witches dancing naked in a frosty field any day over this Roman-Capitalist consumer bacchanal. Once, many years ago, I allowed an ex-girlfriend to seduce me into a Black Friday foray to Best Buy. It was worse than anticipated. Hundreds of pairs of flat, dull eyes, lit only by a mean, petty avarice. It was like stepping into a sewer full of enormous starving rats. I could almost hear the chittering and salivating. The aforementioned witches were just as misled about supernatural mumbo jumbo as current christians, muslims, jews, etc, but drinking and fornicating out in the cold on the winter solstice sure beats manhandling each other over the latest tablet or game console. much peace, tjb

Transitory

Roses in frost. Sometimes the universe says it for you.

much peace, tjb

A Great Plenty

I've avoided posting much about my accident and subsequent recovery. While it may occasionally have made for interesting reading, doing so would have felt like a bunch of woe-is-me, narcissistic, looking-for-sympathy stuff. In strict definition of the the term, I have already received more overwhelming and humbling sympathy than a man could possibly ever deserve. In addition, most of my days are good, and most weeks are measurably better than the preceding ones. Minus the six pack and mutton chops, I've felt like The Wolverine in how quickly I've healed. I took the boys fishing shortly after getting out of the turtle shell brace, and I limp around pretty damn well for an old broken guy. I hit the gym pretty hard about five days a week, and I throw the football and frisbee with the boys frequently (I can't plant hard on my back foot yet, so my passes flutter a little, but all things in time...)

Anyway, the only real regret I have is that Max and Will and I have all suffered somewhat from our deprivation of nature this spring and summer. Since they could walk, we have been hiking whatever trails we could find, even the little one at Elmwood park that runs along the south side of the creek. I remember their faces alight while they trudged through the snow there one winter, and the way they ran laughing through the woods north of Omaha, and in the bluffs in western Wisconsin. This summer they got to come to the hospital and watch nurses try to find a good vein somewhere on their dad. While interesting in its own right, and an invaluable lesson in confronting adversity, hanging out at the hospital is a poor substitute for marching through sun, shade wind and rain. Their little souls, therefore, while taught some wisdom by the situation, suffered in the absence of nature.

So we went hiking on Saturday down at Indian Cave State Park by Nemaha, NE. We did about four miles on some very strenuous trails. Several steep grades shuffling through piles of leaves and some soft, almost spongy, earth. The boys groused a bit, as they had lost the habit of breasting these challenges, but their reticence was just more proof of the necessity of said struggles. We crested the last ridge towards the trailhead and, like they always do, my little foot soldiers realized the significance of the moment. We stopped and listened to the wind sing through the trees, and watched figures of light and shadow move in joyous harmony around us. They both talked about taking "photographs" to put in their memory boxes, all metaphor, of course for, "Remember this. Remember." They get it. I hope when they are middle-aged men, and I am old and perhaps more broken than I am now; I hope that sans eyes, sans ears, and stuck in a wheelchair on the deck or in the nursing home; I hope the three of us can perhaps recall the way the sun and wind felt up on that ridge, and the way the river glistened far off to the east. I hope we can recall how rich and just stupidly fortunate those moments were.

I tried to pay my brother Mike for part of the fishing trip one year, and he would not, of course, accept the amount I tried to give him. He took a portion and said, "That's a great plenty, Tommy." Those words, and the way he said them, stuck with me, and I think they're relevant here. A great plenty. That's how I'll remember this summer, I think. A great plenty, indeed.

much peace, tjb

Slug Habitat

While trying to catch crickets the other day, the boys discovered several garden slugs at the base of the neighbor's windsor wall landscaping. They asked if they could keep them as pets. Strangely, the neighbor did not object to the removal of the critters from her landscaping. Below is their temporary habitat, with food and decorative flowers included.

much peace,
tjb

Let There Be ...

I was driving home early yesterday evening when the back end of a three-day cold front began to pass over the city. The buildings and trees to the east were awash in eldritch light, and to the west, beneath the long line of cloud, the setting sun blazed forth. It felt like the first time I had ever seen the sun.

much peace,

tjb

The Boys and Girls of Summer

My sister and I took my sons, her son, her granddaughter and one other random kid camping at Two Rivers this weekend. The kids had a grand old time hunting minnows and tadpoles in the Platte, and they made new friends at the playground near our campsite. I took all five kids fishing the next day, which went surprisingly smoothly. Ann and I even got to play Frisbee for a half hour Sunday morning, just like the good old days in front of the house on Valley Street.

much peace,
tjb

Tremble and Despair

... as the Burbach-Domeyer scoring machine approaches its weapons of choice ...

much peace,
tjb

In Plain Sight

Dilapidated old picnic table across the street from my office. That's where I take my breaks. Turkeys sometimes wander through the green space behind it that overlooks the interstate. Today the wind is dislodging shards of sun from the trees around my little refuge.

much peace,
tjb

Catfish Spot at Twilight

fragrant evening weeds
encroaching clouds are mirrored
in the cool deep lake

Churchy?

The boys and I spent most of Sunday at the Our Lady of Lourdes Fall Festival. The boys ran around and played with their friends for seven hours, and I consorted with my betters from the parish. I always feel a little sheepishly disingenuous hanging with all the good Catholic folk, since I am not at all religious. They are absolutely solid and wonderful people,who have been better to me and my family than I can ever deserve, and I count many of them among my close friends. They are good to tolerate this poor sinner and his unbelief. I hope I have opportunity to pay forward some of the good will and grace they've shown me.

Much peace,
tjb

Upon Waking

Up at dawn to see a big bright harvest moon descending between two trees in the west. My reconstructed right leg aches in the early chill, and I must spend another long day indoors; but Max and Will, and an evening of Frisbee and friends, lie in expectant wait beyond the trees and stately moon.
much peace,
tjb

Sphinx Moths at My Father's House

... and a Single, But Very Pink, Hydrangea Blossom

Good Morning

Every day outside of a hospital room is a good day.

Email to My Brother

Listening to Josh Ritter play his songs live on radio. Why this guy doesn't record all his stuff live in studio is beyond me.

Best songwriter I've heard in a long time, maybe ever.

Hitting the gym like crazy lately, and got the kids out for the first cold bike ride of spring on Wednesday. Radical shift in diet taking effect...Fresh spinach and mushrooms with almost every meal. No sweets at all for the last three weeks. On a path and turning the corner, physically, towards the athlete I have been and should be.

As always, thinking of you during all of these things. Most things I do, and the songs and poems I write, include pieces of Max and Will, Craig, Mom and Dad, and all my many brothers and sisters. I don't have space for all of you some days.

much peace,

tjb

News Flash: Preacher a Self-Absorbed Hypocrite

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/applebees-waitress-fired-pastor-receipt-193820748.html

Check this story.

Party of 10 eats at Applebees and is automatically assessed the standard 18% tip for parties greater than five. There is a field on the credit card slip where someone can add an additional tip. One can elect to leave an additional amount or not, no big deal either way.

... Except for Little Miss Prissy Pants, Alois Bell. Sorry, Little Miss Prissy Pants PASTOR Alois Bell.

Apparently it was a very big deal to LMPPP A. Bell. It wasn't enough to just sign the slip and leave the additional tip field blank. I'll bet a lot of folks do that, and it's completely acceptable. Bell, however, made a point of putting a "0" in that field, adding "Pastor" before her illegible signature, and leaving a snide little note asking, "I give God 10%, why do you get 18?"

The server for the group found it singular and amusing, and showed it to another server, Chelsea Welch, who photographed it and posted it to Reddit. As one would expect, the reddit crowd also found it amusing.

Ms. Bell, however, while perfectly comfortable being snide to the working class Applebees staff, was pretty hacked off that her true persona would be shared outside of Applebee. In short, she called Applebees and got Chelsea Welch fired.

So, to recap: Ms. Bell didn't like the automatic gratuity at Applebees and decided to be a snide little bitch about it on her receipt. When Little Miss Prissy Pants Pastor's own decision to be snide and rude went viral, she then punished someone else for her rudeness by causing them to lose their job.

THAT'S how a Pastor treats the least of their brethren, kids. They don't own up, laugh ruefully and move on. They make sure a blue collar working stiff loses their job. Just like Jesus would do.

Anyway, long and short of it is, Applebees definitely gets no business from me. Not that it's particularly high quality food anyway, but the boys get Applebees gift certificates for reaching reading milestones at school, and so we would go and I would add my entree and some desserts. We'll go somewhere better, with no pictures on the menu, from now on. Not much financial disincentive for them, but checking their website and Twitter feed, it appears that I am one of ALOT of people no longer patronizing Applebees because of this.

Maybe it's my time spent working retail, but I am a firm believer that the customer is absolutely NOT always right, and that one should not reward rude behavior by customers.

In conclusion, fuck Pastor Alois Bell and Applebees right in the ear. Your food sucks anyway, and Pastor Bell's church is undoubtedly just a scam.

much peace,

tjb

Ready for Spring

A photo of Max and Will standing in Albert Lea Lake at sunset in August, 2012.

much peace,

tjb

Equal and Opposing Forces

I am torn, sometimes, between my desire to be useful, engaged and relevant, and the contradictory desire to just be still, keep my head down and stay out of everybody's way as much as possible.

much peace,

tjb