Ab Stainer's World of Adventure featuring "MONDAY MUSINGS"

Hast la Vista, Blues #92

2011-04-11T12:21:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

Like a deadly gunslinger in the Old West, a plotting mad terrorist or a fugitive on the F.B.I.'s most wanted list, I am to be considered "armed and dangerous".

No, I'm not carrying firearms or explosives nor am I a danger to life and limb in any sense.

I'm talking about W.M.B.D.'s baby....BIG time!!!

Weapons of Mass Blues Destruction are my formidable armaments and with my sights locked on misery, pessimism and apathy, I'm loaded for bear; or at least humans acting "bearishly"!

You wanna be grumpy and miserable like you just woke up from a lengthy hibernation that's your business, but don't get in my line of fire today cause I'll fire off a few rounds your way with deadly accuracy.

I'm packing....a smothering love, a rapier wit, a fiery lust for life and a killer charm and I'm not afraid to use them.

I am afraid that life is too short to waste in misery, too precious to squander in sadness and too valuable to take for granted.

As one blessed with the renewed vision of a second chance, and having discovered this cache of W.M.B.D.'s within my grateful heart, I now enforce a daily vendetta against the darkness of despair that once shrouded my life.

As the kids say today, "It's all good!" and when it's "really" good as it is in my case, it is imperatively and extravagantly shared.

Something as simple to implement as a warm smile is the Blues' deadly enemy.

The few seconds that it takes to administer a sincere compliment and to bask in its' accompanying gratitude slays the Blues every time.

A moment of shared laughter is fatally poisonous to the Blues.

Logging-in to a positive attitude gives the Blues short shrift and a well deserved bum's rush.

I have run into some folks that claim to be somehow content in their misery and would rather not be bothered by some "big overly happy goof".

Those ones get a double shot, WHAM-BAM!!!

Call it collateral damage?

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live ( overly)

Soul-stice #91

2011-04-04T12:39:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

In this part of the world we are blessed with a vivid manifestation of all four of the seasons, and at this time of the year it's not uncommon to experience them all at once.

Over the course of the weekend we had a Spring melt, some Summery warmth, cool-ish Autumnal winds and some large but fleeting Wintry snowfall.

Combined with our now ever-lengthening days this is exhilarating stuff indeed, not to mention challenging...from a wardrobe standpoint at any rate.

Choosing the right scarf to match the shorts and rubber boots is like paisley and plaid; a fashion nightmare!

Luckily, as a man bereft of style ( I've been described as "pre-contemporary hobo redux"), and classless ( I bring my own sandwiches to the ballet), such matters weigh little upon my daily dalliances.

For me, if the shoe fits, and the other one does too, so what if one's a loafer and the other a high-top?

As one who has borne the brunt of another winter - which in this part of the world is a harsh and decidedly unpalatable affair - I am fiercely pleased by any conditions accompanied by temperatures warmer than minus 50.

When it finally becomes fully 60 or more degrees warmer than that, old Mr. Exuberance tends to head outside sporting next to nothing anyway.

I don't know whether "half-naked" is "IN" or not this year, I just know I'll be IN cutoffs for the FULL five months of this Summer.

Now wait a minute....did I just say FIVE months of Summer!?

Yes I believe I did and if you'll allow a logical explanation based on a little "Big Picture Thinking", your day will assume as similarly a sunny Summer sensibility as my own.

June 21st.....the longest day of the year, the beautiful sun is at the apex of its' yearly journey and the days grow shorter beginning the very next day.

By late August the days are noticeably shorter yet the sun is yet close to the earth; its' rays wonderfully strong. ( I am by then well into my second pair of cutoffs )

Tradition tells us that Summer consists of June, July and August but tradition, like fashion is for free-spirited folks to flout.

The sun today ( early April ) in relation to the earth, is equidistant from its' position on June 21st as it is in late August. ( unaccompanied by mosquitoes I might add )

Of course it doesn't feel quite like August because everything is frozen solid still and everyone's sporting a Nosferatu-esque pallor but if you doubt me, find yourself a nice spot out of the wind and lay in the sun for a few hours.

You can borrow my Hawaiian Tropic this once but I've got to watch my supply...

It's going to be a looonnng Summer!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live ( S.P.F.'d)

In Toon #90

2011-03-21T12:34:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

My bank has beefed up its' internet safety by asking prearranged "security questions" in order to log on; the answers to which are known by me alone.

In the interests of today's discussion I'm going to share my answer to one of those questions...."Who was your favorite childhood superhero?".

You would of course need additional information to access the vast riches languishing in my account, but please allow me to assure you that the risks and effort involved are far more vast than the reality of my balance which, like your chance of success, is closer to zero.

The fact that I am financially sparse however, is something of a clue to the answer!

I've been methodically and earnestly chipping away at the mountain of debt accumulated over years of spending like a drunken sailor.

Now there weren't any "drunk" superheroes in my childhood but there was a sailor who was heroic in every sense of the word.

Popeye, the humble self-effacing righter of wrongs who I raced home from school every day to watch on television remains influential in my life today, not just as a security question answer, but as a relatable character of timeless heroic virtue.

The parallels are eerie to the point that the question might just as well ask "What childhood superhero do you yet emulate?"

The Sailorman and I share a love of the sea, children, and troubled ( but exotically beautiful?) women.

We both enjoy a good hearty laugh and take liberties with the English language...often porpoisely!

Check yes for "bad hair" and tobacco use although I've never fancied the corncob pipe or the nautical look.

At one with nature, taking life in stride, mending nets on bad days and sailing on good ones are the hallmarks of my colorfully animated life.

Slow to anger, bad dancing bachelors with adventure on our minds and songs in our hearts; that's Popeye and me (I?).

I'm Popeye the Sailor Man
I'm Popeye the Sailor Man
I'm strong to the finich
Cause I eats me spinach
I'm Popeye the Sailor Man

I'm one tough gazookus
Which hates all palookas
Wot ain't on the up and square
I biffs 'em and buffs 'em
An' always outroughs 'em
An' none of 'em gets nowhere

If anyone dasses to risk me fisk
It's "boff" and its "wham", un'erstand
So, keep good behavior
That's your one life saver
With Popeye the Sailor Man.

Now let's be clear that I'm not running around punching out bad guys but I do eat a lot of spinach and if I had to I could, and probably would give Bluto a run for his money. ( after of course I've had all I can stands and I can't stands no more!)

But like a typical drunken sailor - not only would he not have any money - he would be no match for a sober one.

Cause that's all that I yam.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( adventurouskly)*insert laugh

Put-ons #89

2011-03-14T14:51:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

Having awoken later than I'd planned on this dull gray Monday morn, I was momentarily seized by a bout of angst the likes of which I hadn't felt since my boozing days.

Back then, a quick "sick call" to work followed by an even quicker couple of beers and all was well in my world, temporarily anyway.

These days however, minor distractions like angst, uncertainty, despair, dread and pretty much the whole gamut of self-limiting variations of fear get a caffeine-fueled boot in the arse by a man with too many reasons to be happy today and no excuses not to be.

Scoff all you want about the simple pushups and situps and cycling I do everyday, but when you are physically in "shape", you avail your mind a massively powerful and infinitely reliable machine with which to conquer the day's challenges....with style and aplomb I might add.

( and you don't look so bad trolling the boardwalk either !? )

And it is thusly at the helm of my pumped, rippled and caffeinated machine of prime physicality that I take a gander through my mental closet for something to wear today.

Let's see now....deliriously ecstatic?....no, too bold for a Monday certainly.

How about moderately giddy?....no, I think I'll save giddy for later in the week.

Extravagantly joyful?....didn't I wear that one just last week?

Oh the choices in mental fashion can be downright kerfuffling can't they?

My closet of contentment is about big enough to house 10 jumbo jets as there are about as many degrees of happiness to choose from as there are stars in the sky.

The racks and racks of dark and miserable outfits that don't fit any more I tried to give away but who wants them?

Who wants to be miserable?

Talk about a fashion faux pas extraordinaire!?.....wearing grumpy with gorgeous!? angry with hearty!? despairing with dynamic? sarcastic with svelte?

Calvin Freud would have a cat-walk quaking verklemption!

And so with a view towards humility and gratefulness for the fashion sensibility that I have been bestowed, I'm going with a demure but functional moderately joyful outfit of happy to be alive and healthy today, ( with a few light-hearted, bordering on comedic accessories).

It is the CHOICE, and the freedom to do so my friend that makes all the difference in the outlook we wear.

A bad outlook stands out worse than a bad suit.

Whether your heart is on your sleeve or not, isn't the fact that its' beat resounds with your precious and all too fragile life, reason enough to put on "something nice"?

The real Fashion Police are the people you'll interact with today and whose lives you can enrich with your spiritual haut couture.

And happiness is always in vogue.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (looking marvelous!)

Re-tread #88

2011-03-08T12:15:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

Every now and then I do some designated driving duties for my friends and as one whose universe exists normally in a "how far away is it by bike" reality, the immediacy and fast pace of vehicular transport always leaves me saying, "I've got to get me one of these!".

Last weekend I drove a carload of revelers from the bar to a party halfway across town and then later after dropping everyone off at home I drove to another bar downtown to see my friend's band play until 2 after which within mere moments I was safely home.

Just a typical evening out to most folks, but to the unlimitedly patient cyclist and his limited range, it felt like a whirlwind adventure.

Such a journey never enters into the realm of two-wheeled options especially the part about the four passengers.

It's not like I haven't driven before - I used to drive all the time and everywhere, in varying states of inebriation, which is why of course I was forced to take up cycling in the first place.

It's been so long since I owned a car and drove regularly that the experience is once again novel.

And the nifty way that cars handle nowadays as opposed to the clunkering beaters I used to drive, makes it almost outer-worldly.

It's fun to drive....in many ways it's more fun than when I first drove as a nappy-headed sixteen year old, and way more fun than as an impaired 36 year old.

- I'm much more confident than I was as a fledgling driver
- I'm more competent surely than ever
- I have patience to spare which is a driver's best friend
- I am entrusted faithfully with the lives of beloved friends and family
- I appreciate the privilege as opposed to the "right" to drive
- I'm safer ( and un-stressed about being pulled over)
- I am a happier driver, because I am a happier person

I have always been fanatically ( bordering on freakishly) fond of driving so this new-found automotive ardor cannot be measured by absence alone.

Like so many other aspects of my life that have been overhauled with God as my co-pilot, the simple joy of driving a car is draped in a checkered flag of daily triumph.

The cherished freedoms I've discovered in sobriety - the range, depth and substance of traveling through life in efficient comfort - are personified by the similarly rewarding assets of a reliable automobile and apropos to one as wide of eye, broad of scope and deep of conviction as I.

How grand it is to be able to choose where I'll go and when I'll leave in the same breath as what kind of shape I'll be in when I get there!

How sublimely honorable it is to have another person put their keys, and their lives, into your hands.

While it is nicer to drive somewhere instead of walking, it's miles better than crawling.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( on Corinthian)

Mid-Stream #87

2011-02-28T14:46:00.004-06:00

Morning Friend,

We've all heard of the "boomers" and and the "gen x"ers and whys and wherefores and whatsits of society's ever-changing demographics.

It is our nature to all the time label things.

And that's all fine and well with a compartmentalizing kind of guy like me.

It's somehow comforting to know who and where I am especially in the dizzying splendor of this beautiful life I'm in the midst of.

Or to be more specific; the "mid" of.

No, I'm not going down "crisis alley" today my friend.

I'm schooled enough in crisis management by now to give short shrift to such trivialities as lamenting how much of my life is past in relation to Science's best guess as to how much might be left.

I sympathize with those who are genuinely saddened and unfulfilled at the so-called middle of their lives but as one who sees each day as a bonus I never thought I'd get, I just don't see the point in getting worked up about too much else.

So for the sake of numerical argument and correct product identification, it can be said that I have reached "middle age".

You'll have to forgive me if instead of a crisis I have a celebration.

Today, due to some positive lifestyle changes I implemented a few years ago - to my nieces' delight (and the consternation of the odd "fuddy-dud") - I feel like a kid!

It's not something I take for granted because I'm quite fortunate not to have seriously harmed myself over years of self-abuse.

It's not something I'm not grateful to God for because so much of what I've been given is simply miraculous.

It's not something that came natural or easy because physical well being - and even prowess - at "my age" requires an extra degree of attention to diet and exercise.

And it's not something unique to me because the overall mental, spiritual and physical condition of this demographic in society is at an all time high.

I know LOTS of people who look after themselves and are just as sharp and energetic as they were as children.

The bulbs of human life are burning brighter...longer, which has economists, social scientists and demographic labelers in a quandary.

What of this huge number of unrelentingly "youthful" and vibrant individuals turning 65 yet still "stoked" running amok in a world brimming with jobs and opportunities left by the heretofore retired or deceased?

Will "Seniors" still be an applicable moniker for a bunch of "post-hippie", "mid-grunge", "pre-rap" hooligans still partying like it's 1999....in 2025?

"Senior" from a chronological standpoint certainly but the word evokes far too much sepia-toned imagery for this new generation of geriatrics.

It seems to me this burgeoning compartment could well use a somewhat uplifting upgrade in terminology?

If I should be so lucky, if the Good Lord be willing and my flesh not weaken, as to grab even a quick bite at the Golden Years Cafe, it is my sincere wish to get the TEEN-IORS Discount!?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( abundantly)

HOT Stuff #86

2011-02-21T14:54:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

The proverbial light bulb of an idea for today's discussion came to me from an un-blanketed foot hanging over the side of my waterbed.

It wasn't a delicately painted lady's foot, for that might certainly have forestalled my creative processes significantly; from a literary standpoint at any rate.

Since the foot was at the end of my own leg and the toes felt like they were painted with frost, I assumed the fetal position while the remarkably efficient heating machine of my body warmed the errant appendage.

It didn't take long of course given the heavy quilt, and as slumber's sweet return was soon being accompanied by a grateful lullaby of gratitude for the little heater chugging along mere inches beneath me and "Teddy" , I waxed nostalgically for a moment, to a time long ago when it would have been just me, the quilt and a stuffed bear, without a heated bed.

It isn't so long ago that I have to dredge the memory banks too deeply to recall the pre-sleep ritual of frantically sliding into a cold bed and earnestly "cocooning" until shivering tremors subsided enough for the Sandman to do his work... and before his shovel is back in the pail your bed is warm as....let's just say it's ready for butter and jam!

As someone with less than a layman's understanding of exothermic reactions, metabolic processes, circulatory systems and other scientific explanations for our body's ability to produce heat, I am curiously amazed by it, ( to the point of leaping from an electronically enhanced, heated doze and into the freezing fray of Museful meandering).

Our bodies are very similar to machines, in terms of the care and maintenance they require and the incredible physiological feats they perform, like heat production.

Even while asleep, the body "furnace" emits 250 btus of heat energy - plenty enough to keep toast, and your toes warm under the blankets as it amounts to the same as curling up to a nice 75 watt light bulb.

Awake but sitting idly ( as I am on the rarest of occasions), that number increases to 400 btus or 120 watts.

Moderate exercise ( or "work" for us in the blue collar crowd) can stoke that furnace up to 650 btus ( 190 watts).

The figure for heavy exertion such as riding your bike through heavy snow ( as so happens to be one of my more challenging Winter endeavors), goes a long way towards explaining how such activity is possible in the bitter cold, and how I manage even to break a sweat when it's minus 40.

Underneath my layers of outwear is not just a finely chiseled though slightly awkward musculoskeletal marvel, but a very high-efficiency human furnace pumping out 2400 btus ( 7x100 watt light bulbs! ) of long-john stoking warmth.

Kind of makes you wish there was a stationary bike at the bus stop doesn't it? ( and hopefully someone with dainty painted toes keeping the bed warm :)

But most interesting to me in all of this was based on the fact the industry standard for furnace size is 30-35 btus per square foot.

The human body at approximately 13 square feet, thus requires about 400 btus, which I have already stated is exactly what we're equipped with.

It is ALL as I suspected.

God is a furnace man.

And my brother Gray ( the furnace man) is, a "God"!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( thermally)

Valen-whine #85

2011-02-14T12:40:00.001-06:00

Morning Friend,

"Roses are red, Violets are..."

Blue is how many single and dateless souls are feeling today on Valentine's Day.

If you aren't single, but have forgotten that today is the year's BIG romantic event, then come on down and join me in the "blues pool"....the water is just fine, especially if you like yours icy-cold and bucket-administered.

Or I could come visit you in the dog house and we could cynically rail at the crass commercialism and shallow marketing sham of it all.

This tremendous boon for chocolatiers, florists, greeting card companies, restaurateurs, and pharmacists ( who sell more Viagra in the week leading up to today than every other week of the year), finds many bachelor-types feeling a little limp-spirited today.

Behind this mid-winter gift exchange and sharing of chemically-induced passion, is for some a sad reminder of their isolation.

The candy and chocolate hearts lining the store shelves are not broken ones.

The broken promises of yesterday have left many a mortal cardiac wound in their wake.

But as I have found along my own self-made solitary road, there is more to this day than some financially-faced affirmation of affection.

It is a none-too gentle reminder of the hard work, faith and trust and genuine commitment that goes into making "true love", true.

Unfettered and relentless, genuine love needs not of philanthropic finery nor pharmaceutical finagling.

It is natural....as natural as a....( you know!!!!)

I have basked in the warmth of love's blazing splendor but with an exhale of drunken breath did I extinguish its' flame.

My focus today and all days, isn't about not having a special someone to buy a flower for.

It's about continuing along the Good Lord's path and becoming someone special and worthy of sharing the light of true love with another.

It's about becoming a flower.

( a real one of course)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( in bloom)

Whetherman #84

2011-02-07T12:21:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

Some buffoon came walking through the locker room at work last week trumpeting the fact that the abnormally nice Spring-like weather we were enjoying - in late January! - was not going to last and more bitter cold was on the way.

Now I have patience aplenty these days...it's part and parcel of the whole "Serenity" thing.

You know, "...accept the things I cannot change...", like the weather for instance.

I get that. I might grumble a bit as I'm accepting this morning's fact that old "locker room Nostradamus" was right and therefore I'm "...changing the things I can...", like into long underwear again.

But last week, unencumbered as I was by the need for such Arctic garmentry, and more than slightly a-swoon with pre-Spring fever as a result, I could not hold my tongue.

"MUST you tarnish the beauty of this marvelous TODAY with your dire "predictions" that themselves may or may not happen?!?", I queried loudly. ( I may have included an unflattering epithet directed at the weather service if I'm not mistaken.)

"Yeah but...", the poor fellow's smugness melted as his "town crying" had obviously fallen on the wrong ears; mine.

I had just arrived from a delightfully slushy ride to work with a lungful of fragrant air instead of the usual scarf-filtered ice crystals and was in no mood for this Negative Nelly's nattering.

Part of me - the Serene part - said, "let it go Tim...he likes to hear himself talk...he's not too bright...he doesn't realize that the weather forecast is easily available to all in this technologically advanced age and that even if it weren't, nobody had put their winter coats away because of a warm spell in January...leave him be...you can't CHANGE him!".

The other part of me - the Courageous part - said "You might not be able to change the man's delusion that he's the only one of 4.000 employees who follows weather patterns, but you just may be able to clue him in on a thing or two you've discovered about the untold richness of life's silver linings and the joy of living day-to-day".

So I asked him, "Why are you telling me that it's going to turn cold again in four days? Should I just bundle up tight and wait? Is there anything I can do to prevent it?? What if I die before then? What about if it's cold but not super-cold? What about in three hundred and sixty-four days...is it going to be REALLY cold then too????".

"What about the freakishly nice gift-with-a-sunny-bow-from-God-on-it TODAY!?!", I asked.

"Well, today is just over ten months away from the Mayan calendar's end of the world," he replied.

"Going to be a cold one I imagine?", I asked.

"Wear an extra sweater," he said

"Thanks." ( Serenity now.)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as much as you live (patiently)

ALL Inclusive #83

2011-01-17T14:11:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

I have found that the best vacation is one that takes you as far away from the humdrum of your everyday existence as possible....a "reality makeover" if you will.

This is why Winter getaways are so popular amongst us denizens of the frozen north.

Just the dramatic difference in temperature - from minus 30 to plus 30 - is enough to turn humdrums into giant kettle drums booming to the heartbeat of your magical getaway!

The "all-inclusive" option makes it even more magical because it allows one to completely eschew the minutiae of day-to-day living and to focus simply on having FUN!

If your idea of fun includes grocery shopping and cooking then your Therapist or Mental Health worker has probably already nixed the "all-inclusive" option for you. ( Your days are already "fun-filled"!?)

Being pampered and coddled in a four star tropical adult day-care setting - while decadently delightful as it is - can be exorbitantly expensive.

However if you have loving parents as I do, who don't mind "keeping house" as an economically prudent way to holiday in the Caribbean for extended Winter periods, then my friend your "Best" vacation awaits.

Welcome to Grace and Jerry's Barbados' Leisure World! ( and Timmy's Fantasy Island!)

I won't go into the Utopian wiles of Barbados.... today's Muse would take on "Michener-esque" proportions, but I will say that I have spent some ideally idyllic sabbaticals sharing room and board, and Paradise, with Mom and Dad.

"Pop"'s innate joy and skill in the kitchen combined with Mother's larder management prowess allow me - and other fortunate flown-in family members - to mindlessly luxuriate in equatorial splendor.

"Shall I go to the pool or the beach?" is the one and only pressing issue I must wrangle on any given day.

My fashion option ( now that the Speed-o is "out") is limited to a pair of shorts.

It is a hedonist's haven of:
"I am hot, I shall get wet."
"I have finished reading this book, I shall read another."
"I am tired, I shall take a nap."
"I am hungry, it is almost lunch time...good."

But the "all" in this "all-inclusive" is more than the amenities of convenience.

It is the harmony and togetherness that doesn't seem as common these days, but which has always been a tradition in our blessed family; born out of necessity in a 7 children household you might say.

It is the opportunity to share precious time and memories with those whose bond of love includes you, whose Faith in God defines you, whose dedication inspires you, and whose sense of humor encourages you.

Any time spent anywhere with the easy-going Lawrences falls easily into the category of "away from the humdrum of everyday existence".

When it so happens to be in Barbados in the Winter, you have yourself the ingredients for a very fine and remarkably inexpensive vacation that you'll cherish for a lifetime.

(So long as you don't mind taking your turn at the dishes.)

"The PLANE Boss!!!!....let's hope it's full of PAPER PLATES!!!!"

love tImMy:/
* booking now for 2012 :)

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( time sharing)

"Heaven..." #82

2011-01-10T14:17:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

Feeling a little "hellish" on this fine frosty Monday?

Let's skip to 1935 shall we and take a listen to Fred Astaire "styling up" Ginger Rogers in the movie "Top Hat".

"Heaven, I'm in Heaven...and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak....".

Written by the legendary American composer Irving Berlin, it is a classic song - you may have heard pop up in contemporary movie soundtracks such as "The Green Mile" or "The English Patient"- personifying Mankind's everlasting endeavors at personifying the concept of everlasting bliss we refer to as "Heaven".

As the lyrics suggest, a dancer's vision of Paradise features a romantic spin on the dance floor with a like-minded, light-footed and fair-featured gal: "....and I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek ".

Mr. Berlin has nicely rhymed "speak, seek and cheek" and with its' delightful melody the song evokes pleasing thoughts of Earthly rapture.

This song comes into my head, a lot.

Not because I'm an "old movie" buff and not because my vision of the hereafter includes a pearly dance floor - or Ginger Rogers.

My perception of Heaven is that it's not a whole heck of a lot different than the ever-wondrous movie I've been cast in here on earth; a romantic musical-comedy about a young man, ( a poor dancer with bad hair reborn through sobriety and spirituality) whose quest for peace, love, harmony and a sweet fishing spot takes him on many a madcap and zany adventure!

The sets in this "extravaganza" are breathtakingly magnificent and the cast of thousands is replete with characters of every ilk.

Because the script places me in several divine situations and in the presence of so many angelic individuals it only stands to reason that the soundtrack should include something "after-worldly"?

You're in in this flick too my friend so sing along with me now.... the Director is cuing up another number.....

( with apologies Irving...)
"Heaven, I'm in Heaven....and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak;
though Monday's not the favorite of the week,
we're one day closer to eating pickerel cheeks!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( Paradisiacal)

Krazy Heart #81

2011-01-03T15:32:00.001-06:00

Happy New Year Friend,

Yesterday was only the second day of 2011 and I had what can only be described as the first "magical" moment of the New Year.

As luck would have it, it was my turn to work this past weekend and the "moment" I speak of might have passed me by were it not for the fact that I am always on high alert for distress when I am on the job.

The layman visiting a sick friend or relative at St. Boniface Hospital probably gives short shrift to the drone of the announced "codes" and pages over the intercom, but to employees they are a constant reminder that the precarious stage upon which we perform our duties features a script written seemingly by a madman on the fly.

It is drama of the highest "life and death" order really; with some mystery, plenty of surprise twists, tragedy and triumph galore, an undertone of love and romance, humor ( dark-ish?), and of course a plethora of miracles and MAGIC.

I'm now in my 29th year at the that House of Horrors and Wonder and aside from the incalculable debt of gratitude I owe the place for providing the incentive to change - and save - my life, I happen to be one the many people you will find who LOVE working there.

Yes it can be ugly....downright nasty really, and so sad your heart ends up being more Krazy Glue that actual heart tissue.

But many like I, THRIVE in that Arena of Mayhem because it is an endless source of gratitude and satisfaction; the glue that mends a broken but dauntless caring heart.

How many "thank you"s do you hear in an average day my friend?

Well unless you're the bartender on "Free Beer Night" or just standing on a street corner giving away money, you will not feel nearly as appreciated as you will providing help to the helpless.

I'm not involved in direct patient care on the wards these days but over the years I must have said "You're welcome!" about 3/4 of a million times ( I did the math! ), for everything from "Thanks for the ice water" to "Thanks for making my Mom's last days so comfortable".

My present-day housekeeping duties at St.B are considerably less demanding and infinitely less stressful than they were as an "aide", but my oft-repaired heart no less delights in contributing to MY hospital's reputation as a place where compassion is King, smiles are free and the "extra" mile is every one.

I had just rolled my mop and pail onto the "beehive" known as the intensive care surgical unit yesterday morning when an old withered hand beckoned me from the first bed.

There amidst the usual array of tubes, lines and monitors - and the ambient noise of a video arcade - lay a frail little lady trembling fearfully; in a state not unexpected I should say, of disorientation.

I don't know if she thought she knew me or if she was just flat out afraid and thought I looked like someone who could help but I did know that my expertly incomparable floor cleaning was about to be put on pause.

I set aside my mop, removed my work gloves and with a smile I took her warm parchment-like hand carefully in mine and said, "Everything is just FINE my dear....don't you worry about a thing...you're in the BEST of hands.....".

In but a moment her features relaxed and a thin smile acknowledged my "....Happy New Year".

As I turned to fetch my mop she hailed me once again until I was close enough to hear her mouth those magical words, "thank you".

The ward clerk at the nearby desk who had witnessed the exchange, warmly said to me a few minutes later, "You'd make a good Health Care Aide Tim!"

You'd have to be Krazy.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( mAgically)

A Christmas Musing

2010-12-22T11:30:00.000-06:00

Merry Christmas Friend,

In the aftermath of my computer crashing recently I lost a lot of valuable information, not the least of which is your mailing address.

Your present is not "in the mail" because I never mailed it, so you can can stop wearing out the carpet in front of the window where you keep watch for the mailman and get on with the rest of your Yuletide preparations.

Temper your disappointment with the comforting knowledge that your mailman's usual load will be lighter by one; expensively heavy parcel.

You may also sweeten that knowing pot with a dash of warmth and fuzziness because you'll be pleased to know that the money I would have spent on your gift, I have donated in your name, to the Human Fund.

It's a little known but highly effective organization of people, run by "people people" doing work for people, with people's betterment and a world for all people and their people's peoples' betterment in mind.

I know what you're saying..."nice". ( that's exactly what I'm saying too! )

You may also say "Nice" twice because as an added bonus I'm also sending you my Best Wishes!

Unlike the borderline insubstantial funds I've earmarked for you for the FUND, these wishes are considerably more palpable, undeniably more personal, irrefutably more heartfelt, and unquestionably of more use.

And since they are my "best"...they don't get any better!

I wish you PEACE; the ecstatic tranquility that comes with the realization that if you are breathing you are alive, and if you are alive then you have life, and if you have life then you have the greatest gift of all.

I wish you LOVE; overflowing your soulful heart that all you touch in your life will have been touched by a happy and generous Angel on Earth.

I wish you JOY; the childlike wonder and awe of all things yet magical in this world that fuel the dreams of a young and vibrant soul.

I wish you HAPPINESS; on Christmas and ALL days of the year that the World is blessed by your presence and in which you are blessed to be present.

I wish you FAITH; in God, in Nature, in yourself...in whatever gives meaning and inspiration to your caring and thoughtful deeds.

I wish you STRENGTH; to triumph over any and all adversity that it ultimately makes you stronger and wiser.

I wish you PEACE OF MIND; that comes from mercy and forgiveness - giving others and yourself "another chance"!

I wish you HOPE; because it is the purest fuel, the color of imagination, the fragrance of time, the soundtrack of life, and a reason to live and cherish life.

I wish you the MERRIEST of CHRISTMASES; may all your Christmas wishes come true and may God Bless You with Serenity that lasts the whole year long!

As to the aforementioned "Human Fund" thing....

Nice "try"?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( ...everyone! )

You Whut!? #79

2010-08-10T00:47:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

Have you tried any of the interactive marvels out there like “Rock Band” or “Guitar Hero”?

They are hugely popular, quite likely with you or someone you know.

As a former singer/guitarist ( of heroic ambition let’s say vs. any noteworthy virtuosity), I am none surprised at the popularity of such musical interactive technology with its’ nearly lifelike stage environment; the frantic crowd, the rambunctious colors and flamboyant excitement are the meat and potatoes of what makes performing, one of the greatest natural highs I’ve ever known.

But as viscerally fulfilling as much of today’s computer-generated realities may be, they’re not quite the same as blowing up a real ammo dump, mowing down a real platoon of n’er-do-wells nor....

...windmill riffing a Gibson through a blazing Marshall stack whilst bellowing one of your fan favorite Clash tunes ( and sounding not half-bad thanks to the 10K p.a. and a sound man who’s a professional and not your buddy ), wearing sweat-soaked fashionable threads; reflective of your persona (and limited wardrobe), under the always surprisingly hot blast of colored spotlights that exaggerate your provocative leaping, emphasize your statuesque posturing and spotlight the nakedness of your creative self under the rain of instantaneous feedback ( and the odd feminine undergarment), as upon a real stage.

Of genuine interactivity, there is no equal.

My band memories are a nostalgic recollection of a fantasy brought to life and nurtured over a few years in the early 80’s.

Co-founded with my friend and “soul brother” Darren Duke, You Whut!? ably facilitated a healthy release of the exhibitionist tendencies and musical passion of several young dudes - now lifelong friends - over the course of a good little run of gigs and adventure.

We were noisy, and we made a little noise.

Given my own already well evident extroverted bent at the time, my reverence for the trappings of “guitar rock”, my proximity to some truly talented and inspiring musician/friends, my burgeoning creative nature, and access to parental basement practice facilities ( thanks Mom for “...at least I know where he is.” ), You Whut!? was a perfect fit.

The alternative in that “pre-Sega” era would have been the primitive ancestor of today’s Guitar Hero....Air Guitar.

“Start with good instruments”, was the advice of our stoically brilliant mentor and friend Gord Zubrecki ( Gord Zubrecki Band ), as opposed to the oft out of tune department store bargain I had been earnestly thrashing bar chords upon.

A Strat and a Les Paul later, we were poised to “learn songs and rehearse”, with Gordie providing the drums, some vocals and a healthy back beat of encouragement.

A rough rendition of Gen X’s “Ready Steady Go” became the first of many “three-chord-specials-with-a-solo” that would be the staple of our diverse set lists of “all ahead full” original and cover tunes.

About fifty astonished friends and family in my parent’s basement witnessed the inaugural You Whut!? gig on a Friday summer’s eve.

It was to be the first of many imperfect performances marked by a wide range of “tightness” yet consistently energetic, none-too serious and always full of fun.

I never bit the head off of or otherwise maimed any props during shows.

About the only risqué thing I ever did was sport some somewhat revealing ( and tremendously uncomfortable) tie-dyed green one piece long underwear as we opened a set with “Theme from the Friendly Giant” ( You Whut!? style....fast)

As to that name?....

After days of a struggled search; literally through the entire English dictionary, and finding no noun or verb worthy of heralding our band and its’ soul purpose, I offered up a fairly common catch-phrase to the boys, which reflects some basic elements of surprise: shock, wonder, disbelief, amazement....elements that make life’s stage such an improvisational and entertaining gig.

Someone uttering the phrase is usually seeking some sort of redemptive truth, great explanation or grand illumination; or may just simply be expressing vigorous exasperation.

It turned out to be a good choice not just because of its’ versatile nature and broad interpretation, but because it didn’t brand us to a specific genre of music or trumpet too loudly like say, “Maggot Breath”, “the She-Satans” or “the Parlor Dandies”!?!?

And, it turned out to be more memorable than a lot of band names given the verbal exchange it usually provoked.

Usually someone asks a musician, “What’s your band’s name?.....oh, The Vandalays?....COOL!”, and then immediately forgets it.

Try this exchange.....

“What’s the name of your band?”
“You Whut!?”
“What?”
“You Whut!? is the band’s name.”
“You Whut!?”
“Ya, You Whut!?”
“Is that like U-2 ?”
“No, You WHUT!?...exclamation...question mark...like what you’d say to a person who’s told you they’ve won the lottery.....”
“You Whut!?”
“Exactly!....or what a father says when his daughter tells him she’s pregnant....”
“YOUUU WHUUUT!?!?!?”
“That’s it!”
“Cool!”
“Not as cool as dodging undergarments from admiring females....real ones too!”
“OUT-standing!”
“Truly.”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live ( heroically )

One Liners #78

2010-07-27T00:02:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

It being too hot and beautiful this morning for anything mind-sappingly deep or energetically earth-shattering, I thought I’d simply share some simple truths that I may one day expound upon but for today will simply throw out like pebbles rippling the serene surface of your Monday mind.

You don’t live to be 5 ( years sober) without picking up a nugget of knowledge, a thought worth remembering or some smarts or two along the way.

In no particular order of triviality and neither sobering nor drunk-inducing, I have come to realize the following:

- When you tell the truth, you have less to remember.

- Cheap Dollar Store batteries and lighters do not last and are virtually worthless at any price.

- Productivity in “Union shops” suffers due to a lack of incentive.

- You never truly know someone until you live with them.

- A sense of humor trumps good looks in the game of romance.

- Sometimes it is better to remain silent and be thought ignorant, than to speak up and remove all doubt.

- Prolonged negative emotional energy can be physiologically self-destructive.

- An hour’s cat nap can be more restful than an 8 hour toss-o-rama.

- It’s far easier to stay in shape than to get in shape.

- A sprinkle of salt with the grounds makes better tasting drip coffee.

- Cake recipes are not chemical formulas; a 1/4 teaspoon of this or that either way is unnoticeable.

- Just about every smoker wishes they weren’t.

- Most plans, promises and vows made while drunk are never kept.

- Music adds productivity to any workplace.

- If your Mother wouldn’t approve of it, it’s probably not the best idea you ever had.

- God watches over drunks and small children.

- Trust is like a credit rating; once lost, extremely difficult to regain.

- You are as young as your dreams and as old as your fears.

- The girls do not look “prettier at closing time”; the pretty ones have in fact left by then.

- Hearing and listening are two different things.

- Sliced green tomatoes fried in butter, salt and pepper until nearly black are delicious.

- Follow the “Serenity Prayer” and you will not only have more energy than you realized, you will likely live longer.

- It is better to have loved a short woman than never to have loved a tall.

- Measure thrice, cut once.

- One “look at what I am doing” is worth a thousand “look at what I’m going to do’s”.

- Violence is the last resort of the ignorant.

- Learn to play the accordion and you will never go hungry.

- True love, is bigger than a shoe.

- Good poetry doesn’t have to rhyme; Great poetry often does.

- If nothing else, sobriety is cheaper.

- You cannot over-water tomato plants in well drained pots.

- The 1,463’rd “I’m sorry” is a meaningless part of a drunk’s vocabulary.

- Kindness will slay a grump every time.

- As distasteful and/or incomprehensible the concept of God might be to some, there are those like myself who whose lives are owed to it.

- One of the greatest distinguishing features of the human brain is the ability to filter out negativity while creating an impenetrably healing aura and comforting mind-state of our own choosing...out of thin air.

- Air is free.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( exemplarily )

Musical Ride #77

2010-07-20T01:02:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

All aboard the “ban-wagon” everyone.
Now that some truly sensible laws are in place banning the slow asphyxiation of children in cars and the hand-held hamstringing of drivers, let’s roll the wagon on toward another “proven” menace; deranged music-listening cyclists.
The latest “proof” linking music listening and cycling tragedy appeared in a small story in last week’s paper.
A young cyclist was killed when he rolled through a red light and into the path of a large truck.
The fact that the young man had a personal listening device in use at the time was considered a “contributing factor” in the tragedy.
As a cyclist myself, this story obviously touched me, but not just in the obvious way.
“What in heaven’s name”, I asked myself, “was the poor soul listening to, that it was a “contributing factor” in his demise?....Perry Como?...self-hypnosis?....self hypnosis voiced by Perry Como??”
May the Good Lord rest and comfort the poor departed lad and his family, but for goodness sakes, let us for a moment gild his memory with a shred more respect than by suggesting he was so distracted by the music he was listening to that he failed to notice a red light!?
Contrary to the ignorant conclusion inferred by the newspaper, I would beg to differ on behalf of those who know...and the young fellow who I think knew too.
Lo these many years I have cycled the year around and having traversed none of the many miles unaccompanied by some form of music, I can think of zero times when I went suddenly color-blind or lost my mind in some casualty-causing fashion or another.
I would in fact have to strongly argue that if anything, music enhances my skills and critical awareness on the road.
The relaxing soundtrack of my ride nicely compliments the steely sensory process and physiological rigors of a safe journey.
In tunes I am in tune.
Obviously the volume is not so loud as to obliterate the ambient and potentially emergent siren-sounds of the street.
For me the idea is not self-induced deafness ( or blindness?), but a safe spiritual compliment and imaginative enhancement to a bicycle ride.
I might appear to be ambling along on a rusting green Norco, but with an energizing jolt of some blistering southern rock as a backdrop I may well be high in the saddle of some trusty coal-black trail horse named “Storm” or “Lightening”; something biblically titanic.
The badlands of the mean streets lie ahead on the trail with bad drivers lurking like black-hatted rustlers in the sage.
The reins of my handlebars are gripped as tightly as the cast of my baleful Lone Ranger stare, scanning warily for pothole snakes and traffic control devices; relentless as an AC/DC backbeat.
Or it could be the notes of an etude trailing behind me on a gallop through a fine Austrian meadow.
Or perhaps with my “motor running” I could be heading out on the highway, looking for adventure....and whatever comes our way?...my “horse” is now a “hawg” of course.
In any event, the magical world I create for my ride through the use of energizing and inspiring music is not some “bizzaro-realm” of science fiction where up is down and left is right and red means “go”.
The same basic rules of physics, chemistry, biology, and the road are distinctly applicable.
As are the rules of good common sense.
It makes sense to ban things and practices that are bad for children and hazardous to the public’s safety.
A car filled with cigarette smoke is not a “contributing factor” to a child having trouble breathing, it’s the cause.
By all means my friend, ban it.
Listening to music does not cause insanity in cyclists nor does it contribute factors rendering them as drones haphazardly meandering through intersections like suicidal twits.
Let’s ban bad luck, bad brakes, bad mornings or the darned bug or whatever bad thing which got in that poor kid’s distracted eye that day.
If such an absurdity as a ban on music while cycling were to come to pass I can definitely foresee traffic light problems of my own...I’d be seeing nothing but red.
love tImMy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (saddled up)

Monday Musing #76

2010-07-12T23:51:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

As if I weren’t challenged enough, I chose Monday as my weekly day of “writing practice” in spite of the inherent difficulties of the work week’s most daunting day.

There is an adage which recommends not buying a car which was manufactured on a Monday (or a Friday), because of the less than ideal mindset of autoworkers on such a transitional day.

Understandably so...for all manner of assembly and sets of mind I’d venture to say.

In an ideal world ( or in China?), where everyone treated and cherished every day like it could be their last, we wouldn’t differentiate the days of the week so dramatically.

We’d be happy to be alive, joyful to be healthy, and thrilled to have a job to go to in furtherance of our quest for personal fulfillment and spiritual enlightenment no matter what day of the week it was.

There’d be no...

“Whew, we’re in a groove now” Tuesday

“Hump Day!” Wednesday

“I can see the light” Thursday

“T.G.I.” Friday

and certainly none of the expletives - too colorful for this “family” forum - associated with Monday.

Alas this isn’t a utopian society – and thank Goodness it’s not some third world regime– so the majority of us who like but don’t love our jobs above all else, deal with the week as it comes, hopefully on the heels of a satisfyingly relaxing weekend.

Satisfied or not however, we grab Monday by the scruff of its’ scrawny neck and give it a good “going over”.

Because the longest journeys begin with a single step and the reward for dealing with Monday’s “frozen mukluk to the head” reality is a date with Tuesday’s “groove”.

And once you’re in the groove it’s a minor hump to the “hump”, a slide to where the light will have begun to be seen and before you know it you’re thanking the Good Lord again for his strength and his guidance and for a day beginning with “F”.

In this "un-ideal" democracy of nine-to-five weekend warriors, the big picture of mortality and frailty often takes a back seat to getting through the week as painlessly as possible.

And if it takes a bit of imaginative folly – and Monday Grumbling- to do so, ( and production doesn’t suffer too greatly), then pitter patter it’s time to get at ‘er.

The ethereal mantras cleverly affixed to the sliced-up pie of the work week make it a palatably manageable meal; each bite growing tastier.

The bough-filtered whispers silenced on Sunday evening, begin to speak in hushed tones by Wednesday; the feathery caress of Nature’s lips drawing ever-nearer. ( THIS sounds like a day when the best cars are made!?)

Barring circumstances unforeseen, you will traverse the stepping-stone days of the wide week’s creek into the warm pine-scented embrace of the weekend, (and I will have completed another week’s literary “exercise”)....after today.

“Do not pray for easy tasks, equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks, especially on Mondays” AB LINCOLN

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (today)

Cool Canadian #75

2010-07-06T07:40:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

I hope the enjoyment of your Canada Day weekend included a moment or two of reflection and gratitude.

The Old Gal turned 143 last Thursday and by all the reckoning and comparisons that I can make, she remains unquestionably the very best country in the world in which to live.

One need only look at alternative places – drought-ridden, war-torn, disaster-ravaged Hells-on-earth – that other folks call home and the superlatives relating to Canada are pretty well amongst facts of life on this planet.

I asked several people in recent days to pick a country they would rather live in, and many respondents seemed pleasantly surprised when they couldn’t name one.

And that was pleasing to me because it confirmed what I suspect about a lot of folks....they don’t realize how good they have it – what a truly wonderful, prosperous and blessed country they are blessed to be a part of.

I’m always pleased to be able to help others see the Big Picture, especially when it is one so captivatingly picturesque and vividly vivacious as this vast land of endless opportunity and unequalled tranquility.

Once reminded of their oft-overlooked wealth, I don’t expect people to suddenly transform into flag-waving patriot-zealots or ambassadorial demons.

I would hope anyone with an enhanced sense of their own good fortune might exude a more refined air of humility and drape themselves in a flag of graciousness.

What!?, I ask, do you have to complain about today?

My sincerest apologies if serious health or family issues are at play in your life today my friend.

I’m speaking about the trivial, minute and inconsequential fluff that many people will actually fret and physically whine about on this most perfect summer day in this most poignantly pretty land.

Does the south African woman carrying a five gallon bucket of clean water on her head for five miles every day bitch about a two cent rise in the price of a liter of gasoline?

Is the Afghani child stepping lightly around land mines on her way to school p.o.’d because she wasn’t able to get tickets to the Miley Cyrus show?

Do we hear the Haitian man cursing the traffic on the way to work, from his home which was washed into the sea?

This is not like Christmas where I’ve suggested we try to be “nicer” all year round.

It’s about extending the spirit of Canada Day and what most of us do on that day.....chill the heck, out!

Count your blessings today and every day that you live free.

Free of pestilence, disease, vermin, snipers, bombs, tsunamis, cutthroats, horror, disaster etc.....terror tempered by constant fear.

A little perspective goes a long way.

Unless you can think of someplace better? Hey, I’ll drive you to the airport myself. ( Write when you find work eh!? )

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( White Canucklng:)

The Merry Tiller #74

2010-06-28T23:41:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

Dad and I managed to get the garden out at the Lake tilled and planted over the weekend and typically, the sojourn with nature left me wiser, humbler and calloused.

Please note I said “calloused” as in, “There goes my hand modeling career”, and not “callous” like my agent telling me, “There goes your hand modeling career”.

I’m talking of course the good old fashioned thickening of one’s palms that comes from a few hours of wrestling and wrangling our trusty “Merry Tiller” through the rich but sparse Canadian Shield soil that is thick with roots, rocks, and more rocks.

The Canadian Shield is a vast horseshoe-shaped area around Hudson Bay covering eastern and central Canada, and a small part of the Northern United States. Some 1.9 million square miles, very nearly half of Canada’s total area, is occupied by the Canadian Shield.

The rocks of the Canadian Shield were formed in Precambrian times 500 million years ago during a lengthy period when two tectonic plates converged, causing the surface rock to be forced down into the interior of the earth, melt, rise back to the surface and slowly cool. The rocks are igneous and metamorphic and contain large areas of granite.

Due to the effects of glaciation during the most recent ice age which started about two and a half million years ago, the Canadian Shield has very thin soil with rocky outcroppings frequently showing.

We’re not talking about prime farm land here unless of course there was a sudden demand for “pet boulders” for which we’d have the market cornered.

But with a little persistence and hard, but “merry” work behind the Merry Tiller, we do manage to get a nice little crop of potatoes, squash, onions etc. out of a modest sized patch of rocky earth.

Over the years the edges of the garden have become strewn with grapefruit to watermelon-sized rocks and boulders merrily heaved there after frequently and frustratingly stalling the tiller’s tines.

And despite the evidence that they did not crawl back into the ground, the bounty of yet more tine-tingling rocks each spring has led to the belief – Dad’s anyway – that the rocks we remove have left “babies” behind that grow in their parents stead over the winter.

It is uncanny really, to till the same patch of ground year after year and find new cantaloupe-sized rocks that you could not possibly have missed, re-appearing like perennial plants.

Like die hard revelers from the tectonic plate party of 500 million years ago, are they late arriving home, straggling to the surface, a few dozen each year catching a Cambrian Taxicab with the rising frost line?

It is a mystery my friend, but no less mysterious or humbling than the sheer rugged beauty from which we will merrily harvest a miraculous feast in the fall ( as anyone who’s tasted new potatoes, onions and cream served at Grace and Jer’s Full Deck Lodge will readily attest !)

There are great sentinel slabs of stone and granite strewn about too large to be heaved aside which we obviously till around.

Older than civilization, they will be here long after you and I have harvested our last potatoes from the fertile bedding of their millennial home.

They silently remind me of life’s certainties and immovable truths.

You till the soil and remove the impediments that you are able to.

How the rocks and roots get in your way is not as important as the fact you have the capacity to remove them, and are wise enough to let the larger ones be.

You plant where you can, as best as you can.

The garden of my life has the gargantuan slab of alcoholism right smack in the middle of it.

It is timelessly old and cumbersome; too huge for me to move and the only thing I’ll ever manage to grow on it – as you can imagine- is moss.

The remaining soil though is arable enough; with a fair bit of tilling and weeding and tending I’ve got a pretty good crop on the go.

There is the familiar endless supply of rocks and roots – small boulders even - but they are proving to be no match for a calloused, and merry, ( bordering on delirious), tiller...

...who’s always available as a “before” hand model?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as long as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( harvesting)

Ab Steinway #73

2010-06-07T10:36:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

There’s a saying in the roofing business – “We’re not building pianos here!”.

I can’t say for sure the saying is exclusive to the “soffit/fascia crowd” or if my buddy Rudy of All-City Exteriors stole the quip from another tradesman in the rough-hewn arena of home construction/renovation.

Whatever its’ origins, the saying reflects the diverse nature of life and life’s work.

Some of it is rough; crude and basic -”bull work” at times – requiring little or no subtlety of thought or action.

With all due respect to the craftsmanship and skill of roofers, builders and demolishers everywhere, there are those on the other end of the spectrum of life’s workers who require considerably more ability of a concise and artistic nature; like piano makers...and writers.

A sixteenth of an inch might be “wiggle room” to a shingler, but it is like the Grand Canyon in a Grand piano factory.

And in the factory of my literary mind, there are some exacting requirements you won’t find on a construction site.

As I’ve recently discovered during what has been a prolonged absence from this forum, I desperately need an element of serenity and stability in my life and home in order to “manufacture pianos”.

Since we last spoke, there has been much in the way of turmoil and distraction here at the old Tomato Farm which spawned “Monday Musings” and which I call home.

My extended hiatus has not been a case of writer’s block, fatigue, burnout or ( heaven forbid!) a drunken relapse.

Nor has it been the result of any personal or family crises – any of which I’d certainly put to use as rich and inspiring fodder.

As it turns out my friend, the unexpected houseguests that circumstance has brought into my home these past months have revealed some pre-requisites heretofore unbeknownst to me with regard to my creative process; first and foremost of those being, solitude.

As grandly gregarious a soul as I am blessed to be – a veritable People Person’s Person! – it seems my left brain does not function while the rest of it is processing the functions of other humans; on the couch, in my bed, on the floor, coming and going, sleeping and snoring, loud or boring, obtrusive or trying too hard not to be, phoning home, home shopping, home improving, making themselves at home and just general all-round being in my home.

I’m not an eccentric or anti-social, in fact I believe I am HYPER-SOCIAL – I cannot help but be “aware” that someone else, a guest is present and therefore I must “host”, or be somehow “hostful”?....anything but lost in the creative trance that writing provokes.

*My “winter roommate” and best friend Jimmy does not count for he is some sort of supernatural being who is “there” without being there....a “cough without a face” you might say...( a topic for another day? )

From this important fact about myself I can draw several conclusions.
- I’ve no use for a portable laptop other than as a backup to my HOME computer
- I’d make a strange and “difficult” husband
- I need to learn how to say “no” to houseguests ( Sunday nights at any rate! )
- I might have made a better roofer than a writer?

I’ve not been able to write much of anything short of grocery lists lately and if I’m disgustingly late in even replying to your emails I hope you’ll consider this explanation as a humble apology.

It is actually only late last week that I found myself at long last Home Alone.

From past efforts I’ve tried to express through words how truly delighted I am with life and to share the lessons and wonder that I’ve been blessed with.

The “work” of writing ( however “rough crude and unsubtle” mine may be) really is a sacred thing to me made all the more special by the knowledge that it is read by and affects others....even if they’re not welcome during “construction”.

After all, I AM “building pianos”!

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( under a good roof!)

Spin-erama #72

2010-02-22T19:55:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

For over 30 years, Lake Superior State University in Michigan has been publishing its’ annual “List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse Over-Use and General Uselessness”.

Since its’ first New Year’s Day release in 1976, people from all over the world have nominated hundreds of words and phrases to be purged from the language and among them are such infamous nuggets as: “outside the box”, “24/7” , “user-friendly”, “at this point in time”, “at the end of the day”, “my bad”, and on and on it goes.

A nicely placed cliché or catchphrase, is a spokesperson’s best friend; be they a politician, newscaster, team manager, legal representative or corporate mouthpiece.

Like a catchy “hook” in a song, a contemporary catchphrase may add a certain familiarity and conviviality to what are often banal and sometimes “bad news” messages.

A dull or even dim-witted spokesperson can be seen to be at least somewhat clever through the use of trendy sayings and colloquial buzzwords.

Politicians – the Lords of Linguistic Largesse – use the clichéd language of pop culture in such a manner so as to speak, without actually saying anything of substance.

Listening to a politician is like watching a bad mime...something is happening, but no one is really sure what it is?

The mime’s occasional smile at least tells us that whatever it is, it’s not all bad; comforted perhaps by the common belief that politicians are “monitoring all situations on an ongoing basis”?

This year’s L.S.S.U. list includes a few nuggets I’m sure you’ll recognize by their hackneyed regurgitation if not their downright nausea-inducing familiarity.

Surely we’ve heard “too big to fail” , “transparent/transparency”, “czar”, “stimulus” and “toxic assets” far too many times and clever novelty words like “bromance”, “tweet”, “chillaxin’” and “sexting” at least the one time that is one too many?

One phrase which didn’t make it this year – through some miraculous oversight surely – and one which quite frankly I am sick and tired of hearing is “moving forward”!

Apparently everybody and everything nowadays, is “moving forward”.

A sports team on a ten game losing streak is moving forward in an effort to turn things around.

A company just filing for bankruptcy has done so moving forward.

A celebrity is moving forward, taking back some drunken words said at an awards show.

The solution to the country’s economic downturn is being addressed by effectively moving forward more effectively and more forwardly.

Tiger Woods has cut all extra-marital ties and is moving forward at a sexual addiction clinic. ( and backward, and forward, and backward....*just kidding)

An automobile manufacturer whose cars have defective transmissions with no forward gear, are moving forward by recalling them.

It’s a pleasant enough concept... being on the move, and in a forward direction connotes positive action, but the trouble lies in its’ multi-contextual nature.

It truly is a spin doctor’s dream phrase...applicable to virtually any situation and effective in even the direst of circumstance.

After the first 500 or so hearings of the phrase, it dawned on me that you can pretty say “the whole world and everything in it is moving forward” and be exactly correct!

It seems to me my friend, that the whole world has jumped upon the “moving forward” bandwagon, rendering the phrase a blight upon the Queen’s or anyone else’s English!

Every action between one to another – no matter how mundane or even factual - has become a forward move.

“While asleep in bed last night I made a significant rollover and found a different position moving forward in my restfulness.”

“While walking backwards today I hit a tree branch with my head moving forward in reminding myself not to be so foolish.”

“Comfortable footwear with a good sole for changeable weather helps me moving forward in all conditions.”

Surely a phrase as“...misused, overused and generally useless.” as this one deserves inclusion on next year’s banishment list ?

Otherwise I fear society’s ongoing evolutionary process will be like a mime behind a pane of glass....unable to move forward.

A “good” mime anyway.

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (on the move)

One For the Books #71

2010-02-08T15:46:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

I’m not what you’d call a “History Buff”.

I never excelled in the subject at school....too many dates to remember and too many Royals with the same name but a different number after it; Charles the Second, Isabel the fourth, Otto the EIGHTH!? etc.

It’s not a memory issue because I can remember jokes I heard as a child, but as far as what year “...did Hercules sail the Magna Carta into Boston Harbor setting off the Seven Day War?”....I haven’t a darn clue?

Creativity was never a problem; if I had to, I could “make stuff up” that would make the real story as lame as a lost homework excuse, but alas, no History teacher I ever dealt with gave points for “style” or validated a “poetic license”.

From what I understand, History – particularly Canadian – is not a Big Ticket item in the curriculum of today’s schools which seems kind of a shame.

A good number of High School respondents in a recent survey on “Canadiana” identified Sir John A. MacDonald as “that guy on the twenty?”, while several even went as far afield as crediting him with the invention of haggis.

Even as poor a student of History as I, knows good old Sir Johnny founded our nation’s largest tobacco company! ( check the name on your pack of “Green Monsters”....duhh!?!! )

I would think it valuable to know where we came from and how we got to where we are, especially in terms of planning for where we want to go and the best way to get there?

If nothing else we can a least avail ourselves of the opportunity to aspire to some of the greatness and to avoid the mistakes of our adventurous ancestors.

While I am admittedly “a tad off” when it comes to the nuts and bolts of history – the names and dates and such – I am nevertheless enthralled by the grand tales of gallantry, sacrifice and victory against seemingly impossible odds which adorn the tapestry of our Pioneer Heritage.

Just the thought of a brave and wary Lenny Riel ( no doubt pining for the fjords of his Nordic homeland) and his trusty Inuit guides forging the mighty Niagara river through the rugged untamed peaks of southeastern Manitoba in the 1500’s with electricity only in its’ infancy, is pause for reflection and awe. ( and perhaps a fact check or two?)

I often marvel at how afar afield of their beloved birthplaces must many a bold explorer stray in the course of discovery, conquest and adventure!?

To leave ones’ town, ones’ country, ones’ continent behind – to uproot from the very soil from whence ones’ life germinated and sprouted – and soar like a feathered seed in search of unbroken ground and unwritten history is the hallmark of many who heed Adventure’s siren call.

“Go West Young Man!” was such a call that spurred the taming of West; luring many unwary but determined souls on a migration of dreams into a nightmarishly alien land.

“The New World” beckoned a wave of bold humanity leaving their birthplaces an ocean behind them.

“The Call of the Wild” can be ascribed to many whose place of birth serves merely as a “starting block” in their life’s race of discovery and fulfillment.

While the world may be known geographically, contemporary explorers must still re-locate to specialized global regions far from home in search of history-making adventure.

Ahh what a sweet and blessed moment it must be for those lucky enough after many years abroad to complete the circle of their endeavor and to go home again.

To immerse again in the familiar fragrance of the Fatherland....to say – not like a practiced daily litany but like an announcement to Heaven and all of Nature within earshot – from the bottom of a tread-worn heart and jet-lagged soul.... “I’m HOME!”, is surely a moment worth etching in time.

In the course of examining my own journey I discovered two important but not necessarily historically significant things.

Firstly, I have come a “long way”; some might say a WORLD away from the drunken life I left behind. ( while it might not be earth-shattering stuff to you my friend, with the Good Lord as my guide I am making “discoveries” on a daily basis that ROCK my world and those in it! )

Secondly, I presently live across the street from the hospital where I was born.

From that blessed day in January some five decades ago, I have come....about 45 feet.

Christopher Columbo I guess I’m not.

Alexander Marilyn Bell did a lot of his work “out of the house” didn’t he?

Hello?.........

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (leeward)

Brush With Life #70

2010-02-01T16:33:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

Late this past Friday afternoon, two cars crashed in the intersection I was in the process of crossing; one of them actually came sliding to a smoking crumpled rest in the very spot I had been standing and watching from, seconds earlier.

Two cars coming towards each other on Westminister, one of them suddenly tries an ill-advised/badly timed/dumb? left turn at Maryland and BOOM....pretty much head-on into the other guy.

Now I can go all dramatic on you and say I seized my bike in one hand and a pregnant woman with the other and LEAPT headlong into a crusty snow bank and no uncertain fame.

But in all honesty there was no one else to “save” and because it happened in slow motion, there was no leaping required.

In fact, I’m happy to report that while both cars were certainly totaled, no one was seriously injured. ( at least until the lawyers get involved I imagine?)

“Slow motion” you ask?

That’s exactly how it all seemed really....a few seconds stre-e-etched out into a moment of pristine clarity.....

“Oh oh, those cars are going to......WHOA!.....here comes one toward me....it’s horn is blaring.....I think I should move OUT of the way......”

Despite being astride my bike holding a bag of groceries, I was able to somehow jump backwards enough that the old “Green Hornet” and I were buffeted by nothing more than smoke from the car’s exploded air bag.

Funny what goes through your mind at a time like that.

Funnier than what doesn’t anyway...

My life didn’t “flash before my eyes”, I didn’t cry out “I love you Mother!”, and I certainly did not suddenly feel an old familiar craving for a strong distilled beverage.

I was actually staring at the poor fellow dazedly shaking his head in the driver’s seat a few feet away and thinking, “Man did your Friday Night ever just Go South on you ya poor bastard!?”

I was then pondering that the guy’s horn was going to continue to blow probably until the tow truck driver or somebody cut the battery cable when a woman’s voice behind me said, “You almost got hit there”.

Had I not been in such a fog I might have cavalierly replied, “Just the facts Ma’am”....or “All in day’s work my dear”....or even “A miss is as good as a mile”, but all that came to mind was a much less classic, “Yes I did”.

At that point the acrid smoke from the exploded air bag ( I had NO idea that was how they worked? ), broke my reverie and I wondered if there wasn’t a fire starting.

Now I could “embellish” a might and tell you about smashing the side window with my fist and hauling three nuns out of an inferno to safety, but there were no passengers in either vehicle and no such heroics called for.

Laying my bike and groceries on the snow bank, I opened the driver’s door and helped the poor shaken fellow out of the car gasping and cursing and onto unsteady legs where he was soon joined by the profusely apologetic and less worse for wear driver of the other vehicle.

With help on the way, and seeing that there was hardly a need to get further involved as a “witness” to such a cut and dried mishap as this, or to further the ruination of these poor fellows’ weekend by berating them for “almost” putting a damper on mine, I grabbed my grub and the “Hornet” and moved on. ( into the sunset – cue closing theme)

Pondering... from then until now, why I didn’t at any point look heavenward and pronounce my thanks to God?

Was it because I was “dazed”?

Am I taking God’s gift of new life for granted?

Have I become ungrateful?

Did I think I was just “lucky”?

In actuality, I’ve come to learn that besides strokes of luck ( sometimes Big ones), near misses lurk at every intersection of life.

Does the Good Lord intercede at every mishap on every street corner?....I’ve heard he does if there’s a “drunk or a small child” involved!

What about an “ex-drunk” with enough wits and physical well-being about him to turn a near miss into a “field test” of his serenity and an invaluable learning experience?

Could I have been too caught up in the sudden misery of those two “poor bastards” to be offering up prayers of thanks?

Doesn’t empathy grow best in the rich soil of a grateful and humble heart?

When your first instinct becomes “others”, that seems like all the thanks God might need?

But just in case.....(whew!) Thank You Lord....again.

( cue credits)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( safe)

A Load of Bun(K) #69

2010-01-25T12:21:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

With a blizzard tempestuously raging outside this morning and bracingly frigid temperatures in the forecast, I should have known it was too good to be true.

When one derives as much pure joy from cold, snow and ice as I do, they are often setting themselves up for a balmily bitter disappointment.

Mine came in the dratted and determined hands of my mailperson; so unstoppable is she in the face of any climatologically natured obstacle that someone should write a “creed” about her and those of her ilk? ....something about “...sleet and snow and hail...?” would do nicely I think.

Nevertheless, the source of my anguish –the letter- looked weather-beaten, well-traveled, and harmless.

The West Indies postmark verified over 3,000 miles of road-weariness, but the unmistakable logo on the envelope told a tale fraught with harm, and hardship.

It was from the Barbados University Natural Center where I have held an Associate Assistant Advocate Pseudo-Professorship for an number of years.

It seems some of my learned colleagues are also members of the Barbados Olympic Freestyle Ski Dancing Team ( a grueling sport not usually associated with Caribbean climes ), and are competing in the upcoming games.

I have been culled from my arctic reverie and “called to duty” at the Center.

OH the HUMANITY! I say, just as Winter here had started to have a nice sweet “bite” to it; the itch of the woolies beaconing like a molting mantra!

But my head is still cold from being outside for 10 seconds to get the mail so it’s “cool” enough to prevail in this instance.....the important research and invaluable humanitarian work being done at B.U.N.C. must not go unattended.

The study of Nature takes scientists into laboratories as unbelievably harsh as they are mysterious.

The sun-baked beaches, dizzying blue sea, blinding sunshine, incessant scented breezes and tropical torpor, make Barbados a “lab” suited to only the truly fanatical realm of the scientific community devoted to unlocking the secrets Mother Nature closely holds to her oft-mysterious and alluring bosom.

I am as you may already know, one such devotee.

And as such I must leave these blessed blizzard blown boundaries of my comfortable northern home and forsake them for the stench of sweat and sun block... and the malingering malaise of equatorial madness.

The ache of homesickness already tightens like a frozen knot in my sit-up-hardening stomach with the knowledge I now have but 42 sleeps....I mean DAYS of wondrous Winnipeg winter to endure....I mean LUXURIATE in!

The history of all great scientific discovery is filled with stories of selfless sacrifice and suffering....just THINK for instance of all the moldy bread that Fleming fellow must have eaten!?

While it’s not an antibiotic I’ll be seeking during my three week odyssey, I will in fact be looking for a similarly beneficial result...”ONENESS” with Nature.

And a pretty nice tan :)

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (going for Gold)

Miller Time #68

2010-01-18T09:15:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

One of the fine old workplace traditions the world over is the “couple of drinks after work”.

After a rough day, a tough week – and especially a “payday”, the call to “go for a brew”, ( or “Miller Time” as the famous old American beer slogan used to trumpet), can be heard like a battle cry from the factory floor all the way to the executive offices of companies large and small.

The after work drinks can be an essential part of the culture of a workplace; an excellent morale building and bond forming exercise.

In the comfy environs of a neighborhood pub or a favorite lounge, with hair down and gloves off, the stress and strain of the “grind” drains further away with each successive glass or bottle.

It’s a chance for all to blow off steam, bitch and whine, tell nasty jokes, commiserate, flirt, laugh, and ultimately....jointly solve a pressing global issue or two; usually toward the end, of the evening.

For some it’s an excuse to get drunk and avoid going home after work, but those poor souls are likely in the bar avoiding home every evening so the novelty of the exercise is lost to them as is the opportunity for spontaneous co-worker interaction.

They’re there for the drinking, irregardless of the company, and often the last to leave...unless they get cut off first.

Thankfully in today’s society, the great majority of people are “social” drinkers - according to the Canadian Encyclopedia, approximately 4% of adult drinkers in Canada are alcoholic.

Even with my vivid imagination, I have trouble perceiving what sort of anarchic maelstrom would replace civil society were those figures reversed?

“Joining us for a drink after work Bob?”

“No thanks Tim, I’ve been hammered all day! I could go for a coffee though?”

“Keep that kind of talk to yourself Bob. Coffee? It’s only Wednesday!?....you don’t have some kind of a “problem” do you?”

The carnage – were it to be “Miller Time” all the time - would be substantial.

As it is, the ruination and heartbreak wrought by even such a small percentage of problem drinkers in today’s society is far-reaching enough to have affected the life of just about everybody.

Left my own mark on a fair bit of damage to be sure.

But despite the fact that I now don’t drink, and I managed to salvage my job because of it, I still get that familiar “itch” towards the end of the work week.

Not to drink mind you, but to drink in the fomenting fellowship and charismatic camaraderie of my brothers and sisters with whom I spend a third of my week with; toiling on a daily basis.

We work alongside thousands of others in a large hospital so there is ample stress and an ongoing battle against it.

In my own particular department however, I’d noticed that for various reasons we never “went for a few after work”.

There is a broad demographic of about 50 of us who work “evenings” so the logistics themselves are not what you’d call conducive to such activity.

But just because something is difficult doesn’t make it less necessary, and YES I do think there is value in cultivating friendships with co-workers outside of the workplace, especially in circumstances like mine where the mix of cultures, values and ages is so varied.

So since my charismatic leadership abilities are bruised but yet functional, and since I’m still a “social butterfly” ( albeit a sober one), and since I’d get nothing but funny looks by asking 50 people “out for coffee”, and since statistically only 4% of my department ( me and another guy?) should be alcoholic, I took it upon myself to organize a “Few After Work” for the gang last Friday.

The crudely but enthusiastically drawn poster proclaimed “Friday Fellowship!....Come for a Couple!....11:45 til ‘an hour’....Say Farewell to a Good Man!” ( it wasn’t a “payday” Friday but it was the last day for a fine young fellow who was leaving us )

Now in my mind it was a rousing success not because it was a good turnout with laughs aplenty and enough madcap and warm heart to fill 10 beer commercials, but because of who showed up...

- the “old” veteran of the bunch

- the “oddball” guy

- the “quiet” loner

- the “rookie”

- the “hothead”

- people who I’d never seen so relaxed and animated

...and of course the “alcoholic” in the background sipping on a cola; drinking in all the good natured griping, the irreverent humor, the problem solving, the fellowship....and the fun.

But the best part of it all had to be when someone asked me why I’d go to all the trouble to organize such an event when I don’t even drink?

And instead of a mini-diatribe about; discovering the essence and joy of life without booze, giving back to others in payment for years of selfishness, celebrating the freedom of being able to say “no” to a drink, doing the Lord’s work by fostering peace and brotherhood, or bettering our work environment by promoting extra-curricular interaction, I simply said,

...“Cause it’s Miller Time!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( happy hours)

Thank You #66b

2010-01-06T03:57:00.002-06:00

Morning Friend,

With all the imagination I know you possess, please pretend these words are the hearty and warm embrace of a free and grateful man celebrating a *birthday today.

*it’s my “belly-button” , or “real” BIRTH-day as opposed to my

A.A. Birthday in June, in case you were wondering? As far as my “age” goes, the only information I’ll divulge on that front is that I’m more months sober than I am years old.

The reason for the “e-hug” is because if I have ever met you, spoken to you, or in some way ( cosmically or otherwise) interacted with you, than you have unwittingly become a driving force in my on-going quest to put my best foot forward and keep it there.

I am nothing else, if not a HUGELY gregarious alcoholic gentleman.

*from Merriam Webster

gre-gar-i-ous ( adjective) 1 a : tending to associate with others of one's kind : social b : marked by or indicating a liking for companionship

The “hugely gregarious DRUNKEN alcoholic gentleman act” was panned brutally.....by YOU: my acquaintances, friends and family.

An empty theater on The Grand Stage of Life echoes like an empty heart when you’re a “people person” drinking alone.

“WHY did I do it”??? the oft asked question.....

“Because as someone who is “wired” to interact with other humans; intelligently, humorously, soulfully, spiritually, playfully, creatively, intuitively, purposefully, repeatedly, compassionately, artfully, sensually, powerfully, respectfully, enthusiastically, honorably and with GREAT regularity, it HAD to be done. ....the answer.

The “act” as many will attest is as flawed as it ever was but certainly “cleaned up” at any rate, and every now and then I’ll pull off a show-stopper or garden variety crowd pleaser that’s just about worth the price of admission.

“Thank Yous” abound for this Birthday, this day, this life!

The Good Lord, my Mom and Dad, my whole family, Alcoholics Anonymous, my friends, St. Boniface Hospital......and on and on the list goes of people – and a Savior – who give me the INCENTIVE that fuels my every show!..... I mean day :)

Thank you and may God Bless you and your day friend.

Glad I could get my mitts on ya!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (motivated)

The Magic Window #66

2009-12-21T12:53:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

The bittersweet time of year that is Christmas, is nigh.

And with it comes a myriad of reasons and excuses not to be Merry – or in some cases to get drunkenly “un-Merry” until it’s all over with.

“Grinches”, come in all shapes, sizes, denominations and levels of inebriation, but share a common lament: “I can hardly wait till it’s over!”.

If you’re a staunch atheist, Jew, Muslim, or orthodox sociopath, you get a pass from me; have a Merry... couple of days off work!

If you’re a suffering alcoholic whose misery is all the more intensified by memories of Christmas before booze ruined your life, allow me to humbly suggest that the gift of sobriety could possibly be the best gift you could give to yourself, and everyone else in your life?

But that’s just me, “suggesting” out loud.

If you think it better to get loaded and rant and rail against the contradictory Joy, Peace and Happiness associated with Christmas, then by all means, “have at”.

Fortunately for you, it will soon be a done deal and you can get back to normal, everyday Hell on earth.

But if you’re like many “rushed” out people whose hustle has run out of bustle and your spirit and credit cards are neck and neck in a race to max out, I would humbly ask you to pause, and remember those who can hardly wait for Christmas to arrive; never mind “be over”!?

Children are Christmas, and Christmas is for them.

In this cold, cruel and oft-chaotic world, the window of years where “magic” still exists – where children can “believe” in Santa Claus – gets smaller all the time.

Some kids, by their burgeoning intellect and irrepressible curiosity, break the spell on their own, while others through familial dysfunction or other harsh twists of fate, aren’t “allowed” to believe in magic; Christmas or otherwise.

As one blessed with a TROVE of magical childhood memories, the very idea of a child not waking up on THE Morn without a gift from Santa is alien, abhorrent, and in this day and age, downright shameful.

Like the finest most fragile crystalline sculpture is the heart of a child; blinding is the light of joy reflected in their ecstatic faces and astonished eyes.

Exquisite is the love of a child touched by magic; precious is the innocence of fertile souls where sorrows magically disappear.

I remember my friend, when the “sleeps until Santa came” seemed like an eternity.

Now as an adult ( at least “chronologically” so), I’m like most folks who find the pre-Festive season fairly frantically fast-paced.

But I side with the kids when it comes to “wishing it was over”!?!?

Are you KIDDING me!?

I know of a young girl who is getting her Christmas present “several sleeps” early this year; a trip to Disney World! – sponsored by the Children’s Wish Foundation.

The trip had to be bumped up to last week when further treatment for brain cancer became futile and the window for her being strong enough to go had become desperately small.

Talk about your “Christmas Rush”!?

The window of this poor girl’s magical innocence and her window of life now share the same panes.

Now there are a few certainties about this knowledge and a lesson perhaps as well.

One, is that this is likely if not certainly the brave girl’s last Christmas.

And two, that neither her or anyone in her family is wishing the “wretched season” to end.

This is a family that no doubt wishes Christmas would never end; that the magic this year would include a miracle.

As have I fervently prayed since learning of this tragedy.

The lesson in “perspective” needn’t be mentioned really.

Anyone not enduring such devastating heartache as this, should be hopefully moved to keep and exalt the Children’s Season with renewed generosity and loving enthusiasm.

THROW some toys into that bin at work....drop off gifts to any media outlet in town....give to Children’s Wish or any other kids charity!

Open the magical window and keep it open as long as possible because it closes all too soon.

And keep your whining to yourself....especially that “bunk” about there being no Santa!?!

Merry Christmas!

love tImMy:)

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (believing)

Yes? #65

2009-12-07T15:14:00.001-06:00

Morning Friend,

It all started innocently enough, with a note, stealthily passed via a third party to my desk in grade four.

My ten-year-old imagination quickly shifted into hyper-speed as I stared at the oddly feminine flair in the writing of my name.

Was this a coded message from Mata Hari?....my secret orders from High Command? The beginnings of a Hardy Boy Mystery Adventure?....Could Frank and Joe be in peril at this very moment...their fate spelled out in this note written in what could well be the flowery scrawl of Nancy Drew?

With suddenly trembling sweaty hands, a roar in my head and a "junkie's paranoia" that the teacher was going to pounce on me at any moment, I carefully opened the note like a fragile ancient parchment that might turn to dust at any moment.

Little did I realize, that the little piece of paper unfolding in my hand might just as well have been written by Franklin W. Dixon himself, because it was the prologue to a "Hardy Boy Adventure" that has lasted a lifetime.

The note asked, "Do you like Mandy?" - and had three boxes to choose from; "YES, NO, or MAYBE?"

Now a ten-year-old boy "likes" about a gazillion things, and in naming them he'd likely run through a whole slew of nasty, slimy, grody, thunderous, flashy, explosive, cool and gnarly things before he got near mentioning a GIRL!? ( although you just might have found Ellie-Mae Clampett in the top 100?)

To be sure, Mandy was no "Ellie-Mae" nor were there ANY buxom, "critter loving" tomboys to be found amongst the female students in a grade 4 classroom. ( there was quite a tall German girl who's intellectual development was right in step with her rather early physical development, thus rendering her more obnoxious than likeable )

But Mandy was cute and funny and friendly, and even though I was new to the note-passing subterfuge of adolescent courtship and youthful infatuation, the obvious bottom line here was that she liked ME.

That note suddenly represented the end of my innocence.

The safe circle of "likes" in my life; my family, friends, hobbies and heroes, had been invaded by one of nature's most powerful entities...puppy love.

I had not invited it yet it landed on my desk like a Federal Audit Notice...."Welcome to the World of LOVE".

"Please fill out the following form carefully and truthfully."

"You will be required from this point on, to make any and all intentions with regard to matters of the heart i.e.: "Love"... clear, concise and legible."

"This is a binding contract in which your actions will be required to mirror your words."

"The love in this agreement is "conditional" upon regularly reviewed performance."

That note my friend, was the FIRST time I became aware of one of the great necessities in all "grown up" human interaction: making one's self, and one's intentions, clear.

Surely I had been "showing off" on the playground and was interested in attracting the attention of someone, but who it was, was not CLEARLY known?

Answering the note would clarify my position and alleviate the need for so many break-neck acrobatics or class-disrupting "Tim-foolery".

It would give young Mandy the courtesy and consideration of knowing "where she stands".

Whether you're a pre-teen or a Pensioner, it is essential to people who love you to know where they stand - to get a note back that says "Yes, No or Maybe".

The "note" itself can be non-specific; an unspoken wish for your well-being, an offer of help, the hand of peace, a guiding light awaiting nothing from you but a sense of your willingness.

You can say "Yes" in a hundred different ways without saying the word, just as there are hundreds of ways of showing No.

Body language, tone, demeanor, affect, color, quality, efficacy, are some of the myriad nuances of ACTION; your response to any and all notes that life slips onto your desk.

For many of my adult years the object of my affection received confirmation of my ardor on a daily basis.

From the devotion, commitment, resources, time, energy, passion, earnestness, fire, willingness and zeal that I spent on it, it was painfully obvious to all that I was in LOVE with booze. ( to the exclusion of all else)

I thought of my "sweetheart" first thing in morning, all day, and fondly before each night's passout.

We're "broken up" now ( thanks to A.A. , the Good Lord, and the fact both our parents were against a "mixed" relationship) which has left me with the delightful dilemma of where to channel all of that unused love blessedly yet in my heart.

There is so much to love about life now that one of the more difficult tasks has been where to start?

As singularly as I was in love with booze, my passions today are plentiful on the grownup playground, where "knowing where you stand" is just as monumentally important as it was in grade 4.

I won't throw a snowball at you or hang upside down on the monkey bars, but if I "like" you, you'll KNOW it.

Unlike Mandy who got a "Maybe".

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (Hardy-Boying)

...many things... #64

2009-11-30T11:59:00.004-06:00

Morning Friend,

Since snow, and with it the Christmas Season are finally UPON us, I thought it appropriate to share MY "Festive Focus", as the "countdown" - for many of us, begins......

Christmas Is.... by tImMy

C is for the CHILD of GOD whose birth did set us free
His Holy Birth proclaims the worth of Spirituality

H reminds of HOME and HEARTH where families bind anew
Slights forgotten, heartaches trodden...respite from the blues

R is for REFLECTING on one's blessing and one's sins
Strength and health give mercy stealth, forgiveness ere begins

I INSTILLS an INNER PEACE and sweet tranquility
A mighty spirit all can feel it, the glow of Christmas glee

S is for the SONGS that SING in every person's heart
Carols ring sweet voices sing, symphonic souls embark

T feels like the warming of a special loving TOUCH
Hugs, hands shaken, blessings taken...so little meaning so much

M is for the MEMORIES that the Yuletide seems to nourish
remembrance cast from Yuletides past, forge legacies which flourish

A is for the ATMOSPHERE emerging from the Season
Strangers greeting, minds are meeting, Love rhymes, Faith is Reason

S is for the SOULFUL STATE in which I deem to fall
Be at Peace and Share God's feast, MERRY CHRISTMAS one and all!

* the aforementioned "countdown" is at 25 ( critically important) SLEEPS. Especially critical to those with concerns about their standing on the old "naughty/nice" balance sheet!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( being Good)

Lions' Den #63

2009-11-23T16:45:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

Contrary perhaps to what is considered advisable, I spend a portion of my spare time in the company of people who drink alcohol regularly, and heavily.

The fact that many of them may be alcoholic is a fact not lost on one who most certainly is.

But the fact that we all share the same interest in shooting pool and shooting the bull is as inescapable as the loving clutches of a spry old Aunty.

In fact, the Sherbrooke Inn where we often congregate is one of this town's more nefarious old "Lush's Landmarks".

I've whiled and wasted many a dark day and endless night away there myself.

If I believed in such things, then the GHOSTS of my own lost spirit must yet be lurching through its' dank archways in search of 2 more draft.

Such romanticism and wonder is no longer on tap there for me, but the dour old dive still holds a familiar spell over a "regular" or two.

And since many of my old friends are mostly "regular", at least from a bar-going standpoint, I find myself once a week in "harm's way".

Now if you think my friend that this is about some kind of "whistle by the graveyard" affair where I'm flaunting mayhem and purposely risking disaster, you're being a little bit melodramatic, but the issue of advisability, does apply here.

I do get asked quite frequently, "what are you doing here?", "how do you stand being around drunks?", and my favorite, "are you SURE you're an alcoholic?", as if my healthy glow and clear countenance were incongruent with the considered model.

This is after all, a distribution point ( albeit a stinky one) for wine and spirits...it's a BAR!

It's a common room, a drinking establishment, a beverage room, a lounge, a club, a pub, THE bar.

One can easily see why it wouldn't be on the list of "advisable" places to be when one is alcoholic.

One look reveals why it's also not on the list of advisable places to impress a date?

The dilemma thus arises, and options with it.

The advisable "textbook" option is to simply stay away from anywhere that alcohol might be available, and get all new friends.

The textbook option is probably/actually responsible for keeping me drunk for a few extra years because it made sobriety sound about as appealing as low back pain.

But for many newly sober, or those still at a high risk for slips, it is the only option, and for some a life long one.

It's not hard to recommend to a burn victim, not to run into any burning buildings.

The "new friends" business is not so geographically solved, and requires not so much that they be new, so much as you are.

Many of my "new friends" are the same "old" ones.

I of course "weeded out" all of those who had been forcibly pouring booze down my throat and/or were a "bad influence".

But besides me if there's anything else new it's the friendship itself.

It's real.

Not like a textbook, but a just published tome with unfinished stories in it and chapters richly telling of love and fellowship and brotherhood and true friendship.

These are people with whom I've shared life, celebrated their young and buried their dead, and we all relish in the notion that they didn't have to bury me.

Witnesses to my darkest hours, they as I now bask in the joyous new brightness of an emerging light and daily reprieve from despair....so long as I don't "preach". ( or brag too much! )

The tradeoff is I try not to make sobriety sound so appealing and my friends in return, refrain from forcing me at gunpoint to drink.

I suppose if I was a "by the book" kind of a guy and wanted to see my friends somewhere where alcohol wasn't available, we could meet at the library.

But what the book doesn't mention is that I have friends who would smuggle a "mickey" into the library anyway, so I figure we may as well shoot some pool.

And while it may not be advisable to do so in the company of alcoholics, I do so with great vigililence and no small amount of gratitude.

Grateful, because the Good Lord has rewarded my resolve with the strength to walk fearlessly with whomever and wherever my journey takes me.

Because you're only in danger in the lion's den if you're feeding the lions.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( under advisement)

Let It Roll #62

2009-11-16T13:10:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

If I knew today was my last day to live I'd put on clean underwear and my most comfortable shoes.

I’d try and “tidy the place up”.

I'd get a "decent haircut" in case my Grandmother is on "Pearly Gate Duty" today.

I'd give up smoking because surely I could last a DAY?

I'd go up to that person who I'd been meaning to chew out and give them a hug, and apologize to the person chewing me out so they'd give me one.

I sure as heck wouldn't get distortedly drunk and miss out on anything.

No matter what the weather was like, I'd be compelled to extol the virtues of our vibrant environmental variables.

I’d “smell the roses”, or at least be mindful of how they lovely they smell in comparison to what I’m smelling.

I'd dust off the best joke I knew and make as many people smile as I could.

I'd pick ONE thing from my ever-lingering "to do" list and do it WELL.

I'd go through my usual daily exercises, not for any long-term benefits obviously but for the energetic "glow" they usually provide.

(Same thing for brushing and flossing I suppose.)

NO regrets, angst or self-pity today my friend....today would definitely be a day for unrestrained and gleeful GRATITUDE.

Because truthfully, when one who is fortunate enough to live in this "Eden-esque Land of Plenty", stops and does a true Life Assessment, the enormity of one's good fortune is self-evident.

I’d throw down such a gauntlet of glee that fearful thoughts would scatter like dead leaves in a gale.

I would tell people I liked, why, and people I loved, how much.

I would absorb; the fresh air, the engaging scenery, the melodic sound, the kaleidoscopic essence of the day like a dusty sponge cast into a teeming ocean.

I'd make the most of it, that's for sure.

But what if today "might" be my last day to live?

I "might" get "ironed out" in an unforeseen traffic mishap as people do every day?

I "might" have an unbeforeseen cerebral aneurism blow up like a tire and not wake up from my afternoon nap today?

I “might” fall ill and never recover or worse; left in a weakened or debilitated state for the rest of my days?

Or I "might" live to be a hundred years, defying all odds while miraculously thwarting every sinister pitfall known to man?

It's a fine line between knowing and wondering isn't it?

The trouble with not knowing is that it makes life something of a daily gamble.

Can I put off, delay, postpone, procrastinate, or WASTE, one more day or not?

If you're the type that enjoys the perilous pace, the anxiety-laced, stomach-souring EDGE of rolling the dice with your life, you’re taking the chance that "snake-eyes" doesn't come up too suddenly; too soon, before you're ready... like today.

I was fortunate enough to get up from the “craps table” while I still had a dollar left in my pocket.

Not even enough for bus fare to church or an A.A. meeting, but I'm a cyclist with an aversion to Transit Tom anyway.

And my bets are on the fact that this blessedly wonderful gift from God, just "might" be my last day to live.

Tomorrow is an uncertainty.

Today is really the only sure bet I have today, and today is the only day I have to live to its’ fullest.

If it’s the last one then it certainly will have been a shameful thing to waste.

And if it ISN'T, then I'm a winner either way.

‘Cause my barber is on holiday :)

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live (prepared)

Try This At Home #61

2009-11-09T16:40:00.003-06:00

Morning Friend,

Here's a little experiment I've been trying that you might find very enlightening.

I say "trying" because it involves changing one of my festering and long ingrained character defects.

And I say "one" because there are actually several which the self-discovering voice of sobriety has brought to my previously distorted attention.

"Ahh the days of wine and roses and rose-colored glasses!"

"Hmmm."

Yes my friend, it turns out that if you sober up a drunken horse thief, you're still left with a larcenous equestarian.....probably even a more effective one!?

So on this ever evolving list of reasons I'll never sing Mac Davis's "Oh Lord It's Hard To Be Humble" again, ( at least not with same drunken fervor anyway? ), was a fairly easy defect to identify because it involves communication, which in my case is pretty much akin to breathing.

Like my Dad, who'd be impossible to sway from trying to strike up a conversation at a deaf-mutes' convention, I enjoy talking with people.

Probably a great deal more than my bosses appreciate, but thankfully my gregariousness is not a hindrance to my productivity....if anything, it enhances it!

The question becomes, "if you're talking a lot, what are you finding to talk about?".

Of course with me it all starts with the "joke of the day"....( by the way, "what's the difference between the government and the mafia?....one of them is organized.” )...then it's on to sports, current events, the weather, and eventually....gossip.

As to the origin of the word....

Gossip - In merry old England, a godsib was a godparent of either sex, sib being the Anglo-Saxon word for "kinsman." When godsibs were together, particularly female ones, no doubt a fair share of idle talk occurred, and the word soon lost its d and its religious context and acquired the meaning of one with whom one chats intimately.

As to it's contemporary role as part of an organization’s or circle of friends' informational "grape vine", gossip is inevitable.

It is also as tantalizing as it is unreliable and it can be as mean-spirited as it is rampant.

My workplace being no exception, seemed the perfect place for my experiment.

I wanted to know how much NEGATIVITY I was contributing to its' rampant and tantalizingly unreliable network of gossip.

And I did so because of a promise I made to myself in the middle of a dear friend's funeral last year.

"Ginette", the tearful eulogist said, "never had a bad thing to say about ANYONE."

"THIS!", I said to myself was one of this fine lady's innumerable attributes that I could strive for.

If I had nothing "good" to say about someone, then I would change the subject, or shut up.

A "valiant promise" indeed but one which my experiment showed, I'd been breaking badly...."bad-mouthing", "insinuating", "trash-talking" "ridiculing", "nay-saying", and every other bent of "bleak blathering" you can name.

Now the beauty of a self-made promise, if you're sincere about it ( and in my case sober when making it); it's like one you broke with an angry girlfriend only this time she's on speed dial in your BRAIN.

And all the while I'm in the middle of a conversation, there's a familiar ringing in my head ( yes it DOES get quite noisy up there sometimes), that goes off whenever the old compulsion to throw my black hat into the ring arises.

And it reminds me once again that while I wasn't a horse thief in my old life, I sure did a Texas-sized heap of wallowing, reveling and relishing in my and others' misery.

It didn't take too much experimenting to discover how that defect could flourish quite nicely....how new AND improved only happens in advertising.

I got the "new" part....the "improved" comes from just trying to improve daily.....on a conversation to conversation basis.

It's actually turning out to be "fun" addressing this defect, and it's certainly something you can "try at home"!

There are some instances where finding something good to say about someone or something can be considered a great FEAT of imaginative prowess!

And sharing that "find" with positive energy, superfluous sincerity, and heartfelt flourish might well be a masterpiece of performance art!

And your experiment, a rousing success!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( hypothesizing)

Standards #60

2009-11-02T12:47:00.004-06:00

Morning Friend,

"Doing a good job is sometimes like wetting your pants while wearing a dark suit...it gives you a warm feeling, but nobody notices !"

I have seen this quote on posters of a "'sheepish-looking" Charlie Brown so I assumed they were the words of the late great Peanuts creator, Charles M. Schulz himself.

Further research however attributes the words to a lesser-celebrated but no less prolific talent by the name of "unknown".

Ironic isn't it that the profound work itself should be like another good job running warmly down Mr. Unknown's legs as it's mistakenly credited to someone else?

I'm not sure which is worse, having your good work go unnoticed or someone else receiving the accolades for it?

The truth of the matter, ( here comes one of my "Life's Harsh My Friend"...), the truth of the matter IS, my friend... that MOST of our good works during our all too brief time on earth go completely unnoticed, and a good many ARE attributed to others - sometimes by some far less scrupulous individuals than ourselves !

In an ultra-competetive workplace this can be troublesome.

In a work environment where job security, compensation and advancement relies on good workers being identified, one could easily spend as much time ensuring they get correctly recognized for their efforts, as they spend on the work itself?

Or worse, one could spend ALL their time "sidling", "spinning" and "brown-nosing" instead of DOING anything other than taking credit for the good work of others?

On the other hand is the NON-competetive workplace like the "Union" shop where "accolades" and "bonuses" are neither sought nor given.

A "good" job requires that you show up on time and complete the basic required tasks.

You can "knock yourself out" all you want striving for excellence, doing extra, being the best, and going above and beyond, but all the "thanks" that you might get, won't buy you a cup of coffee.

So what's a poor soul to do in this "starkly cool and unfair" world where exceptional performance can go unnoticed, be stolen or is deemed unnecessary?

I would suggest that a person of high moral fibre and a strong sense of self-worth should have no trouble setting their OWN standards of job, and LIFE performance.

At the end of the day, ( unless you're sociopathic or otherwise deranged), it's YOUR face in the mirror.

IF you can face it, can you answer its' questions?

- Did I do my BEST today?

- Did I live up to my STANDARDS?

- Did I make myself PROUD?

- Can I set my standards HIGHER?

For many like myself who've found true success through a DAILY life of small, but not insignificant triumphs, the nightly ritual of self-assessment and evaluation is ALL the BONUS I require.

My "standard" is to simply do the BEST with the tools the Good Lord has given me.

I don't always get noticed.

Other people sometimes take credit for my work.

I'm not REQUIRED to go the extra mile.

But I am the setter and keeper of my own standards and they are high indeed.

I wrote a little question to myself and it's posted on my "office" door at work and on my kitchen wall which reads:

"IF I OWNED THIS COMPANY, WOULD IT BE IN MY BEST INTERESTS TO HIRE ME?"

In answering the question I'm often left with a warm feeling that doesn't require I wear a dark suit.

...or mutter "Good Grief" either.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (acknowledged)

Anger-Shmanger #59

2009-10-26T12:32:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

Before you go ahead and pop a vessel over burnt toast, bad drivers or uncooperative co-workers today, you might want to take a look at anger from a "cooler" and somewhat enlightened perspective.

Now because I'm no medical expert I've dug up some interesting facts on the physiology of anger that should be of interest, especially if you happen to be a "frequent flyer", ( as in "off the handle"?).

The following is from an article by Vijai P. Sharma, Ph.D...

"As America's number one killer, heart attacks account for nearly half of all deaths in U. S. Every year, over twice as many people die of heart attack as from all types of cancer combined. Other conditions being equal, a person given to angry outbursts and high hostility is at a higher risk of a heart attack, or even death than a person with low anger and hostility. We must remember that anger does more inward damage than can be seen by the naked eye. Anger hurts the angry more than it does the object of the anger. There is an oriental saying, that goes, "You will not be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger." This is a physical fact!

Let's look at the physiology of anger. During an outburst of anger, heart rate goes up to 180 beats per minute or even higher compared to the regular heart rate averaging about 80. The blood pressure too goes up, 220 to 130 or even higher, compared to normal readings of 120 to 80. Other harmful physical and chemical changes take place. Body uses up sugar extremely fast creating a sugar deficiency. As a result an angry person shakes in anger.

In the primitive order of the animal world, anger, aggression, and assault are one and the same thing. The body just knows that it is in a "fighting" mode in which it may be injured and bleeding may occur. To safeguard itself in the case of excessive bleeding, the angry person's body releases chemicals to coagulate (clot) the blood, therefore blood clots form more quickly than usual. Now a truly dangerous situation is at hand, that is, ( 1 ) bleeding has not occurred, and (2) a clot is formed which can potentially travel to any organ of the body, including, the brain or the heart.

In a fit of uncontrollable anger, in the case of a heart patient, the heart can suddenly stop due to that clot floating up to the heart and getting lodged there. In another case, heart arteries can squeeze off hard enough to choke off the supply of oxygen to the heart which can cause severe chest pains, creating the well known condition of "angina pectoris." A stroke can also occur when a person in an uncontrollable fit of anger bursts an artery in the brain. This is how anger can hurt the subject more than it does the object of the anger".

Now you're probably wondering my friend, how on such a gorgeous Autumn day with everything coming up roses in my life, why I'd choose to address such a tempestuous topic?

Well first of all it's nice to be able to write "about" anger as opposed to "writing angrily because I'm angry".

If I had to be angry to write, than I certainly wouldn't get much writing done, if any?

Besides the market is already flush with furious editorialists and curmudgeonly commentators looking to incite and infect the masses with their virulence.

MY goals are more along the lines of "shared enlightenment"...and of course a little "fun" :)

Not that there wasn't a time when I was frustrated and bitter and mad at the world. ( 1579 days ago actually !)

In those dark days, everything and everyone was against me from the weatherman to the government.

My health was failing, everyone around me were idiots and my Spiritual light was barely flickering.

And if there's a common thread to be found amongst "angry" people, ( besides the fact they usually die early from some sort of "blown gasket"), is the fact that it's ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT!

You would think that in a world where one is completely perfect and blameless; mere PREY to the whims and folly of the imperfect world outside, that one would be better off and safer, staying at home and getting drunk? ( which is what I did actually. )

Strangely enough though, you reach a point in that so-called "safe" place and realize there's nobody around to get angry at, because you're alone.

The only one left to vent, rail and rant against is that bloodshot mess, staring forlornly at you in the mirror.

And if, at that moment you have the wherewithal to do an ACCOUNTING, you will realize all the previous anger has been sadly misplaced, misdirected, AND as it turns out, miss-USED.

The problem is NOT, the government, the weather, bad drivers, over-zealous police, your boss, your neighbor, bad luck, ill-will or misfortune!

The problem is YOU....being ANGRY instead of ACCOUNTABLE!

Getting angry changes nothing in life, ( except your cardiac function as Dr. Sharma told us ).

However, if the source of your anger is something that you can realistically change, and inducing such intensely powerful physiological symptoms already, then why not HARNESS that energy and put it behind a plow of RESOLVE?

You see just such an example of this in today's accompanying picture of good old Abraham "Harvesting Tomatoes in the Snow".

An unexpected "mini-storm" a week or so ago caught me with my harvesting "pants down" so to speak and I had obviously waited too long to pick the last of my tomatoes.

"#$&%(@)-WEATHER !!!!" , was my first instinctive thought of course, but from that angry energy I quickly decided that "all was not lost" and readied to conduct a "salvage mission" at first light.

The slightly soggy mission was a "sweet" success, owing in part to the hardiness of the Good Lord's tomatoes, and the calm resolve of his grateful friend!

And a few days later the #&*%$ weather turned nice enough to wear shorts again ( still ) !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( mellow)

Ex-Tree-dinary #58

2009-10-19T13:25:00.006-05:00

*NOTE: the following has been rated "P" by the Op/Ed Writers Society as it "may contain poetry or some form of writing laid out to look like it". (This is a public service announcement...."you're welcome"! A.S.)

Morning Friend,

I am humbled by nature.

And affected greatly by the seasons; CONTENT in Winter, EXCITED in Spring, GRATEFUL in Summer, and ....?

The FALL, used to be a severely depressing time for me, and it had nothing to do with the impending six months of local climate and terrain not unlike that found on Earth's moon. ( the dark side of it! )

No it was more a case of NOT being humbled, touched, moved or affected by nature in any way at all.

It was a case of living UN-naturally, and therefore not exalting the ever-changing, ever-beauteous seasons, but lamenting them.

Like a squirrel that had caroused all summer and not squirreled away anything for the Winter, my "nutty" existence was completely contradictory to what is considered natural behavior.

Sometimes my friend, a simple walk amongst the teeming life of the woods is a humbling reminder that I am but a tree in God's forest, and thrive best when not breaking, Nature's laws.

If I may, a little excerpt from what a little "cabin winterizing with Pop" over the weekend brought to mind whilst cavorting in the breath-taking woods of Traverse Bay!

Ex-Tree-dinary by tutall

I am yet breathless from an adventure

whereupon I walked upon

a beautiful carpet of late-fallen leaves

I heard summer summer's whispering wind

bid farewell coolly and coyly

as if to say, "See ya...later?"

The air heavy with the scent of harvest

was smoke-tinged

and wondrously familiar

In the eerie silence of the deep woods

gnarly tree limbs creaked

like an old man's bones

I saw beneath the blaze of color

that the forest's finery

had been but a mirage

The green skirt of earth's burlesque summer

lay strewn and kicked aside

by the naked trees

The once sensuous siren boughs

now hags' claws clutching

at falling beauty

In the tepid light of the low Autumn sun

the forest holds its' breath

gilded in patient bark amour

The long dark Knight of Winter is approaching

upon a hellish white steed

of icy mayhem

The trees are sentinels in stoic stances

guarding the hasty retreat

of those shelter-bound

There are casualties of fire and wind and time

and tears freely flow

nourishing the land with hope

Mighty treetops melt into the stage

as on exquisite cue

until Spring's curtain call

The long darkening shadows of Autumn

are cold empty specters

best left behind

The upturned eyes of the squinting trees

ever stare

at the life-giving sun

Never a backwards glance give they

at shadows behind

and beneath

I am yet breathless from my adventure

where I found the light of Nature

within God's sight

And the light fairly lit up my soul

and the beautiful carpet

of late-fallen leaves

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Tree-mendously)

Ever fore #57

2009-10-13T11:35:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

Here’s a “story” to put you asleep once the leftover turkey runs out.!

I was unable to obtain the services of Robert Bateman for the accompanying "artwork"; in fact the primitive scrawling is probably the least "Bateman-esque" you are likely to find !? ( "Crude but Effective Expressionist"? )

I image you’ll be able to glean any number of my underlying psychiatric issues from this "fairy tale"?, but on the whole I think it nicely reflects the afterglow I’m feeling after a blessed weekend of shared thankfulness, unabashed generosity of spirit, and a true bounty of loving nourishment.

May God bless my friend, all whose hearts are hearths of comfort and everlasting, ever-glowing, ever-giving love...evermore.

Ever fore by tImMy

The young moth took off along with her first breaths of life and soared as the breeze breathed purpose into her furtive and uncertain path.

It was dusk and the growing darkness only added to the already fearful moth’s sense of dread. She flitted aimlessly from branch to flower trying in vain to capture the warm coattails of the setting sun but soon realized it was setting faster than her spirits.

She finally settled upon a warm mossy rock that had been baking in the warm afternoon sunlight and she relished in its’ comfort as the air cooled around her. The moth innately knew that this lovely place – while a haven for the sun’s rays – left her vulnerable to predators such as the birds she heard madly chirping nearby.

She flew off the now cooling rock keeping as low to the ground as the strengthening wind would allow; her senses taut in desperation to find some form of light and accompanying warmth.

The young moth soon found herself faltering in the shroud of the darkening woods. It was getting cold….as cold as the graying light. She feebly thought of making a dash toward the dimly lit moon but realized thoughtfully that its reflected light held little comfort to a shivering moth whose waning strength was hardly up to such a journey!

Suddenly a wisp of wind tinged with wood-smoke painted the air and she flew off eagerly towards the tangy source. The wind ruffled and strained her beating wings and she fought and won several losing battles having to double back time and time again; the smell getting stronger….the essence getting closer….the feel getting nearer….and then….the SIGHT!

A blazing five-foot bonfire had been abandoned by some careless revelers and to the young moth’s delight there was no sign of their returning!

Gorgeous multi-colored flames lashed out and sucked the chill from the air, exhaling a blast of serious heat that drew the young creature forward like a fluttering mindless drone.

The warmth, the color, the smell and the crackling sounds were pure Ambrosia to the moth-maiden who, in her weakened delirious condition was about to fly head-long into the fiery abyss.

“Hold on there young lady!!!....”

The moth stopped dead in mid-flight - the booming voice like an invisible wall in front of her.

“What in the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Weak with shock and surprise, the moth fluttered to the forest floor at the outer edge of the bonfire’s seething heat and gasped, “ I….I…don’t know….I….who are you?”

“Well….last time I checked, I’m a fine strapping eight hundred degree crackling burning bonfire that would probably do little more than just singe your pretty and foolish wings you silly moth!”

“I am not a silly moth. I am just young and didn’t know better….but I’m thankful nonetheless for your consideration in saving me and showing me the error of my way. I’d surely enjoy the warmth of your company! Is there any way I can possibly pay you!?”

She now basked in the glow of the bonfire inching as close as she dare hardly believing she was actually having a conversation with it/him!?

A gust of wind stirred a vast wave of flame and a shower of sparks that the moth thought was meant as an end to their conversation but as she prepared to fly off the bonfire’s voice froze her with his its’ plea.

“I’m sorry about the wind….how it scared you. But I’d surely wish you’d stay!? That’s how you could… pay, though I hardly think you owe me anything…and if you’d like, I could tell you some stories!....before I…have to go.”

The aftermath of the sudden wind gusts had diminished the bonfire significantly and the moth found herself able to move ever closer, somewhat dangerously as the hot embers tickled her wings.

“Where do you have to go?” she asked with an uneasy sense of dread about her new and appealing “friend”.

“I’m not sure!? I was once ablaze with fiery strength and burning passion...it was like daylight in this clearing! But now....I’m weakening....burning up I suppose!? But never you mind....I’ve got SOME stories to share with you! Wonderful tall tales, and funny jokes and yarns of exploits and adventure that have been told and cherished right here at my very feet!! I’ll try my best to edit for content, since you’re so young and all! Some things in this life you’re better off finding out as you go!”

The bonfire’s tone reflected his own intensity as he shared his stories and his warmth with the enraptured moth. She reddened with embarrassment ( as much as a moth can I suppose!), and flushed with delightful laughter as he re-told the bonfire stories and fireside jokes he’d experienced.

The night passed quickly and giddily, as the bonfire relished the rapt joyousness of his precocious new friend. ( as it often does, among friends.)

With the passing of the night came the realization that the bonfire was dying. His voice had weakened like the fire that had battled the darkness through the cold hours. His spirit began to wane as his strength faltered like the flickering flames.

“I think I’ve...run out of stories... young lady.” The voice a mirror of the ashes soon to become cold in the silent fire pit.

“This has been....you have been....I....”, the last spoken in a breath swallowed up by the breeze.

“You can’t go!”, the frightened young moth was now dangerously close to the bonfire’s coals and hanging on to his words for dear life.

“Please don’t leave me Mister Bonfire!!!!....I....I love you!!!”

There was nothing in response but a dreadful silence as smoke wisped and then wafted from the blinking embers.

Frantically the moth rose up, her wings desperately fanning the cooling charred wood, pleading for a spark of response.

“Mister Bonfire!...Mister Bonfire!?....my love, please say something!”

Seeing one last glowing ember amongst the ashes, she saw with clarity and pure certainty, her beckoning destiny. How she was alive....how she was saved....how she had lived, and learned, and loved was owed to this fading force of life shared – and fulfilled.

The night is not dark by the fire of love, nor cold in its' company or lonely in its' memory.

The young moth hovered briefly, whispered his name one last time, and then flew headlong into the smoldering coal, bursting into tiny flume of fire...her last conscious feelings were those of the loving warmth of his embrace...and the eternal comfort of his words, “ I love you too!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

love a long as you live (extraordinarily)

Grab Grass and Growl #56

2009-10-05T17:29:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

Amongst the veritable cornucopia of topics I could discuss this morning, none seems more appropriate, ( given the time of year, and my wont to write about things I am passionate about), than Football.

Now perhaps you're not a fan of the game?

Perhaps you're not interested in anything "sports-minded" this morning?

Before you go reaching for the "delete" button, let me assure you this is not about the "sport" of the game, but rather its' ESSENCE.

Having played the game at a high level until a nasty shoulder separation, separated me, from aspirations of one day playing professionally, I consider myself qualified to expound on the "Ballet of Violence", that is football.

Despite shrinking student enrollments, the number of teams in our province's High School Football League reached a record 30 teams this year.

This is not only reflective of the game's popularity amongst fans and players, but of its' innate "character building value" by parents and school administrators.

A football program is costly to run, but factored into the thousands of dollars required to outfit a few dozen players are the intrinsic benefits to the school's spirit and community pride.

From my perspective, the dollar value is insignificant when one considers the incalculable value of the Life Lessons and immeasurable character development the sport offers.

One might say that any team sport is essentially a worthwhile tool in teaching good values such a teamwork and commitment, but in no other sport but football, are these lessons HAMMERED home with such agonizing aplomb, and succinct savagery.

Many who watch a 60 minute game are unaware of the countless torturous hours the players have spent in preparation.

Just the act of "stretching" ( a painstaking and strenuous affair essential for performance and injury prevention ), can take up to an hour and is done before every practice as well as games.

As you're watching players get tackled and practically bent in half in the process and you're wondering how they survive the ordeal, it's because they stretched themselves nearly in half before game time.

Hand in hand with flexibility goes supreme physical conditioning; the result of months in the weight room, endless hours of drills, and miles of running, followed by more miles of running.

I wouldn't go as far to suggest that my High School coach, the irrepressible and dynamically deranged Len Sitter, had sadistic tendencies, but his maniacal demeanor would almost soften to a happy grimace when there was PAIN in the air.

He lobbied fiercely against draining the mosquito-infested swamp behind the practice field at St. Paul's because of its' ergonomic suitability for "dry-land training".

Like all beloved and respected coaches though, he had the ability to unearth the "man within the boy".

And while there are of late some women playing football at the college level in the U.S., football is an extremely violent, Manly game.

It is a game of split-second precision and raw power.

It is a game requiring intense courage and poetic coordination.

It is a game with nurtures selfless temerity and extreme physical and mental toughness.

It is a game about which the late great Earl "the Earthquake" Lunsford coined the phrase, "Grab grass and growl!" ; in reference I suppose to its' primitive and yet poignantly earthy essence.

It is a game which develops camaraderie and builds character.

It is a game where success is measured not in individual performance but by TEAM excellence.

It is a game mirroring life's lessons which I'd venture to say has passed by the "troubled" youth we read about in the papers these days; kids that are grabbing the wrong kind of grass and "prowling", not growling.

And while there is a rare few professional ball players who aren't perfect role models for kids today, the truth is most of them are.

Booze and drugs are not synonymous with success in any endeavor in life, but least of all in the rigorously demanding game of football.

To coin a phrase from an old 1950's Blue Bomber fight song,

"...we're the boys from the Bomber Crew,

we don't smoke and we don't chew

and we don't go with girls that DO!"

Now you might be saying my friend, that your boy is too "slight" or "timid" for such a maelstrom of vigor?

Well if you look at the "handsome" nappy-headed young #79 with the "baleful stare", in the accompanying photo, you'll see a skinny-as-all-get out "bean pole" with the gentle heart of a lamb.

But put him out on a football field and that lad became transformed into a rampagingly fearless 165 pound wrecking ball with the heart of a pissed off lion!

And he most CERTAINLY did his best to avoid any of the aforementioned "girls that DO" !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Crusading!)

Dumdy Doo #55

2009-09-28T12:41:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

I offer up to your contemplative mind today, the words of the immortal Roy Orbison...

"...only the lonely, dum dum dum dumdy-doo-wah..."

While many associate Roy's fame with his trademark Wayfarer shades and his warbling falsetto, it is deep and insightful lyrics such as these which stand him in my good stead.

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, and considering the self-imposed "relationship hiatus" I've been on for the past few years, I am especially sensitive to such deep emotional tugs.

Of course someone with less tightly wound heartstrings might be less inclined to be so moved, but even one with a "hardened heart" is not "heart-LESS" and therefore not completely immune to Roy's magical refrain.

I ask the question, (less succinctly perhaps than Roy's "dum dum dum"), "who is not human, that has not felt the dark pang of loneliness?"

Where a single "dum" would have been sufficient, notice Roy adds a second for emphasis and ultimately a tri-fecta of "dums" symbolizing a TRIANGLE, of loss, pain and emptiness; the lonely trio inherent to our human condition.

In those "dums" I hear the echoing cries of newborn baby lonely for a mother he barely knows, and the aching sobs of a widower longing for wife who'd become all he knew.

And like the painful reminder of a nasty wound, I hear all too well my own anguished cries of spiritual loneliness when my world had become a tragic triangle of dums. ( or in retrospect "dumbs"?)

"Only the lonely", intones Roy, whether through unforeseen circumstance or self-imposed, self-destructive antipathy, can truly know the insidious and relentlessly heart-wrenching nature of spriritual and emotional solitude.

Now before you suggest I'm reading quite a bit into a few "dums" which some might attribute as mere syncopatic syllables inherent to much of that era's music such as "doo-wops" and "sha-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la", allow me to clarify by including what I believe belongs in any discussion on such a broadly applicable topic as human suffering.

And that would be Hope.

Or as Roy so beautifully puts it, "...dumdy-do-wah".

I ask you, ( as Roy does so subtly), "So long as we have breath fueling our beating hearts, and the desire to fill its' void, is there not always hope?"

Slightly hidden as it may be, within this anthemic song of heartache lies a message for us all who have walked the stoop-shouldered walk of longing, who've dreamed of fulfillment, prayed for redemption, and cried until tearless; "dumdy-do-wah!" ...."There IS hope"!

By golly I'm HERE as a living testament to realized hope...ACTION sprung from wishes, REALITY emerging from need and SUCCESS resulting from change.

I can't obviously express myself with the eloquence of Roy Orbison but I can tell you a few things about conquering loneliness my friend....

"Shooby-do!"....If you've got a spiritual void in your life, then you need to simply ASK and the Good Lord awaits.

"Do-wop!"...If your dance card is collecting dust instead of dates then you need to clean up your act...get to the gym, take some classes get out of the house and AMONG the living.

"Wanga-dang!"....If it's booze or drugs that's isolating you from life then get your lonely butt to one of a HUNDRED meeting places in this town where hope springs eternal.

"Shoop doop"....DO THE MATH -take but a few moments out of your despairing and do an inventory of your life, multiply it by how much worse it could be, divide it into workable short term goals and begin subtracting yourself from the ranks of the lonely.

You'll have to pardon me for taking some leaps of imagination over founts of optimism here. ( yes they ARE giving poetic licenses to just anybody nowadays! )

I do sow upon soil only recently made arable and highly vulnerable to the whims of nature.

Only the lonely, of whom I am a paid-up alumnus, tend to get a might over-exuberant when the void of hopelessness becomes replaced by something so much the more substantive....like love.

I'm not talking through my hat here....I'm singing through it.

love tImMy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( in song)

To Do #54

2009-09-21T12:17:00.004-05:00

Morning Friend,

On such a poetically beautiful day I offer some beauti.....well, some poetry.

To Do by Tim Lawrence

There’s a certain piece of paper

upon which my days rely

No it’s not a hefty banknote

or a check of value high

It’s my handy-dandy “TO DO” list

ere revised but never tossed

Like a guide without a compass

without it I might get lost

Some folks I know fly through life

by the very seat of their pants

Taking things as they come

and leaving much to chance

But I am a creature of structure

spontaneity is for play

My list helps me prioritize

so no time gets frittered away

Reliability’s no accident

there’s no “trustworthy” gene

a challenged mind like mine excels

within a scripted scene

Now one might gaze upon my list

and find themselves dumbfound

This Maniacal Agenda

would run lesser men aground

Despite some trivialities

like household needs and such

I’ve several lofty things “to do”

and fear’s no more a crutch

Time is life’s sweet essence

every hour tinged with bliss

Every moment’s like ambrosia

with my accentuated list

There are eventualities in life

the great “To Do Unknown”

But my list is put on paper

and not chiseled into stone

It’s more of a Treasure Map

than a firm itinerary

A grocery list for a life lived well

a fool-proof recipe

There are ongoing projects listed

lest my enthusiasm quell

and the “little things” of fiction

that don’t “take care of themselves”

If there’s something I forget today

or an opportunity missed

It’s probable and likely

that it wasn’t on my list

I’ll admit it’s never-ending

I’ll cross one off as I’m adding two

But life’s much more fulfilling

when there’s so much more to do

Though this earthly time is precious

comes a time our souls are whisked

I pray my friend we’ll both be on

The Good Lord’s TO DO List

I’ll surely not get to everything

upon my list today

But I’m crossing off “write poem” now

and sending best wishes your way!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

love as long as you live ( doing)

Vigilance #53

2009-09-15T12:32:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

It's very important for me to be extremely vigilant in my life today.

No there aren't any roving gangs of alcoholic instigators looking to shanghai me into a bender.

Nor do I worry about leaving a pop or a coffee unattended for fear someone might try and spike it.

And any man or woman alive ( except Sophia Loren?), would be wasting their time and energy trying to "convince" me to drink again.

The focus of my vigilance is the enemy within.....my own mind.

The voice.

The insidious virus of my alcoholism is for most of the time, Quarantined, yet it forever lies in wait.

It waits for my vigilance to wane ever so slightly so that its' whispered seeds of doubt may germinate.

"Look at you! Four years sober! ONE drink to celebrate?"

"C'mon....you quit once, you can just turn it off again?"

"What kind of a REAL man are you?"

"You know of course that your not drinking is a "red flag" for the ladies...you're either boring as pee on a plate or you're a psychopath, court-ordered not to drink!?"

"Hey you quit before ever trying Yagermeister...that looks like a wickedly fun drink, no?"

"How about getting on a good old GLOW, just for old times sake?"

"Your dance card is disgraceful young man...whatever happened to the old "Closing Time Closer"?....lotta tipsy empty hearts out there Champ!"

"After all this time, you should be able to CONTROL your drinking....weekends only?....maybe just a couple during the week?....just days ending in 'Y' ?

"What about your old Mantra....Drink like a MAN, get up for work like a MAN?"

"You've got a couple of free days coming up, c'mom NO ONE WILL KNOW!"

I should clarify my friend, that this viral voice does NOT plague my every waking moment with such "temptations".

Yikes!...I'd soon go mad with that kind of chatter constantly ringing in my head.

The truth of the matter is I very nearly did go mad when the voice had a foothold and dominated my daily stream of consciousness.

"Hey man you can't pass out yet...the vendor closes in 20 minutes and if you miss it, you'll wake up to an empty fridge....you don't want that!?!!"

"Yeah yeah, your life sucks...have another drink and forget about it!"

"TOMORROW you can think about quitting...jeez don't waste a good drunk worrying about that crap today!"

"There's nothing like a cold one on a ____day!"

"Another girlfriend dumped ya? Hey there's plenty of fish in the sea right!?"

"What do DOCTOR'S know? That teetotalling bastard probably tells that to everybody!"

"Like a blaze of glory old chap....doin' it YOUR WAY....that's how you want to go out.....live hard, play hard, die hard!"

I am gratefully blessed with ways and means to have shut that darned voice up and to soberly live and play hard. ( the dying part may not rival Bruce Willis in hardness but that's fine)

But it is a daily reprieve.

And each morning's prayer of gratitute includes a vow of continued strength and vigilence.

For no matter how many years of sobriety pass, I will always be but one drink away from square one.

In fact you don't even go back to where you left off.

You don't suddenly start "fresh"; developing a taste for booze and forging new drinking habits.

You start out a step back from your darkest days, only this time you are mired in the frustrating muck of heart-breaking disappointment.

You suddenly find yourself in the anticipated company of a dear old friend who to your horror, has not aged well at all.

Whatever physiological tolerance you had before is measurably weaker.

The tools for alcoholically functioning and the cues you relied on for drunken self-sustainment, are gone.

Your ever present virus relishes the fertile ground of your impairment and the now mutated and fully blown disease flourishes.

The circus....is back in town.

Only this time it's not Ringling Bros.....or anything close.

The lying, begins anew, but in a new and frustrating forum where no one cares to listen, because no one will care.

One of the greatest miracles to me in my recovery, is that I have managed to maintain the integrity of my quarantined virus, and not had a "slip" or anything remotely like one.

Despite the fact that the Good Lord's mercy knows no bounds and that A.A. especially caters to the recently fallen, I am having far too much "hard" fun to start all over again.

So you see why I have the need to be constantly vigilant.

And perhaps also why I seem sometimes lost in thought during the day.

(Sometimes I'm just day-dreaming about Sophia....)

Un-impaired by Tim Lawrence

This bitter nectar douses my upset
a fifth today, I’m not done yet

I know I’m quite a sight today
still lovely, in a hardened way

I was a Prince of promise rare
now an aging King whose Kingdom’s bare

Yes it’s the route which brought me here
hidden away from loved ones dear

But as redemption sweet was tossed
reconciliation’s lost

A reflexive smile as pain subsides
the drunken glee that anguish hides

I’m firmly planted in roiling sand
of sinking hopes – my helm unmanned

I missed the bus, my ship has sailed
a cab to purgatory’s hailed

And if I don’t apologize
it’s simple, I’ve no original lies

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live ( stick on ice)

The Imagination of Kings and Queens #52

2009-09-08T12:21:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

While high atop the "giant" Ferris wheel at Tinkertown last week, it was brought to my oft-wavering attention by my three-year-old niece, God-daughter and "bestest buddy" Ashley, that "you can see the whole world from up here!".

As with many of her profound observations and those of my other two nieces; Angela 7 and Janelle 11, with whom I'd spent the thrill-filled day, I couldn't have agreed more.

Now there are certainly larger Ferris wheels in the world than Tinkertown's 30 foot high "horizon buster".

At the apex of the 443 foot London Eye which holds 800 people, one can see Windsor Castle...25 miles away.

The Singapore Flyer is 541 feet high, holds 784 passengers and boasts a view of parts of Malaysia and Indonesia....30 miles away.

The world's largest Ferris, or "observation wheel" is Beijing's Great Wheel. It is 682 feet high, holds 1920 people, takes a half hour to go around once, and from the top on a clear day you can see parts of the Great Wall of China....over 40 miles away.

Which is all fine and well I suppose for folks in those parts of the world with their apparent, and sadly limited perspective.

A child's perspective is not restrained by facts and figures.

A child's vision is not colored by societal conceptions.

A child's imagination is untroubled by comparative dimensions.

A child's interpretation of time and space can be representative of the boundaries of love and security and the quality of faith and trust in their lives.

If what they see, feel and hear on a daily basis are reinforcements of unconditional love, reaffirmations of God's unending Grace in their lives and reminders of their own unlimited worth, then a child's world becomes a borderless canvas upon which the palette of their imaginations may run wild.

Whoever it was who said "live each day like it was your last", could well have said "....like a joyous child at play!".

I have come to see, ( through ever-clarifying vision), that a child at play is like a joyous dream come to life.

And I am fairly awed by the love on which Janelle, Angela and Ashley are so exquisitely nurtured and the limitless imagination it inspires in them.

And I am immeasurably grateful to have felt the light of their love and the tremendous insight, humility and strength it inspires in me.

It is fear which limits a child.

It is disappointment which jades a child.

It is chaos which unravels a child.

It is darkness which extinguishes a child.

It was ( sister-in-law) Gwen's unfortunately broken leg which gave Mom, Dad and me the blessed opportunity to accompany "my girls" on their Tinkertown visit last week.

I'll admit to some preconceived disdain for the little "kids" amusement park just outside of town with "...the train that goes all around!", but since it was an annual family tradition that the girls were anticipating greatly, I readily agreed.

As so often happens when I am in their company, my not-quite-so "inner" child was reincarnated to the degree that I may have had as much fun or more than they did?

There are probably more than one person who was there who are still wondering about "those three lovely girls with that 6' 5" giddy galoot"?

Having Gramma and Grampa along turned out to be a wise idea in terms of structure and restraint!

No my friend, it's not Disneyland, or Three Flags, or The Ex, or even Wonder Shows.

But on that gloriously lovely day, "hanging out" with three of the most imaginatively ingenious, fanatically fun-loving, contagiously cool and beautifully blessed BLESSINGS that an Uncle could ask for, made it seem like the bestest one ever in the whole wide world!

A world which as I have previously stated, we could SEE....high above the clouds on the gigantic Ferris wheel.

I waved to those folks on the Great Wheel and some of them waved back!

...( kids probably).

love "tinker"-tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( giddily)

Cooking Rice #51

2009-09-01T03:20:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

I was struck in the left brain by my amazing Black and Decker automatic rice cooker this morning.

It wasn't too terribly painful but I'm afraid it may have left a mark.

I don't think it was from being too close?.....I mean the thing has a glass lid for goodness sakes so you can gaze in wondrous awe at rice cooking to "perfection".

There is NOTHING in the instructions which says, "Caution! Overexposure may induce profound metaphoric musing. Symptoms lasting more than 4 hours require immediate editorial intervention!"

I was nevertheless stricken by how this remarkably simple and cleverly effective appliance is a lot like my life itself these days.

Let me first say that as one who has eaten and enjoyed my own primitively prepared "imperfect" rice on many occasions I can tell you I was skeptical about adding another "gadget" to my already space-challenged kitchen. ( It's so crowded I've got to go outside to change my mind!)

Besides which there was always an element of "'adventure" to rice-cooking that made the finished product - which could be anywhere in the range from "gloppy" to "crispy" - a little more palatable.

But I'm here to tell you, the thing works like a charm.

And the concept is simple. ( as simple as it must now be for the inventor to pretty well "print his own money"!)

What you do is simply throw in a specific amount of rice, water and spices, push a button, and walk away.

As Buckwheat would say, "It's a simple as that!".

Come back 20 minutes later and it's not only cooked but it's sitting in "warm" mode; a good thing indeed for those who might walk WAAAY away.

The machine has some sort of spring loaded SCALE which initiates the cooking cycle based on the weight of the uncooked rice and water.

Once the weight reduces to what "perfect and fluffy" rice should weigh, it clicks down into warm.

It's not "fool-proof" because you do have to put the correct ratio of rice to water but the measuring lines for that are clearly marked and the instructions are pretty concise and understandable, ( even to a pseudo-fool like myself).

Now the REAL beauty of this little beauty is in the spice.

You can put just about ANY flavoring your little culinary heart desires... from garlic ( my favorite), to lemon, tomato, pineapple, mustard, hot pepper, bacon, anchovy, curry....even cinnamon!

So there you have it my friend....POWER!

The power and abilty to concoct a perfectly textured side dish, ( or MAIN dish if you happen to be poor or oriental?) which you can customize, tantalize, kick up ( or down) a notch, zestify, inundate, fabulate and modulate....JUST the way you want!

As I sat there basking in the garlicky aroma of what was going to be part of my lunch today, and the aura of the magnificent day itself, I got to thinking about how so much of my day to day life has become simply beautiful, in its' beautiful simplification.

(I've got to do something with my mind without the rice to worry about now don't I?)

Do you ever lay in bed some mornings a little fearful of the day ahead?

And then when the courage to arise comes, it's tempered with hope, that it's going to be an O.K. day?

Do you then tip-toe discreetly trying to get through the day without too much fuss....blandly....like plain, ill-cooked rice?

As you may know, I spent years living like that.

Fearfully hoping that the days, and the rice, wouldn't be too terribly bad.

My recipe for living was complicated by alcoholic over-indulgence, convoluted by spiritual starvation, confused by erratic irrationality and decidedly not simple.

Feeling anywhere from "gloppy to crispy" made just getting out of bed in the morning an adventure.

In concert with the daily physiological toll that heavy drinking takes out on a person is a painfully palpable plethora of problems and confounding complications that just make everything, everyone and every eventuality difficult to swallow.

As far as flavor went, there always seemed to be too much of what you won't find on any spice rack; anger-root, sorrow-sauce, self-pity powder, fear-leaf, doubt-seed, pain paste, and of course always overdone with the hopeless-shire!

To have come from that, and now simply turning myself ON each day like a switch, knowing the day is going to be at a minimum "perfect" but likely moreso depending on how many notches up I choose to kick it, never ceases to amaze me.

Like that amazing little rice cooker.

I've got the Good Lord to thank for the perfectly amazing days.

And now Black and Decker for the amazingly perfect rice!

Amazing.

Love timmy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( truly)

The Family #50

2009-08-25T11:55:00.004-05:00

Morning Friend,

Unlike the proverbial parents who were in the Iron and Steel Business, ("...my Mom ironed and my Dad stole..."), my Mom and Dad are big in the field of SHARING.

It is not surprising really, given the harsh lessons in survival, compassion, and good will learned at the feet of parents who'd endured the Great Depression. ( during which some people did iron and steal ).

In the still lean post-Depression years of their childhood, sharing was more than just an attribute of a well-rounded individual, it was a way of life.

Prosperity wasn't measured in stock portfolios but by how much if any, meat was on the bones in the soup pot.

Good fortune was a job - any job - and good health.

Supplemental income could be found through bartering, bootlegging and some seasonal hay-baling.

One could always afford to be charitable, if only from the heart.

Like a solid oak tree, the family was nourished and strengthened by its' roots; a cousin who had this, an uncle who knew how to do that, or a sister-in-law who was willing to part with something else.....

And as it flourished, each branch growing outward into the world is forever linked to those roots and held firm to the mighty trunk with the bark of family fellowship and shared love. ( and the "sweet"? memory of that big old grey tub of shared Saturday night bath water.)

Times change.

But Mom and Dad's memory of when turkey-neck soup and patched jeans weren't a delicacy and a fashion statement is still fresh.

Ideals change.

But one principle still and always works in their world..."When one has, everyone has....when everyone has nothing, at least we have each other!"

Morals change.

But the Golden Rule, one of my earliest life lessons, remains a cornerstone family tradition.

Family dynamics change.

But there's ALWAYS room for one more at the table.

I offer this bit of information this morning to the latest persons to have experienced the Lawrence Family Hospitality; David and Sheila Parker from Southampton U.K. who are just rounding out a ( much too brief) 2 week visit.

They met Mom ( finest problem solver the world ever saw), and Dad ( who never met a "stranger" in his life), last winter in Barbados and after discovering some remarkable parallels and shared experiences in their lives, they became "lifelong friends" instantly.

Their visit had been eagerly anticipated like "long lost relatives" and despite the weather, Mom and Dad managed a pretty full and interesting itinerary mix of culture, recreation and "down home" family get-togethers.

I'm not privy to all the shared experiences that those people find to talk about for hours on end.

They're nearly the same age, so despite being an ocean apart I'm sure they've faced similar challenges and some of the same generic family crises.

In the conversations I've had with the fun-loving "curmudgeon wanna-be" David, and the elegantly charming Sheila, I've reaffirmed my good fortune in being a member of my family.

The near incredulous delight in their eyes is like the light of God's love and the bright hopeful hearts of my family which led me from the darkness.

The warmth of their gratitude poignantly reminds me of the oasis of my family's love that sheltered me when my spirit was far, far from home.

How perfect strangers meeting in a strange place less than a year ago are today's Aunty Sheila and Uncle David lighting up the children's faces, sharing drinks and colorful jokes with the boys and gossip and recipes with the gals is a testament to the universal wonder and magic of sharing.

Like a shared loaf of day-old bread in lean times past, everyone gets a nice slice of peace, prosperity and joy at our family's table nowadays.

It's the way it's always been my friend. ( but with fresh bathwater)

It's a Family business.

G'day and God Bless.

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( spot on )

Limiting Out on Love #49

2009-08-18T01:29:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

A single bloke needs all the help he can get on the wacky 21st century dating scene.

It's a jungle out there....a roiling sea....a frenzied maelstrom of uncertainty and peril.

Which is why, in an effort to calm the waters, I've "taken the gloves off" as it were and gone to the locked cupboard where the heavy guns are kept.

No I'm not talking mail-order brides here but something almost as sure of a thing.

Not a level playing field but one not imperceptibly tipped in MY favor.

I'm talking about renowned angler and ladies man Babe Winkelman's little known ( and surprisingly unpublished) guide to success for single gents: "FISHING FOR A DATE?....from Skunked to Scoring in 10 easy steps!"

As I began reading the dusty manuscript I was immediately stricken by one of those forehead slapping, "D-oh!...Why didn't I think of this before!?" moments.

He's taken several widely known elements of successful angling and applied them to the singles scene which for many single men is a veritable pond of loneliness.

I'll of course share some of Babe's brilliance with you today with a reminder that like the sport of fishing itself, you don't actually have to know how to fish in order to appreciate it.

I should also echo the sentiments of the guide's disclaimer which reminds the reader that "because LUCK is as much a factor in fishing as it is all areas of life, some days are just going to be "bad" ones, despite the very BEST of your efforts and intentions - remember, the thrill is in the chase....and at least you're not at WORK."

-BAIT Unless a gal is indiscriminately ravenous, like say a carp or a shark, she won't bite on anything unsavory. As you are the bait, you must appeal to all of her senses positively in order to trigger a feeding response. Freshness is appealing to all species. Loud or ridiculously matched clothing can and will frighten away many quality hits. Chumming the water with humorous or clever conversation is never a bad idea.

-PRESENTATION is the trickiest part of angling and goes to its' core....presenting the bait in the most flatteringly irresistible manner possible. Your mind should be a hooked array of sharpened wits and senses; a dazzling but not overwhelming...enticing but not overpowering LURE. Cast aside your inhibitions and troll the deepest depths undaunted by the odd, but easily overcome snag.

-LOCATION Fast-moving streams of females are often seen flowing in and out of nightspots around any urban region. But again the question begs what sort of catch are you after? Plenty of piranhas and scavengers to choose from here but you might be wise to try slower waters if it's "keepers" you want. There are as many locations to choose from as their are angling challenges, but none of them are attainable if you're at home on the couch in front of the T.V. or computer cutting bait.

-PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCE Forcing any issue at all with that particular hawg you've got on your finder is about as wise as yanking hard on a sunfish bite....nothing but grief all 'round. A fisherman trying too hard is about as subtle as blood in the water and likely to cause a leaving frenzy. The fishing story worth a shared lifetime will often have dozens of preambles positing and praising your patient persistence and aplomb. She will have been "...landed before she knew she was hungry!...".

-TACKLE an angler with his equipment in poor repair will be fishing the River of Tears and buying fillets on the way home. If you care for your gear like it was made to last a lifetime it will do so very effectively. Fresh lines and good leaders make for excellent action in even the most treacherous of structure, and unstructure.

-DEMEANOR & CHARACTER are as much keys to success in a fishing boat as they are on the Love Boat. The combination of steady hands, a keen eye and a stout heart distinguishes the pure angler from the bait cutting lunker. The strength of character gleaned from a healthy kinship with Nature and respect for all God's creation are a Master Angler's hallmarks.

-ETIQUETTE It is a popular myth really that fishing trips are nothing more than bawdy drunken getaways. Those are drinking trips with some fishing. A babbling drunk will catch just as many fish as he will dates -none of either- while the Fisher Man, at one with nature is feeling the undulations of his quarry with his soul and listening, to her approaching heartbeat as he visualizes her mouth....her lips.......

I'm sure if you've seen Babe Winkleman on television as I have my friend, you're probably having as hard a time as I did matching that jowly old mug of his to these powerful and insightful words, let alone his recently revealed reputation as a "chick magnet"?

Are there such things as "fishing show groupies"?

Nevertheless I can certainly see eye to walleye with him on several of his points.

It's cast things in a different light and given me some reel insight.

And if worse comes to worse I can always go fishing.

Or change my name to Babe?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( barb-less )

The Rest Stop #48

2009-08-10T12:35:00.006-05:00

Morning Friend,

According to the unwritten "code" on the Palliative Care Ward at St. Boniface General Hospital, "no-one dies alone".

Despite that fact that no person, not even a doctor can predict exactly how long a dying person has, there are definite physiological signs near the very end which are synonymous with someone's last hours.

It is at that point in time that family members who may not already be at the bedside are notified.

It is at that point that reluctant goodbyes are softly encouraged to those present who may still be in a state of denial or are perhaps yet praying for a miracle.

Such a sight of soft comforting caresses and whispered loving murmurings at the end of one's journey is at times as powerfully beautiful as a Mother's loving embrace at its' beginning.

There are occasions when family must travel from out of town or have just left the hospital for a break when this crisis stage arrives.

Or in some cases sadly where the patient has no family.

This is where the "code" comes into play and staff members take turns at the bedside until family members, or the end, arrives.

Unlike the nurses who have other patients' ongoing issues to mind, the bulk of this bedside duty was often gladly undertaken by yours truly.

I have as yet in my life experienced nothing as profoundly humbling or soulfully illuminating as this communion with the dying.

To whisper softly, "It's O.K. now....you're alright....it's O.K. to go now..." as you caress the worries out of a furrowed brow and grasp their cooling hand in a loving farewell as the Good Lord blessedly takes it into His own.

And you have MEANT those last words because it IS "O.K."....for that person's winding road of life has led them to this safe and spiritual place of earthly disembarkation where the fellow seeing them off is pretty much "A.O.K." !

What little you know of that person and their life, and whatever is going on in your life, become instantly insignificant to the poignant sharing of two heartbeats; one slow and hearty, the other weakly fluttering....until there is just one.

You don't have to experience that too many times before you develop a pretty fair appreciation for the beauty, fragility and calculably finite nature of life.

My own journey has been beset with a plethora of terrains and at times, pitfalls, but the years where my "road" was a hospital hallway accompanying those in their final mile was paved with supreme and sacred honor.

Now my friend, you're wondering "why?... on such a gorgeous summer morning Ab, are you writing about something so "bleak"???

Well it's because death is a part of life... it just happens to come at the end.

So until you get there, which you will too soon enough, I just felt like offering a friendly reminder - especially on such a fortuitously fantastic day.....to GET LIVING!

And also to say that any "problem" that life throws at you, short of a terminal illness, is just that: a problem short of a terminal illness.

And as a special Monday BONUS, I'd like to share a tribute I wrote to the "special" ( a word which doesn't nearly do them justice), people who work with the terminally ill.

At St. Boniface the ward is now located on the 8th floor but this was written at the time they transferred from the 3rd.....thus the reference to "Highway #3".

God bless them... bless you....share the blessings!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (compassionately)

The Rest Stop ( on Highway #3 ) by tImMy

Here did lone stars tarry between heaven and earth
Singe-winged angels found rest, redemption and safe passage
Here is where weary travelers paused between life and rebirth

Here did fretful souls strengthen thou bodies failed
No tear-soaked pillow could extinguish the fire of a lifetime
Here; the port from where valiant ships of destiny sailed

Here were last steps taken; uncertain and exquisite as the first
the intervening miles of triumph and tragedy were sustaining memories
Here the best was provided for those at their worst

The walls still echo with the passion of those who cared here
Their comforting faith rendered desperation into something somehow manageable
Here the floors are stained by those who managed all but their own tears

Here were forged fierce bonds of camaraderie, devotion and love
Many found purpose and exaltation within a phenomenal team
Days ended with the gratitude of strangers and the favor of God above

Here is where life's trivialities were treated inconsequentially
Everyone seemed to know a happier farmer on a rainy day
Here is where every easy breath was cherished exponentially

Here is where suffering became rapture and wretchedness glee
Heroes reigned on either side of a bedrail;
scientists and truckers, poets and housewives
Here is where the dying ceased, at the Rest Stop, on Highway # 3

Abraham's ( Summer) Glossary - #47

2009-08-05T03:09:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

Because the beauty, the bounty and for some, the beastliness of Summer is so often indescribable, I have called upon my uniquely bent perspective and constructed a crude glossary to accomplish that very thing.

With August's arrival comes the MEAT of the summer season in this part of the world, so with none too great a measure of humility I present to you this morning, a "side of potatoes and gravy" as it were...

ABRAHAM'S ( SUMMER ) GLOSSARY

( with apologies to linguists... and the overly sensible/sensitive/sequestered)

* in no particular order

BLEEN - poor vision associated with cheap sunglasses.

NOSKEET - the speedy and seamless entry into a tent or cabin accompanied by the least number of insects possible.

PEERCHER - an obviously badly sunburned individual who continues to frolic in the sun seemingly unaware - or drunkenly indifferent- to their burgeoning blisters and imminent agony.

SKIRTION - a collision resulting from a driver's distraction by scantily clad pedestrians.

REPHALATION - the return of the male anatomy to its' normal state following cold water "shrinkage".

SHMEBS - the endless festoon of spiderwebs and caterpillar strings which strike one's face while walking in the woods.

SHWACKS - the endless branch-slaps in the face associated with walking too closely behind someone through moderate to heavy brush.

FUNGY - the way a log gets after a year or more on forest floor.

ORSINATION - the ability of dogs, cats, large rodents and even tree branches rubbing together in a dark forest at night to sound exactly like hungry bears.

SEROON - a pristine state of mind generated by the glassy surface of a lake on a windless day.

BOTTOMOBIA - fear of impending doom while in a leaky boat during bad weather.

FLEISHING - the acceptable practice of sharing untruths regarding fishing achievements.

EXFINATION - the increase in size ( usually 10% per "tell") of a fish in a fish story.

GOOSH - to start a campfire using gasoline, kerosene, or other highly flammable accelerants.

FROZID - the unfortunate and infinitely uncomfortable combination of being cold and in wet clothing simultaneously.

MOGG - irritating person ( often drunk) who incessantly and hazardly stirs and piles wood onto an already blazing campfire.

MOGG-DUNKER - one who hurls a Mogg into the nearest lake after having their hair and clothes set afire by an errant ember shower.

FARTILLA - the smell inside an enclosed tent or camper occupied by one or more imbibers of beans, legumes and/or several beer.

EXCELLENATURAMUNDO - the sound of car doors closing at the last pit stop before heading out of town for the weekend.

TOP DRAWER - expressing first class excellence such as campgrounds with hot showers and flush toilets.

CARDIOPAUSE - the momentary cessation of vital signs upon jumping into cold lake water.

DINKLING - the slow and often painstaking process of reaching thigh-depth into a cold lake.

COALITE - one extolling the oft unrecognized dietary virtues of carbon while eating a burnt-black wiener or marshmallow.

KAKITY - the smell and sound of the city after a weekend spent in the outdoors.

GOSHING - the suppression of common curses and epithets following a mishap, such as losing one's camera, watch or wallet out of a boat in deep water.

PALATADROME - the phenomenon of food tasting better cooked outdoors.

BLUELIP - the hypothermic appearance of manic but otherwise healthy children frolicking in cold lake water.

TICKORTIONISM - the self-examination of one's nether regions for wood ticks.

BUNYONIA - the exhilaration associated with splitting a log with a single blow.

BUNYACKING - the none-too precise process of removing an axe deeply imbedded in a large "green" log.

SHEWING - eating fish ( often poorly filleted), that has bones in it.

HERKEMER JERKWATER (1892-1912)- the one and only documented case of a man choking to death on a fish bone. Jerkwater, a drifter from Chicago where he was known as the "town drunk" reportedly had visited a less than reputable south side sushi bar where several witnesses described him drunkenly "inhaling" raw fish before an errant bone finally did him in.

RESERTAFICATION - the renewed appreciation for one's own bed after a weekend in a tent.

LURUSION - the misguided belief that the appetites of most fish species are enhanced by heavy rainfall.

APPETITIOUS - the smell of bacon cooking on a open fire.

FOCALBURNERS - ill fitting or ill advised styles of swimwear.

SOPHIAN - the extraordinarily wonderful way your wife or girlfriend feels ( and smells) in your arms after a weekend fishing with "the boys".

INCONTINENTAL - one running away from a bear.

URINTITIS - the non-emergent need to pee while in a sleeping bag which can wait till morning.

EUFORESTIA - the supreme sense of awe, wonder and gratefulness to God one experiences in Nature.

Enjoy the rest of the summer my friend!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( interpreting)

Shine #46

2009-07-27T12:05:00.003-05:00

Morning Friend,

I've been taken advantage of in recent weeks and I can't quite put into words, how wonderful it is.

No, I'm not talking about the advantage-taking that costs virtue, but rather the type that requires it.

And that would of course be, designated driving.

It is a heretofore unrealized joy to be so vigorously entrusted.

Oh I've given LOTS of people rides home in my life previously, but MANY of those times were very much hope-tinged and faith challenged.

Back then we hoped I was "still O.K. to drive" and held great faith and store in "the God who looks after drunks and small children".

I actually cringe when I think of the dozens of times I "one-eyed" it down the road foolishly flaunting a carload of friends' lives or woke up not remembering a 30 minute drive home the night before.

I must say I was never as bad as Rodney Dangerfield who, the day after a drunk had to "look for his car....and take back the car he took !"

Now, with a virtuous - or at least soberly so- Mr. Stainer running the shuttle, we all may have faith and comfort in the certainty that the night's revelry will end as perfectly as it should with everyone tucked in safely at home.

...well I don't actually do any tucking, but you get my drift.

As far as taking advantages go I'd have to call this a saw-off.

It's certainly a "win/win" for yours truly.

- I get to drive...a pure and personal pleasure.

- I don't drink anyway so I'm not sacrificing anything.

- I get to "work the room" with new jokes.

- I get regaled by the drink-inspired Wisdom of Kings.

- I get reminded of how "unwise" and "unkingly" drunks are.

- I get a small measure of redemption for past foolishness.

- I get my beloved friends home safe and sound.

- I get the good feeling associated with being on the right path with the Good Lord as my co-pilot.

It was at one of these recent functions that my own journey was lit with the memory of an old friend who lost his way on the path.

It seemed that most, if not all of the crowd remembered me for a poem I'd written for his funeral.

He was a most beloved fellow and it is a testament more to the enormity of his bittersweet legacy, than my humble words said 5 years ago which triggered so many sad smiles remembering "Johnny Shine".

Johnny was one of those individuals who actually shone; a light of enthusiastic eloquence, effervescent energy and unconstrained calamity to his world and all who were a part of its' wondrous collage.

He was a man of great excesses both good and bad, but the good far and away out-shone the bad and you would have liked him my friend.

On the road of his life however you would have to have called him a "reckless driver".

He wasn't killed in an automobile accident but he nevertheless died along his road, desperate, for a designated driver.

He was alone.

Truly and sadly.

If he'd only known then what I have since learned , I am certain that my friend Johnny Shine would have caught a ride with someone.

And knowing that keeps my co-pilot permanently in the jump seat.

And it makes being taken advantage of... like a ride home.

love tImMy:/

Johnny’s Shine by Tim Lawrence

Wait for me down at the riverbank Johnny, with crawlers whiskey and a song

Sing loudly so I can find you, but wait cause I won’t be too long

Tell me a story at the riverbank Johnny, make me laugh while you’re catching more fish

Smile like the glistening water, grin like God’s granted your wish

Catch me a fish at the riverbank Johnny, put your line true to the test

Fish till you’ve limited out, till it’s time to finally rest

Sing me a song at the riverbank Johnny, I’ll join in and sing along with you

We’ll sing about heartache and pain, about sweet love precious and true

Hold my hand down at the riverbank Johnny, I’m hurting and I need to know

Was the Winter’s too long frozen river, the reason that you had to go?

Let’s say a prayer at the riverbank Johnny, put down your rod and your pain

Let’s look to the heavens together, and pray we’ll be here once again

The sunshine rains down on the riverbank Johnny, you’ve caught now release all your woes

Your wonderful spirit is sailing dear friend, away upon God’s river flow

Wait for me down at the riverbank Johnny, I’ll join you and we’ll wet a line

There’s “honey” spots along Heaven’s river, for you and me dear Johnny Shine

For My Friend Johnny Peters

May 2004

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (advantageously)

Making your own luck -#45

2009-07-20T12:52:00.001-05:00

Morning Friend,

A local woman who last week won a third share of a $10 million lottery says a fortune teller predicted that very thing....30 years ago.

Isn't that amazing!?

Boy, now I know why they call them "fortune" tellers.

And skeptical old me used to think that those sideshow seers were nothing more than heartless shills who took advantage of people's superstitious naiveté and hopeful vulnerability. ( like the one who said I'd be "happily married with 4 children"!?)

Now old "Zelda" - which I'll call our prodigious prognosticator - was likely non-specific about just when the lottery would be won so 30 years is not too outrageous of a "window"; maybe for romance, but not money.

It's probably not in Zelda's best interests to reveal actual dates associated with her visions.

The titillating vagueness of her predictions keeps the "marks"...I mean CLIENTS coming back.

And I can certainly see tremendous problems associated with someone KNOWING the actual date on which they are going to be a winner.

Our winner- whom I'm calling "Esperanza"- might have spent the last 30 years lollygagging instead of faithfully working and spending her $12 a week on lottery tickets.

Indeed Esperanza might well have become a rather unsavory, lackadaisical character if she simply rolled through life KNOWING that her reward was just a few decades down the road.

Imagine the TAB she might have run up... if anyone could run one for 30 years? ( there goes your 3 mil!)

Imagine how many people she might have alienated and bridges she might have burned knowing a small fortune was just...a short half a lifetime away.

Imagine what a mindless blur the 30 years would be; holding on...and waiting.

Imagine 30 years of colorless and odorless TODAYS spent longing for the taste and essence of tomorrow's promise.

I can't imagine a jail sentence being any less debilitating to one's enjoyment of life than simply marking time till your ship comes in.

I don't imagine any sized jackpot could compensate for that many lost years.

Besides making interesting copy for the media, these warm and fuzzy stories about lottery winners and fortune tellers are a boon to lottery sales and the fortune telling industry.

This particular one got me thinking, after I stopped laughing.

I'm quite certain that Esperanza hasn't spent every Thursday, Saturday and Sunday morning of the past 30 years checking her lottery numbers and cursing Zelda's incompetence.

Like everyone else with a dream, a lucky rabbit's foot, a four leaf clover and a crystal ball's "certainty", she's been faithfully buying tickets; likely more faithful in the need to have a ticket in order to win, than the accoutrements of superstition and luck.

The approximately $18,720 ( not counting Casino visits), which she's spent in the last 30 years is certainly "chump change" now that she's won $3.3 million, but she earned it along the way, working, living her life and hoping... for the Big One.

Well "good for you Ezzie!" I say, and "good for Zelda" also, who will likely be booked solid for a long time, ( unless the poor dear saw her own demise in the same imminent vision as Esperanza's windfall?)

For many folks, the Ultimate Lottery Grand Prize awaits with the Good Lord in Heaven.

No fortune teller of any prowess can predict the winning names or dates of this multiple-winner-lotto.

It's drawn at any and every second of every day.

Winners come from all walks of life; all stations and situations.

You can get a ticket everywhere you find someone in need of helping hand or a kind word.

The smile, the grateful handshake, and the warm feeling are advanced subsidiary prizes.

While "luck" doesn't enter into this contest, I count myself blessedly fortuitous in recent years to have discovered the strength, humility and serenity needed to tip the odds in my favor.

Remember my friend the bottom line of lotteries the world over....you can't win, if you don't have a ticket.

In the meantime, if a fortune teller sees romance in your "future"....ask her if she can narrow it down a bit.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (fortunately)

Is is just me? #44

2009-07-13T12:00:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

There's nothing really at all that I consider myself an "expert" at ( disregarding "drinking myself stupid" ).

But like anyone else who's lived a goodly number of years I am "experienced" at a great many things.

I once mistakenly, and quite foolishly followed some friends down an "expert" ski run at Banff one year; they skied...I tumbled, so I can attest to the sometimes painful knowledge that some things are best left to experts.

Like anyone though with a few decades of experience under their belt, ( or someone after a few too many belts), I have no shortage of opinions.

I believe it's been said opinions are like noses....everyone has one. ( It's actually not "noses" but some other singular bit of human anatomy which more effectively colors the saying but which I needn't highlight for today's purposes).

If you've read more than a few of these than you already know where I stand on a number of issues - I have quite a few "noses" essentially.

I come by them quite honestly being raised by intelligent and highly opinionated parents in a 7 children home where intellectual opinion, frank discussion and borderline-chaotic verbal exchange was never in short supply, and was in fact fostered.

Having parents who are polar opposites on many sociological and political issues, but have still stayed married for 51 years, has taught me much about respecting the opinions of others, admitting when you're wrong, agreeing to disagree....and not going to bed mad.

I have learned that unless you're alone on a island, it's best to keep one's ears and mind open, as well as one's mouth while opining.

You and I might have differing opinions on certain subjects my friend, but through calm and respectful discourse, or a heated and grudgingly tolerant debate, we can often both learn how dead-on right, or terribly wrong-headed both of us are.

With that in mind, I present an olio of experience-based and NOT expert opinions for a lovely Monday's mulling entitled, IS IT JUST ME.....

...or wasn't last Wednesday the "point of no return" for the changes needed to avert the Global Warming Catastrophe?....or is it THIS Wednesday?....or was that the ICE AGE?

...or do the oil companies think they are "fooling" anyone during the annual summer GOUGE?

...or is it a coincidence that successful athletes don't drink or smoke?

...or is any sight more insulting to the feminine form than an overweight woman in spandex?...WHO is telling them they look "hot"?

...or shouldn't the men's Speedo be outlawed...forever?

...or isn't it about time that we realize our present-day "justice" system doesn't work, and go to a tried and true method like public flogging?

...shouldn't store bought "tomatoes" be given another name, since they don't smell or taste remotely like the real thing?...how about "air-atoes"?

...or are young women's fashions mindful of many classic literary and film characterizations of prostitutes?

...or isn't it time to put God back in our schools?...Who hasn't yet made the connection between youth crime and Spiritual deficiency?

...or shouldn't we be allowed to administer one firm but thoughtful "cuff to the back of the head" of people who have attained a level of ignominiousness so deplete of basic intellect as to render them ignorant of their own stupidity?...like most drivers?

...or shouldn't the word "promise" be banished from political jargon, or have we become collectively content to be governed by liars?

...or has the human imagination run dry and all the "good" ideas for movies been used up?

...or have cell phones and texting taken the anticipatory wonderment and romantic mystery out of courtship and relationships?

...or is it not a crying shame given today's technologically advanced and globally conscious world, that millions of people suffer and die each year from HUNGER when there's plenty of food to go around?

...or do not enough people "smell the roses" until it's too late?

I think that about covers the "top of my head" this morning.

I of course welcome any and all rebuttal...especially from experts!

...and I promise not to go to bed mad.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( off the fence )

Pomodoro Papa - #43

2009-07-06T13:49:00.002-05:00

Morning Friend,

In an effort to fill the void of parenthood that I've unfortunately let pass me by, I've taken to raising tomatoes in a make-shift garden on the rooftop of my apartment.

I can actually feel the breeze created by your, and a hundred other eyebrows raising at the notion of my comparing child raising to tomato growing, but bear with me.

Granted it is no small stretch of reality and imagination, but that's what we do here.

And of course I'm not talking about the entire parental void, from pre-natal to graduation, rife with uniquely human folly and happenstance that no botanical lifespan can match.

My tomato "children" arrived well out of diapers, colic and the assortment of diseases and ailments that plague a child, and parent's early years, at about "pre-school" age you could say.

You could also say that these "adoptees" couldn't have found a better "Dad".

Or a safer home above the mean streets atop a warm and fragrant pizza restaurant drenched in all day southern exposure.

My landlord is unaware of my little "horticultural daycare" but until M.M. starts publishing in Italian, my family is safe.

Rooted as they are outdoors I never have to shoo them away from the computer and out into the fresh air, nor do I fret about them roaming the streets with gangs of unsavory peppers and wild dill, or running off in a pickup truck of farm tomatoes looking for a good time in the big city.

Their elevated position keeps them safe from garden raiders, and me from having to install "sitter-cams".

Because I like to "putter" in the garden, especially on hot and sunny days with a good book and a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic ( S.P.F. 0 ), I spend a lot of quality time with the kids.

Notice I said "putter" and not "putsky"; a word my Grandmother used in reference to unsavory and decidedly unproductive activity.

For Granny's sake, , I try not to "putsky" around if I can help it at any time and certainly not in front of the children.

They seem to enjoy the music I play in front of them, but because of the great variety of artists ( Vivaldi to Velvet Revolver), I'm not sure which might be credited for their prolific growth. It might well be the blues bands that play twice weekly beneath them?

Or the sound of traffic along the busy street below?

Or the sirens of ambulances coming and going from the hospital across the street?

Or the sound of my voice as I talk to them?

Not the face to face, sit down, heart to heart talks that made me cringe as a youngster, no not those.

I greet them warmly and make sure to always compliment and encourage them.

As with music, I'm not sure whether smoother tones work better than harsh ones, and I'm not of a mind to experiment with the impact of critical and negative influences on my plants.

We already know my friend what that does to real children.

Besides which, there's always the chance that they might decide to just not listen to me, in which case I'd be talking to myself? ( which is okay I guess if you're alone on a rooftop...or a "real" parent?)

If plants could be obese, then mine would be fodder for bullies, because I feed them religiously and prodigiously.

Fortunately they have good drainage which compensates sufficiently for my and Mother Nature's over-watering. ( Ahh that it could be as simple with some of our more gluttonous offspring!?)

* I'll share a SECRET you can use next year if you're so inclined. Place a banana peel beneath the roots when planting....young tomato plants do quite well with the potassium boost!

As for the rest of their nutritional needs, they get a nice little scoop of Miracle-Gro every few days, ( mixed with their water "on the sly" of course...it doesn't do to tell them its' "good" for them).

I do my own pruning and while it's not "professional", it's not a "bowl cut" either.

I don't know much about today's styles - as one look at me will confirm - but I do know that a well pruned plant, like a well groomed child, has better odds of being successful.

You won't find Plant and Family Services visiting me on account of my unruly children.

While it certainly hasn't been a perfect growing season, my kids are doing quite well.

There are some things which affect them that I frustratingly, have no control over.

I just do the best I can with the things I do.

Children and plants, are remarkably resilent.

I realise that with minimal or even derelict care my plants would blossom ( which they did beautifully), and eventually bear fruit ( which they have recently begun to do marvelously), but to see them actually THRIVING; at the top of their game... the Peak of the Market...as veritable valedictorian vinelings, is so intrinsically delightful and succinctly satisfying as to make anyone feel like a Proud Father!

With parenting as with gardening, you reap what you sow.

Makes me glad my parents had "green thumbs".

* I will of course enjoy eating my tomatoes as they reach maturity ( on toast with mayo mostly). Isn't that what some species do with their young?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (fertilely)