Ex-Tree-dinary #58

*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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 )