Day 272: Earth, Wind & Fire

Just saying that this band was the shieeeet. Every time I hear them I want to move, as in shake the goods. What a gift. Takes me back to the good ole days of rolling skating and making the laps to the groove sounds of Earth , Wind, and Fire and the like. Kids today don't know the glory of a funky bass line backed by a dynamite horn section all serving as the foundation for impossibly tight harmonies. Just saying.

Day 271: One Moment In Time

Some weeks, the days seemingly run into one another like a stream of water pouring out of a facet and flowing down the drain. One minute the water is in your hands, the next minute it's gone. Poof. Vanished. Never coming back. You can reach as far as you want down that drain, but you aren't going to pull anything back up. That's what days can feel like. Here one minute, gone the next. Unless. . . .  

Unless you focus on the small things that might not matter but somehow still do--like the guy standing on the street corner this morning wearing an old farmer's hat and sweet-ass bib overalls. He was waiting for the bus, I assume, and he was holding what looked to be a bag of groceries. All these hours later, I'm still wondering what was in that bag. 

Or the short, middle-aged man hitting golf balls back and forth at the park during lunch. Hit and retrieve. Hit and retrieve. His back swing was atrocious. His follow-through was even worse. But damn if his ball didn't fly straight and true, and better, he looked like he was having fun. Whatever it takes, man.  

Or the guy dressed all in black who flew by me doing a million miles an hour on his Harley, engine roaring, hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses on tight reflecting the sun like a face in a mirror. Man, I wanted to switch places with him so badly. Wanted to hear that roar up close and personal. 

Or the sunflower seeds I popped in my mouth during my 3 o'clock walk this afternoon. Seed after seed after glorious, salty seed, Crack, shovel, spit, chew. Repeat. Sunflower seeds practically define "simplicity." 

Or the funky, faded tattoos on the man standing in front of me at the gas station. I see him there pretty much every morning, yet he's still a mystery. I like to make up different histories and realities for him. Give him a different name depending on my mood, how he's dressed, and how much beer he's buying already at 8 a.m. I like to think he's taking that beer home to sit on a lawn chair in his garage and watch cars pass all day with no place to go himself. No responsibilities. No worries. Just beer and sun. Chuckling at all the monkeys coming and going. That's what I would do if I was Jonesy. Or should I call him Dusty or Fred or Mac? 

I hear people say all the time, "I'm so bored" or "there's nothing to do." Drives me mad each time. Your life, my friend, has reached a mundane state because you're mundane. It doesn't take much to change that. 

Day 270: Replacement Refs

The whole topic of the NFL's replacement refs is both beyond sad and funny to me. 

It takes a good ole' replacement ref-like situation to come along every few years to remind me just insane of a time I live in, not to mention how insane of a world. As much as the reality of replacement refs entertains me, it's also a bit depressing when you think of it.  

It's both saddening and humorous, for example, how quickly people (including myself more often than I'd like to admit) flip-flop to suit their needs. In terms of the NFL's replacement refs, for example, you have a group of men who belong to a union, didn't like what was being offered to them, and choose to walk away until they got what they wanted. Now, you say the word "union" in some quarters and you'll be smacked upside the head or worse. You definitely won't be in the camp of the majority for supporting unions. 

Take Wisconsin, for example. As a friend pointed out so brilliantly on Facebook last week following the Great Packers v. Seahawks Debacle Of 2012, suddenly after the Monday Night travesty occurred, legions of union-bashing Wisconsinites, including that noted "union buster" Gov. Scott Walker, were flooding the social networking airwaves demanding the reinstatement of . . . you guessed it, union members. Yep, the same people who not so long ago were denouncing unions for all they are worth.  

What's less funny and more sad is the incredible number of people who became so outraged and horrified and incensed and filled with anger at the present conditions of the officiating on the playing field. Somehow they found the motivation to speak out publicly with their strong, brave voices. They stated up and down  just how piss poor the quality of the replacement refs was that was ruining America's favorite game. They demanded change. They formed a collective voice. They took to Twitter and Facebook and their sports radio airwaves in throngs, and damn it if they didn't get exactly what they asked for. The NFL backed down and put the "real" refs back in. 

I wonder how many members of those throngs are business owners, small and large. I wonder how many would have agreed to give their employees a roughly $50,000 raise over eight years to essentially work one day a week to do what they're really paid to do. 

What's sadder is thinking about all the things that people could accomplish with that same collective, strong, energized, angry voice if so motivated. If we can end a referee holdout, for example, isn't putting a dent in homelessness or ending poverty, hunger or child abuse or building a neighborhood park where our kids could congregate and play their own games of football within our reach? 

Day 269: Home

No matter where you've been or how good of time you've had, it's always good to come home. It's good to realize what you have. I realize and I'm glad.

Day 268: Crosscountry Driving

It's been a long time since I've just sat in a car and watched the landscape pass by out the window. Thinking time. Deep thinking time, but also downtime. Time for just staring. Time to recharge. Remember. Recall. Retrace. Time to project. Predict. Time to just be. As complicated as life is, farmland and sunshine and long roads and cows standing still in contentment remind me how easy life can also be.

I always wanted to take a bus across the country, just to watch and let go of the responsibilities of the road. Being behind the wheel is different. I'm grateful for this time in the passenger seat. Sometimes it's good to be the one being carried.

Sat 267: Hospital Waiting Room Blues (But Not Really)

I'm sitting in a packed waiting room because I cut my finger on a glass doing dishes. It's packed here, but guess what? There's a computer provided that's running Facebook. I love this country. I love my fellow man, some of whom are dropping the fbomb next to me for my pleasure. I love all this built in entertainment. The world I live in is a beaut.

But damn, come on. There's a gunshot victim here. There are little kids who are sick. There are parents scared and restless. My cut finger has me feeling pretty stupid and insignificant.

Beyond that, I live in a country and a time where a cushy seat in a waiting room is my reality. A seat with HDTV overhead. A seat with a coffee pot nearby. A seat with Facebook at the ready for good ole Ben who says his pain is an 8 but is still updating his status. You rock, Ben. You rock.

I really am thankful, and putting up with teenaged Ben and his doting momma is the least I can do. Hell, my wife does this everyday. But really, could we change the channel from Dora and Dancing With The Stars.

Day 266: Sunday Work

I consider "Sunday work" to be mowing the lawn or raking or cleaning the garage. I don't like mixing real, job work, though. Today was a real job work day. Despite that, it was also productive, so I'll take that.