The next time I fail to answer my cell phone I just might be here . 2.2MB QT

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Side View

Jennifer, I have no idea what a kousa is, but here are three early morning photos. Nearly every block has a tree or two. Jeffrey tells me the Rhododendrons will blossom with the late blooming azaleas. Maybe you should move here rak? I guess the vistas in Colorado outweigh the two week growing season.

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Is this what you were looking for Travis?

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, “be happy Henry!”
and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn’t
understand what was attacking him from within.

my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: “Henry, smile!
why don’t you ever smile?”

and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw

one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled

Charles Bukowski

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Our first crocus. No cardboard, no Photoshop, no fakery. Just plain shadows and sunlight.

–rakkity

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Bathroom at the Pomegranate Inn. Photoshop > adjust levels, contrast, color and sharpen, then add a wee bit of yellow to resemble the original.

Michael

Susan, Patti, Diane, Flo.

Matthew, Charlie (aka PG), and Charlie’s mom, Mary.

Diane and her cousin, Billy, at Patti’s wedding to Paul.

Mark, Ginger (pregnant) and Michael (not pregnant).

Dear Diane,

You know how Matt cracks the door every night when he comes home, sticks his head into our bedroom and says, “Goodnight.” And some mushy stuff better left off the blog. And how you always engage him in conversation no matter how tired you are or how late it is?

I know, I’m usually asleep but I often hear you, and I figured some of your protective mothering instincts left on our sheets would leech my way. Guess what? They haven’t.

Saturday morning:

“Dad, I said goodnight last night and all I heard was snoring.”

“I don’t know that I heard you come in.”

“I said it three times; the last time I yelled.”

“What can I say? They call it sleep for a reason. If it makes you feel better, when I got up at three to feed the fire I noticed your sneakers next to the door.”

Sunday morning:

“Did you come home last night?”

“Dad, I yelled louder than last night.”

“And?”

Matt slips into full snoring mode.

“I confess, I didn’t hear a thing, and this time I didn’t even check to see if your shoes were by the door. When does mom come home?”

Btw, Matt got into Radford.

love

michael

Jeffrey eased me out of his house at 5 AM with orange slices, a scrambled egg sandwich wrapped in tin foil and his traveling mug full of hot black coffee. I stopped five times for gas, twice to nap, and once in Worthington, Ohio, for more dry ice to keep my stash of ice cream cool.

The hours whizzed by, helped immensely by calls from Diane, Adam, Dan and my brother, Peter. Peter’s calls, every three or four hours, helped gauge the distance. He’d call, then have breakfast, call then go for a swim, call, then work on his paper. Each successive inquiry had that, “Are you still on the road?” tone. Peter asked me how much coffee I drank, but I told him the only thing that makes these long drives possible are my naps. And the first one arrived less than two hours from Jeff’s house, just outside of Louisville. When my eyes begin to close, I pull over.

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It’s difficult to balance my camera on the dashboard, and stay within the lanes, and take a steady one second exposure (which this is not). Snow near Rochester, NY.

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If your name happens to be Diane or Susan, or if you already believe I’m an idiot and are simply waiting for another opportunity to call me one, please do not read this. If, however, you like everyday occurrences enlivened by this undertaker, read on. My guess is that that leaves rakkity.

From early afternoon on Thursday, TV peppered our local programing with storm warnings. I thought, “How cool is this? The middle of February and I’ll be treated to a southern Indiana thunderstorm.” I might add there were also tornado warnings, but those, I poo-pooed. It looked to be a classic warm front (seventy degrees)/cold front battle.

After dinner (catfish, rice pilaf with lentils, cornbread, and salad, prepared by Karen), I hop into my truck and head for the river. The high banks over the Ohio provide the best long range view. I can see for miles in three directions. However, rain chases me off those banks and back into my truck, so I head for the road that swoops down by the river to the boat launch. Except: Road Closed Due to High Water. Undeterred, I drive a bit further east, just past the floating gambling boat, Casino Aztar, and find an access path winding down to the river behind the boat.

As the wind and waves kick up and darkness descends, I notice three or four rather large figures standing on the top of the floating casino, looking at moi. Then comes a car. A non-intimidating sub compact with Casino Security emblazoned on the side stops in front of my truck. Apparently, as part of the Homeland Security Act, all floating vessels are protected from my curiosity. I walk directly to the uniform behind the wheel and engage him in friendly conversation. He’s doing his duty, I’m doing my thing, they are incompatible, I walk back to my truck and back out of the area. The weather intensifies, but I figure “So what; I love thunderstorms.”

Almost as soon as I cross back into the city, the wind and rain change from disappointing to let’s-see-what-we-can-throw-at-this-simpleton. As if blinding horizontal water droplets are not impressive enough, here come various store front signs, roof parts, garbage cans, branches and even trees. I zig and I zag.

“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” I think, which morphs into, “Diane is going to kill me.” Earlier I’d written, “Tornado warnings here…boy am I glad I brought my camera.” To which Diane responded, “Tornado/camera comment was so uncute, unfunny, I didn’t even comment.” See, I’m not void of perspective. What I never fully appreciated was how a city storm is a breed apart from one in the country.

Night View

Following Day

On my circuitous way back, I pass this house (the homeowner’s crying outside). After commiserating with her neighbors, I jump back into my truck, turn a corner, and snag a downed power line. I feel it grab, sense the wire leading out like fishing line, and whip-like, I hear the crack and feel the flash as the live wire contacts the metal frame of my truck. Just behind my left ear.

From raindrops to war zone.

I hunch down in my truck and think to myself, “Now, why is it that I’m safe in my truck? It’s not the tires… .

But by then I’ve left the dangling, arcing wire far behind.