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Friday, June 23, 2017

The Fighter Still Remains

I was listening to some music tonight as I cleaned, and painted, and readied to leave one house, and one job, and packed, and prepared to move into another new house, and another new life.

I listened to old blues guitarists, and gospel families, and country western classics, and folk singers. One of the songs that played during all of this was the Simon and Garfunkel song, "The Boxer." It's a great song; one that I've written about before. But it hit me again anew, especially the lines:

In a clearing stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade
and he carries the reminders 
of ev'ry glove that laid him down
and cut him till he cried out
in his anger and his shame
'I am leaving, I am leaving,
but the fighter still remains.'

And I knew that this is a song about me; I am that scarred and battered boxer. I am leaving, yes. But  the fighter still remains.

lie la lie lie la lie lie la lie.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Truck Is Gone (A Guest Post)

My writing, in recent days, has slipped somewhat. I've been busy finishing out one job, applying and interviewing for another, cleaning one house, attempting to buy another, taking care of surly teenagers, calming an anxious wife... You know: busy.

But my friend A. shared something with me, and has given me permission to share it with you here.


The Truck Is Gone

Well God, the truck is gone. I suppose all the hopes and dreams associated with it were gone a long time ago. Gone before we already knew they were gone. Gone when he rejected who we are, months, maybe even years ago. The hopes and dreams died silently before we even knew that they were dead. The truck was just the last symbol of education, of honor, of marriage, of all we might have wished for our son.

I'm getting used to this new stranger. He looks like my son, sometimes I'm even fooled into believing that he can be anything like the person I had hoped he would be. On days like today when the truck drove away, it all seems so raw and close to the surface, but I keep reminding myself that the man I wanted him to be died a long time ago and I was too busy, too preoccupied with the future to notice. I wish there was some sort of memorial for the dreams of parents. Instead I have boxes of photographs and pictures I've taken off the walls. Yes, hope is a living thing. It breathes and reproduces and moves in jolts and kicks and foolish ambitions. But when it dies, there's no funeral or wake, just a broken down old red truck and the bitter tears of resignation.

 Lord help us all.

Monday, June 19, 2017

Background Images for Everyone - Week 25 - 2017

I am attempting to keep a few things normal - while everything else in my life is up in the air. I'm changing jobs after 18 years, buying a house, moving (into the new house)... and trying keep up with the free, weekly background images.

Here is this week's image - free to you or someone like you, free for you to use *at work, or school, or diving in your car. I only ask that you share it freely and that you tell others you found it here.

*at work, or school, or driving in your car....

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Biblical Limericks: How Many Seahs to a Gallon?

God came to Abe in the noon-time heat;
Abe said, “I’ll get you something to eat.”
He instructed Sarah
to cook up three seah
of flour – five gallons! Quite a treat.

Genesis 18: 1 - 6
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