Vignettes
0406'13
Everybody calls me Lucky,
playin' cards, shootin' pool, hittin' the baseball,
they say I'm lucky, I believe 'em.
Known him for a while, never heard this name,
called him Lucky, just as he liked.
No way of divining the future,
to avoid the inevitable,
Lucky died in the flames of his home one early morning,
his home consumed, smoke billowing darkness,
awakened his entire family urging them out the door.
Lucky never made it out,
succumbing to the smoke, dropped out of sight,
too late to save Lucky, flames pushed his family back out the door,
his moment had arrived, he had been tested in the flames,
more than Lucky, he was Courage.
The Moment, clear of mind, fixated,
save the family, get them to safety,
his luck had run out, his family alive,
their savior, sacrificed,
easy to judge him unlucky.
Dead before his teens, his calling early,
his good work, permanent,
he believed he was lucky,
no doubt in my mind,
he was lucky, his family saved to complete their lives.
It was his time,
it was not theirs,
the impure good, undaunted,
spares and steals.
BB
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Vignettes: 331'13
Vignettes
331'13
Resurrection Day
The day of triumph, our Savior immolated, descending to the
underworld,
retrieving the keys, muting the sting of death, risen again.
Our hope in Christendom with that event above others in the
New Testament,
merging with the immutable,
to have and love our Being,
our need for conscious never extinguished.
Crowley's Ridge, above Maple Hill Cemetery, Helena,
early morning, awaiting sunrise.
Facing east, overlooking the Great River,
Easter morning in the 80s, the sun bursts over the horizon
as many mornings for millennia,
our hope rekindled in the moment sacrifice became triumph.
My mom's family just below, we hope for their sake,
we believe for our sake.
Here they rest, along the Mississippi River,
muggy, dying place grasping frantically for its past.
Resurrection morning peaks above, will be a nice day,
fried chicken and ham, what else?
Buffet-style, most of mom's family will gather,
the ones living close by.
Life's blessings extended beyond death,
hope.
BB
Vignettes: 330'13
Vignettes
330'13
Never easy to take a phone call you know is unordinary,
my father on the phone, his eldest brother had died after a
lengthy illness.
Siblings surviving childhood numbered 9 when I was younger,
5 survive today.
This brother, loved by his wife of decades, his three sons, a daughter,
his numerous grandchildren,
his Navy service photo on their social media from long ago.
Always, for survivors, the future present comes to mind, in
the morning, Easter Sunday, Resurrection Day,
mortality on display really close to home, the siblings all
destined to dust.
We have our hope, our avior, enduring death and rising
again the keys procured to the underworld.
Imperfect, fatally flawed Beings,
our perception aware of forever,
first drawing breath as the body begins to decay, the instant miracle: life-death complex.
Circular for our species, others long ago vanished now
officially totally out of the race.
Lungs begin the fight for every breath,
decidedly built to fail at some point, motion ceases.
Reason hard-wired to admit perfection in some sphere,
chimera.
Uncertainty breeds fear, the example of others meeting their
doom,
no circumventing that moment.
Trivial things provide a respite for the unconscious mind or
else quiets the concerns with noise,
the joys of activity.
One day, it will be my turn to mourn and to be mourned,
dread.
A polished radio voice, our uncle lived near the Tennessee
River, not far from Shiloh NMP,
had once lived near
the Arkansas River in central Arkansas, and other places.
He will be buried in a place of honor in Mississippi, the
home state of his father,
loved and missed, awaiting the appointed Resurrection Day
gathering of saints.
He will rest with the hope that sustained his idle-mind
moments,
pondering this present.
BB
Vignettes: 329'13
Vignettes
329'13
Good Friday sound check
a little late tonight, a front house party with Earl and
them.
Can see and hear them the time or two the door to the back
opened
no admittance while they prepare, the band.
A good night to rock and remember
the songs of the formative years.
McMurtry remembers Middle Earth as I remember it
flyover, crossroads between coasts.
The aged red bricks of George's
75 plus years of experience, standing sentinel
to the changes to this corner.
Frisco depot across the street, long past its usefulness
its form endures the death of its function.
The line is Ar Mo today, lays a good bass line for the
performers as it passes.
Down the hill from the university,
Dickson has sizzled lately, though, it literally sizzled by
McCulloch's order in the dark days of war.
Passing armies, brigands, outlaws, westward trekkers, native
peoples driven from home
driving true natives from these their homelands.
Trails, homesteads, hideouts, gristmills
industry, agrarians, pastorals, handiwork,
loggers, bankers, railroaders, charlatan curers, drummers.
Good Friday on Dickson, a good crowd for a holiday weekend
McMurtry's band is in good form
rather sparse crowd, not complaining.
A great night for live music a treat after the storms of the
morning postponed sunrise,
turned into a pleasant spring day.
Few are from here, come from somewhere far away
McMurtry sings about our home like no other,
this ain't Levelland, but you can see it from here.
Life and death at a crossroads bar,
the future's present and past,
it's all alive here.
The street that could easily have died from neglect and
blight
the heart of culture in the second cultural capital of
Arkansas.
The many faces of Dickson: war on the east end, wars ravages
for its entirety 150 years ago,
Colleges west and east ends,
warehouses, private houses, drug stores, churches, graveyard
tucked behind,
restaurants, a courthouse, frat house, Old Main, a sampling
of life in toto.
Has been a great year of entertainment at George's,
nice to have great touring bands so close to home share their
music here.
American music, self-examining, pragmatic levity in the
sound-byte age,
music expresses idea like no other medium.
It is far too late or early in this case to spend more time
in reflection,
sleep is the prescribed remedy for a racing mind.
Ryan Bingham is the next George's experience for me, unless
I attend the Blues shows next weekend,
not sure, but a strong possibility.
Have never liked the Blues scene here, spoiled by Helena's
past,
took me time to embrace culture of my hometown,
much easier to be critical from afar,
sad to see it suffer impoverished, nearly forgotten.
Glad to be in Fayetteville.
BB
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Kansas fun
My last opportunity to travel long distances has come and gone. So sad not to be able to travel full time, but life intervenes. This trip to the Plains had a solemn duty in mind, which could easily have led to an embarrassing arrest. My wife's father died in 2002, but his dog, Troubles, a Boston terrier, lived another 9 years, before Mrs. _____ had the dog put down. My wife's sister wanted to bury Troubles' ashes above her father's plot. Oh what fun! A graveyard within sight of some busy roads of Marysville, KS, an old crossroads in the northern part of the state isn't the best place to take a shovel if you aren't the gravedigger. My wife's sister was having trouble breaking the drought-parched earth, so I had to dig the hole in our gray activity, but the Tuesday Morning urn had an ample resting place for the ashes of Troubles, back with the human he loved so much.
We survived the incident with no trouble from an angry sexton wondering why three folks in broad daylight were digging a hole in a graveyard. The final touch for the solemn occasion was to glue a Boston terrier figurine on Doc's part of the headstone he'll share with Mrs. _____ when her time comes. Not sure how she'll react to a plastic figurine on her headstone. She still knows people in the hometown who would report the fact. She'll get over it; these are her children's works. Our trip for that day would lead us to another Pony Express station, a reproduction of Rock Creek Station (Pawnee), near Fairbury, NE, where Bill Hickock committed a possible murder in his younger years over the purchase of the station. On our way, we passed Wamego and were trapped into taking a tour of the Old Dutch Mill displays. Too bad the Oz Museum wasn't open that day.
The western phase of the October trip this year took us through Lyons, Great Bend, and on to Hays for a couple of days. The Cornado-Quivira Museum in Lyons tells the story of the Santa Fe Trail and the Coronado entrada, which coincided with Hernando de Soto's entrada from Florida, passing through Arkansas encountering important Mississippi River villages Pacaha (Wapanocca?), Casqui (Parkin?), Aquixo (Horseshoe Lake?), and Quizquiz (Walls, MS?). Both parties wound up in Texas encountering Caddo tribes. The Quivira lived at Lyons in the 16th century and are a Caddoan tribe encountering Coronado who followed the rudimentary Santa Fe Trail, a migration route into the late 19th century. The museum had an excellent selection of books on the period and selections on more recent history of the region. Was a pleasure to compare notes on the expeditions of 1500s by the ruthless Spaniards. It was the true beginning of the end for native cultures in North America. Disease from Europeans and warfare with Europeans would last another 400 years until their virtual extinction.
The next town was Great Bend, passing by Ft. Zarah, named after Maj. Gen. Samuel Curtis' son who was killed at Baxter Springs, KS by Quantrill's guerrillas as part of Maj. Gen. Blunt's fateful trip from Ft. Scott to Ft. Smith. Curtis lead an expedition along the Santa Fe Trail after the native uprising of 1864 across the Kansas plains and founded this dugout fort. Had a great stop at a coffee shop in town and I suppose we were in the "office" of a very busy community activist. She bought a cup for a fellow who happened by and was a bank officer who supported an event she organized. Every town requires such people. Maybe I should have bought her a cup of coffee for her work to better her community. It was a good visit, but we reserved a room in Hays and continued the lengthy trip from Emporia, where we'd stayed for a couple of nights.
Hays is in the Smoky Hill River valley and was home to Ft. Hays in Frontier days. It was a good visit, then we visited the Sternberg Museum, where the famous "fish-within-a-fish" fossil is displayed. The museum explains the natural history of this part of Kansas, which was the floor of a shallow sea millennia ago. We would not be able to go as far west as hoped on this trip, the Fick Fossil Museum is in Oakley, not too far from Colorado. I wanted to visit Colby and Goodland as well as Pueblo ruins to the south and the Ft. Wallace site. Till next time.
A real treat of the trip was visiting Salina, though we pushed on to Abilene for the night to the east. We spent most of the day in Salina after a quick visit to Kanopolis and Ft. Harker and Mushroom Rocks State Park. While in Salina, we witnessed a fuzzy headed, fuzzy bearded fellow in mirrored shades, a likely candidate for being up to no good, driving a white1980s vintage Mustang GT. The shady character was turning onto a busy highway from a side street with a mattress wedged under his car. What on earth could he have done to manage that? It looked more like the boxed springs of a bed. He was skidding his wheels a bit because the bed was lifting his car as he attempted to turn. He made a wide turn onto the highway as folks were trying to pass the mattress which protruded about six feet into the passing lane as he turned. Last I saw of the fuzzy, mirrored shades 70's refugee. But the mattress or boxed springs was in the middle of the road with what appeared to be about 5 quarts of oil saturation when we passed by again. Maybe he removed his oil plug with the massive road obstruction. Not sure what that dude was on to run over a mattress in broad daylight on a quiet side street.
Downtown Salina was a treasure. The century old buildings, the towering grain elevator , Mokas coffee shop, the Stieffel Theatre, the Thursday night art crawl, and the beauty of downtown Salina will certainly earn another visit by my wife and I, perhaps next year. I loved what I saw of this town. The Smoky Hill Museum, around the corner from Cozy Inn, the quirky little burger joint where the slider was born was a fun visit. The Museum had a great selection of books on Kansas history and was a free museum, which is a treasure for the community and I would recommend a visit. On to Abilene for a night's stay. On our way to Abilene, an important terminus of the Chisholm Trail until the rail was spurred to Newton to the south.
Abilene is most famous for the Eisenhower Presidential Library, but I wasn't there for 20th century history just yet. Abilene's Old Cow Town is a joke, much like Dodge City's joke of a "tourist attraction". The treasure of Abilene for this trip was the American Indian Art Center. I've never seen such a selection of books about veritably every tribe in North America. In the least, every region had selections on the shelves. I could have bought at least 50 books in this place and still have a bunch I wish I'd bought. The art and jewelry selections were cool too and my wife bought a decorative piece. I must return there next year, hopefully. Maybe next time I'll visit the Eisenhower Library.
The final weekend of our journey took us to Clay Center, not far from the Nebraska border. From there, we traveled to Concordia to see the National Orphan Train museum, dedicated to remembering the estimated 200,000 children shipped to the Plains and middle America from the east along the train corridors. It was a sad place, but offered the stories of their finest successes. Many of the featured orphans survived a hundred years of life and relatively happy lives. However, the museum didn't avoid the failures, such as the children returned to the benevolence organizations which placed them for ridiculous offenses, such as reaching for a handful of jelly from a cellar, or childless couples who adopt a child, then return the child once they conceive their own offspring. The next day, we visited Manhattan on game day against Mizzou. I always love visiting Aggieville and visited the Dusty Bookshelf, where my wife's father would buy his western fictions. I found a few good books about Nebraska and not a single Kansas Historical Quarterly. I was hoping to score a number of valuable historical periodicals on Kansas history, as I find a good selection of used Arkansas Historical Quarterly periodicals at Dickson Street Bookstore here in Fayetteville. It's always fun to visit Manhattan and game day with some much needed rainfall in the region made for a good day, plus my wife's sister and Bob wanted to try the Cozy Inn slider joint franchised in Manhattan, I suppose. The Salina Cozy Inn didn't mention the location at Aggieville, so more oniony burgers, don't even ask for a cheeseburger, for the week.
The trip back to Fayetteville took us through Emporia, again. We visited my wife's mother before our return. We bought a lot of books and enjoyed the visit to the Flint Hills and the Plains. The only sad commentary was the discovery that Tallgrass Prairie had scrapped their bookstore, although they were building a new visitor center and we were told the new gift shop wouldn't be the bookstore they once had. I love that site, but I'm disappointed. At least Town Crier, a bookstore in downtown Emporia, had some of the selection the Prairie once offered. Much fun. I love this state, as I love every state I have visited over the years. Some states I enjoy more than others, but I always manage to find something good about a place to overcome the shortcomings. Can't wait for my next trip next spring. Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Alabama are likely places for that week of travel.
We survived the incident with no trouble from an angry sexton wondering why three folks in broad daylight were digging a hole in a graveyard. The final touch for the solemn occasion was to glue a Boston terrier figurine on Doc's part of the headstone he'll share with Mrs. _____ when her time comes. Not sure how she'll react to a plastic figurine on her headstone. She still knows people in the hometown who would report the fact. She'll get over it; these are her children's works. Our trip for that day would lead us to another Pony Express station, a reproduction of Rock Creek Station (Pawnee), near Fairbury, NE, where Bill Hickock committed a possible murder in his younger years over the purchase of the station. On our way, we passed Wamego and were trapped into taking a tour of the Old Dutch Mill displays. Too bad the Oz Museum wasn't open that day.
The western phase of the October trip this year took us through Lyons, Great Bend, and on to Hays for a couple of days. The Cornado-Quivira Museum in Lyons tells the story of the Santa Fe Trail and the Coronado entrada, which coincided with Hernando de Soto's entrada from Florida, passing through Arkansas encountering important Mississippi River villages Pacaha (Wapanocca?), Casqui (Parkin?), Aquixo (Horseshoe Lake?), and Quizquiz (Walls, MS?). Both parties wound up in Texas encountering Caddo tribes. The Quivira lived at Lyons in the 16th century and are a Caddoan tribe encountering Coronado who followed the rudimentary Santa Fe Trail, a migration route into the late 19th century. The museum had an excellent selection of books on the period and selections on more recent history of the region. Was a pleasure to compare notes on the expeditions of 1500s by the ruthless Spaniards. It was the true beginning of the end for native cultures in North America. Disease from Europeans and warfare with Europeans would last another 400 years until their virtual extinction.
The next town was Great Bend, passing by Ft. Zarah, named after Maj. Gen. Samuel Curtis' son who was killed at Baxter Springs, KS by Quantrill's guerrillas as part of Maj. Gen. Blunt's fateful trip from Ft. Scott to Ft. Smith. Curtis lead an expedition along the Santa Fe Trail after the native uprising of 1864 across the Kansas plains and founded this dugout fort. Had a great stop at a coffee shop in town and I suppose we were in the "office" of a very busy community activist. She bought a cup for a fellow who happened by and was a bank officer who supported an event she organized. Every town requires such people. Maybe I should have bought her a cup of coffee for her work to better her community. It was a good visit, but we reserved a room in Hays and continued the lengthy trip from Emporia, where we'd stayed for a couple of nights.
Hays is in the Smoky Hill River valley and was home to Ft. Hays in Frontier days. It was a good visit, then we visited the Sternberg Museum, where the famous "fish-within-a-fish" fossil is displayed. The museum explains the natural history of this part of Kansas, which was the floor of a shallow sea millennia ago. We would not be able to go as far west as hoped on this trip, the Fick Fossil Museum is in Oakley, not too far from Colorado. I wanted to visit Colby and Goodland as well as Pueblo ruins to the south and the Ft. Wallace site. Till next time.
A real treat of the trip was visiting Salina, though we pushed on to Abilene for the night to the east. We spent most of the day in Salina after a quick visit to Kanopolis and Ft. Harker and Mushroom Rocks State Park. While in Salina, we witnessed a fuzzy headed, fuzzy bearded fellow in mirrored shades, a likely candidate for being up to no good, driving a white1980s vintage Mustang GT. The shady character was turning onto a busy highway from a side street with a mattress wedged under his car. What on earth could he have done to manage that? It looked more like the boxed springs of a bed. He was skidding his wheels a bit because the bed was lifting his car as he attempted to turn. He made a wide turn onto the highway as folks were trying to pass the mattress which protruded about six feet into the passing lane as he turned. Last I saw of the fuzzy, mirrored shades 70's refugee. But the mattress or boxed springs was in the middle of the road with what appeared to be about 5 quarts of oil saturation when we passed by again. Maybe he removed his oil plug with the massive road obstruction. Not sure what that dude was on to run over a mattress in broad daylight on a quiet side street.
Downtown Salina was a treasure. The century old buildings, the towering grain elevator , Mokas coffee shop, the Stieffel Theatre, the Thursday night art crawl, and the beauty of downtown Salina will certainly earn another visit by my wife and I, perhaps next year. I loved what I saw of this town. The Smoky Hill Museum, around the corner from Cozy Inn, the quirky little burger joint where the slider was born was a fun visit. The Museum had a great selection of books on Kansas history and was a free museum, which is a treasure for the community and I would recommend a visit. On to Abilene for a night's stay. On our way to Abilene, an important terminus of the Chisholm Trail until the rail was spurred to Newton to the south.
Abilene is most famous for the Eisenhower Presidential Library, but I wasn't there for 20th century history just yet. Abilene's Old Cow Town is a joke, much like Dodge City's joke of a "tourist attraction". The treasure of Abilene for this trip was the American Indian Art Center. I've never seen such a selection of books about veritably every tribe in North America. In the least, every region had selections on the shelves. I could have bought at least 50 books in this place and still have a bunch I wish I'd bought. The art and jewelry selections were cool too and my wife bought a decorative piece. I must return there next year, hopefully. Maybe next time I'll visit the Eisenhower Library.
The final weekend of our journey took us to Clay Center, not far from the Nebraska border. From there, we traveled to Concordia to see the National Orphan Train museum, dedicated to remembering the estimated 200,000 children shipped to the Plains and middle America from the east along the train corridors. It was a sad place, but offered the stories of their finest successes. Many of the featured orphans survived a hundred years of life and relatively happy lives. However, the museum didn't avoid the failures, such as the children returned to the benevolence organizations which placed them for ridiculous offenses, such as reaching for a handful of jelly from a cellar, or childless couples who adopt a child, then return the child once they conceive their own offspring. The next day, we visited Manhattan on game day against Mizzou. I always love visiting Aggieville and visited the Dusty Bookshelf, where my wife's father would buy his western fictions. I found a few good books about Nebraska and not a single Kansas Historical Quarterly. I was hoping to score a number of valuable historical periodicals on Kansas history, as I find a good selection of used Arkansas Historical Quarterly periodicals at Dickson Street Bookstore here in Fayetteville. It's always fun to visit Manhattan and game day with some much needed rainfall in the region made for a good day, plus my wife's sister and Bob wanted to try the Cozy Inn slider joint franchised in Manhattan, I suppose. The Salina Cozy Inn didn't mention the location at Aggieville, so more oniony burgers, don't even ask for a cheeseburger, for the week.
The trip back to Fayetteville took us through Emporia, again. We visited my wife's mother before our return. We bought a lot of books and enjoyed the visit to the Flint Hills and the Plains. The only sad commentary was the discovery that Tallgrass Prairie had scrapped their bookstore, although they were building a new visitor center and we were told the new gift shop wouldn't be the bookstore they once had. I love that site, but I'm disappointed. At least Town Crier, a bookstore in downtown Emporia, had some of the selection the Prairie once offered. Much fun. I love this state, as I love every state I have visited over the years. Some states I enjoy more than others, but I always manage to find something good about a place to overcome the shortcomings. Can't wait for my next trip next spring. Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Alabama are likely places for that week of travel.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
The Plains
Vacation time again. The Kansas Plains await. Not sure exactly where I'm going, but I want to see Hays, Great Bend, McPherson, Oakley, Colby, and Goodland. Museums and historic and natural sites abound in the region and I'm looking forward to buying books at their shops. From Emporia, we hope to visit Lawrence, Junction City, Abilene, Topeka, and Atchison. Probably will need to cut some destinations from the schedule, but not too many. I must see the Kansas Historical Museum in Topeka to check out their book selections. If not, I'll make up for it at the other bookstores. Most of the historic sites and museums in Kansas have some thoughtful people selecting and buying the books to sell. Ft. Hays, Ft. Riley, Ft. Zarah, and Ft. Riley are the military sites I want to see. College towns are always attractive to me and Lawrence is no exception. Manhattan is a neat little town where Kansas State University sets and I've been through there a few times. Lawrence, however, is more reminiscent of Fayetteville and I enjoyed my last visit. My late father-in-law called KU campus Snob Hill (he was a K-State grad), but he liked the town.
I had so much fun in central Tennessee last spring, but missed out on spending much time in Oxford. We ate lunch at Ajax and had a book-buying binge at Square Books and Square Books Jr. before heading over to West Helena to visit family, but we wanted to spend a few days visiting Mississippi sites. We may spend our 2 week vacation on the Plains next year because Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, and Montana are high on my list of visits. I need to buy some books on the mining industry because my railroad study now requires understanding the history of mining, particularly in the West. There's a salt mine museum in Salina I would love to visit; never enough time or money for everything I want to do. My wife needs to find outlets to sell her purse designs in the West because her purses with scenes from the Plains have sold. It seems to me we need to find some fairs and festivals where she can set up and sell her portable works of art.
The Prairie Grove Clothesline Fair attracts buyers of Western art locally and she needs to sell her wares there for sure. The ideal for future vacations is to bundle book-buying sprees, historic site and museum visits with sales opportunies for her functional artwork. We're exploring some 30 day vacations in the future, but we're still learning to plan the perfect North American vacation. I need to follow the SFT all the way to Sacramento, down the American River by steamship to San Francisco some day. My study of the SFT has been a rewarding experience and I'm hopeful of a spectacular conclusion that I'll treasure forever. Planning and executing a vaction plan requires time and effort. This vacation has required several weeks so far. Facebook has been an invaluable tool in checking out potential sites to visit as well as the state atlases. I'm ready to buy an rv and travel the roads of this continent. Canada is definitely on the list with their interesting 19th century history on their western plains and mountainous regions. Can't wait!
I had so much fun in central Tennessee last spring, but missed out on spending much time in Oxford. We ate lunch at Ajax and had a book-buying binge at Square Books and Square Books Jr. before heading over to West Helena to visit family, but we wanted to spend a few days visiting Mississippi sites. We may spend our 2 week vacation on the Plains next year because Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, and Montana are high on my list of visits. I need to buy some books on the mining industry because my railroad study now requires understanding the history of mining, particularly in the West. There's a salt mine museum in Salina I would love to visit; never enough time or money for everything I want to do. My wife needs to find outlets to sell her purse designs in the West because her purses with scenes from the Plains have sold. It seems to me we need to find some fairs and festivals where she can set up and sell her portable works of art.
The Prairie Grove Clothesline Fair attracts buyers of Western art locally and she needs to sell her wares there for sure. The ideal for future vacations is to bundle book-buying sprees, historic site and museum visits with sales opportunies for her functional artwork. We're exploring some 30 day vacations in the future, but we're still learning to plan the perfect North American vacation. I need to follow the SFT all the way to Sacramento, down the American River by steamship to San Francisco some day. My study of the SFT has been a rewarding experience and I'm hopeful of a spectacular conclusion that I'll treasure forever. Planning and executing a vaction plan requires time and effort. This vacation has required several weeks so far. Facebook has been an invaluable tool in checking out potential sites to visit as well as the state atlases. I'm ready to buy an rv and travel the roads of this continent. Canada is definitely on the list with their interesting 19th century history on their western plains and mountainous regions. Can't wait!
Fear/Pity
Saw a black cat outside his door. Did he own the cat? Not sure. Every day since his body was found in the woods near his apartment, the cat crouches outside the door where the fella' living there would give it water, milk, or table scraps. The property owner wasted no time in hammering the "For Rent" sign on the front lawn and removing the bowls that had been set out for the cat. Before his obituary posted, the sign was in the yard.
Not from here, he just lived here. Most folks come from somewhere far away in this boomtown. The region has benefited from the largess of some huge global corporations. Many were brought here despite their wishes in an economy which requires keeping the job you have. Very few jobs offering actual retirement plans these days are to be found. Not sure what brought this fella' to town, possibly the university. Always a lot of frustrations and broken hearts in a town where a major university is located. Grad. programs attract the folks with the most to lose in failure to receive the degree. A whole life's planning could be flushed down the toilet.
The property owner must have been relieved that the troubled renter ended it all in the woods and not in the apartment, like some. No need to clean up or disclose such events, limiting the pool of potential renters who get "creeped out" by ghosts and such. Not sure if I'm not sympathetic to the "creeped out" sensation. No one wants to be in such a state as to want to do mortal harm to oneself and the possible presence of a wandering spirit could promote unrest in the future inhabitants of the apartment. Folks like Albert Camus have written about the ethical ramifications of such an action. I agree with his thoughtful assessment in Myth of Sisyphus, The Rebel, or The Plague. Death needs no help in doing its dirty work. Humans who aid and abet death are guilty of complicity in an evil act. Sound thoughts from one of the world's treasures, his life cut short in an automobile accident. He survived the Nazis and their Vichy co-conspirators while in North Africa during World War II only to die on the peaceful roadways in France years later. Had the poor hopeless fella ever read Camus or the passages in the Bible where Haman hung himself or Judas? These were desperate men reacting to their existential duties in the grand scheme: Mutual arising (Zen and the art of Occidental/Oriental fusion).
Nevertheless, kitty misses him. It's certain his family back home miss him too. Why? The storm and stress of life claims another relatively young victim. Compassion and love are required for folks who feel the need to die in this manner. Life is worth living and worthy of defense from the inevitable. Fear, pity, and longing were too much to bear for yet another soul. Adieu.
Not from here, he just lived here. Most folks come from somewhere far away in this boomtown. The region has benefited from the largess of some huge global corporations. Many were brought here despite their wishes in an economy which requires keeping the job you have. Very few jobs offering actual retirement plans these days are to be found. Not sure what brought this fella' to town, possibly the university. Always a lot of frustrations and broken hearts in a town where a major university is located. Grad. programs attract the folks with the most to lose in failure to receive the degree. A whole life's planning could be flushed down the toilet.
The property owner must have been relieved that the troubled renter ended it all in the woods and not in the apartment, like some. No need to clean up or disclose such events, limiting the pool of potential renters who get "creeped out" by ghosts and such. Not sure if I'm not sympathetic to the "creeped out" sensation. No one wants to be in such a state as to want to do mortal harm to oneself and the possible presence of a wandering spirit could promote unrest in the future inhabitants of the apartment. Folks like Albert Camus have written about the ethical ramifications of such an action. I agree with his thoughtful assessment in Myth of Sisyphus, The Rebel, or The Plague. Death needs no help in doing its dirty work. Humans who aid and abet death are guilty of complicity in an evil act. Sound thoughts from one of the world's treasures, his life cut short in an automobile accident. He survived the Nazis and their Vichy co-conspirators while in North Africa during World War II only to die on the peaceful roadways in France years later. Had the poor hopeless fella ever read Camus or the passages in the Bible where Haman hung himself or Judas? These were desperate men reacting to their existential duties in the grand scheme: Mutual arising (Zen and the art of Occidental/Oriental fusion).
Nevertheless, kitty misses him. It's certain his family back home miss him too. Why? The storm and stress of life claims another relatively young victim. Compassion and love are required for folks who feel the need to die in this manner. Life is worth living and worthy of defense from the inevitable. Fear, pity, and longing were too much to bear for yet another soul. Adieu.
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