It is early and the air is filled with the mist of a low country dawn. Before me is a serene salt water marsh, murmuring with life, undisturbed by the thunder of the ocean roaring just beyond the breeze. How I have come to be in this place after all of these years is the story of my life. It will be remembered in bits and pieces by all who have crossed my path and by the ones who were told about me because those paths did matter.
The end lays beyond, in a quiet mystery, out of view, on my mind. It is a place like this, of swirling beaches, of egrets and of trees that never die. One day I shall awake and I will be home.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Friday, September 09, 2011
Sundown
It's last night already. Gets dark fast in the middle of September. A few days ago, it was July and we celebrated my birthday by not fighting. There was no August this year, called off, too hot. I am tired of the desert, or maybe it's tired of me. The streets are filled with a different generation, not the one behind me, but the one behind them. I watch baseball like my grandfather did and I don't smoke dope anymore.
Every day passes quickly, uneventfully, smaller then the day before. I talk more on the phone then face to face. There is no one to touch anymore. I know this was not how it was meant to be. In this part I was supposed to be smiling, that was always the plan. I should be at the ballgame, not watching it. I should be across the table, not eating alone. I should be living, not writing.
I awoke to a lightening storm. Thunder rolling in the sky, rain waiting its turn. She was there, left over from a dream, in the new blue dress we bought last week. Below is one of her favorite songs by one of my favorite artists. It was so rare that we liked the same music, this one and Tangled Up in Blue pretty much covered it. Storms like this are meant to be shared, but last night I was alone, as it was meant it to be.
Every day passes quickly, uneventfully, smaller then the day before. I talk more on the phone then face to face. There is no one to touch anymore. I know this was not how it was meant to be. In this part I was supposed to be smiling, that was always the plan. I should be at the ballgame, not watching it. I should be across the table, not eating alone. I should be living, not writing.
I awoke to a lightening storm. Thunder rolling in the sky, rain waiting its turn. She was there, left over from a dream, in the new blue dress we bought last week. Below is one of her favorite songs by one of my favorite artists. It was so rare that we liked the same music, this one and Tangled Up in Blue pretty much covered it. Storms like this are meant to be shared, but last night I was alone, as it was meant it to be.
Sundown you better take care
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs
Sometimes I think it's a sin
When I feel like I'm winning when I'm losing again
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Inspiration
Trading is not an easy game. If it was, everyone would be doing it. It takes persistence, discipline and not being intimidated; not by a bad day, bad trade or bad break. Most of all, it takes being ready at any moment step up against all odds and show the market you have the heart to take it down.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Reason to Believe
I can tell from the statcounter that not a lot of folks are hitting these very personal reflections of my life. That's ok with me, I'm writing these mostly for myself so that one day I can look back and remember. I would be surprised if any my past loves stop by and read these. Even if they did, they would never be sure if it was written about them, or someone else I have been with along the way. The common thread through it all is my search for love and how lost I have become. There certainly have been enough, one lasting decades, some lasting only a few months, some easily romantic, some comfortable and affectionate. Then there was this last one; intimate, volatile and oh so close to being the one.
These songs that accompany my musings always have something to do with what I am going through at the time, or one particular love I just lost along the way. This last one though, still fresh in its downfall, is described in Tim Hardin's words, written just for her. An expression of evolution, of demise, of two hearts beating as one, finding a way to say goodbye.
These songs that accompany my musings always have something to do with what I am going through at the time, or one particular love I just lost along the way. This last one though, still fresh in its downfall, is described in Tim Hardin's words, written just for her. An expression of evolution, of demise, of two hearts beating as one, finding a way to say goodbye.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Labor Day's, Past and Present
In 2011, it seems to be all about sports. Pennant races, college football (Lets's Go Blue!), pro football and now some abomination called fantasy football.
I remember when Labor Day was a holiday, celebrated without shopping or watching sports on TV. Memories of a schoolboy in Detroit, when school always began on the Wednesday after Labor Day. The final weekend of summer vacation, overshadowed by the realization of the loss of summer's freedoms, the most precious of which was sleeping-in. But come Wednesday, the excitement of a new grade, new classes, new teachers and the reunion with our non-summer friends quickly overcame the mourning. Everything was fresh and our prospects unlimited. New beginnings, new faces, new crushes and the new dreams. We were as invincible as the days and weeks that followed. Or at least we thought so.
Then came kids. In the South, where I spent all of those parenting days, school started in mid-to-late August, so Labor Day rained in as a lost Monday. Kids were home and bored. Parents were called upon once again to pick up the slack. Somehow it was easier, knowing that it was only one more day and in a way, a special one to us as the last family day of summer. Now, so many years later, I miss those Labor Days. It just took awhile to notice they weren't kids anymore.
Labor day at the beach, on Kiawah, was the most special Labor Day of all. Everything changed starting with the mass exodus of the tourists. The sun was a little less hot and evenings were filled again with quiet, surrounded by a magical sweet bouquet of low country charm. With just us full time residents back at the helm, the sense of community came back with greetings and smiles. The names and faces at the general store, pumping gasoline and buying overpriced milk, bread and the 50% off t-shirts, came back with comfortable familiarity. We had our beloved island back. It was Labor Day that deserved and got our enduring appreciation for what a special Monday in September it was....and will forever be.
A
I remember when Labor Day was a holiday, celebrated without shopping or watching sports on TV. Memories of a schoolboy in Detroit, when school always began on the Wednesday after Labor Day. The final weekend of summer vacation, overshadowed by the realization of the loss of summer's freedoms, the most precious of which was sleeping-in. But come Wednesday, the excitement of a new grade, new classes, new teachers and the reunion with our non-summer friends quickly overcame the mourning. Everything was fresh and our prospects unlimited. New beginnings, new faces, new crushes and the new dreams. We were as invincible as the days and weeks that followed. Or at least we thought so.
Then came kids. In the South, where I spent all of those parenting days, school started in mid-to-late August, so Labor Day rained in as a lost Monday. Kids were home and bored. Parents were called upon once again to pick up the slack. Somehow it was easier, knowing that it was only one more day and in a way, a special one to us as the last family day of summer. Now, so many years later, I miss those Labor Days. It just took awhile to notice they weren't kids anymore.
Labor day at the beach, on Kiawah, was the most special Labor Day of all. Everything changed starting with the mass exodus of the tourists. The sun was a little less hot and evenings were filled again with quiet, surrounded by a magical sweet bouquet of low country charm. With just us full time residents back at the helm, the sense of community came back with greetings and smiles. The names and faces at the general store, pumping gasoline and buying overpriced milk, bread and the 50% off t-shirts, came back with comfortable familiarity. We had our beloved island back. It was Labor Day that deserved and got our enduring appreciation for what a special Monday in September it was....and will forever be.
A
Thursday, September 01, 2011
No Regrets
They don't write songs like this anymore. Sentiments come and go, captured in the rhymes and melodies of strangers living in the deep corners of our lives. Special words, special times, special years and special loves.
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