A.G.E's Joint

  Fuzzy memories of a beach at sunset. Your silhouette against the storm, sunlight bursting Through the top of the dark cloud Fractals of scarlet and indigo  Surround you. The call came as a mystery to me So long apart and now so near  Glorious it is my wandering  Time has come To reunite and renew To finish old business And begin some new Come to me now Let me be the sunlight at the top While you rain down upon me. While we wash ourselves away.  

Yes, you know him. Overall one of the most recognizable faces on television ever.  But also the operator of one of the most subtle and effective Christian ministries ever.  It all was predicated on this passage: The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." Mark 12:31 And Fred said. "Won't you be my neighbor?" Yes.  Yes, I will.

She flashes across my screen An Instagram taken on a dare Or in a fit of pride Uploaded to the ether To be shared Like a baseball card No uniform No wrapping of any kind Just what she has And what she has added Minus what life and gravity Took away Alluring? Yes and no. Like a plane crash I can't turn away From the Instagram Of her dream.

Ideas Flying Into the ether Only thing Left is A hard shell Time stands still as I wonder Can it Bring me to life now Slippers Of Glass Siding off Her feet As we Lie embraced  

Moon drifts over Cranberry Gap Disappearing into the valley mist Blanketing whispers of cicadas and frogs Gossip of Ceilidh sound impossible to miss At the top of the mountain. Pipers marching across the field As the athletes open the games To toss caber and hammer To test the shepherd dogs Celebrating the gathering Clans one more time. Thistle and Laurel grow thick and rich And a bit of the fragrance clings to the hand That gives the flowers to the victors. Reels and jigs to the harps And whistles of the band. And as soon as it has started It runs away back into the valley mist On the far side of Cranberry Gap. Living in the dreams of the Scots at heart Until we meet again.    (c) Christopher Mitchell 2009, 2011, 2013

The question this week is, which button would you push on your life? Rewind?  Go back and relive something?  Or maybe fix it?  Why?  Those are the experiences that made you who you are. Would I go back and marry the other girl?  No. I wouldn't have gotten my two sons.  Pause?  Every now and then this would be nice.  But that button is broken, too.  It just doesn't work to stay still. Fast Forward.  Now, I have to admit THIS has uses.  Especially when dealing with unpleasant situations.  But you have to go through those anyway.  So you might as well keep goin. What about that Eject button?  Since that stops the whole process, nobody would know how the story supposed to end. So, the Play stays pushed.  And I keep going along. 

  It's Tuesday morning at 5:45 AM and I am blue. I am not blue because of the Boston Marathon situation, but that certainly would do it. No, I am waiting for funeral arrangements for a friend of mine. Ted Blaschke was an engineer and a Renaissance man. His specialty was rapid transit cars and their propulsion systems.  He began at the MTA in Boston and the job took him around the world. Very few places did he not have a friend to look up.  He was a highland dancer  who never understood the value of 10,000 pokes. But he could play a mean game of Minesweeper.  But he was a connoisseur of Low British Comedy and good beer.   But after 81 years of running, he has run out of time. Oh, we will have a bearded, kilted piper for his Celidh.  

Hey, heidy and howdy.  It's your randy, dandy DJ, Harry Handy here on WOFT-Old Farts radio.  Lately it has come to my attention that there are YOUNGER people that like the music here on the Fart.  Well, let me be the kindly uncle to those whippersnappers who want to know what real music is.  And SOME of them want to know what Ol' Harry's greatest hits were. Well, back in the bad old days, Harry liked to party.  And he lived in one of the better party towns of the 1970's, HOTlanta, Georgia. Harry himself got to see Big George and the gang at the Omni.  And then we would hit Underground Atlanta for a beer at the old. We'd get home at sunrise and sleep a bit and go out to do it again. One day, I was invited to a party.  I mentioned it to my Program Director, Nightfly Sourpuss, and he told me He knew the people hosting the party and only sorrow would come of it.  Well, I never was one to listen, so I went.  There was the usual...

Hmmm... Longing. The wanting of something that seems out of reach. Our longings change.  When we are children, it is a toy we saw or a maybe a chocolate cake. As teenagers it was that mysterious one of the opposite sex.  And for those who actually caught the prize, not knowing at all what to do with it. As adults we long for wealth and power, even though we know deep inside it really isn't good for us. And now as a older type person, longing for the success of our children and the love of the grandkids that may or may not have come. Along the way we trade important things for our longings, only to find out we were better off if we hadn't. But it doesn't matter. In the end, when we find the ultimate freedom, we all are at the same place..

He looks like a hero Standing behind me Crack in the mirror hides Fangs drawing innocence. A twist of fate brought him Saying he'll comfort and console In his strong arms An affair of unequals Exchanges of power And affection But never love. Vanished now into the mist Caged with his demons Leaving me cracked In the mirror image.

Dream catcher From a hula hoop A parting gift She left Splinters in my Mind’s eye. Takes me back To the field Thin form shining Against flaxen ground Hurrying to share Before the dark Daylight is precious To us youngins Take and make Hay before the dusk Exchanging kisses As she is leaving Leaving me grateful For loving her.