Some might say I fought a balrog in the Mines of Moria and that I came out victorious. Others might argue no such thing happened and that I played a different role in the affairs of Middle Earth.
You might think the Shmata Queen can tell you about the who, what,where and when of it all. You might wonder if I have ever compared us to Orpheus and Eurydice and whether I ever stormed the world and took on Hades.
Well maybe I did and maybe I didn’t but if an ordinary man took on a balrog in the mines and walked out do you think he would fear Hades?
I am many things but I am not a coward. Perhaps a bit puckish in nature, but…
I Never Owned A Mustang
I never did own a Mustang. I started with ’77 Chevy Impala station wagon, moved to a ’69 Dodge Dart Swinger, went back to the Impala and then to a ’77 Camaro.
Loved the Camaro, last year of the steel bumper and ever so much fun to drive. There were other cars and many more stories that happened before, during and after the times I have referred to.
But of all the cars I have owned that Camaro is probably the one I miss the most and the reason why one day I will own another sports car.
Ah the joys of youth, I feel their reverberations even now but I hear the echoes of the future calling out to me and soon I shall answer.
If nothing else this almost middle aged body tells me that the next vehicle is going to require more comfortable seats so that when the wanderlust strikes and it will the many hours in the car won’t leave my back and legs feeling…dead.
69 Reasons Why Social Media Makes Us More Stupid
Would you be upset if I told you I used this headline to see if it generates more shares, more reads and more interest. Would it bother you more if I didn’t give you a list of things that social media is doing or if I just ignored it.
What if we save the analysis and just write and have fun doing so because sometimes there is so much more joy in the journey when you don’t plan out every detail.
Life has taught me we can only plan so much and then we just roll with what comes along. I have learned through far more joy than pain that sometimes it can humble you and sometimes it can give you untold riches.
Sometimes people and experiences are offered, brought to you and if you have the courage to walk into the cornfields and see what lies just beyond there is so much.
The plan and the goal are to teach these children of mine to see the magic, to not be afraid to just go for it and to remember that sometimes you learn how to fly on the way down.
And if that doesn’t work, well we are built to last. Those bruises don’t always feel good but they fade quickly and the scars make for a good story.
Give me a few moments and I can tell you one that will make you feel something and it won’t be my hand in your pocket. 😉
Last Words
One day I’ll breathe my final breath and you won’t have my arms to hold you close or the sound of my voice but these words will remain and those experiences we shared will be carried on and all you’ll have to do is think of me and I’ll be back.
Some days you just have to write.
“If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon we will mend.
Else the Puck a liar call.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.â€
Puck- A Midsummer Night’s Dream
TheNewElizabeth  I remember the green ones, they were cool.
I had a ’69 Dodge Dart, too! Mine was green.
geoffliving  Fire in the belly requires quenching.
Faryna  Sometimes if we dream hard enough we can will it into existence. It moves from only if to when.
Ah, the red herring title strikes again. love the pure writing spirit you show, Jack. It always reminds me of what I need to do in the heart.
I wish the greatest challenge of great writing was mostly about having a story to tell and not having spoken well (and reflected well) on beauty, goodness or truth. If the burden was bore out in word count like miles underfoot and not upon the actual multiplication of loaves and fish – enough to feed a million. Or seven. Million.
Only if.
That would be something I could teach my son across a dozen postcards or less. And if he never got them, that would be ok too. Because life would not be the gauntlet, the search, the quest and the trials that require the tireless parade of illuminations, wisdom, consolations and benedictions.
Only if.