Three gifts join together & she smiles

What do two necklaces and a digital camera have in common?

The intersection of three gifts stirs memories

This is a lazy day accident of coincidences piece of writing.

A few days ago, I received a used, digital camera as a gift from a friend. I will not mention some of the places this camera has been. It might stretch the limit of my credibility beyond the breaking point among some readers.

In any case, it is a very well-traveled camera, and it came without an instruction booklet. So, I was practicing with it while trying to learn a bit about its operation. One of my practice shots turned out to be of two other gifts. This was not intentional. Just happened.

During one of my never-ending, altogether too short conversations, also a few days ago, I had mentioned how Native Americans are great gift givers. I have received a few over the years, and my practice shot with my gifted camera turned out to be two necklaces given to me by Native American young ladies a few years back.

Shown on the left is a necklace made by and given to me by a young lady of the Assiniboine tribe as a farewell gift when I left Montana. The Assiniboine are "cousins" of the Sioux, thought to have parted company from the Yanktonai Nakota Sioux about 500 years ago.

The necklace on the right was made by and given to me as a gift by a direct descendant of one of Sitting Bull's sisters, a Hunkpappa Lakota Sioux, after I had interviewed her for a newspaper feature article. She carried within her the oral traditions of her family. Both these necklaces are suspended from a floor lamp in my computer/gun/book room.

And, yes, that is the barrel of a shotgun in the background, leaning against the wall. Some things are completely predictable, are they not?

A gift revealing other gifts, all revealing memories = pleasant experience.

My mind seems to reside in my fingers ....

Some time ago, possibly as long as a month ago, I closed my eyes and allowed my fingers to think. Some of you might recall I have done this before. When my fingers stopped typing, the end results did not seem complete to me, so I never posted them, thinking I would rework them. This never happened, so the "product" remains unfinished. Since I doubt I ever will return to rework these end results, today, I decided, what heck, to post them anyway. It is the thought that counts, right?

Her lasting smile

A woman is she who fears not the woodlands
In the dark of night
And who knows magic there exists, and spirits.

A woman is she who fears not the river waters
In the midst of rapids
And who knows there is danger and thrill alike.

A woman is she who fears not the man she loves
In the face of his anger
And who knows her kiss will conquer his spirit.

A woman is she who fears not to learn from before
In the depths of craft and tales
And who knows everlasting truth from the guile.

A woman is she who fears not to dwell with a man
While she lies in his bed
Until they live as friends as well as lovers.

A woman is she who fears not worldly life
While her children rage
Until they, too, understand their own presence.

A woman is she who fears not to be the catalyst
While all others falter
Until threat has passed and life thrives again.

A woman is she who fears not to seek the light
While her earth-time ends
Until she sees him clearly, as he awaits her.

You are what you read, like it or not

Time stops when you read books about the past and, better yet, written in the past. Sorry, but I am biased beyond belief about the quality of books now when compared to then. Some notes regarding a couple of the books in the photograph: Mari Sandoz is a woman I could not agree with philosophically, but is one I would worship for her strength and intelligence. "Old Jules" centers on her father. "Pine Ridge 1890" is nonfiction about the battle at Wounded Knee (I refuse to call it a massacre because of the causalities on both sides), and consists of first-hand newspaper accounts written from the battlefield. Live it, breathe it. The books balancing on top are among those written by O.E. Rolvaag. His novels are about Norwegian immigrants to the U.S. a century and more ago, any one of which is worth a dozen of the typical novels published today. This I do not think, rather, this I know. You are what you read.

Once upon a time, men were & so were women

It rather surprised me the other day when people started rattling off the names of their "favorite living" poets. I did not think that many people actually read poetry these days. (Well, I guess I still do not believe many people read poetry; but, instead, a "very select" crowd comes to visit me who actually are seekers and searchers.) Neither did I think there would be many (maybe not even any) who had a favorite living poet.

No one seemed to disagree with me, however, that the predominant form of poetry today seems to be found in musical lyrics.

Reflecting further on this, I realized that I no longer have a favorite living novelist, either. I always have been hard to please, says he, not at all facetiously. Norman Mailer probably qualified as my last living favorite (unless I have forgotten someone still here among us), although 20 years ago he would not have been at the top of my list. Basically, he got there by being the last man standing. Other "more favored" writers were around back then.

Most novelists I read are well established. Many fall under the category of writing "literature" as opposed to "popular" stories. Some few, I think actually fall into both categories. I am more and more into reality the older I become, although science fiction and historical fiction were once among my favorites, and I still dabble with them now.

Five or six years ago, I began concentrating on reading books written during or about the last 50 or so years of the 19th Century and the first 50 years of the 20th Century, with the focal point being those closest to the year 1900. It was as much a research project as a reading exercise. I wanted to know, through books, what it would have been like to live during that time frame. Without a mechanism for time travel, books are all we have to accomplish that sort of a "jump."

Among novels, I read Jack London beyond what I had during college. More (all) of O.E. Rolvaag and most of Ambrose Bierce. I became acquainted with Mari Sandoz and Willa Cather. Reading their novels and others spilled over into reading biographies of the authors, which spilled again into reading travelogues of journeys in America by the likes of Robert Louis Stevenson and Henry M. Stanley.

Most people (then again, maybe not) probably have heard Stanley's famous quote, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" which he made upon locating the Scottish missionary in Africa. Few know (well, I have been wrong before) that he traveled in frontier America in places like Kansas and kept a journal. Will Bill Hickok and General George Custer are a pair of the contemporary gentlemen of whom he wrote while touring America during the magical era of the latter 1860s.

Such was the tip of my reading iceberg. I assume you get my drift. With mountains of material from which to learn how things once were, why spend much time on the popular fiction of today? Especially for a history fanatic like me? I already know today. I am here, and am perfectly capable of doing my own interpretation of now, thank you. Give me what I do not know.

Somehow, I do miss not having a "favorite living" poet and a "favorite living" novelist. It is a most difficult role to play, being he who is hard to please. Still, I am not so sure the blame about not having a favorite rests upon my shoulders alone. It might be the inevitable result of the actual quality of the writers and the publishers of today.

When all is said and done, so what? I am a reader, not a blind follower. This should be the role each of us should play. No matter what I say. No matter what anyone else says. Pick up a scent and get onto the trail. Find your own books, just as you find your own life.

Music Note: Listening to a Christian band, Stryper
Specifically, "To Hell with the Devil" ....
Some lines from "Calling on You:"

Inside of me there is a lonely place
Sometimes I just don't know it's there
But when I'm all alone
That's when I have to face...

The part of me that needs someone
To be by my side that's when I call on...

You, You make my life complete
You give me all I need
You help me through and through
I'm calling on you

I can't explain just what You do to me
My love grows stronger everyday
You give me love, You give me company
And when I have to face the rain
You bring sunshine into my life

Another day on the glorious range

Here are three more which had their turn at the shooting bench on Saturday. At the top is a Colt 1911 Government Model in (as always for me) .45 caliber. Like all my 1911s, this one has been tuned internally to ensure reliability and accuracy, and is wearing Hogue grips in Kingwood. Below it is a Smith & Wesson Model 60 revolver in .38 Special caliber. It also has Hogue grips, these in Tulipwood. Resting at the bottom is my Colt Mustang in .380 / 9 mm Kurtz caliber. It, too, has been internally tuned, and the original grips have been replaced by rubber Pachmayr grips to better fit my hand.

How did you guess? Did the photo give it away?

Range time, trigger time, good time on Saturday. There is more to it than just the feel of recoil and the scent of cordite and the sight of the hit. Probably no one who does not share the "up close and personal" affection for shooting sports ever considers some of the extra benefits. Allow me to back step for a moment.

As I have mentioned before, my physical fitness habits are sporadic, but always lurking in my mind. I will go into a routine that might last three months or might last a year. Then I will break from it for another routine, such as moving from exercise drills to running (I seldom do both), or break from doing any routine at all. I might stay away from any form of exercise for three months or maybe a year. This is to say I manage to keep in reasonably decent shape without being a fanatic about it.

Years ago, someone told me that if a person ever had been in really great physical condition, it is not hard to return to good shape even after a lapse of several months. That pretty much is true, and probably is the mental seed which originally got me going into an on-again / off-again system.

Now, back to the firearms' element. I think there is more to getting into shape again than a few pushups or a bit of jogging. My return includes shooting. But, I get bored quickly simply punching holes in paper, so I take off from there:

Try running 30 yards as fast as you can, then stopping to fire ten rounds. Think about walking away from a target, turning 180 degrees while drawing, and emptying the magazine while raising the pistol from waist to eye level. Think about running forward, drawing and diving forward, and getting off as many rounds as possible before hitting the ground. Great exercise, great for developing hand and eye coordination, great fun. Entertaining to watch, too.

Some people enjoy standing in the yoga master's stork pose; I think similar drills are fun if you are popping off a few rounds with a handgun while doing them. Go into a pushup position; hold yourself up with one arm while firing a handgun with the other hand and hitting the target. Good balance is one of the fundamental keys to good pistol work.

The proverbial bottom line to this is that anyone who has access to a location to safely practice with a handgun can turn the experience into one that not only provides fun and sharpens shooting skills, but also improves physical condition and associated attributes such as balance and hand and eye coordination. This is just a small sample of my habit.

It is near certain that someone reading this will mumble something about unsafe use of firearms. Sure, it is possible an accident might happen. There is a degree of risk involved whenever firearms are being used. But, these activities should not be done anywhere except on a private range, and should only be done by people who have years of experience handling handguns and firing them under all sorts of conditions.

Overall, I think these drills are safer than walking some big city streets or driving the highway in morning rush hour with freezing rain coming down. To each, his or her own.

Music Note: Listening to St. Paul's Vixen ....
Specifically, "Vixen"
Some out of sequence lines from "Cruisin':"

And you got that feeling again that tonight could be so much more
You walked in looking for someone, for something to share
When you walked in, I was already there

Can't you go any faster? -- That's better

I think it's time, yeah it's time we broke the ice
You know that this sort of thing, it did already happen twice
I wanna rock, I wanna roll, I wanna eat into your soul
Just push into the litter, whenever you lose control

Let's go cruisin' (cruisin'), I wanna go cruisin' into wild times
Let's go cruisin' (cruisin'), gonna ride it out to the red light

The poetry of song lyrics & the human voice

The human voice can transform poetry to song, and into magic.

Name your favorite living poet ....

Not very long ago, I was in an all too brief a conversation in which poetry and music were mentioned in the context that the lyrics of many songs form poetry.

Poetry is alive and well today, but does not hold the stature it once did. How many people can come up with the name of their "favorite living" poet? All my own favorites are in the ground.

I have long thought that one reason poetry and "professional" poets are fewer in this age is because of the explosion of music since World War II, most particularly since the 1960s. Yesterday's poets are today's musicians. To read the lyrics of many songs is to read poetry.

Poetry might be inspired and sometimes is inspirational. Put the poetry to music, and emotional responses are heightened to even greater levels. Part of it is to be found in the melody. Part of it is to be found through the magical quality of the human voice singing the poetry. Personally, I even prefer hearing poetry being read than simply reading it myself. The human presence in the form of a voice puts additional life into elegantly written words, and the notes of music to create a song unite these three elements into an entirely transcendental form of art.

Agree or not with me about poetry, I doubt anyone would have the slightest problem naming their "favorite living" singer or band. Hence, tonight's "poetry" reading:

Band: Queensryche
Album: Empire
Song: Silent Lucidity

Hush now, don't you cry
Wipe away the teardrop from your eye
You're lying safe in bed
It was all a bad dream
Spinning in your head
Your mind tricked you to feel the pain
Of someone close to you leaving the game of life
So here it is, another chance
Wide awake you face the day
Your dream is over.... or has it just begun?

There's a place I like to hide
A doorway that I run through in the night
Relax child, you were there
But only didn't realize it and you were scared
It's a place where you will learn
To face your fears, retrace the years
And ride the whims of your mind
Commanding in another world
Suddenly you hear and see
This magic new dimension

I - will be watching over you
I - am gonna help you see it through
I - will protect you in the night
I - am smiling next to you, in Silent Lucidity

--spoken during solo--
[Visualize your dream]
[Record it in the present tense]
[Put it into a permanent form]
[If you persist in your efforts]
[You can achieve dream control]
[Dream control]
[How's that then, better?]
[Hug me]

If you open your mind for me
You won't rely on open eyes to see
The walls you built within
Come tumbling down, and a new world will begin
Living twice at once you learn
You're safe from the pain in the dream domain
A soul set free to fly
A round trip journey in your head
Master of illusion, can you realize
Your dream's alive, you can be the guide but...

I - will be watching over you
I - am gonna help to see it through
I - will protect you in the night
I - am smiling next to you....

All I want is a Garden of Eden & a Holy Grail

Today, kind ladies and gents, we open with a photograph of Fram the First, Fram Actual and Fram Impersonator. We leave it to you to decide which among which is which. The photo was taken at the semi-weekly bagpipe and bugle corps competition held at Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Lots of folks up there enjoy hearing the pipes, and especially appreciate seeing real men take to the field during the summer months before the wimp Packers arrive for the football season.

Paradise Lost ....

Part II -- The Search Resumes:

After reading Part I, do you blame me for occasionally being a bit bitter and, at times, occasionally slipping into a melancholy mood? It is not that I have it bad; it is that I do not have what I require to prosper, which is no one's fault but my own, and the process to remedy my situation is under way.

Now, moving right along, I do have a little more whining up my sleeve. I am certain anyone who actually reads me knows that I lean toward the conservative end of the spectrum. I like to think 60-40. I am certain a true liberal would change those numbers. I am much more of an issue guy and a vote-for-the-best-candidate type of guy than I am a political partisan. Which is one reason I am so disgusted with both political parties, and the general dynamics of society in America today.

Before any of you knew me, about a year ago at this time, I went on record as saying I would leave the State of Minnesota if Al Franken were to be elected state senator. Seriously. I do not want to live in a state where a majority of the voters would elect a third-rate comedian, extreme-left-wing nut with absolutely no qualifications or credentials appropriate to the position, to represent them in a body of 100, whose members are among the most powerful people on earth. On the plus side, I have gained an understanding of why so many people live and breathe Paris Hilton: Celebrity trumps intelligence, talent, knowledge, experience, common sense -- absolutely everything else.

For those who have no clue what I am talking about, Franken was the candidate of the Democrat Party for the U.S. Senate seat held by Republican Norm Coleman. The vote last November was so close that a recount was required. The recount process and ensuing court action still continue but, right now, it appears Franken will be declared the winner by the margin of a few hundred votes.

It looks like it is going to happen, that Franken will be going to the Senate to represent Minnesotans. I am both embarrassed and ashamed about living in a state where such idiocy could occur. I will get over that, of course, but not while I am living in Minnesota.

Which returns us to my summer plans. This election gives me another excuse to move on. How is that for rationalization? Admit it, true genius behind the madness. I can find an excuse for almost anything.

Thomas Wolfe was right: "You Can't Go Home Again." Well, it has been a negative experience in my life, anyway. Always move forward, never backward, until you get it right –- or run out of time –- whichever happens first.

We are approaching May, and my plans remain on schedule, which are to travel in Greece sometime in July or August, with an anticipated stay of three or four weeks, then move over to southern France for at least another week to decide whether I might want to try living there for a year or so.

I think such an extended stay is unlikely now. Instead, it is more probable I will return here and do something similar to what I did a few years ago. At that time, I sold Sanctuary/Refuge. I quit my job and, in May, left on a driving tour that ranged from Canada into Mexico and lasted until October. That was my "battlefield tour." This would be my "find-a-place-to-hang-out-for-a-while tour."

In the meanwhile, there are travelers here among us. Know of any "neat" locations? Not too far north; not too far south. Any suggestions where I might find another woodland hilltop very near, if not on, water? I am not looking for much, only for the Garden of Eden and for the Holy Grail. Is that being selfish of me?

Music Note: Listening to Minneapolis' Soul Asylum ....
Specifically, "Grave Diggers Union" ....
Some lines from "Runaway Train:"

Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there

Can you help me remember how to smile?
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life's mystery seems so faded

I can go where no one else can go
I know what no one else knows
Here I am just a-drownin' in the rain
With a ticket for a runaway train

Everything is cut and dried
Day and night, earth and sky
Somehow I just don't believe it