Basking in the morning sun has me feeling relaxed and alive. Fair skin with (lots) freckles, I’ve alienated myself for years because I was uneasy about acquiring more and darkening the ones already there.

Picasso had his Blue Period. Mine has been black…and not on art canvas.

Clear thinking this A.M. , I asked myself…What do I like?




It is a question I must ask. One that I’ve pushed down for so long it seems a fresh concept.

The minutes I sat in full sun warmed both my body and thoughts. To quote King Of The Hill character, Bobby Hill, “… I like me.” …

Even if others don’t. With my freckles, capped and missing teeth, glasses, stomach pudge from babies, cokes, and junk food.

Bobby Hill was right. He knew who he was and saw the good points of his life…and

accepted himself.

The sun is my friend.

He smiled at me again today and this time I accepted his invitation.

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Morning Walk…

August 5, 2015

 Walking helps me when things start to press upon my mind and spirit. We all have things that bear down upon us, even though outwardly we continue to chin up and carry on. Occasionally, when replying to the standard greeting from the cashier of, “How are you?”, I’ll look them in the eye and state, “Lousy.” Watching their startled face and without missing a beat,I’ll break into a smile and assure them I just wanted to see their reaction. As of date, they’ve all been good natured, perhaps a bit pleased to not hear the mundane answer of, “I’m fine…” . It gives both of us a chance to see the other as persons outside the robotic role of cashier-and-customer-assembly-line.

At the park the baseball field is being mowed, tennis courts are occupied, and people on the green are swinging their clubs. Exiting my car with keys, cellphone, and umbrella, trees ,parking lots, and picnic tables are in view. I walk leisurely , taking in sights, smells, and movement. The umbrella shields my fair skin from the sun’s fierce smile in the already 83 degree temperature. 

 Looking across the road, I spot the large yellow Union Pacific boxcar.  I remember the one from my own small hometown park. It was as red as the wasps that built their nests in it every Spring and made you run when you entered their territory. Making my way towards the side of the stadium, I look at the scattered tufts of grass and weeds poking their heads through the cracked asphalt. I wonder at them. Some withstood the toil of pushing and heaving their way to the surface, while others died a straw colored languishing.

Rounding the side, I start back. To my right, the increasing slope holds large gray rocks. Staring intently I see the recognition of a pastel drawing I made back in  high school art class. Did I somehow draw my young future before it happened? 

  My life, the drawing, and facing these rocks fit together. I search above them  and see them decrease the closer they come to the main road. They are replaced with earth and grass, which wave to me from above. No more rocks.

This is a strong symbol for me. I struggled to climb the rocks all those years. I finally see now. There is something beyond the rocks. There is soil, there is grass…even if not the most green, even if the earth is dry…the rain comes and replenishes both…and there is a road…one that I want to take beyond the rocks.