On to Beyond

I lost another friend last week.

He was an institute teacher and an author. He was an excellent man, a wonderful father and caring husband. I'll miss him a great deal.

I needed visit him again; I wanted to ask him some questions and talk to him for a while.

It seems that I never seem to be able to take the time I need to visit these friends. I'm always to busy it seems; there's so much for me to do - for me.

And so there are regrets. Too many what-ifs and should-haves to count, and the lesson has yet to be learned.

I really should just say what I really feel like saying. Perhaps less stress would be the result.

That's it... I'll just say what I want to say to the girl, the father, the mother, the friend, the girl who wants to be the girl, the brother, the teacher, the biggest heartbreak, and the sloth...

Drawing in the Lines

I just read a friend's post. (Thanks Jules!) It reminded me of a time when I was having a difficult day. I was driving home from work when I noticed the freshly painted lines on the road. Off to the side of the road, there was a strange bump in the road, and the line followed suit.

It was a raccoon who had had the misfortune of not crossing quickly enough. The painting truck had simply painted over the misfortune creature. I actually laughed hysterically and almost to the point of tears. It made my day, frankly, and as horrible as it was to do so, I thanked the fates of small critters for the laugh.

One day at a friends day-care, I found a raccoon puppet, some yellow paper, a toy grill and a sense of humor.

I decided to take the redneck initiative and re-create the event.

The Good Life

Life is good.

I was thinking of a girl I knew from high school - Stephanie Clark, now Stephanie Nielson. She was a bright, beautiful girl. She, like so many in the graduating class of 1999, seemed to have truly wonderful things ahead. I didn't know her well, and so of course, never kept track, but one day I heard that she'd been in a plane crash. Though in a coma for months, she survived, as did her husband, but the pilot/instructor did not.

I didn't hear much more about it, but her story is now presented here.



I think it's interesting to see how her scarring can match the scarring some of us carry internally. So many of us are damaged, but it simply isn't as apparent as Stephanie's.

I've made some good friends, and I've seen just how scarred they can be. I am hard pressed to judge anyone now, and I feel as if there aren't words to describe how much I care for each and every person I meet.

I sometimes write posts that seem a little harsh, or judgmental, and if I were to be honest, I couldn't deny that. Without justifying those, I can truly say that I love and appreciate each and every one of the people who may have crying children at concerts, who cannot seem to drive with an ounce of common sense, who harshly judge others, or who suffer from any form of injury be it internal or on the outside for the world to see.

Well, I suppose that is my thought for the day. I'd still like to see glass cry-rooms for concert halls and performance venues, but we don't live in a perfect world.

:-)

A Time to Heal

I love Napa Valley. I love coming here to breathe, heal, rest and recover. It is difficult for me to describe in words, this place, so I will stop here.