velvetsmoke

[velvetsmoke]

Redeeming Beelzebub

We have a cat I call Beelzebub. Not her given name, but one I feel she has earned, based on the trail of destruction imprinted on our household furnishings and her penchant for gluttony, which is, after all, what ole Beelzebub was known for. Apparently, Beelzy ate all of his co-workers’ lunches—even though they were owner-labeled. For that, he was unceremoniously kicked out of heaven and now…

[velvetsmoke]

Living an Interrupted Life

For those wondering how I am, I’m better. The warm February weather helps. There’s also a certain kind of magic in a Margherita pizza, especially when savored al fresco under the slanting rays of a winter sun—my wife Karen’s happiest place. Karen and I are simple folk; she was born in the projects of Trenton, NJ, and I am sprinkled with Okie panhandle dust. This means our table manners are more…

[velvetsmoke]

A Farther Shore

I write when I am well. Shall I not write when I am not?  You know it’s serious when the medical staff asks you twenty times to state your name and birthday within the framework of thirty minutes. I consider changing my answer, either name or birthday or both, to see if my diagnosis and prognosis for prostate cancer can be altered administratively.  I glance at the octopus-shaped robotic device…

[velvetsmoke]

Trains, Plains & Peanuts

The remains of my Father-in-law were scattered to the four winds from atop Bowman’s Hill Tower on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River. Thomas Mason’s children loved this family getaway place near the spot where George Washington crossed over to Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas night in 1776. George Washington became our first President and Thomas Mason became the foreman of a concrete…

[velvetsmoke]

Moments in Time

I’ve been hanging out at the office with Emery, my 9-month-old granddaughter. She comes to work with her mom. Emery makes me laugh, and I make her giggle. She is a lousy employee; she sleeps a lot and doesn’t get much work done. On warm, sunny days, we walk around the pond next to our office and spot turtles before they leap into the water. She reminds me a lot of her mother. Holding her every…

[velvetsmoke]

Musings at 35,000 feet

   I recently picked up my son and daughter-in-law from the airport and the subject of airliner models arose. My first flight was on a Lockheed TriStar L-1011 equipped with a headphone sound system and I listened to Carly Simon’s, That’s the Way I Always Heard it Should Be. “You say we’ll soar like two birds through the clouds, but soon you’ll cage me on your shelf. I’ll never learn to be just…

[velvetsmoke]

Restless Bones

There’s an old saying spun different ways but the essence is, “If you aren’t an insurrectionist at eighteen, you have no heart. And if you aren’t a flag-waving patriot at thirty-five, you have no brain.”  This seems truer as time goes by. In my youth, as the Star-Spangled Banner was played at sporting events, I listened with insouciance. Now, I get chills when I hear the National Anthem, a…

[velvetsmoke]

The Heart of Pickleball: Community and Connection

There is a pickleball tournament in my hometown of Bartlesville, OK this weekend. Over 200 players are here to play pickleball. But that is not all. We also catch up on our lives, share pictures of children and grandchildren, discuss knee injuries and joint pain, experience the thrill of victory and the lessons of defeat, and all of this happening in a facility with ten courts and viewing space…

[velvetsmoke]

Just a Guy Who Writes Songs

“I’m just a guy, man, who writes songs,” John Lennon once exclaimed, to a neurotic American man who flew to England to visit with Lennon about his songwriting. It turns out that this crazy man believed that Lennon’s songs were written exclusively about him. Any sensible person knows that this is vanity. But great songwriting grabs us by the ears and carries us to sublime places. It makes us all…

[velvetsmoke]

Just a Guy Who Writes Songs

“I’m just a guy, man, who writes songs,” John Lennon once exclaimed, to a neurotic American man who flew to England to visit with Lennon about his songwriting. It turns out that this crazy man believed that Lennon’s songs were written exclusively about him. Any sensible person knows that this is vanity. But great songwriting grabs us by the ears and carries us to places we could never inhabit…

[velvetsmoke]

Stereo Friends

“We are coming to Salt Lake City!” I have been telling Steve and Suzan that for years. I finally followed through with a visit to SLC. According to Steve Osborn, I am his longest tenured friend going back to 1967. We were watching the Sooners last night just like we did on New Years Eve in 1970 when the Bluebonnet Bowl ended in a tie, Alabama 28 Oklahoma 28. This trivia question scrolled across…

[velvetsmoke]

Walking around Houston Eating Insects and Burria Tacos

We are in our third home. We have been to Houston four times in the last 10 months. We decided to do something fun between visits to the doc. Here are some photos of our guided walking tour of the downtown Houston food scene. Xochi: Mariscos Puerto Escondidohalf lobster tail, head on shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels, creamy rice, quelites Me: “what did you think?” Karen: “Best mexican food…

[velvetsmoke]

Lake Placid

A picture tour of a lazy Sunday in the Adirondacks Ironman runners are blessed at this church before the race. Mirror lake view from Lake Placid Main Street Roaming about Lake Placid Lake Placid high school The high school overlooks the speed skating oval. In most American cities this would be the football field. Yes i do Karen exerts little effort while speed skating Me in 1980…

[velvetsmoke]

Digging Daily Dirt: A Garden Story

I’ve always wanted to be a famous writer, not prolific like John Grisham, but rather famously obscure, like J.D. Salinger, only with less baggage and regrets. Being famous seems like a lot of trouble. Fortunately, like most people, I’m famously not famous, not unlike another writer, Flora Macdonald Mayor, who wrote The Rector’s Daughter 100 years ago. Mayor writes about familiar settings with a…

[velvetsmoke]

Shadows of Our Fathers: part 2

1935 Koufax and Gibson were both born in 1935, the same year Dad was born. We were coached by dads born during a hardscrabble era when life was difficult, and baseball was played in farm fields on Saturdays and home plate was an oak tree and 2nd base the hubcap of a 1946 Desoto. The fathers that weren’t coaching, leaned against the backstop and encouraged us, yelling mostly good things,…

[velvetsmoke]

Shadows of Our Fathers: part 1

The Story Dad Told to Me Only Once Our minds are remarkable when they are at their best. In my worst moments, my inner thoughts sound about like a spoon dropped into the sink while the garbage disposer is running. My mind works best either while driving or while lying in bed when I should be sleeping. This morning, I was driving to the office, thinking so lucidly that I don’t even know how I…

[velvetsmoke]

The Real Light of Day

This morning, I awoke singing Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” to Karen. I don’t know what to do and I’m always in the darkWe’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparksI really need you tonightForever’s gonna start tonight. Not my favorite song. However, given that it is a sad song, it also seems hopeful. The Moon eclipses the Sun because the Sun is about 400 times wider than…