Lucky 13

Some of us are just lucky, I suppose. No resolutions here. I love this life. I love you.

Wendy And Tink

One of the fears of grown men, according to the folks who keep track of this stuff, is the Peter Pan syndrome. Well, I suppose that it's the fear of the other people in their lives, really.

Of course I like to think that I'm grown up emotionally. By choice, however, I've never seen any reason to let go of a lot of my childhood. I play rock'n'roll. I do it for the joy that it brings me. I like to think that I help put a little something in other people's lives every now and then, too. 

No kid would ever hurt an animal. None of us would have ever eaten our first hotdog if mom had told us up front what it was. We had it right.

As boys we all liked to play war or cowboys and indians. That's my cousin, Jimmy, and me in some of our less formal cowboy getups. As soon as I put a few facts together and figured out what we had done to the Native Americans I turned away from the cowboy culture. You'll never convince me that Roy or Gene or Hoppy would have ever hurt innocent people. I didn't get any of those facts from the teachers at school, either, I might add.

If kids were running our government right now I'm sure that we wouldn't always be on the verge of invading anyone else. We might not balance any budget right away but we surely wouldn't be withholding financial support for people in need. Not just to reward cheaters and liars any way.

Seems that my emotional development peaked around the time that I found out how much fun it is to be with girls. Once again, I had it right. I see the world through the same eyes that I did as a young boy. I'm glad of it. It's a beautiful world. Sometimes grownups botch things up. They mean well.

I love you.

Who Needs Friends

After more than a few hard years I was coasting on fumes when I lost my mom earlier this year. Feeling sad and feeling sorry for myself was about as much as I could feel. Friends got me through. All that crap about finding out who your friends are turns out to be true. The fact that lifelong friends stood by me and supported me was great. The folks that had more recently come into my life and rallied by my side was very special to me. When people that I hardly knew at all showered me with love it changed everything.

I have a big karmic debt. I owe a lot of love. I will start by loving everyone who has ever been in my life and I'll try my best to be on the lookout for anyone who needs me. Love changes everything.

Load 'em Up

Okay, maybe we're not wise. We're not dumb, though. Rambling about our government recently I bragged that even I could see that the emperor was naked. He's still naked. Now he's got a hard on, too.

These idiots in D.C. are playing these stupid games to satisfy their egos and fluff their constituencies while the rest of us are being marched over this cliff that they designed. Their taxes aren't going up. They're not going to miss a paycheck.

I'm always going on about peace and love and working for the higher levels. Still am. We can't just ignore these arrogant fools while we work to save the planet, though. They're the same jackasses who march our children off to wars, prevent our citizens from marrying, plot with the NRA to put guns in our schools, butt into women's reproductive rights and pal around with the likes of Trump, Abramoff and Norquist. I don't mean for this to sound like a rant against one of these two parties. It's merely that one of them is even crazier than the other just now.

I've got a fire in my heart and another one in my head. Do your burning in those places. Fight your battles with love.

Ants And Magnifying Glasses

Looking for clues of some design. If it's all random  why don't I get asked to dance more often? We'd all like to be consumed by something. Me? I've got a passion and nowhere to put it. That's a blank gun in my pocket and I'm glad to see you.

Fine, Fine, Fine

Time to quit preaching about love, quit planning to love, quit thinking about love. It's time to love. The power is in the loving. I know it's sappy but I'm off to save the world. Wish me luck.

Blowin' In The Sand

Everything reminds me that every time a single grain of sand is dislocated from its niche on the beach the whole universe moves. Aware that every movement, every thought of mine influences the planet forces me to look long and look hard at my dark side and the other one. All that zen babble about no light without dark, no good without evil sinks in over a long period of time.

Really I have no interest in practicing being good. I just want to be good. For years I described myself as an addictive personality. Seemed right. Now I suppose that it was just a romantic image. I seem to be the opposite. That's not being good. That's biology, genetics. Good fortune.

When it comes to the other biological urges, count me in. I have some theories about all of that. If there is no divine plan then it doesn't matter. If there is then sex must have been a big part of the design. Again, I must be very lucky that nothing that appeals to me is illegal. Not now, not here. Let me add, if I haven't mentioned it often enough, that almost everything appeals to me. Whoopee!

The scientist describes it as physics and chemistry and biology. The poet sees it in terms of the heart and the soul. I get it all mixed up. I always have. I see it all in terms of love.

Holidays

Don't ever do anything that you don't think you should be doing.  Don't miss any opportunities and don't accept others' definition of success. Voices will tell you what's right and what's wrong.

If you love, you win. If you get rich, that's great. It's not important, though. Not unless you do wonderful things with your riches.

Somehow it seems all the more obvious this time of year. Happy holidays. I love you.

Who put the benzedrine...

... in Old Man Elliott's egg nog? Now, I don't want to be crude and ruin anybody's holidays but I'm getting lonely here. Wait, that's not accurate. I'm getting horny. Okay, that's close. Closer any way. I am horny. I've been horny.

As the last great love of my life strolled out she asked what I was planning to do. When I replied that I wasn't sure but that I knew that I was interested in sex but couldn't imagine a relationship she replied,"That's called dating, Ronny."

Well, not for me. I'm a fool for love and I always have been. Sitting at a table next to Lucinda Williams one time she described a former drummer as cute. "I didn't have to marry him. I'm over cute!" It's not an exclusive club, I suppose.

My only interest in making love requires love. Seems obvious by definition to me. Here's the hitch. I've had to live this long to figure any of this out, even a little bit. I love people. I mean I really, really love people. I can't marry every woman I love. Alright, I know what you're thinking. It's true, I'm off to a pretty good start.

Somehow the notion that there is something wrong with sex outside of committed relationships was etched far too effectively in my young Sunday school brain. I'm not looking for any one night stand. I'm not really opposed to the concept. It just doesn't appeal to me all that much. I surely don't have any interest in talking anybody into anything.

I just always seem to get back to the bonobo concept of "sex is good." I hope to come back, pardon the pun, as a bonobo.

I'm pretty sure that it was Roger Miller who wrote the heartbreakingly beautiful song, "The Last Word In Lonesome Is Me." I'm not as clever as Roger Miller. It's obvious to me that the next to last word in lonesome is some. I want to get me some. I know, I know; I said that I didn't want to be crude and here I am: crude.

You're not supposed to tell people this kinda' stuff. All the therapists that I've ever been dragged to love me. I'll tell anybody anything. I saw the first one that I ever worked with about a week ago. I miss her. You're gonna have to do.

Changes Coming

Funny, I've always been able to avoid the guilt trap when it comes to the rules that are clearly put together to see that some of us have power over some of the others. Not so much with my own sex life, however. I still seem to worry about going to hell or going blind if I stray from anything that I learned in Sunday school. I'm fixing that. I'll get back to you with details. Let me know in the meantime if you have suggestions to fix me.

Season For Peace, Season For Love

Doesn't really much matter what you believe, it's a beautiful story. This little baby is born in a barn surrounded by the animals. So this guy who started life homeless grows up to be the Prince Of Peace.

Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate. I believe it all. I love you.

Our Song

Maybe all that separates us at all is the movie that plays in each of our minds. I'm starting to think that the individual bodies don't mean a thing. We're all one except for what we put together in our heads.

At different times I've had women in my life who announced to me, "That's our song."I still struggle with the concept of the love of my life and still work hard to dream some order into a chaotic heart and mind. 

It must be wonderful to have a song with somebody.

End Of The World- Ho, Ho, Ho

If you can't do anything over I suppose that doing it better next time around is the best alternative. It's not what you've done, it's what you're gonna do. I've got so much love in my heart that it's clogging my arteries.

Let's celebrate life and the holidays. Let's love like crazy.

Holiday Cheer

The holidays are here and I've never seen the country sadder. This is a season for children. If you're not a kid, you're thinking about kids; you're remembering. You've got one weapon here. Love. Use it. Help others find some.

Tight Grip

It's pretty hard to know that you have a good grip on reality if you can't settle on what reality is. If all of my lessons are gonna be about loss from here on out, then I would just as soon quit learning any.

Attachment. Yeah, I know all about it. Too much, in fact. I would like to love without attachment. I haven't figured it out.

Hippies And Love And Stuff

Of course I know that the heart is not where all the romance happens. It's really just a messy muscle that pumps the blood. It feels like it all goes on in there, though.

Instead of worrying about the past some kind of muscle memory provides me with the euphoria of some kid in love for the first time. I'm glad that I can't seem to learn not to touch the hot stove. I wouldn't want to have missed anything. 

Sometimes when your heart has been broken I suppose that it's normal to question what you've been through. Now, here I am. I have loved.

Re-Wire

Hate and distrust are hardwired into us as part of our survival package. If everyone could be trusted with our hearts and our wallets we would have nothing to defend. As in any disarmament program no one wants to be the first to lay down his weapon. We get rid of the troublemakers. John Lennon, Dr. King, Gandhi.

We use the image of the historic Jesus to support wars and profit. After Sunday school age you don't hear much about this Prince of Peace thing.

It has to start with you. That's right. I'm preaching to you.

No Good War, No Good Gun

 It pains me that we continue to argue about gun control in our society. A very small minority of the population controls our government at every level regarding hand gun reform.

When free, brave folks stand up to these bullies we will join the rest of the civilized world and get rid of this cowboy reputation. Personally, I see no reason to join in calling everyone who disagrees with me a moron. There's a revolution of love coming. For a lot of families in Connecticut tonight it's not coming soon enough.

Which Lion?

Yeah, some day the lion may lie down with the lamb. I lay down, myself, a few times with a lion or two. Be careful. Wrong lion will still rip your heart out.

I've had two friends tell me lately how sad it is to know that you will never be in love again. That's really just too tragic to consider.

Live to love again.

Crazy Love

Once you've experienced crazy it's really hard to get it out of your mind. I'm not talking about little lapses in your own mind, I'm thinking of witnessing behavior from folks around you that is not tied to any form of reality at all.

Having lived a free and open life and being considered eccentric for most of my life I've often joked of being "crazy." Calling any friend or relative crazy has never been considered an insult. At least I've never meant it to be insulting.

Over the last several years I have seen mental illness and  it has changed my perception of life. Now I see signs of it that I would have missed or overlooked before. I express this idea to friends and most of them are surprised at my naiveté.

Of course I know that there are genetic causes and environmental hitches and chemical imbalances that twist the logic of lots of folks out there. Sad as that is, I am more disturbed by the idea that a lot of the mental issues that individuals face comes from never having felt loved.

You don't have to be wealthy to do your part. If you're busy, that just provides more opportunity. Love. Love a lot. It's the best investment out there.

I Get It

When I mentioned to my friend, Karen, who has been one of my best pals since junior high that I always thought "no" meant "no" when it came to women and biology, she replied, "Yeah, you were always stupid."

That was a few years ago. Sorta' leaves Karen looking politically incorrect and me looking like some kind of knight on a white horse. That, of course, is not accurate. Karen was a feminist before the term was thrown around and I was always... well, stupid.

Now, a thunderbolt. In the design we've been taught that self preservation is the strongest of our urges and the ones regarding the continuation of the species are the most powerful of those. Damn. I'm not just stupid. I'm slow.

Sex. I live for sex. Well, now it occurs to me that we all live for sex. All of my dreams have always centered around doing dirty things. Enjoying them, too! Somehow in our semi-puritanical society I have bumbled through with the idea that the other team's goal was to avoid sex with the likes of me.  That would be horny, red blooded males. While I always hoped for victory I was never going to cheat or lie to get there.

Outside of Marriage And Family at Wilson Junior High my background in the birds and the bees came from Ozzie and Harriet and an occasional issue of Cavalier bought over the counter at Richards' Drug Store. I thought "Baby, It's Cold Outside" presented the classic battle. You know, the man begging politely until, if lightning strikes, the woman caves.

All of my courting and dating, wining, dining and marrying have been about sex. I thought it was about love. Romance. Don't misunderstand me. I fall in love. Harry says that I fall fast and I fall hard. Yeah, I guess that's right.

My point, if I have a point, is that I have not played well. Partly because I didn't understand the game. I have disappointed women who are smarter than I am. Karen knew.

Drain Blood, Patch Heart, Refill

So this is what it comes down to, and not a minute too soon. The world keeps leaving me these hints, some not so subtle. Yesterday a Derek Sivers post came in which he suggested admitting that it's all your fault. Whatever flimsy veil that was left lifted.

Every situation that has ever left me feeling alone and blue has been my own doing. I have no people who have come through my life and hurt me and I've never really been a victim. I'm gonna have to find a whole new identity. Let's face it, I've gotten pretty good at this.

The freedom that comes with this discovery is almost overpowering. I know that I have been worrying more lately about the harm that I've done than the slights that I have incurred but this is different. I can live a life now with a purpose; make up for it.

My heart is light. It's supposed to be this way. On my knees, I ask you to forgive me if I have ever hurt you. I guess this is my letter to the world.

Real Art

Let me make sure I've got this straight: somebody decides what beauty is and then the fellow with the most money gets to buy the beauty and he can either share it with the rest of us or he can lock it away and keep the beauty to himself. Either way, he's an art collector.

I don't buy it. Well, literally, of course. I never have any money. The concept makes no sense to me. I may be slow but I'm pretty sure the emperor has no clothes on. I see his talleywhacker.

There are beautiful, shimmering chunks and slivers of broken 7 Up bottles in most gutters. Nobody needs to point out to me that these pieces of trash rival rare emeralds that folks are killed over. They're free for the taking. Nobody wants anything that we can't agree has value.

Me? I suppose I'm something of an aesthete. Little bit of a snob about it, too, I suppose. I've seen oil slicks in the gutter after a rain that have taken my breath away.

I hope it rains today. Share your love. Give it away. That's valuable.

Mining The Joy

Lady Luck on my shirt. In my heart, too. Remember that song from Loving You, "Got A Lot Of Livin' To Do"? Funny that it would come to mind today. I have to walk across the street in a few minutes to sing goodbye to my pal, Larry. He was always making sure that he wasn't missing anything. There was never an adventure too far away or a drink too strong. He was lonely in a crowd. That's what we shared.

The burning's in the heart, in the soul. I've got a lot of livin' to do. A whole lot.

Life: It Was A Magazine

It's sweet but it's brief. Don't let anyone get you off track. Remind yourself often that your heroes screwed up every now and then, too. Keep your eye on the ball. It's never about what you've done. It's about what you're doing. Give away all your love. It's like red blood cells. You'll just keep making more.

Stand up for peace. Point out injustice. Speak for the ones without a voice, not just the humans.

You define success.

Sweet Gene- What They Remember

There's a song called "Sweet Gene Vincent." He was, in fact, a very sweet guy. That's the only side of him that I ever saw. This shot is of me and Gary Dobbins onstage at Curtis Hixon in Tampa with him on the first night of a short tour. He was shy that first day. He told us that he didn't really play guitar, then took Gary's telecaster and amazed us as he  tore through his song list, showing us what he had in mind.

The airline had lost his luggage so he was without his beloved "leathers." He just didn't feel like a rock'n'roll star out there in that mustard colored coat and black bell bottoms. By the next night the missing suitcase had caught up with us and Gene took the stage in his proper black attire. A different person, he tore the walls down.

There are lots of stories out there about guns and craziness and Gene certainly had a taste for the whisky. When the dust settles, literally, it's all about what they remember. Be-Bop-A-Lula.

Death As A Career Move

Yeah, I've mentioned it before. You have no idea how many folks have suggested that death would be a big career move for me. Some of them were kidding. Some day, I suppose, some of you will find out. In the meantime I'm ready for lunch.

Congratulations. You're The Underdog

Seems weird that every candidate wants to be the underdog. We root for the poor loser but we vote for the guy who leads in the polls. I guess we mostly want to support the little guy but at the end of the day we want to go to the victory celebration.

I've always been for the underdog. When Castro rode into Havana on the front end of a tank and Ed Sullivan cut to the scene live I was fascinated. What could have been more exciting than watching young Cassius Clay whip the daylights out of Sonny Liston?

I played psychedelic rock'n'roll until Jimi emerged. When I played on a show with him I played in my first country rock'n'roll group, Your Local Bear. By the time that southern California thing happened I had moved on. I guess I still want to do whatever you shouldn't.

All of this comes to mind because I seem to have lived my life in much the same manner. I've zigged when zagging was the fashion. I have pioneered new dimensions in failure, personal and business.

Now here I am. I've fought hard for this spot. I'm not about to screw it up by rolling into Havana or knocking some big, mean guy down. No hit records, either. I have no act. This is me. I like it here.

Writer's Block

Another one of those concepts that I have no use for, writer's block. Then again, I have nothing to say. Cat's got my tongue.

I remember reading an interview with Chuck Berry when I was a kid where he turned aside a compliment about being the genius who invented rock'n'roll by insisting that he had only written a couple of songs. At the time I thought that my hero was just being humble and shy. Of course I found out over time that Chuck is neither humble or shy. 

It took me years to figure out that I've only written two or three things. Then I write 'em again. Sometimes you just don't have anything to say.

A History Of Hate

Out of a century of heartbreak and hate, bigotry and meanness, rose some of the finest art, music and literature that the world has ever known. The sadness of a Stephen Foster melody perfectly frames the American attitude towards the descendants of the slaves brought to this continent. Oh, I don't single out Foster as a racist any more than I do Mark Twain. They reflect their own time and their own history. In fact, I think it's vital to have reminders of a terrible cultural flaw. What if there were no history books to remind us of Auschwitz.

Somehow we are left with the gifts of W.E.B. Dubois, Duke Ellington, Spencer Williams, Ernie Barnes and so many without names now. We have rock'n'roll and we have jazz, sometimes referred to as the only American art form.

It's a shameful smear on our society that we allowed open bigotry in this country for such a long time. The fact that we gained so much from these victims is ironic and sweet. Peace and love is hard work.

The Good Stuff

Just came in from talking to reporters on the sidewalk. I lost a very dear friend yesterday. The rotor came off of the helicopter that Larry was piloting and plunged into the bay.

Bad way to be reminded of an important lesson. It's all about loss and most of it is not important. Some of it is. Spend the necessary time working on your IRA but never the time that you could be loving.

Waiting. Is That My Bus?

Why this one? What am I waiting for? How much longer? Friends are wary of being caught with me. It's worse if there's alcohol. Obsessive? That won't do. Every time I think that I have it figured out, at least a little, it takes a sharp turn in my head and runs a couple of red lights and stop signs in my heart.

Always thought I was stronger than this. What's worse is that I never knew that I was crazy. Oh, I knew that all my pals thought so but I just thought that they were tuned into a different station.

Yeah, I wait. Only because I can't seem to find an option. She tried to make it easy. Not for my sake. That's just the way she does it. What time is it now?

If You Need Me

My karmic debt is big and I'm lazy. The kindness of folks has gotten me through plenty. Friends and strangers alike. If you need me, let me know. I don't know much but I'm a good listener.

No Borders, Color Outside The Lines

Funny, it's all coming back to me. Was I bopped on the noggin? Yeah, by Father Time, that old goat. There are no boundaries. Quote me. In the words of my beautiful friend, Rebekah, "I'm a geographer and shit."

All these concepts and rules, made up by folks with their own shortcomings, their own agendas. Does it sound like I'm preaching anarchy here? I'm not. I'm aware that Grover Norquist would come to my house and steal my wallet if he didn't have to face the law. Bad guys are just bad guys. Most bad folks figure out at an early age to seek power. That way you get to impose your own rules, your own boundaries. God is on our side. The meek shall not inherit the earth. That's a rumor that Grover and Ralph Reed and Jack Abramoff cooked up when they roomed together in college.

Aunt Wilma had me color Hopalong's kerchief a bright chartreuse. She didn't scold me for coloring outside the lines, either. That was the best that I could do.

There are no borders. There are no lines. I don't begin where you end, we exist together.

Love. There's a concept that's real. I can get behind that one. Peace? That's the natural state of things. Take off your clothes and put 'em in the corner. Welcome to the Garden of Eden.

Duckbutter? Hey, Duckbutter!

Well, I see in the obituaries in the New York Times today that my pal, Speedo, has passed away. A real hero. A real rock'n'roll star. I never saw the Cadillacs perform but they were always a big favorite of mine. Mostly because of Speedo. They were in a lot of the lower rung rock'n'roll movies. They were a visual act as well as a first rate harmony group. Of course their biggest hit was Speedoo and was penned the same day in 1955 that Earl Carroll was given the nickname that would stick for the rest of his life. Another generation would come to know the twist of the name after Paul Simon quoted the line, "They often call me Speedo but my real name is Mr. Earl."

The Cadillacs broke up after years of chart success and Speedo sang bass and played first clown with the Coasters for years until there was no audience left for their art.

In 1969 when Richard Nader put together the first rock'n'roll revival for Madison Square Garden it became obvious that there was a long line waiting to see the artists who had brought us the beauty and the joy of a lifetime.

Soon after we were touring with Nader's package of Chuck Berry, Bill Haley and the Comets, Bo Diddley, Gene Vincent and yep, the Coasters. Besides our set we backed up Chuck, Gene and the Coasters. What a dream.

On the second night in Orlando I was undressing for bed in my motel room when I heard a whisper in the hallway. "Duckbutter? Hey Duckbutter!"

I opened my door to find Speedo walking the halls trying to find any one of his new friends. He explained that the boys were having a little party down in one of their rooms and they thought that we might like to join in. Probably my proudest moment.

I got dressed and hurried with him back to the party. There, crammed into one small room was the entire group and three or four pretty young girls. White girls. It was several years before it occurred to me why the guys wanted us at the party.

After a short time it was fairly obvious that there would be no debauchery and no wild tales to tell later. I asked, "Speedo, are you hungry?"

"I'm so hungry if I put a biscuit on my head my tongue would beat my brains out," he replied. Most of everything he said sounded like a line from a Leiber and Stoller song.

We stumbled out to the elevator, somewhat impaired, and attempted to find something to sustain us. We went to our rooms hungry. God bless Speedo.

Go On, Take It

Woody wrote a lot of things that changed me and you. Changed the world. Problem is, somebody had already written some of them. That's okay. He borrowed from the Carter Family among others and they had taken them from somebody else.

Oh yeah, Chuck Berry invented rock'n'roll and he had songs ripped off by the Beatles and the Beach Boys among others, right? Well, yeah. Of course he had taken a truckload from one of his idols, Louis Jordan. Louis stole plenty, he said so. Chuck's first record, Maybelline, was a boogied up version of Bob Wills' Ida Red. To further complicate matters, Woody Guthrie recorded a version of Ida Red before Bob Wills did.

It's mirrors held up in front of mirrors from here on out. It's what Woody referred to as the "folk tradition."

Now when it comes to The Twist there are lots of stories. They don't all match up. Problem is lots of them came from Hank Ballard, himself. Hmm...

Hank frequently mentioned What'cah Gonna Do, the Drifters' hit, as an inspiration for the melody and the song structure. He also told the tale that Brother Joe Wallace from the gospel group, the Sensational Nightingales, had brought the original song idea to him and Cal Green, the Midnighters' guitarist. He always stuck to the idea that he had seen kids in Tampa dancing in a club and had asked a young girl in the crowd just what they were doing. "The Twist," she replied. None of the rest of it matters.

There are only so many notes and so many ideas. Help yourself, please.

The Grown Up Table

Does it seem that sometimes sadness reaches all the way around the corner, like one of those little cartoon weiner dogs, and meets its other end, happiness? Songs play in my head that make me laugh and make me cry.

Maybe I should have reserved more room in my heart for joy. That way when sadness came calling it would have found no vacancy.

Oh, I have my happiness. I don't suppose I would trade my happy memories for anything. To have laughed as hard as I have, as often as I have, is worth several fortunes.

To those I have laughed with and those I have cried with and those that I have loved, thank you.

Fuschia Saturday

"There's a fire in my mind and I really cannot be confined here." I realize that I don't play to win. I play to play. Folks use other people; they tell them what they want to hear. I tend to say what's on my mind. Oh, I'm not bragging. It's cost me plenty. It just happens that there's not a car or a woman or a career out there to make me toe the line. Loser by choice, I suppose.

The flames of romance have singed my soul and I haven't missed much. I wish I could trade regrets for plastic beads, though. I never learn. Now I'm bragging!

What If I Change My Mind

Having always gotten everything I've wanted, what if suddenly I don't? These dreams. My reality is shakier than ever. What do you do when what you want exists only in your head?

Grandma's Turn

Old men squabble and send young men to war. Greed, false pride and profit fuel the process. There are no good wars. There never have been. There never will be.

Plenty of folks out there are hungry. Share the love in your heart with someone who needs it. Take care of the planet. Adopt a stray. I don't mean to be bossy, I just want to remind you of your power. Love is the tool.

When I Get Rich

Too little ambition? Unmotivated slacker? A taker, not a maker, one of the 47% that Mitt worries about? Depends on who you ask, I suppose.

I've picked watermelons in the rain, scooped mud from the bottom of barges and checked the oil and water and washed the windshields.

The secret of life is that there is no secret. This is it. Me? I'm pretty sure that it's heaven. Oh, you can make it hell. I know. I have.

I just listened in on a conversation at the diner. The three yuppies were making homeless jokes. I'm not using the term, yuppie, in a derogatory fashion. I'm pretty sure that if I eavesdropped on a conversation with three homeless folks this morning that odds are good that there wouldn't be much praise of the yuppies.

We're all good people. Really good people. Some of us just need to exercise the heart muscle a little more. Oxygen for the lungs, love for the heart.

All of you who know me know that I'm never going to be rich. Not in money. That's good. I don't need anything. That dog doesn't need a new collar and I don't want to be playing with my i phone while someone is talking to me at the breakfast table.

Pilgrims And Indians And Love

Wherever I go I hear folks complaining about Thanksgiving and the obligations that the holiday brings. Usually the griping carries over into grumbles about Christmas music coming too early and the evils of Black Friday.

Now I don't like to miss a chance to carp. I can whine with the best of them. Somehow though, this year, I am almost overcome with love and gratitude and, yep, thanksgiving. I miss so many of the beautiful people who have passed through my life but somehow I'm focused on the wonderful memories of having shared parts of their lives. I love everyone I have ever known and I feel like I owe all of mankind something. A lot.

That doesn't cover it. All of the beautiful animals who have graced my life have provided enormous comfort and love for me, too. I owe them all something.

I'm gonna write you all some really pretty songs. Well, as pretty as I can write. Is this hokey? Yeah, you bet. Has the old fool lost what little mind he might ever have had? Who cares.

In my life, over the years, I have met a few individuals who radiated what seemed to be pure love. Tiny Tim was one. He spoke to me without any sign of irony or embarrassment of love and mothers and heaven. Keep in mind that our friendship was the fifteen minute type relationship and in a loud, crowded room, too. I never doubted the love or the sincerity, though. Real is real.

I love you all.