A Penny Here, A Penny There

And pretty darn soon you've a dollar in your pocket. Folks that know me, I mean really get down to the gut level of my soul know me, aren't surprised when I bend to retrieve a misplaced or lost penny from the ground or floor. The way I look at it I've just found, depending on the coin, four cents.

Here's the thing - not so much of late. The stray Lincolns are have gone into hiding. I've only found three in the last few weeks. (Here, talk amongst yourselves for a moment....gander on the possible reasons for this rare phenomenon. I need to jerk a cup of coffee.)

Ah, better. Bet that got your attention, didn't it. I goofed and posted this sucker before I was finished - hence the coffee.

Back to subject. So lost and dropped coins have become rare....why? Now this is only my humble opinion and like the old but tried and true statement, we all have one, I believe it's simple - people need every single penny they can possibly find. When flush, ah, what's a lousy one cent piece worth to them...chump change. A stray dime, forget about it. Let the bums have it.

Just outside the door to my local market, embedded in the asphalt of their parking lot, I know where a Mercury dime has sat for at least two years. Its two thirds covered. I'm still hard at work to figure out a way to free it with chisel and hammer. It bugs me. But, then again, I'm one of those poor poor victims of this government's ineptness.

Just my two cents.

Stephen 

For Her Birthday

Her Nana stepped outside, and alone in silence, watched as the sun slipped into darkness across this wide river.

I left her to it. Some certain heartaches must be dealt within the empty expanse of ones soul.

Stephen

This is Awful

I know and I shouldn't rub it in but we're under eighty-three degree sunlight. The fallen oak leaves are thick and the wind directs the little brown pieces of flutter here and there but the smell of mast is wonderful.

I'm this close (picture my pinched fingers) to hanging a closed sign. I would much rather be home in my garage where I could tinker on my restoration projects. Yet, here I sit.

I want a big cast iron skillet of cornbread this evening....she made soup, and its delicious.

Catch you on the flip side.

Stephen

Lunch

This is a sorry excuse for a lunch.

And that's all I'm saying 'bout that....

Stephen

Little Bit

I wish you a wonderful and happy ninth birthday. Papa misses you.

Maybe one day soon.

All my love,

Papa

Blah...

Blah....it's how I feel. Just plain old simple, blah. I've been on my feet all day, they hurt....blah. I'm home and can't read because of this stupid idiotic music program my wife loves and I can't say a word....blah, blah, blah.

I'm too tired to work on my projects...blah. Get it.

Maybe I should take a seat in the garage, raise the door and sit and just listen, perhaps the owls will sing, one to the other. If I'm lucky there will be a salt marsh breeze off the river with the scent of mud and marsh grass and fiddler crabs. Maybe a stray raccoon will amble inside and keep me company; it happens, they beg for food. There's a chance a possum will join them...I have hand fed a possum. It was little and took the food delicately from my fingertip as if a gift from angels.

Here I sit with the smell of turpentine and distilled alcohol. It's warm out here under the oaks and the stars bright. Spring in Florida. Next weekend I will sit next to a fire truly under the stars and if I'm lucky I will hear the song of whippoorwills and coyotes and watch deer feed by headlight. If God is good He'll provide rain which will dance a magic tune on the old metal roof of our bunkhouse and I'll sleep as if death has taken me. Rainfall on a tin roof should only be experienced by those appreciative of the Lord's wonderful outdoors.

Others will sit about the fire. My friends. Good men. We'll talk well into the night...cigars will glow after a good oak grilled chunk of beef. Steaks fit for men. Coffee, always. Gentle talk, as is fit for the quiet of the woods. I will sit quietly, as is my way, and listen to these men of leather and iron. I'll listen as they clear their throats and sip the coffee and lie about adventures so many years in the past, and true tails of world traveled weary men in service to our country. I'll listen with half an ear but my vision will be captured by that night sky from where I sit in my chair under the pines and oaks, and I may even drift quietly out into the darkness to the waters edge and lose myself and escape this world of blah.

Sorry, I tend to ramble...

Stephen

Distraction

It's a bit after noon and finally I have my first break of the day. Isn't capitalism wonderful.

Unfortunately this, my humble blog, will suffer as I've found another distraction...

Netflix has the second series of House of Cards available for binge viewers, like me.

If you haven't as yet indulged, do so. Its worth the effort.

Stephen