by Dennis Caraher

High school band. Memorial Day.
Country cemetery. Marched all the way.
We stood in formation, took off our caps.
Stood with the nation, we played taps

Year before Kennedy, year before King.
Last year I cared about anything.
But for that moment, we were one.
Honoring soldiers

At Arlington.

Notes drifted across the plains.
Swallows signaled oncoming rain.
Station wagons, pickup trucks
Rescued us then turned to rust

We put on new uniforms
Crisp, creased. Tattered, well-worn
Some forget where we come from
Some come to rest

In Arlington

When he was twelve, took my only son
Lost ourselves in the Smithsonian
Then Abraham, above the Mall.
Then raised our hands, touched the wall.

Headstone horizon, eternal flame
Unknown lie with familiar names
Sacrificed daughters and sons
So I could cry

At Arlington.

by Amy M. Clark

My seatmate on the late-night flight
could have been my father. I held
a biography, but he wanted to talk.
The pages closed around my finger
on my spot, and as we inclined
into the sky, we went backwards
in his life, beginning with five hours
before, the funeral for his only brother,
a forgotten necktie in his haste
to catch this plane the other way
just yesterday, his wife at home
caring for a yellow Lab she'd found
along the road by the olive grove,
and the pretty places we had visited—
Ireland for me, Germany for him—
a village where he served his draft
during the Korean War, and would like
to see again to show his wife
how lucky he had been. He talked
to me and so we held
his only brother's death at bay.
I turned off my reading light,
remembering another veteran
I met in a pine forest years ago
who helped me put my tent up
in the wind. What was I thinking
camping there alone? I was grateful
he kept watch across the way
and served coffee in a blue tin cup.
Like the makeshift shelter of a tent,
a plane is brought down,
but as we folded to the ground,
I had come to appreciate

even my seatmate's breath, large
and defenseless, the breath of a man
who hadn't had a good night's rest.
I listened and kept the poles
from blowing down, and kept
a vigil from the dark to day.

Teaser:

It happened at a junior varsity girls' softball game in Indianapolis this spring. After an inning and a half, Roncalli was womanhandling inner-city Marshall Community. Marshall pitchers had already walked nine Roncalli batters. The game could've been 50-0 with no problem.

It's no wonder. This was the first softball game in Marshall history. A middle school trying to move up to include grades 6 through 12, Marshall showed up to the game with five balls, two bats, no helmets, no sliding pads, no cleats, 16 players who'd never played before, and a coach who'd never even seen a game.

One Marshall player asked, "Which one is first base?" Another: "How do I hold this bat?" They didn't know where to stand in the batter's box. Their coaches had to be shown where the first- and third-base coaching boxes were.

That's when Roncalli did something crazy. It offered to forfeit.

Yes, a team that hadn't lost a game in 2½ years, a team that was going to win in a landslide purposely offered to declare defeat. Why? Because Roncalli wanted to spend the two hours teaching the Marshall girls how to get better, not how to get humiliated.

LINK

Beautiful spring day at Balboa Park - pose for a picture and the wee one jams her thumb up my nose . . . . I guess she is not familiar with the old adage; "You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose . . ."

Maybe it doesn't apply to dads . . .

I want to cringe when people say "I could care less" but i always figure it would take too long to explain why - now I can just send them a link!

Leave Me from Daros Films on Vimeo.

http://vimeo.com/4220803

It does make a really good rattle though . . . .

by Howard Nelson

My father told me once
that when he was about twenty
he had a new girlfriend, and once
they stopped by the house on the way
to somewhere, just a quick stop
to pick something up,
and my grandfather, who wasn't well—
it turned out he had TB and would die
at fifty-two—was sitting in a chair
in the small back yard, my father
knew he was out there, and it crossed
his mind that he should take his girlfriend
out back to meet him, but he
didn't, whether for embarrassment
at the sick, fading man
or just because he was in a hurry
to be off on his date, he didn't
say, but he told the little,
uneventful story anyway, and said
that he had always regretted
not doing that simple, courteous
thing, the sick man sitting in
the sun in the back yard would
have enjoyed meeting her, but
instead he sat out there alone
as they came and left, young
lovers going on a date. He
always regretted it, he said.

I thought this was fascinatingly simple and persuasive . . .



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLF6sAAMb4s

Even though I am typically in bed by 9pm, I love to entertain and have folks over. One of my favorite moments is heading outside towards the tail end of the party just to step back and look at friends and family having a great time. this was one of those nights. Thanks to all who made it happen!

Terrible Terrible Terrible.

And that my friends, is reason 1348 why I will never move to San Fran (I imagine SF is just as pleased to hear it as I am to say it).

Teaser:

The city of San Francisco has just become the first town to adopt a resolution to stop serving meat of any kind on Mondays. As stated on the official Meatless Monday web site: “The resolution to make Mondays meatless was introduced by supervisor Sophie Maxwell, who hopes that residents will use this opportunity to make nutritious, sustainable choices.”

Sierra has a habit of going into Sean's room and dragging random pieces of clothing out into the living room. She doesn't chew them up, she sleeps on them while he is gone.

Yup - this would be Sierra, asleep in the living room with one of her Daddy's flip flops under her chin . . . .

Big whoop

At summer camp, some of us would keep the campers busy while they were waiting for their meals by teaching them the "cup game" - which is basically what these gals are doing. Only we would pass our cups to the next person on the right and the cups would go in circles around the table. I think the singing in this video is better though . . .

Fascinating - worth your time.

Oh goodness, yes. I shall be watching this one . . .

Finally, a side by side comparison.

Talk about working smarter . . . .

Teaser:

Let's not get carried away. First and foremost, bourbon is a drink. Indeed, if apple pie is the quintessential American dessert, bourbon has to be the ultimate American booze, invented here—in 18th-century Bourbon County, Ky.—and still subject to strict purity laws. The liquor's only permitted ingredients are pure water and a base of at least 51% corn mash (the remainder is malt and rye). No caramel coloring or other additive is allowed; bourbon's hue, flavor and bouquet all come from its simple, natural ingredients and its aging in wooden casks. And if it isn't distilled in the U.S., it isn't legally bourbon.

LINK

There is also some ris-kay talk of mangos . . .

"I was thinking about how people seem to read the Bible a whole lot more as they get older; then it dawned on me... they're cramming for their final exam."

- George Carlin

Link

I am spending my birthday in a hotel in Phoenix getting ready for a full day of sales calls. But don't feel sorry for me - the wife and friends spent the last couple of weeks planning just about the best party ever which all came together this past Sunday.

It was a great day - I won't bore you with details except to say:

When I went to blow out the candles, I blew out the two closest to me but then the rest just went out out a half-second before I had a chance to blow on them. There was no breeze in the house and I couldn't figure out what happened - but hey, it's a party - move on to the booty shaking!

Then I saw THIS.

My dear wife has been busting her tail to make this perfect day for me and when it all comes to the climactic blowing out of the candles on my 40th birthday cake, it is her laughter that blows half the candles out.

Did I say it was a perfect party? Perfect isn't adequate . . .

Thank you my love and my loved ones.

If my dawg, Buckley, ever "flipped the switch" like this, we would have a SERIOUS issue on our hands!



http://www.neatorama.com/2010/05/03/ultimate-protection-cat/

The thing about a job that requires travel is that IT ALWAYS REQUIRES TRAVEL. I am currently home one week and then leave the next. This past week has been a home week but tomorrow it is Phoenix and then onto Northern Cal. Only the wife has been planning what appears to shaping up to be the mother of all parties for tonight - for my birthday.

So here I am on my "birthday" (the actual date is Tuesday - when I will be in AZ) packing a weeks worth of clothes just before people start showing up at our house.

It feels odd to be packing to leave at the same time that you are prepping to welcome people to your home. I'm not crying in my beer here - it's not a bad thing - or a good thing. But it does feel like a weird thing . . .

If memory serves, dog beach in Ocean Beach (hamlet of San Diego) is the largest leash-free park in the United States.

Needless to say, it is a wondrous place. But I am not sure I have seen a post that captures it this well.

by Julie Cadwallader Staub

I am 52 years old, and have spent
truly the better part
of my life out-of-doors
but yesterday I heard a new sound above my head
a rustling, ruffling quietness in the spring air

and when I turned my face upward
I saw a flock of blackbirds
rounding a curve I didn't know was there
and the sound was simply all those wings
just feathers against air, against gravity
and such a beautiful winning
the whole flock taking a long, wide turn
as if of one body and one mind.

How do they do that?

Oh if we lived only in human society
with its cruelty and fear
its apathy and exhaustion
what a puny existence that would be

but instead we live and move and have our being
here, in this curving and soaring world
so that when, every now and then, mercy and tenderness triumph in our lives
and when, even more rarely, we manage to unite and move together
toward a common good,

and can think to ourselves:

ah yes, this is how it's meant to be.