Music is Memories

"There is a universal language to be sure, math and one of its sublime dialects...music. Your story hits on both. Bravo." ~James Hamman DDS

"Sweet memory. I have some of the same. Beautifully written, as always." ~Martha

As with the smallpox virus, I believed the last remaining copy of “Islands In The Stream” had been sequestered. I believed debates were ongoing for its incineration, so nothing would remain of it but horrific stories of personal suffering, and painful memories of tragic dates. I believed wrong.

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Functional. Art.

"What a poetic heart you have...." ~Kelly Mcclary

This essay originally appeared on the Bowlus Road Chief LLC Website.

By my definition functional art does not need to move, but it must move the portion of your body that cannot be weighed, measured, or X-rayed to a place that cannot be plotted on a map.

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Kerry and Hobbes

Thinking of Hobbes, an inanimate object, as a companion is silly…or is it? Was Hobbes, the tiger in Calvin and Hobbes for whom "my" Hobbes is named, real? To everyone but Calvin he was a stuffed animal. But Calvin saw him differently. Calvin had a relationship him. He was a friend, a muse, a partner in crime. He was integral to Calvin's life.

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Dear Elvis

"...written so beautifully, like a quiet and personal evening at Meditation Garden.... I so want my friends to read this." ~Alicia Nowak

Maybe your purpose was to shred our transistor radio speakers, sneer on our black and white TV screens with over-saturated movements, change everything, inspire everyone, and then beat a hasty exit the same way you dashed off stage after each performance on The Ed Sullivan Show.

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How To Thank A Veteran

Minutes passed. I don't know how many. Many. Our small bags grew heavy. Our grip on them grew weak. Our knees trembled from equal parts fear, cold and fatigue. Our shoulders sagged. What was this game? How long would it go on? What am I doing here? Can I just proclaim this a terrible mistake – a stupid decision – and go home?

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Without A Plan: Part 3 - Back Roads, Small Towns, Rain

I was still without a route or timetable but my need for sleep had been squelched by four cups of coffee and the opportunity to rest and warm up in the Pink Elephant. The guiding principal of the trip was unchanged; let The Plan find me and remain, as much as possible, on back roads. 

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Without A Plan: Part 8 - Biker Image

Under the black helmet, behind the dark sunglasses, beneath the black leather gloves, black jacket, and distressed jeans rode a man called Danger who is never late for work, never takes more than one penny from a “Take a Penny” tray, and tidies up his table for the busboy.

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Unexpected Destinations: A Story of Time Travel

In the movies time travel happens instantly, often with stunning effects. In real life it took some time – two hours and forty-two minutes on this particular morning – and went unnoticed until I exited the aircraft. Behind me, to the west and into the weather, lay my past. In front of me, to the east and into the sun, lay my future.

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Ditch of the Month

My ride’s route was determined mostly by sight; I was drawn from one road to another simply because I could see where the road I was on was going, but the crossroad disappeared around a corner or over a tree-crowded rise. Those roads needed to be explored more than my garage needed to be swept.

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Small-Town Soul

Too small for a Super Walmart or ten-screen cineplex, yet too big and too far removed from the next city to relinquish their locally-owned grocery store or downtown movie theater, small towns survive at a slower pace than the world beyond their border, a world which is accelerating in a way that obsoletes ideas and products almost at their conception.

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Life is Transitional, Enjoy the Moment

Your photos are as poetic as your words. You have such great talent. ~Nichole Starr
Beautiful, a joy to read. Thank you for writing. The pictures are marvelous. ~Sunflower

Forgotten, neglected, or abandoned, these man made objects – once new and shiny or stoutly and proudly sheltering a family – have fallen victim to neglect or economic hardship and have ultimately been claimed by nature. I wish these objects had a voice. These objects do speak to me in their own way and often what they tell me is “Life is transitional, enjoy the moment.”

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"Touch & Go Landings Solo": An Understated Logbook Entry

Every dime I earned mowing lawns and delivering papers was squirreled away for flying lessons. When my friends went to movies, I stayed home. When they stopped at a restaurant I pretended I wasn't hungry. And now, standing on that silent ramp, just me, Larry, and Cessna Seven-Zero-Four-November-Papa, I knew it was worth it. Every bit of it.

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