I am a dark man

I am indeed a dark man and I have a pretty long post in me today. I am struck by how seldom I have a rant in me, though. One of them things, I suppose.

Lots of pictures and stuff. A real variety pack, if you will. Been busier than you can shake a stick at lately, what with the job search, the interviews, the apparent need for me to finish everything the wife starts, the yard work and helping the occasional widow lady with a sprinkler problem. Also, twice we have set up the garage for a big ol' Thai cook camp and made satay the old fashioned way. Almost. They should probably be cooked over a habachi or cut in half cooking oil can, preferrably next to a busy street (for that faint trace of bus exhaust that gives the meat that special something in it's flavor) but all the Rambler here has is a George Forman indoor/outdoor grill. We muddle through. Besides, some of the satay we have passed throughout the neighborhood has started to come back in the form of soup, cake and key lime pie. Can't beat that with a stick. So, since it is a holiday and you should not be at work today, pour yourself two fingers of the good stuff and light 'em up if you got 'em. This will be a long read.

Well, don't it always start with the feets? Say you find yourself at point A. All the cool, happening stuff is at point B. Your ex-wife is at point C. What do you do. Ramblin' Ed suggests you depart the dreary point A using your feet to motivate on over to point B and send a card with your regrets to point C. Just a suggestion and your results may vary.
This pine tree just speaks to me. It more or less says "Welcome Back". Click and enlarge it and you will find it has character. I think the houses in the picture give the tree a sense of defiance in that it still stands, crooked with age and gnarled from rough times despite all the "progress" swirling around it. I call him "The Old Man" and he calms me mightily.
Grapefruits are for selling on the side of the road to folks with Ontario plates. Prefferably while the nose of said vehicle is pointed northbound. Oranges are for your own personal enjoyment. I got two trees and I am stoked.

Not all music is truth. Some is just crap. But a good singer songwriter with the road dust still caked on his shoes often speaks it. The rougher the road, the simpler and more profound the truths. That's my take on it anyway. Billy Joe Shaver, Merle Haggard, David Allan Coe. Just try and argue with that. Listen closely to the Drive By Truckers and you'll find your own misadventures chronicled in their songs. or at least misadventures you had always wanted to have. Either way. Sometimes the truth isn't neat and pretty. Sometimes it can be downright profane. So what? Don't sack it up til it knows how to behave in prime time. Just turn on the camera, tap your feet to the beat, and let the music play.


As Crystal Gayle used to sing, "Don't it make my green thumb brown". This pitiful fern might be doing better if the conch shell had some drainage. Or maybe it's just trying to piss me off.
I think these were just meant to be decorative, but my goodness they pack a kick. I love nothing more than to pause in my cooking, go outside for a handful of peppers, and use them for seasoning. I just does not get fresher. That's why I have always loved an herb garden just off the kitchen door. Makes you feel like you're back in the old country, maybe Tuscany or something, cooking the most delicious fresh food available. At least it does for me. But I also wear an apron. Draw your own conclusions.
OK, these just made good pictures. I took four. I posted two. Sounds like a compromise to me.

David Allan Coe has a line in a song that sums him up pretty good. It goes, "... and at twenty-three, I grew up to be that yankee's rebel son." If you're drawing a blank on DAC go google him and also google "the mysterious rhinestone cowboy". Talk about somebody being his ownself.

29 June, 1983. I was twenty three and a half. My thoughts:

Melissa

Oh, dear Melissa
I have a sad heart as I write you this
We got underway from 'Frisco Bay
and we set sail for a foreign land today
It's so far away

Oh, sweet Melissa
Now I fear what we plan to do
For this ship has guns, and mother's sons
out to prove a certian righteousness of heart
the night looks so dark

And the Captian says that freedom's path's a long way down
sometimes guns must sound.
I've looked into the eyes of those he says we fear
I saw no malice there

The sunshine seems peaceful
The sea is like crystal now
And I don't understand how that small speck of land
brings a giant to her knees with just her hands
I just don't understand

I hear now the thunder
I feel the ship shudder
I smelled the smoke as the big guns spoke
Think I can almost see the blood soaking the sand
I almost can

Killing seems so clean when you're this far away
It's just your job they say
No faces to behold. No blood. No children's pleas.
Vengence rides the seas.

Death rides a white horse.
No, death rides a grey machine
Our path must be right, for we have the might
to ensure our candle burns forevermore
I can't take no more

Melissa, I've killed, you know
Never screamed in my sleep before
But at night in my dreams I can see the flames
My rack is a trap and I can't fight back
And the deck is wet with the tears of my fellow man
who died at my hand

My sweet Melissa
tonight as we sail the seas
on an eastern course for our homeland's shores
there's glory in my brother's eyes tonight
but I lost my fight

Put a light on in your window for me, won't you please?
make warm your bed for me.
Tonight you'll have to hold me like a frightened child
help me ease my mind

Melissa, I'm afraid of war
Never want to go fight no more
Call me less than a man, take me by the hand
but I love, and a lover cannot kill, I fear
Melissa, my dear

No more can I kill
Melissa, my dear

Ed

Now you know I used to ponder some heavy stuff. Luckily, I never had to see how I would react to a shooting war. How would it have changed me? I just don't know.

I am a big proponent of places to sit. Places to talk. Places to ponder. This is my garage. I am also a proponent of a clean garage that you can park your car in, although some folks think of their garage more as a giant walk-in closet that should be filled to bursting with crap. To each his unenlightened own, I guess.
Mornings creep gently in. How can it not be a great day to be alive? Doesn't this shot just say to you, "Screw it all. Let's get the jon boat and go fishing."?
Starting to get a little ambiance around the old cigar tree. I'm not opposed to looking at a neighbor's yard and saying, "Hey, can I have some of those?" People who love to garden also love to share their garden. Word.
These are my ferns and I imagine that they are pretty tired. See, these are called "resurrection ferns". They hang around (literally) all brown and grey and dead looking most of the time. Then, a few hours after a rain they're all perky and lush and green. For a day. Then it's back to brown, grey, dead hanging. I like green, at least when it comes to my plants. So I water them every day. That's why I know they must be getting tired. They're sprinters and I put them in a marathon. Like a fat boy loves his cake.

Welcome to my home. Slip off your shoes and stay a while.

Before we get to the pictures, just let me say this. I was thinking about something yesterday. You think about it, too. Come as you are. Yep, that's it. Come as you are. How eloquently spoken. How simply perfectly put. Come as you are without airs, without pretenses, without misgivings. You are who you are and we'd like you to visit. Like an old, weathered grey front porch with an even older wooden rocking chair, it is so inviting. How could you not? Come as you are.

Konichiwa. Prease step inside. I hope you will find it comfortable.
A little whimsey as you pass.
So glad you could make it. So... Charades or Twister? You pick.

You always gotta have a good coffee cup. I guess you don't always gotta set it on your new car without a coaster. But that's me. I live life on the edge. For I am a dark man.
I never dreamed I'd have an AF sticker on my car. Never. Of course, I also never dreamed I'd be depicted on the internet, reflected in a windshield wearing only my pajama bottoms.
Besides coffee cups, a good ashtray is good to find. This is my second favorite as it has a stain that, if you sit still and look closely enough, will remind you of a few Hong Kong nights. My favorite ashtray? It's nondescript, really, but is made for holding a cigar without putting it out. Hey, it could be worse. I could be one of those arrested development dudes with a beer can collection.
Another good mug. By the way, all of my coffee cups get used. None are just for show. It wouldn't seem proper.
OK,OK. So I'm turning into a cat lady. But cats crack me up and I like to laugh.
And finally, for AI, enlarge the picture and read the bumper sticker. My friend, I leave you with this quote from a true southern troubador:
Ain't about my pistol
Ain't about my boots
Ain't about no northern drives
Ain't about my southern roots
Ain't about my guitars, ain't about my big old amps
"It ain't rained in weeks, but the weather sure feels damp"
Ain't about excuses or alibis
Ain't about no cotton fields or cotton picking lies
Ain't about the races, the crying shame
To the doggone rich man all poor people look the same

Don't get me wrong
It just ain't right
May not look strong,
but I ain't afraid to fight
If you want to live another day
Stay out the way of the southern thing

Ain't about no hatred
better raise a glass
It's a little about some rebels
but it ain't about the past
Ain't about no foolish pride,
Ain't about no flag
Hate's the only thing
that my truck would want to drag

You think I'm dumb, maybe not too bright
You wonder how I sleep at night
Proud of the glory, stare down the shame
Duality of the southern thing

OK, I'm spent. Outta here. Just play the doggone music.

Ramblin' Ed