Resolutions

 

We start out fresh with resolutions,

most destined to fail, I fear,

in attempt to find solutions

that will tame the coming year.

When rolls around the Super Bowl

the leather Bible gathers dust,

and exercise machine pays toll

of neglect in growing rust.

Perhaps we plan too far ahead,

and cannot keep the ball in play

for so long, and should instead

resolve that just for this one day

we'll do our best to see them through,

all that we promised to do.

I have but one resolution, and that's to singlehandedly create a supply-chain crisis of Keystone Light beer.

Oh, wait. Maybe I shouldn't have admitted said that.

Kidding!

I actually prefer Fosters ale.

Music from Chumbawamba, with the irrepressible song Tubthumping

Sylvia loves beer, as long as someone else is drinking it.

 

All I Want For Christmas

 A lovely sunrise, and two weather balloons being launched from a nearby aerodrome.

 

I have simple tastes, and I am certain that Barb will gracefully fulfill my Christmas request.

What I want for Christmas

ain't for Tom, Dick or Harry.

I am saying this because

I want a four-wheel-drive Ferrari,

a bright red Magnum 308

on big tyres and eigh-inch lifts;

doesn't that sound super great

'mongst the redneck Christmas gifts?

Longhorns mounted on the hood,

rifle rack behind the seats,

lookin' fine and lookin' good,

and ain't nothin' else that beats

cruising down Miracle Mile

in chest-thumpin' Bubba style.

Here's my favourite Christmas song, from the Goo Goo Dolls... Better Days.

Sylvia says whatever vehicle is fine, as long as we end up at McDonald's for ice cream.

 

All I Really Want For Christmas

A lovely sunrise, and two weather balloons being launched from a nearby aerodrome.

 

I have simple tastes, and I am certain that Barb will gracefully fulfill my Christmas request.

What I want for Christmas

ain't for Tom, Dick or Harry.

I am saying this because

I want a four-wheel-drive Ferrari,

a bright red Magnum 308

on big tyres and eigh-inch lifts;

doesn't that sound super great

'mongst the redneck Christmas gifts?

Longhorns mounted on the hood,

rifle rack behind the seats,

lookin' fine and lookin' good,

and ain't nothin' else that beats

cruising down Miracle Mile

in chest-thumpin' Bubba style.

Here's my favourite Christmas song, from the Goo Goo Dolls... Better Days.

Sylvia says whatever vehicle is fine, as long as we end up at McDonald's for ice cream.

 

When It's Early In The Morning

 

This is an "I just woke up, why the **** are you taking my picture????" of Barb.

The picture is posted with her permission. Otherwise I would be meeting Jesus sooner rather than later, and suffer Him and His Da (and the Spook) making fun of me.

I think, though, that the happy snap captures her kindness and loving heart and sense of fun at their best.

She's simply ravishing. Don't you agree?

Still, she is not a Morning Person. Fortunately, I am, for the Car Alarm (two Chihuahuas) goes off before the sun can be troubled to rise. An thus begins the day.

Long before the sunrise

(I love it, please don't scoff)

wakefulness comes to the guys

and the Car Alarm goes off.

The Chihuahuas start to yammer,

then Jax the Labrador

with great paws will hammer

upon the kitchen floor.

Strawberry the Mastiff

will yell and scream and shout

to inquire of the chances if

she might be allowed out,

and to say that if I hesitate,

cleaning up will be my fate.

I've seen owls and shooting stars in the predawn sky. And I have a lovely sheepskin coat from a company called Film Jackets.

Life is good.

And since it's Christmas, y'all get a second sonnet, ABSOLUTELY FREE! (You need only pay shipping and handling.)

'Twas the night before Christmas 

and back at the ranch

big 'ol Cousin Gus

sat on a tree branch,

just as high as he could get

in a great and mighty oak.

He'd be sittin' there still yet,

but the gol-durn thing done broke,

and it sent him fast a-crashing

right straight down the tall ol' tree,

but the only thing was smashing

was his manly dignity

'cause when off trunk his fall did glance

the gnarly bark done stripped his pants.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is WITNESS. Ok, watch!

I have witnessed many things,

some I wished I could forget,

but memory has golden wings,

and has covered vain regret

with a sheen of understanding,

and a knowledge of some truth,

that each soul must find a landing

on the other side of youth.

Everything that I have seen

has made me what I am today,

and though at night I often dream

of this, wond'ring why it's this way,

I trust the Lord that made my heart

to validate what's been my part.

It wrote itself, just under four minutes.

The most appropriate song here is Early In The Morning , by Vanity Fare. It is a lovely haunting melody, with silky smooth vocals. (You may know Vanity Fare better from Hitchin' A Ride.

Sylvia's a Morning Person too, as long as breakfast includes ice cream.

 

Horse-drawn Marriage

 

As days dwindle, I think more and more about the most important journey of life, that of marriage.

It's a part of the salvation story, and can't be divorced therefrom. "One flesh," Jesus said. Mark 10:8-10, and that's probably the last specific Scriptural reference you'll see me use.

In so very many ways, I failed, and continue to fail.

I'm hard and flippant and turn everything into a joke. It breaks Barb's heart.

But it's the best I have.

A stallion's what I thought I'd need

to ride into matrimony,

but it turns out my trusty steed

was actually a Shetland Pony,

a hairy little whiskered thing

raised for long work in a pit.

I wondered what this beast could bring,

but Barb minded not a bit,

for she had seen the ins and outs

of marriage through the years;

while stallions do good warlike shouts,

they suck at drying tears

that every groom and every bride

should never have to keep inside.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is SIMPLE. Should be easy.

It would be so very cheesy

and you'd quickly call my bluff

if I said that marriage is easy

when everybody knows it's tough.

We come to it with expectations

less of what we'll give than get;

and the attitude alterations

aren't nearly over yet,

not after all these twenty years

of living weird on weird,

but through it all I find my fears

have gone and disappeared,

replaced by the sure certainty

that this one's for eternity.

Just under four minutes! Longer than it took me to decide that Barb was The One.

Music from Guster, with Do You Love Me?.

This song has a history for us. Every Christmas, Albuquerque runs the River Of Light, decking out the botanical gardens with sparkly decorations.

Last time I was able to go, this song was playing on the PA system. I noted some of the lyrics, never having heard it before... and my search was successful.

Sylvia knows we love her. Ice cream is proof. And she doesn't share with horses.

La Noblesse

Henry's exhausted.

Yesterday Barb came home for lunch to find me semi-conscious on the floor, at the front door.
I had fallen and hit my head on a space heater, knocking it over.
The dogs righted the heater (also moving it out of the way), and Henry brought me my phone. He also brought a blanket, a book, and a DVD.

No-one taught him this.

He's just a natural, and loves his job, tiring as it sometimes is.

May I present (please say it French)
our deaf Pit Bull, Henri.
If you watch him at any length,
he'll cure your grey ennui.
Joie de vivre's his raison d'etre,
he lives life with elan,
and I will gladly place a bet
you've met not dog nor man

that shows such bright esprit de corps

with all the doggies, les amis,

and who knows how to shut house doors

to keep out all the l'ennemie,
who lives "Un vie heureuse, c'est moi!"
with gros bisous and flailing paw.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is INSTANT. I shall therefore write quickly.

In an instant life can alter

brightest plans for future days,

causing injured heart to falter

along what were trusted pathways

to a hope t'would be fulfilled

(thus, Gospel of Prosperity),

but the growing shoot's been killed,

lying cut for all to see.

And how do we pick up the pieces

of a hope quick-gone so wrong?

Has the devil taken leases

that silence the praising song,

or can we yet rise in our love,

hands raised unto our God above?

Three minutes! I'll never do that again.

Music from The Sandpipers, with Come Saturday Morning.

Sylvia approves. But Henry can't have her ice cream.