ALAS, NIRVANA FOUND, CONTENTMENT IN CLAY AND SUNSHINE

AT LAST, MY NIRVANA
HAS BEEN FOUND. THE SUNSHINE HAS BEEN THERE ALL THE TIME, BUT I NEVER REALLY SAW IT MAKE FLOWERS GROW. I WAS TOO CONCERNED ABOUT HOW WARM IT FELT AND IF IT WAS TOO LIGHT OR JUST RIGHT. THE RIGHT TAN WOULD MAKE EVERYTHING ABOUT ME JUST FINE AND DANDY. I RECALL
THAT SONG EVERYONE WAS SINGING ABOUT TWO DECADES AGO, THE ONE THAT HAD LYRICS LIKE, "...HAVE FUN, BE HAPPY, DON'T WORRY," THAT WAS IT, THAT WAS THE ONE. BUT THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE TOO, ABOUT, " ...YOU ONLY GO AROUND ONCE." I AM OLDER NOW AND THINKING ABOUT HOW THEY FIGURED OUT I WILL "...ONLY BE GOING AROUND ONCE?" I MEAN, IS THERE SOME KIND OF WRITTEN GUARANTEE?

WEST COAST BEFORE CONCRETE

BEFORE CONCRETE

COVERED UP THE

NARROW ALLEYS

AND WELL WORN

PATHS WITHIN

THE SOUND

OF PACIFIC WAVES

AND SURF, THREE AND

SOMETIME FOUR OR FIVE STORY BUILDINGS,

EACH UNIQUE AND

QUITE DISTINCTIVE,

MOST DESIGNED BY BEACHFRONT CARPENTERS WHO WERE RELAXED AND GLAD TO BE OFF THE LONG ROAD WEST AND OUT OF THE DUST BOWL WINDS. THE STAIRWELLS WERE OUTSIDE, DESIGNED IN A SIMPLE Z - LINE FASHION FOR REASONS NOBODY HAS MENTIONED, BUT IT HAD TO DO WITH SAND AND SHOES AND THEN, AS TIME PASSED, SANDALS AND BEACH BALLS, BESIDES, THERE WAS NO SNOW JUST SUNSHINE MOST OF THE TIME. THOSE OLD BEACHFRONT HOMES AND APARTMENTS WITH THEIR BACK DOOR PORCH AND BANNISTER PATIOS FOR POTTED PLANTS, THOSE WOODEN STAIRS ...

THERE ONCE WAS A SCHOOL OF ARTISTS KNOWN AS IMPRESSIONISTS...WELL THEY ARE BACK...AND THEY ARE CALLED OUR
CHILDREN
AND
GRAND
CHILDREN

AMERICA AND THE PASSENGER TRAIN

THE CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE, ST. PAUL AND PACIFIC RAILROAD was one of the many railroads that helped America become a great nation. The passenger train in this photo is the MILWAUKEE ROAD's SOUTHWEST LIMITED, NUMBER 26; it provided passenger service from Chicago, Illinois to Kansas City, Missouri. The depot, located at Chillicothe, Missouri, is no longer standing. The bricks from the platform were, according to those who know, carried off one at a time by those who had fond memories of the train. Like most of the Milwaukee trains in the midwest, it was a deep orange with red trim and had the antiquated arched windows that added to its charm. Smoking lounges were provided in the restroom areas. The Southwest Limited made its last trip in April of 1958.

THE COLORS OF SEPTEMBER, THE MONTH OF NO SHADOWS

THE COLORS OF SEPTEMBER
must have been planned one by
one, in great detail with more than a trifle amount of time planning on how one would look next to the other, how long one should stay bright and the other without a wrinkle, which
ones would come back the same again and which ones would appear only by chance, the flight of a bird, the path of a predator, the way to spill the seeds, the
scattering of earth, the digging, digging of claws to hide the meal on a fall morning and forgotten. Nature's way of mixing color before man and woman were around, proof favorite colors were picked by a creator who has no shadow to diffuse the light and how long September should last or if the creatures should have shadows...

GRANDSON WENT TO GRANDPA TOMS A FEW WEEKENDS AGO. THEY BUILT A FEW THINGS AND GOT THINGS READY FOR THE DEER. GRANDSON LEARNED HOW TO DIG A POST HOLE FOR A DEER RACK. THEY HAD A GREAT TIME, A GREAT TIME WAS HAD BY ALL, ESPECIALLY THE DEER. HE'S STILL OUT THERE...SOMEWHERE, ROAMING THROUGH THE WINTER WOODS. IT WAS, FROM THIS GRANPA'S POINT OF VIEW, A VERY GOOD DEER HUNT, ONE THAT WILL BE REMEMBERED BY ALL, INCLUDING THE DEER. IT WAS THE KIND OF WEEKEND BOYS REMEMBER THROUGHOUT THEIR LIFETIME.

There are those who say a picture is worth a thousand words. I will
agree what better way to save memories than a simple photo snapped more than four decades ago. This photo seems odd and out of place in America but in Japan it is the kind that are a dime a dozen, maybe a little less or a little more, but this was taken when it took 360 yen to make a greenback dollar. This place was near one of many old canals, near buildings that were still standing, mere shells of what they had been before the war, but nobody was mad, never can I remember one ill word about the fires that razed the old port city made of wood. It was a place where veterans of a surrendered nation met and talked, not in whispers or hushed folds, but loud enough to hear if one could understand. It was a strange time, a healing time, a time to celebrate a peace forged in atomic ashes, cinders and smiles.