Hmmmmm. Been a while. Much new. A Walk to Emmaus on August 14. I think I can see clearly now. The why is really much simpler to understand when you get the me quietened down, abolish the tyranny of self and acknowledge the community of humanity and the link we have to God. It's all about him, and he's ready to share, just let go of 'self' and let the love decide.

RFW continues to live a rollercoaster life. Sinking to the depths with medicines designed to kill the cancer and hopefully not the man. Poisons accumulating and killing off the fun, the joy, the awareness and leaving a helpless befuddled old man. He struggles back every time they give him a breather from the meds or when he is filtered clean of the ammonia. But the good times last days and the lows stretch into weeks and months.

One of the answers,
one of the answered whys,

I know
I now understand I am to be there
to help him accept God's mercy.
I am to offer comfort and understanding
and love and friendship
to a man who is fighting death.
I pray
that I can point him in the right direction
say the right words
give him the hug at just the right time
share tears watching the sun set over the Brazos,
and just be still.
I'll be
what God requires I be
for a man, who fears and dreads the crossing over
for there is so much left to do
and so much left to see
and tears to shed and babies to hold
and weddings to attend
and kisses to share and he is so afraid.
I know
it is okay and it is my job and it is my honor
to walk right up to that portal
and when the time is right
and the moment is there
I will
simply be there as he steps across
and I'll place his hand in the hand
of another who loves him
a bride given in love out of love
forever.

Reading in The Book. Things I've read a dozen times in my life, now come alive, and speak, directly to me. Reading for his Message to me. Not reading for knowledge, or enlightenment, but in an earnest search for his instructions, to me, on what it is that he requires. I've struggled for years with "God's Will," baffled by the audacity of a mere man ( or woman) to say they were doing God's will. How on earth were they supposed to know? Well, duh! Picked the book up and prefaced some of the books with, "Roy, I had you in mind when I had my prophet write this story down," or "Roy, when I had Paul write this letter, I knew that you would need it to understand how to handle the decision you are facing." Now, I'll admit, it seems a little far fetched. Kind of like that "inerrant Word of God" thing. But, I do believe that when, in your loving relationship with Christ you have been given the Holy Spirit to guide you, then God's Word, to you, for you, about you, and supporting you, is revealed, (and therein lies the inerrancy.)

Speaking of The Book, I bought a "Life Application," Large print study bible for RFW. And lo and behold, he is reading it. That is unfortunately the good news (No pun intended, he started with Genesis.) The bad news is he is Full, Overflowing, with questions. So far, I've been a step or two ahead of him, but it is a struggle. He is turning out to be a good "master" for me, in that I have to read and study to be able to help him. (God does have a sense of humor doesn't he.)

My sweet baby girl is married. I gave her hand in marriage only a few weeks ago. Tough, but they seem to be so much in love that it is bearable.

Oh, well..... time to get on to other things.

ilovebacon.com - dumb but fun
A couple of cool days in August. Amazing, welcome, but in the way only a dedicated pessimist can, I feel the blast of heat that will follow, haunting me.

Hummingbird news on the river. I bought a cheap plastic and glass hummingbird feeder a couple of months ago. The cardinals have moved on and I miss watching the birds. So, hung the Hummingbird feeder on the hook just off the porch. We've seen a few hummingbirds, but infrequently and they were less than excited by the feeder. But, over the past couple of weeks there have been a few more. Yesterday morning I noticed the feeder was almost empty, so I took the jar off the feeder and took it inside to mix a new batch of Hummingbird KoolAde. When I finished and went to the trailer door I saw about fifteen (hard to count the little boogers) hovering, and chirping in dismay at the spot where the feeder had hung. I went out and hung the feeder and a frenzy of dive bombing began and they drank so fast bubbles wee rising through the red liquid. When we got back to the river last night only an ounce or two remained. We watched them for a while last night. As many as eight at a time hovering and jockeying for position. Gelaming green backs and the occasional red throat made an awsome show.
Simple pleasures.................

Welcome to My Yahoo!
The house on Rio Road may come available again. Seems the purchaser is having problems with financing or insurance. The current owner came by RFW's yesterday and said she was probably not going to be able to close the deal and would contact Roy, get a downpayment and just get it done. Hmmmmm. She also asked for help finding a plumber. RFW checked with a couple of people locally and couldn't come up with anybody. I talked to D. Smith and he knew a guy. I called AG and told her. She asked if we would be at the river this weekend and said she wanted to get together and discuss the problems she's having selling the house.

"If they ever start selling ignorance, I want first drilling rights to your head."

"You don't always get what you want, you don't always get what you want, you don't always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes, you just might find you get what you need."

A friend of RFWa came in from CA. Wants him to try the Mayo clinic. They did a liver transplant on a friend of his three yesrs ago. Cancer. He's doing fine. They did a "partial" trasplant using tissue from the guy's daughter. She was back up to full liver tissue in 4 weeks. I encouraged RFW to make the call. I reminded him however that because he has cancer of the liver, he will still not be able to get a liver from the organ pool, he'll have to have a donor. I also reminded him that a freind with O+ has already offered to furnish the needed tissue. I recommended that he be sure to remember that when he calls Mayo as I suspect they will not even talk to him unless he can provide his own donor.

Fishook George had a rough couple of days. Apparently he swam the river to play with some people who were wading and playing on the sandbar across from us. He then wandered away and di not find his way home. RFW and DW found him in a neighbor's yard up the road. He was glad to be found and stayed alful close to DW all day Monday. The prodigal dog may have well learned a valuable lesson.

Well the no-braiiner was a no-dealer. House already sold when I got ready to make an offer.
Good to remember "The Rule"
Everything that happens is supposed to happen, and everything that is supposed to happen, happens.
I think Peggy Lee did the song or was it Doris Day? K sarah sarah, or some such.
So, time to move on. Look for a lot or a couple of acres and buld MY dream house on the banks of the Brazos. No rush, I'll probably not be able to retire until I'm in my eighties.
Saw the Eagles last night in concert at the AA center in Dallas. Incredible show. I thought Joe Walsh stole the show. Henley was his usual personable self. No smiles and sort of perturbed at having to do this performance thing in his own neighborhood I suppose. Walsh made his guitar(s) glow and his voice, well it was the same melodious assault on the ears.
RFW continues to do well, all things considered. Back to Dallas at Baylor Med Center to try an experimental thalidomide treatment next week. Prolong is the program.
Fishhook George continues to terrorize the Rio Road settlement. An adolescent male Labrador Retriever is an amazingly complex and persistent machine designed for mastication of virtually every, any and all inanimate object left within his reach. He eats hats, shoes, porches, fishing poles, boxes, firewood, frisbees, grass, any and all clothing he finds that is within his reach and not currently occupied by a human, but not chew toys or rawhide bones provideed for his amusement.

For a no-brainer, this one is dragging out.
Looks like I can buy the Dr.'s house for a reasonable price and get the Dr.'s widow to carry the note.
In-Laws still need care, B in Law still lives 15 min. away, The Brazos is still 55 min. away.
We're in town every day, for work.

More rain, in June, in Texas.......

We toured the River House yesterday evening...... Small, very nice, well built, not much closet space, would require a storage building, it's just a matter of deciding what to do.

Oh well...........................................................................................................................

Quandry.
The house at the river that is for sale has a contract on it, my refuge is sold, unless I step in and beat the offer, time is up, and it is time to decide how we live the rest of our lives.
We have responsibilities to others, family and friends. We have things pulling us to stay here, in town and maintain our availability for those who need from us.
We also have responsibilities to ourselves, to take back our lives and live for a while for ourselves.
It's a no-brainer isn't it?

Time and the weather. That's whats going on today. Second day of rain, in June, in Texas, that is news.

Last Saturday Morning: on the way to Love Field to catch a flight South to attend a funeral:

Most of my life I've bemoaned the fact that God has steadfastly refused to reveal himself to me. I postulated that if God really wanted me, and others, to acknowledge and accept his Glory and Might, he'd give us a sign, a real sign, BIG, NEON, flashing in the sky, Christmas Eve every year, or on Good Friday, or Easter morning, proclaiming his omnipotence with a message, in all the languages, something clear and to the point, like, "I'm the Almighty God, creator of the universe and King of Kings. You, and all you have, and all you know, you have and know at my pleasure." But, for over 50 years, no sign, nothing, nada, kaput.

Last Saturday morning, driving East I realized the signs had been there, all along, but invisible to my closed eyes and heart. I rose before dawn to catch a flight to Houston and for whatever reason, God set the sign in the heavens for me. As I made my way East, the ebony of the night sky eased into sapphire and steel gray clouds appeared as broad strokes splashed upon the bluing canvas of the sky. A few miles further and the horizon glowed lavendar and orange. As the bright orange disc of the sun slowly inched over the edge a raging inferno burst across the east and the steely clouds grew brilliant silver halos. So, on this Sabbath morn the signs were evident, my eyes were open and my heart permitted, and God's power and glory were there, for me to see or not, for me to hear, or not, and I saw and heard.

Summer is here. Nineties and bumping a hundred in the afternoons are just another Texas summer flexing its muscles for the hard, hot run to fall. I left the air off in la casa pequeña con ruedas. A couple of hours on the porch reding and playing Scrabble gave it time to come from 97 inside to a tolerable 75. Quiet on the river and no breeze. RFW & DW in for the night before we arrived. A nice quiet night.
This morning we took it easy. Breakfast at Joe's with RFW. He was in rare form and on his way to Dallas to check on TW. Tomorrow he is trading mowers , picking up 4wheelers, and taking care of broken toys in general. I'm off to a funerla in Houston. I made the decision to fly down early tomroow a.m. and fly back as soon as the funeral is over. I have to be in SA Monday morning at 7 and don't want to spend my entire weekend driving.

I thought I was racing a mourning dove this morning as we traveled Soda Springs Road between a couple of peanut fields in the Littlefield bend of the Brazos River. We were running 40 mph and the dove paced us for a while on our right and then on our left. It seemed so effortless. A wingbeat or two every second, no evidence of strain, no apparent huffing and puffing. It occurred to me later as I pondered the event, relishing the power and grace of the tiny bird. One "birdpower" running on a few seeds and bugs effortlessly keeping pace with me in my 200 "horsepower" Suburban gulping gasoline at 20 mpg. The Grand Design puts our feeble efforts to shame in terms of efficiency, complexity and beauty. An humbling, but invigorating moment. All we need to do is accept the absolute power, permanence and grace. All the tools we need for a happy, fruitful, successful life were a gift that came with a promise that was confirmed with a sacrifice. I needed that moment this morning. Meditating on that moment can bring an acceptance and can banish worry. It is so obvious now that there is a plan, that the plan is much larger than us, that it is literally beyond our mortal comprehension and that it is incumbent that we accept it. It does not preclude our will, but simply predates it. It is our decision to accept or deny it, but we do not have the power to change it. For me, it is a relief. I know that all I am required to do is discern His will and the rest, well, not to worry.

We learned of the inevitabilities associated with RFW's disease last night. Hope has been relegated to the possibility of being elected to enter a program with a 10% 'success' rate. Success being defined as 'slowing the progress of the disease.' The chore I face is determining His will in this. What is it that he is teaching us, what is it that His plan requires of us? An acceptance of mortality, and a focusing on the promise of immortality? Is this a preparation for accepting our own mortality? I've viewed it at times as a chance for me to redeem myself, to support RFW as I failed to support my father, to experience the departure of a loved one without 45 years of confusion, anger, defeat and failure as my foundation. These thoughts sent me searching for an insight from a couple of summers ago. Oddly enough some few months after writing this I accepted Christ as my Savior. Funny, I told (and still tell) people I wrestled with God for fifty years, until I finally let me win. I don't think it was fear that motivated me as much as exhaustion, just worn down from the growing realization of the infinitesimal control we exert over our lives. I think it was simply an acknowledgment of needing God's support and help and admitting fallibility.

MORTALITY
Suddenly, as if in a gust of cold, icy, breath-stealing wind, mortality entered my universe. Oddly, it came not as a threat, but as a fact, a simple, real, undeniable fact. It made me feel an urgency, like a need to urinate, physical, undeniable, elemental and eclipsing any conscious thoughts, or silly concepts of "self" control, or any illusion of any control for that matter. It felt like GOD had tapped me on the shoulder, not angry or spiteful, just a loving reminder, a word to the wise, and a clue for the clueless.

- - Summer 2001 - -

RFW & Debbie left for San Antonio at 5:00 a.m. this morning. I met him at Fishhook George's pen at 4:30 to wish them luck and I guess just to let him know someone is praying for him. He seemed resigned to going, but I really sensed desparation rather than hope. TW is doing much better. The treatment induced Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome has diminished and he is carrying on conversations and behaving more like himself. Another prayer target.

Back to the Brazos. This river quiets my soul. I am glad to be back, on its bank, en los brazos del Río de Brazos. I like that. I like knowing that the Brazos means the arms and that being here, in this bend in the Brazos River means that I am in the arms of the arms. No safer place, no more secure place, double enfolded. We picked a great weekend to be away from the River. A group of air boaters 80+ I'm told took to this stretch of the river this weekend and wrecked havoc, aurally, and otherwise. Upon arrival at mi casa diminuta al lado del río I saw that EK and friend had arrived and parked their Wanderlodge by fishhook George’s pen. EK's current friend was, well, uh, rough. Apparently deaf, since she shouted constantly, blessed with that Lauren Hutten look, you know, a gap between her teeth, after that we shift to contrast rather than comparison. The quick version would be that her photo appears next to the word "hick" in the dictionary, and no additional info is needed. Max and I, tired from a drive in from Houston played a game of Scrabble and then lights out around 10pm. The Wanderlust, or lodge or whatever, remained however a hive of activity. EK, hick and their four dogs managed to find the only radio station you can get in the Littlefield bend of the Brazos, 95.9, COUNTRY, and well, I told you she was deaf...... LOUD, very LOUD. Add to that that the beer cooler was in an outside compartment, and that she apparently felt that the door needed a SLAM to assure it was properly closed, and that one or more of the dogs needed out every five minutes or so, and that said dog/s required LOUD calling, multiple LOUD calling, to coax them back into the trailer, and add to that her apparent new affection for RFW's dog F. George, and well, it was a while before the Corona twins passed out. Fortunately one regained consciousness long enough to kill the Country tunes. And..... since revenge is a meal best served cold, I waited until this morning to tune my satellite receiver to the "METAL" music channel to return the favor. I turned the TV up all the way as Chainsaw your Mother's Paranoia Metallically or something like that Crashed, banged, and screeched for the forty-five minutes it took us to get ready to leave. Unfortunately, heh, heh, heh, my trailer door developed a sudden latching deficiency and it took numerous slams to get it to latch. Unfortunately, heh, heh, heh, I was very forgetful and had to make several trips back to the trailer to get things I forgot as we loaded. Between slamming the trailer door and the new development in my Suburban that required slamming the doors several times to get them to latch, we departed. RFW called later this morning to apologize for the Wanderlodge invasion. I just chuckled and asked him if they slept okay. Apparently they got up fairly early and left. Heh, heh, heh!

And, thanks to the miracle of Celexa, I never got angry. This was just a reckoning, a balancing up if you will. No enmity, no animosity, no gritting teeth, stomping feet, just cool TCB (takin' care of bizness.)

A Houston weekend. A lawyer in the family. Cris graduated from the South Texas School of Law yesterday. I've told a couple of people that we've had murderers,thieves and con-men, but Cris is our first lawyer. Spending time with Cris, Chris, and Cris' family has been really nice. Some time to rest for Maxie and I.

Ahhhh, Yes, the dawning of a new day. Endless opportunity and a boundless bounty of beauty greet the newly arisen. Perhaps this day will seem smoother, more peanut buttery than the cottage cheese of yesterday. I'm becoming a real fan of smog. It makes for utterly incredible sunrises and sunsets. The hydro-carbonically altered disk of the sun was a glowing medallion of rosy fire this morning. It drew the mass of steel, rubber and plastic inexcorably along I-20. Occasional red & blue strobes would stem the flow to a lawful trickle for hundreds of yards at a time, but the sacrifices from the herd simply meant fewer predators and the stampede quickly resumed. One can only imagine the mayhem that this "holiday" weekend will create as the day wears on. All this hurry and after all, we know how it all turns out don't we. We rush past the now, what is actually the only reality, for the emphemeral tommorow that can melt away with an unforessen swerve or a moment of inattention. Since the only outcome we can reasonably anticipate at the end of our days is death, then why not slow down a little, tarry in the moment, and so, "I really must go, I'm late, I'm late For a very important date. No time to say 'Hello,' 'Goodbye,' I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, Jeeeeezzzzz, the sounds of the brazos night
lost. Hidden. Truth simply isn't everything it's hyped up to be. Openness & sharing & trust sound much better in the theoretical. Maybe when the Celexa kicks in. misssed my meds this a.m. foolishly thought I'd wait 'til morning. Gimme that magic pill. make REALITY palatable. Please!

A new level of blog. Posting from my web-enabled phone.
Should inspiration strike, God's breath overtake me, the muse whisper the words of truth and beauty, finally, and clearly enough for my oh, so mortal ears, maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to "post&publish" before the crystal sphere of thought goes racing through my 'pachinko' brain and fall, lost forever, into that mush of memory no longer mineable at my middle-aged (I wish) point in life.,

Drifting awake
Dawn crept onto the Brazos this morning
No cymbal crash of sun
A sly light wasn't
and then was.
The green ribbon was satin
and no lacy wind ripples
disturbed the drape of cloud reflected there.
Even the fauna hushed their greeting
a tentativeness held them mute.
Sleep was banished with effort
the bonds of dreams unfinished fettered
the arising and a promethian struggle
preceded the cold dip into consciousness.

A river morning, fresh, clean and crisp. Mid-May in Texas is hardly Spring, but rather the sort of summer you see in movies. They don't shoot many movies in mid-summer Texas. The makeup melts. The harsh reality of Texas summer is somehow on hold and blessings of open window nights abound. The river was glassy green this morning, a blush of mist on its cheeks. The woodpeckers and bluejays drug the sleepy sun over the Eastern horizon, slow at first, but picking up speed as it awakened. The Brazos is lazy today, it seems in no hurry to make it to the Gulf, no pent up desire for salty reunion, the constant urge to reunite with the great waters milder this morning. Perhaps a morning like this is even enough to give pause to the river and slow it to a crawl to extend the ecstasy.

Pizza Hut in Weatherford. Time Travel. Memories of a Pizza Hut at Denton Highway and Broadway in Haltom City. An Eckerd's sits there now. Dark, depressing, overpriced, dirty, and that's just first impressions. The "waitress," bless her heart was clearly working at her intellectual limit. However, the Pizza was as ordered, cooked fresh, hot, and very tasty. A short drive to the Brazos and turn the air on in the trailer

A day without Blog, is a day sure to clog. An unflushed mind is a terrible waste. Blog, blog everywhere nor any net connection to be found. Okay, so I missed yesterday. I spent my time wisely, but I know the pearls were missed.

The short version of the weekend is:
Friday night dinner with friends. Cool from some corners, but okay overall.
Saturday morning in the office, Quicken cramming and a little work.
Saturday afternoon, T-ball, and Grandkids at the river. Bank fishing for perch, hotdogs, a movie in the DVD.
Sunday a dash to deliver the Grandkids home, then to Church, then to lunch, then to visit TC & Ida, then to the TT by the Brazos. A short trip up the river with RFW and Fishhook George. No Beaver sighted, pissed on by a nervous Yellow Lab who is still much a pup. A wade through the river after a bumped Sandbar launched Fishhook George off the front platform and into the river. I needed to rinse the dog piss off anyway so I jumped in to help him back into the boat.

Another Saturday morning, another marble moved from the not quite infinite number in the cookie jar and into the old milk bottle. A thousand weekends, Saturdays and Sundays, those days when we seem to do the things that define who we really are. I write this from my desk at the office. Enough said. Two nights away from the Brazos have left me a little somber. I've grown dependant upon the flowing river's cleansing, constant renewal. Perhaps tonight.

Alone is a physical fact, but lonely is a self imposed state of mind. I have been lonely when surrounded by people who love and care for me. It is a choice. I suppose there are a few who will be lonely as a consequence of circumstance, who would choose to not be lonely, but for the most part the loneliness is a result of the walls we build, of the assumptions we make and hold dear, of the anger that we project. I choose to not be lonely. Connection to another human being, spiritually, verbally, or physically is generally possible for everyone. I think without exception, everytime I have been lonely in the past, I can see now that it was my choice, it was my walls and it was my anger, or my pain that drove the wedge between me and the balance of the world.

Bi-Polar, schizophrenic, crazy, troubled, labels, but no nearer normal. I ache with empathy for my friend who suffers the torment of a child in trouble that he cannot help. Helpless to stand and watch the system grind slowly toward discharge disconnected from healing. Treatment scaled to insurance and co-payment and frustration coupled with the quagmire of attempting to diagnose and heal based upon the ephemera of psychiatric symptom described by the nuero-psycho dynamically disturbed.

Third time the beaver has appeared and seemed to laugh and playfully slap the river surface as he swims away unscathed by awesome firepower unleashed from the East bank of the Brazos. Another frustration for a rapidly weakening old friend who realilzes he no longer has the "dead-eye" of a superior marksman, but that too is a loss to count in the hours awaiting one of the few remaining dawns.

Of late, the only thing I find more wearying than the rapid, geometric growth of my cynicism, is the frequency with which I receive new clues that I'm a naive, trusting, fool, and need to learn that nothing is what it seems, everyone is lying, and the reason I saw the rug move just now is that "they" just got a death grip on it in preparation for jerking it decisively out from under me.
O.B.T.W. (Oh, by the way): I remain troubled by the fact that daughter does not rhyme with laughter but it does rhyme with slaughter.

It smelled of death in the house. I noticed it immediately upon entering. I knew the smell, it reminded me of my mother's house when she was dying of lung cancer. It is distinctive. I suspect the dying do not smell it or they would never laugh. I dread the tech heads figuring out how to market "virtual olfactory images." Last night I knew, once and for all, that my friend is really dying. He has looked bad, but the editor in my mind sees the old friend, the one who laughs, the one who is always ready to abuse the new meat and see what they are made of. The editor in my mind hears the bad news masked by carefully designed cheerfulness. But, the editor doesn't have the techiniques to edit odor. These days the tech heads have made it impossible to believe what you see and what you hear. they digitize and manipulate and nothing is necessarily real any longer. You can add or delete voices and you can add and delete images from photos and videos. But for now, the smells, the olfactory evidence, the undiluted tincture of life, or death, is real and it is not subject to manipulation. You can hang all the air fresheners you want, but it is still there, lurking in the very midst of the hazelnut-vanilla world you want to believe in.

I come here today to embark upon a monologue with the world. Mind vomit, dream droppings and visonary illusions may make their way here from time to time. Read with care, courage and caution, for the Brazospoet is plural.