Sunday, June 30, 2013

DUMB BASTARD AWARD FOR JUNE


The Dumb Bastard Award for Junes goes to--Lee for leaving all her hotel information in her Yahoo email account, which totaled itself while she was travelling in southeast Asia.

Lee, using that Yahoo account is like having quicksand as your email provider. 

This is your second award this year.  One more and you get a lifetime achievement award to be given publically in a restaurant of my choice over dinner.

Hope you at least enjoyed the pony ride up the side of a volcano.

Hairballs,
f

Sunday, June 23, 2013

SAFIRE BLUES


Greeting Hairballs,

I’ve been neglecting this lately.  The hockey playoffs will end this week and I’ll be back in form.

Don’t know if I’m being influenced by WhiskySteps, which isn’t a bad thing, or channeling someone from down Louisiana way.  Dreamed about a little girl with long, stringy blonde hair, in a sack dress and bare feet running up onto a porch.  When I woke, I wrote this.  I’ve already run it by a few of you so I apologize for the repeat.

Safire Blues©

         FMHorner

Grandpa’s been on the porch all day
sittin’ on the steps playin’ that old sax
says he’s got the safire blues

that’s when the grief gets deep inside
and squeezes so tight you want to die
but you don’t, you just keep on hurtin’

someone shot Uncle Rob last night,
he was drunk, bustin’ up stuff and makin’ a terrible racket
but weren’t doin’ no harm to people

I got the sadness too, but don’t play no horn,
Grandma says we can’t cry so’s anyone can see
so we hold each other and rock

back and forth, back and forth

Hairballs,
f




Sunday, June 16, 2013

OMG OF THE WEEK

Greeting Hairballers,


Sarah Palin’s back at Fox News.  Guess they realized their gravitas went up (slightly) and comedy quotient went down.

Can’t do that to their viewers.

Hairballs,
f

Sunday, June 9, 2013

TOPS BAR

Greeting Hairballers,

A short fiction offering from WiskeySteps this week.  Enjoy.


TOPS BAR©

WhiskySteps


He went that day, away from the harvest that took all his time.

Looking for a spot to rest, the work had taken its toll.

He was a kind man, who sang at Tops bar every Saturday night. The crowd was overflowing on this eve, not a single soul wanted to leave. Some think he walked away that night after singing at Tops, some folks think he drifted off through time, others knew better, he just wasn't that way.

Twenty years, give or take have passed. People still mention him from time-to-time, just a passing thought, a distant memory.

Tops bar closed with little fan fare, business was slow, but the sign remains, hanging askew over the entrance to the empty building.

Not many people in town anymore, the factory and farms have all shut down. Most who remain are on welfare, nobody cares. Despair has settled in, only memories linger of that life that had been so abundant.

Then one night the light at Tops went on--the tattered wires no longer dead. On this night that dingy sign, that hung loose for as long as folks could remember, came to life and brought a few to tears. Music could be heard softly escaping from time’s tomb, as if the clock turned back to those prosperous years. His voice could be faintly heard crawling up the deserted streets; a curious scent of hot dogs and sauerkraut, Tops favorite fare, was in the air.

People came out of their homes to gaze up and down the street. Were those long forgotten days about to repeat? As quick as it happened that's how fast it did end, the lights flickered out, the music drifted away to the midnight sky and around the bend.

Some said he came back, to offer one last memory of how things used to be.

Hairballs to all,
f



Friday, June 7, 2013

OMG OF THE WEEK


Greetings Hairballers,

         A different sort of OMG this week.  It’s an OMG for me—OMG, I’m so lucky.

         Working around tropical storm Andrea, it’s been a week of get-togethers with friends as many prepare to scatter for the summer—one to the Far East and Asia for four months, another to Michigan to sell some property and others to seek cooler climes.

         What struck me is that everyone is bright, interesting and involved.  They not only read books, they write them, design good jewelry (not just bead stringing), paint, sculpt and participate in politics beyond hitting the like button on Facebook.

         Not one person discussed their aches and pains, and god knows we got them.  No one complained about anything or anybody (which is boring as hell).  We laughed and talked a hundred miles an hour.

         Sally’s recounting of her recent trip to the Spoleto Festival has me making plans for next May.

         Fortunately, there will be enough of us still here battling the heat to do things, like taking in a performance of Carmen later this month.

         Perhaps St. Petersburg is a good fit for me after all.  Arizona intrigues me if only I could replace their governor with Martin O’Malley of Maryland, another state I love.

         I’m off to buy water, tuna, batteries (my life seems to run on AAs) and all that other gear for my hurricane kit.

Hairballs!
f