Once several decades ago
there was a boy named Bart,
who was as ugly as a fart.

(How, you ask, can i know
a fart is ugly; but it is so:
i have not seen one,
but i’ve heard and smelled one:
they must be ugly, it must be;
they’d be ugly if we were allowed to see.)

So back to this guy named Bart,
who was as ugly as a fart,
Bart also was the clumsy sort,
beyond awful at every sport;
the girls went after the handsome heroes,
not after boys who, like Bart, were zeroes.

So Bart came up with a plot
to get girls to chase him who were hot;
he turned his baseball cap around,
showing all the handsome boys in town;
Bart told them it was cool to wear
a cap backwards and showed them where;
a few copied Bart, then there were many
who turned their caps around like a ninny.

Of course, now all the boys looked funny,
with caps backwards burning faces when sunny;
the girls saw this fad and were confused;
they did not know what to think of Bart’s ruse.
So now, the girls go after all the guys
wearing caps backward as if they were wise.

They even started dating Bart
who remained ugly as a fart.

have you ever heard the green grass growing
in a glen among the trees?
have you ever smelled the rain a’coming
on a Southern August morning?
have you ever sat on a grassy slope
watching baseball in the spring?
have you ever cast a flyrod in a pool
on a creek chocked full of bream?
have you ever played mumbly peg
with your jackknife under an elm?

i did a long, long time ago;
moments i cherish;

i fear there are few who have such memories
with the changes we have had;
perhaps there are adequate substitutions;
i do not know if the replacements meet
the memories that i have,
but
lord, i hope that they think they are
because
mine have made me whole.

For some reason, i don’t know why, i have this sad/mad feeling coming over me. Breakfast is over. I sit at our breakfast table looking out on the Mexican sage where the hummingbirds roam. I am staring at this damnable screen with a keyboard, not my newspaper, something that has been like an anchor in my life until a couple of months ago.

Perhaps not having the morning and afternoon papers are behind the mad. I don’t know.

For another reason i cannot fathom, i put Enya’s “Amarantine” album on my Bluetooth speaker to listen to for breakfast. Her music produces a quiet, peaceful sadness in me.

A great deal of the morning has been spent hitting my social media, Facebook. It was there i saw our youngest daughter. It was a photo Lisa Brannen had sent several years ago. Sarah was in Bonita Vista High School’s women’s show choir, Sound. When i showed it to Maureen, she took a deep breath.

That’s Sarah in the center. Lord, could she project. i was glad we had those times and wish i could recapture them. But i’m too old to be sad. i would be sad all the time with the memories i have.

Then i read a post i shared about eight years ago. My late close friend and shipmate, Al Pavich, had passed it along. The post was from another of Al’s friend and ended with a quote from an old man who had said goodbye to his daughter for the final time and parted with “I love you and wish you enough.”

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

He then began to cry and walked away.

It read so like Al. i miss him. He was a wonder. i felt myself getting mad not having him here until i caught myself again. As with sadness, i’m too old to be mad. i would be mad all the time with the memories i have.

A hummingbird flitted by the sage distracting me from my thoughts. It’s going to be a beautiful Southwest corner January day with a high of 72. We have friends coming for lunch. Time to get to work.

i first saw her in autumn during her freshman year at Vanderbilt. She was walking back to the women’s quadrangle with several other freshman women. She wore a knee-length skirt, knee high socks and a blouse on a beautiful Nashville sunny day.

i was standing with Charlie Hon, a freshman from Chattanooga (who became a legend in our fraternity) on the porch of the Kappa Sigma fraternity house across the street from the quadrangle. i asked Charlie if he knew her. He replied she was Susan Butterfield, also from Chattanooga. i was infatuated. i thought she was attractive and had beautiful legs.

Then, we had a party. Charlie had a date with his future wife, Ann Hon. Ann was Susan’s roommate in the quad. Butter, by which she was known, was double dating with Jeff Redmile.

i had a date with Jack Daniels. A group of us without dates had been watching the Porter Waggoner show on WSM while waiting for the Flatt and Scruggs show, which followed. It had become a weekly mainstay for about four or five of my brothers and me. Unfortunately, this night, i had stuck a fifth of Mr. Daniels’ fine fare into the refrigerator and began sipping with no governor. My date was having a not-good effect on me about the time the party started.

i took a header on the couch and went to sleep (my version), or passed out (everyone else’s version). When she saw me in my sad condition, she asked Jeff to take her back to the dorm and return to take care of me. He did.

From then on, we have had a relationship. Most of the time, including now, it has been as friends. There were some times when it was much more than that. There was one time when i lost track of her. The Navy has a habit of doing that to folks. But by chance, i found her again. She finally married Mike Brooks, also from Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga. They live in Atlanta and are a great fit.

Susan (Butter) Butterfield Brooks is one of my dearest friends. She and Maureen are also close friends, or as close as you can be with one in Atlanta and one in the Southwest corner. i shall save future birthdays to relate other special moments with Susan here.

She remains beautiful in so many ways.

Happy Birthday, Butter.

A big shout out (a current phrase i’m told for “great job” or the Navy’s “Bravo Zulu” (“BZ”) to Mac at Apple Care. After a reformat of my hard drive about a month ago, nothing seemed to work correctly. Today when i lost two important pieces of work i updated last night, i finally called “Apple Care.” For anyone who owns an Apple product, i strongly recommend you get Apple Care. It’s the best customer service i’ve encountered in a long while. For now, here is one of the pieces of work i lost:

It is raining still, harder than at party time. The party is over.

i took my sister Martha, the last of my relatives from out of town, to the airport today (Monday). A normal 20 minute trip one way took an hour and a half to get there and an hour to come home. You see, folks in the Southwest corner don’t know how to drive in the rain.

Later, Martha called to tell us she was on the plane and an hour after the scheduled takeoff, it was still on the ground. The delay is likely to cause her to miss her connection from Atlanta to Chattanooga.

It was raining during the party but thankfully, not enough as this, no, not this much. When it does rain here, the Southwest corner floods in lots of places because it was never intended to have much rain. And this folks, was and remains a rainstorm. It started on the morning of the afternoon party. Even though the party is over, it’s still going. This gully-washer is one of the longer water bearing storms we’ve had lately.

My brother-in-law Danny departed for Crossville, Tennessee early Sunday morning. Our daughter Sarah departed for Las Vegas after Sunday lunch at North. Our daughter Blythe, son-in-law Jason, and grandson Sam left Sunday morning for Austin, Texas.

The other party guests were gone by 8:00 p.m. Saturday evening. The party is over.

The house is back in order with only a few exceptions. The many loaned tables, chairs, tents, and coolers are staged in the garage to take back to neighbors and friends when the rain stops. The left over beer, wine, and non-alcoholic drinks are poised to be given to friends or properly stacked in our wine rack and refrigerators. The party is over.

All the gifts i requested folks not bring are opened. “Thank you’s” will ensue. The party is over.

It is one of the few parties i’ve hosted that met my goals. There were just short of 70 attendees, more than both of us expected. Our next door neighbors, Gabriella and Jesus Avila are the owner of Chuchy’s Taqueria catered with incredibly delicious carne asada, chicken, and birria tacos with sides.

i didn’t want the party to celebrate me. i wanted the wide range of folks who have had positive impact on my life to meet each and enjoy each other. That happened. i’m pleased and honored to have had them here.

Now, it is time for me to get back to work. Even past 80, i find my most satisfaction from taking on tasks and completing them. i don’t intend to stop although the tasks may change as i age further. i don’t know. i am in a good place, and have wonderful wife, family, and friends. Life is good.

My sister has landed in Atlanta but did miss her connection home to Chattanooga. After spending the night in the airport, she made it home this morning.

(From last night) Our brief respite from the rain ended about a half-hour ago and we can hear the raindrops again. It is supposed to end sometime tomorrow and be sunny in the mid to high 60s by the weekend. But we have fire in the fireplace, and it is quiet.

The party is over.