The Best Way...

To get someone to care for you is to care for someone else. Open your heart.

I went to the sandwich shop and got my lunch. On the way out the door I met Floyd.
Floyd is a 93 year old WWII veteran, cigarette in hand and a smile to boot.

He saw an alligator on my shirt and we began talking about his early life in Louisiana. His fishing, his grandparents, his heart attacks and his prayers.
They were all answered, so Floyd is one grateful man.

"Which way are you going?" asked Floyd.
After a bit of discussion I figured out where he needed to go and happily took him there.

He spoke of life and hardship. He was speaking to me.
As we arrived at his destination, he smiled a toothless grin and gave me his thanks.

And my heart was filled.

Brigadoon

In a perfect world

Back On Track

Mental fortitude is everything now.
Having the right smile is important. And then...

Something internal balances itself and the pain eases. And then...
A gig...two...band? And then...

Hello!
And then...

Long Roads

I am weary but cannot sleep.

The road is before me but I cannot see it.

I talk to myself but no I don't want to listen.

Cigars & Sherlock

He was right you know?

Sherlock said smoking allowed him the time and space to think.

To impress a girl I liked in 1972 I took the proffered cigarette and smoked for the next fifteen years. Then at the age of thirty three I quit.

This year the wife goes to Florida attending a union function. She brings home a cigar.
What can it hurt? You do not inhale, you smoke many fewer...how bad can this be?

Well, it is another addiction to be sure. Although the reasoning behind it is different. A cigarettes allure is that it calms you...relaxes you. It is a false promise as the satisfaction is incredibly short lived and so you need a constant stream to maintain that perceived level of calm.

A cigar, at least a "real" one, takes an hour to consume and enforces solitude since no one wants to be near you, except another smoker.
You think.
Some of you may look at your smartphone...ah well. I cannot save everyone.

But if you are like me, you take a drink...a book and yourself.
And you immerse yourself in whatever for that hour.

I tend to smell them a lot. They provoke memories. My grandfather's brother always had a cigar in his mouth. Two of my summer job bosses as a kid smoked cigars. Sargent Rock always had a stub of a cigar clamped between his teeth as he charged into the fray.

And now I know why they also had little brown patches in the corners of their mouths. Or why they always seemed to be on the verge of drooling.

And then I realize, like beer or any other acquired taste, there is an age when it becomes the thing to try. You turn fifty and want a motorcycle.

And I think I am at that age (60) where if it kills me in thirty years...so be it, right?

Encore

And you have nothing left to play.

Slow Motion Crash

When you are sad the world turns grey.

What's weird this time for me, is that I am hyper aware the azure sky is just blue. That the air is filling my lungs but nothing more.

You know your appetite diminishes. And your sleep habits are disrupted.
But the rest of the world becoming blah is usually something unnoticed. You feel it, but you do not smell it, or see it until a new light enters your life.

I don't want to do anything. Nothing interests me...not my guitar, not a book, nor good food.

I am looking forward to the next light that fills my heart and lungs with the smells that allow me to live.

This is strangely different.
Age or just the accumulated scars showing?