October 26, 2014 § 14 Comments
At sixty-three I think of myself as young-old.
Some call this age bracket “the new forty,” but it isn’t. The forties are consumed by striving, climbing, raising kids.
Sixty-three is part of life’s slide into home plate. I’m not down about it—I feel pretty sure that if I take good care of myself I can avoid touching base for quite a while.
But the idea of Old in reference to me is something that takes getting used to.
I’ve been young all my life! Young is who I am!
If there is an amateur phase of Old, I’m in it.
I have to get over thinking of Old as a passing thing, like a virus, something that will respond to some over-the-counter remedy.
October 20, 2014 § 5 Comments
Probably the easiest view to take is through the window of a moving car. At speed, that mess doesn’t seem all that bad.
Walking the road you get a better look, but for an informed opinion, try picking it up day after day.
There is no sign that says “This Roadway Kept Litter Free By Adrian,” but I’ve claimed a stretch of road and I keep it litter free almost daily.
My opinion of littering humanity has evolved—you can’t stay mad and self-righteous forever.
Instead, I’ve begun to compile a heartbreaking profile of my fellow-man based on the artifacts tossed on the ground.
October 12, 2014 § 6 Comments
In the flicker of time allotted, each lived fiercely and died without fuss, returning the physical elements of existence to the earth, and the spark that was life to the stream from which all new life flowed.
They did not have to understand these rules to follow them.
His favorites were the birds. For them he had created the towering thermals.
Soaring upward on those thermals they rode their moment, alive. alive.
But those who had lately reared up on two legs rumbled with discontent, questions, ideas.
October 5, 2014 § 4 Comments
It landed in the driveway every morning.
It was broadcast every evening at dinnertime.
But back then I was busy doing homework, worrying that my hair was too straight—or maybe not straight enough—and listening to Cousin Brucie on the transistor radio hidden under my pillow.
Anything less local didn’t apply to me.
Then Vietnam broke over me and my whole self-absorbed generation. Suddenly awakened, we marched, we carried signs, we screamed for peace.