Where Corn Don't Grow

As we sat on the front porch

Of that old grey house where I was born and raised

Starin' at the dusty fields

Where my daddy worked hard every day

I think it kinda hurt him when I said Daddy

There's a lot that I don't know

But don't you ever dream about a life

Where corn don't grow

I remember living in Nebraska and thinking that there wasn't all that much to do. I never thought of it as boring... it was just Nebraska. The Summers are hot. The Winters are icy cold. In the Spring you open your windows to the clean breeze and in the Fall you are surrounded by spooky corn fields on all sides. Even the city kids know their way to the country. Although we didn't think of it that way... it was just just Nebraska.

He just sat there silent

Staring at his favorite coffee cup

I saw a storm of mixed emotion in his eyes

When he looked up

He said Son I know at your age

Seems like this ol' world is turning slow

And you think you'll find the answer to it all

Where corn don't grow

I moved away to follow a paycheck. The dollars were undeniable. The choices were stay and muddle through or move and really see a career. Too young to know any better I went for the money. I still have that career, good money and a big city paycheck.

Hard times are real

There's dusty fields

No matter where you go

You may change your mind

'Cause the weeds are high

Where corn don't grow

Hard times are real. Small Towns or Big Cities it doesn't matter. Of course we can't tell that until we take those steps away from home. Life is like some strange dessert--you're pretty sure it must be good, but you don't know until you take a bite and then it's too late. Good to remember that it is still dessert and just politely smile either way.

I remember feeling guilty

When Daddy turned and walked back in the house

I was only seventeen back then

But I thought that I knew more than I know now

I can't say he didn't warn me

This city life's a hard row to hoe

Ain't it funny how a dream can turn around

Where corn don't grow

My Dad still lives back in Nebaska. I don't see him much anymore for a lot of reasons--some good and some I don't think about. Of course I knew everything when I was stupid. Strange how stupid I feel now that I know I am not wise.

I still feel Nebraska everytime the warm wind blows down from the north. I see it in the clouds of dust that roll behind a pick-up on a dirt road. I see it in everything that is the color of a dried corn stalk. I smell it in the Spring. I hear it in the thunder that rolls across miles of open fields. I search for it on the horizon and imagine that I can see it where the land meets the sky.

**Where Corn Don't Crow is copyrighted by Travis Tritt

Nothing Profound

I've been waiting for something profound or blog-worthy to happen before posting something. Unfortunately neither of these two things has accurred.

Well I guess Burning Crusade launched. That was pretty cool. BC is the World of Warcraft expansion that WoW players have been waiting 2 years for. Blizzard started teasing it before last Christmas even. I had nearly given up on WoW since I had 4 characters to the maximum level and just couldn't stand the thought of running any more up. But the expansion breathes some new life in to the game. The new lands opened up are pretty and the new quests interesting. Plus they upped the max level cap so all my maxed character have 10 more levels they can train.

While WoW:BC is cool to me... it doesn't much matter to anyone else. I find it interesting since it's sort of like a puzzle, a book, a chance to talk with friends (we play online together) and a game all at once. Now that the first 2 weeks past the launch is over I need to get back on track doing more around the house and other stuff.

Letsee... I did drive down to Springfield, MO to visit my buddies from Nebraska. Sounds odd, I know. But one of the brothers lives there and we all commuted to his house for a WoW/Kid weekend. But of course that was the weekend of the crazy ice storm in Missouri. The cable failed shortly after I arrived. We hung out for 2 days doing pretty much nothing but chatting and eating. I drove back on Sunday. Sunday night his power failed for the next 5 days. Poor Asa! Still it was fun to get out and see them. Plus another buddy in KC who had played with the guys but never met the guys got to meet them. I hope that sentence makes sense. It was a pretty crazy drive in the weather in retrospect. But we made it with really no issues. My VW Jetta is quite sure-footed.

I really do like the Jetta, but I do still miss my truck. Nice to have that bed once in a while. Plus some other things are just fun in a truck... like drive in movies, camping or just cruising dirt roads. Damn the gas mileage though. And oy do they want a lot for those things. Hard to justify on a family budget.

We still haven't hit the Powerball.

I should go back to work now... still trying to catch up.

The story of Bill

I recently had one of my wife's friends stay with us for a few days over the holidays. She's a colorful sort and a lot of fun to have around. My wife has been friends with here for about 10 years. They talk nearly every day. She's a pretty free spirit--always active and outgoing but never quite settled. Settled is, of course, over-rated at times.

A few years ago she had a "room mate" named, Bill. They dated a bit, but were not entirely compatible. However, the financial living arrangements made it difficult to go their separate ways. What I remember of Bill is all only from snatches of conversations I've heard from our friend. He had at least one son who was pretty much grown. Bill was divorced and had a hard time finding lasting direction in life. He seemed to flit from one occupation and/or scheme to the next. Never quite going busted, but never really doing well either.

Bill liked to drink and I guess drink a lot. While it didn't happen often sometimes Bill would just disappear for weeks. Friends and family would worry sick and eventually he'd show up somewhere.

Our friend did finally manage to get out on her own. Bill wasn't getting any better and it just wasn't healthy to watch someone you had been living with for years self-destruct.

Bill seemed to drop out of conversation for a long time. But he would pop in stories now and then. On one particular occassion, Bill showed up out of the blue at a bar that our friend happened to be in. He was functionally drunk and happy. He had on a fabulous hand woven scarf that he had made himself. At one point in time Bill thought he'd loom good for a living. After spending hundreds on materials and a loom and self teaching himself to weave he created exactly one scarf. It was red plaid with yellow and black patterns. It wasn't perfect but I would have never guessed it was hand made. When she admired the scarf on him, Bill, who was feeling nostalgic and giving to his old room mate, he immediately gave it over to her to keep.

This year, Bill died much too early. Poor self care, drinking and a number of other bad habits catch up with you eventually. Bill really didn't have anything material to speak of. What he did have went to his son. But now when I see that scarf on my friend... I can't get out of my mind that this may be the only lasting thing on this Earth of Bill. Perhaps the only thing lasting that I will encounter anyway.

I never met Bill. I have only stories. But now when I see my friend wearing the beautiful scarf Bill made I'm sorry he is gone. I wonder what will happen to the scarf as the years pass. I'm sure my friend will keep it and someday many years from now it will be unpacked by someone going through her things. They'll unwrap it and admire its bright colors and think about why this (hopefully very old) woman kept it. They won't know the story of Bill and she won't be around to tell them. But you'll know.

I think I will ponder the things that I may leave behind. I would like all of my friends and family to have something of me to remember and perhaps tell a story about.

The Talisman of Small Truth

(Based on a dream I had.)

There are a number of truths spread between the religions of the world.  Some of these truths are common to all faiths--these are the Small Truths.  Angels carry these truths in small talismans as a conduit to the Divine.

Ordinarly, communing with the All Knowing is automatic.  But in certain situations Angels can become cut off.  These talismans provide guidance and hope when all else is lost.  They are prized and powerful in the hands of an Angel.

The Witch of North Mountain

Melongrim looked out from the open window of her stone spire. The icy winds blew and howled. The chill would have been crippling to a woman now in her second century if she had mortal flesh to feel it. Emaciated hands clutched a foul magic brew she had been working on until something odd wrenched her attention away. She held it absently now as she peered out in to the night. Cold eyes burned in to the darkness—searching.

A shadow wavered and her vision locked on the aberration. It was well hidden. So well hidden she could not make out what it was which instantly meant it could be only one thing—her husband. She set the cup down and bellowed in to the wind.

“Didn’t I kill you? You should know better than to come to me now!”

The next few phrases twisted the tongue, mind and reality. The night sky cracked and a blazing star erupted over the snow covered slopes. The barren rock and ice surrounding her fortress bathed in searing light. The shadow leapt away and dived quite undignified in to a crevasse. A faint curse drifted up from the mountain to the witches ears. She cackled—a stereotypical trait she tried to avoid, but allowed herself the indulgence this time.

“Alaban! Brimkey!” she shouted. As each name was spoken a great hulking shadow sprang to being next to her. Each was well over 15’ tall, billowing evil with great gaping maws and vacant eyes. “Go fetch my husband and bring him to me.”

The two specter princes made no sounds and quietly slipped through stone, structure and night. Melongrim watched as the minions arrowed for the crevasse. When both disappeared in to the shadow a magic laden voice bellowed followed by inhuman harmonic screams. Alaban and Brimkey shot out of the cleft in opposite directions fleeing in to the night with the speed only their kind could achieve.

“I see you struck a truce with the Specter King! How much of your soul did you give up, Sustis? Have you any left? Why have you come dear husband?” The searing light faltered and the North Mountain returned to darkness.

The shadow scrabbled out of his protective hole. As he stood up from his hands and knees. “Greetings, Wife! You look ravishing as ever!” Tall and still handsome (if not for the shining black eyes and aura of death) he called up to her.

“Don’t try my patience, Dread Lord! You’ve lost my affections, loyalty and trust. You can not hope to beguile me on this mountain and I have not yet decided whether to allow you to leave yet. Now, why are you here?”

The shadow shifted nervously. “I have news you would hear.” He paused trying to find words, but gave up. “Luna is dead.”

Melongrim’s soul churned. The icy defenses paralyzed as old emotions tried to break through. A thousand deaths she planned for this man. A thousand revenges. Ten thousands torments. All of them deserved. She shook herself and recomposed her shields.

“I declare truce until dawn. Enter Sultan Sustis Ahlakim, Dread Lord and Husband.” The air hummed as magic again flashed on North Mountain. A numbness settled in to both of them. No actions of harm could be taken against each other this night as declared by the old magics. The gates of Shardholm split open. The Witch of North Mountain and the Sultan would mourn their daughter and plan how best to save their son.

The First Trumpet

A dirty old man stirred in his dirty cell.  Murmurs of an inhuman language echoed softly on the walls.  The stones were smooth from centuries of human hands searching for some weakness in the mortar, but there was none.  There was a barred window high on the wall.  It was enough to allow the prisoner to detect the passing of days, make the nights chilly and the days uncomfortably warm yet never allow a glimpse of sky.  A shaft of golden dawn light fell on the far wall just above the iron door.  The old man jerked in his sleep and cried out, "Madori!"

The language was hard on his tongue and evoked an image of Light--of a place lost.  No! Not lost, but Exiled.  The ever present comfort of the All Knowing.  No doubts.  No hesitations.  Only absolute certainty.  But then came the Command... and then the certainty was lost.  This retched world made little sense without the Guide.  It made precious  little sense while she was in it, but no more.  His dream shifted briefly to a face long gone.  Her eyes.  Her smile. A feeling new and raw and distracting.  But she melted away in to the Light.

He was running from the Great Light.  It had finally found him in this forgotten dark place.  The Light haunted him now.  It's glare blinding in judgement.  It's brillance glorius in anger.  It's radiance resplendant in justice.  He turned and ran.  He could feel the heat on his back rising, the voice reverberating and then... The single pure tone of a great horn resounded.  His heart stopped and trembled in the harmonic for a moment and then exploded to oblivion.

Awake!  Gader'el shot up from the squallid mattris the sound of the horn still ringing in his chest. The First Trumpet! The Trumpet has sounded again!  The Horseman is awakened.

11:47 PM January 1st, 2050

Mathue coded the new formula in to his prediction module.  His head still vaguely hurt from the post New Year's Eve celebrations last night.  The late night had meant sleeping in which consquently left him restless and active late again tonight.  His final project for Christian Science: A study in religious mechanics wasn't due for months.  He had the code framework finished and was planning to finish the program through the rest of the semester, but early this morning he'd had an odd dream.

His plan was a program to predict a date for the end of the world using all the revalent data he could find from various sources.  The program was further going to predict various sign and milestones.  The whole thing would be a hoot to present to the class.  He had records of various calendars from various cultures around the world and had been attempting to sycronize them. 

In his dream he stood on the top of a Mayan temple during a particularly gruesome holiday.  The dream was so vivid that he could see the position of the stars and idly thought, "Hmph... that's wrong this is the Summer star placement and this is a Winter festival."  Just then the King stepped up with his most powerful shaman to the sacrifice table.  The King seemed to ignore Mathue completely.  But just before the shaman stabbed the young maiden between her exposed breasts he paused and locked eyes with Mathue.  The Shaman had stark blue eyes.  His gaze pierced him and he felt himself shiver.   Mathue woke to a painful hangover.

"That holiday was celebrated in the summer?" he mumbled out loud.  Later he checked his sources again and did indeed find a conflicting reference.  Intrigued he began replotting his calculations.  The program was churning now factoring in dozens of religious predictions.  Went the output displayed, Mathue looked over the 50 or so dates from over 1000 years ago out to the year 18,492.  Each date was given a percentage for how many cultures overlapped.  Most were only tiny slices.  But one date stuck out.

Date of the First Sign..........January 1st, 2050 11:48 PM.....100%

Mathue glanced at the clock on the computer just clicking over to 11:48... he shivered.

Ramblings

This blog is going to have no point... don't try to find one.



A strange day of futility... Ever have one of those days where you start off asking "why me?" only to answer yourself with "cuz that's life and you're nothing special."  You'd like to think you've been singled out for torment, but in reality you are just another person going through their day with their own trials and tribulations.  If you were singled out... at least you would have qualified for special treatment and being something worthy of divine notice wouldn't be all bad.



But I'm really not that special.  My life is exceedingly "not bad".  I'd like to think that wanting to drive a spike through specific co-workers is a great problem, but it is nothing.  My greatest problems are nothing.  My life is so shaded with blessings I have trouble getting really fired up about anything.  It is the "not bad" thing that probably keeps all of America asleep.  We have few fears of real danger.  We have more than we need in most cases.  In a pinch we can help each other.  How could we really complain about anything.  How absurd we must look to the world.  What would they think of our insipid blogs (if they had computers to read them).



I suppose is boils down to what is a person.  Compared to society, I'm just a middle-class working husband father of 3.  But who am I really?  What did I do on this Earth?  What did I enjoy?  I wonder if anyone cares.  If I am carefree or worn with worry, in the end will anyone have noticed?



I think many struggle to leave some mark on the world.  Odd when you consider the world will end someday... what will all the marks of all the people who have lived matter to the Universe?  They seem important to us--to our children.  They make up stories we tell.  So for a while we will be remembered.  Always this need to be remembered.  Of course billions go unremembered today.  But some how if we are "great" we will have some longevity in the minds of those that come after us.  However, none of us is really great or really small...



Many have hit on this notion.  All men are created equal... Love thy brother... We will be free... All of them shades of the same... that we are all the same with our own collections of strengths and weaknesses--but fundamentally the same.  So perhaps remembering one of us is like remembering all of us.  I suppose all of us are products of the sum of human learning.  None of us grew up isolated on an island.  We've all learned from someone who learned from someone else... all that we know we have taken in from one of us back to the begining.



So in that sense I am the living Mark Twain... the living Jesus... the living Mohammad... the living Martin Luther... the living Einstein... all that I've learned from those that have passed.



Ramblings... ramblings...



I wish it was easier to know yourself... and also easier to show yourself... and that no one would attempt to judge the greatness or smallness of who you were.  Since in the end we are all great and small.  That what we are is what all of humanity has been and is becoming.