tao1776

This is the first " real '" Christmas that me and Gaia Girl have enjoyed together. Technically speaking, this is our third Christmas together but the first two were a time of change and turmoil. This year we enjoyed Christmas eve together and sang carols at a U.U. service. A cold night, we returned home to a hot fire even as the snow was beginning to color the grass white in preparation for giving all those who pray for it, a white Christmas. Memories have sweetened my heart the last few days with smells and sounds reflective of the season. I lit a cigar the other evening and the pleasant smell lingered in a cloud several feet above the room's floor. It curled and rolled and silently dissipated into the candle light. Like a ghost memories of my Pe'pe' came flooding back. A clear visual before my mind's eye. A stout little French Canadian named Rossaire, he smoked those dried up little cat turds, the Parodi . He also chewed tobacco. He carried a spit

I'm cautious when I hear people say that we need to restore America back to the faith that made it strong and that we need to put God back in our schools and classrooms. Those that make such broad statements never really define what they mean. Usually it means "Christian Faith" with the Ten Commandments posted on the wall while hoping that people of other religions will worship quietly and in the background. Often it centers around a designated authority who cannot be questioned or challenged.  I propose that we DO let God back into our classrooms - not through fear and a strong authoritarian rule but through teaching that which is contained in all religions: The Golden Rule and Loving Your Neighbor. Maybe even throw in some tonglen practice. :) How beautiful would it be if Kindness was our Religion. But that would require that we take more personal responsibility. What if we bought less guns because we felt them unwarranted in our home. Our decision. What if felt that

Driving as much and as often as many of us do, I can't help but try and visualize the volume of gasoline that we are pissing away on a daily basis. I'm stunned by the volume of traffic, the great number of larger vehicles and that most everyone is driving from ten to twenty-five mph over the posted speed limit.  The majority of vehicles that I see on the road are the same as me; Only one or two persons per vehicle. The US Energy Administration Agency states that the U.S. uses an average of 367,000,000 gallons of gasoline every day. But just how much is three hundred and sixty seven million gallons? And the truth is? No one cares. The Purse is first. I often say to my Paint customers. "If the automotive industry was as regulated as the house paint industry, we'd all be riding horses".

Old friends are the best of travelling companions. I'm sure that familiarization is the key. There's a sync which makes traveling easy ; Just like Sunday morning :) We left for Raleigh, NC from North Central MA on Thanksgiving Day. We theorized that most people would be off the highway and having Thanksgiving dinner at home. Traffic would be light which would allow us to arrive in near record time. Our theory was proven wrong. The Jersey Turnpike proved to be a slow moving parking lot for almost two hours. But we flowed; easy... We left home at 8:30 a.m. and arrived for check    in about 10:45 at night. Just in time to share some  beer and wings with some of the locals. We were in Raleigh for a wedding. It was scheduled for late Saturday afternoon so we set Friday aside for exploring and getting a lay of the land. Mid afternoon we went to visit the groom and soon found ourselves roped into a dinner party for all of the out of town guests. We were secretly hoping to avo

Not that I'm an amazing writer or the most rapturous teller of tales, but I've shared a narrative or two that could be listed on the level of sharing a wordsmith's proportions.  Yet I've recently noticed many things about my story telling, my blog writing, and my bearing of tales. They've become stale, seemingly unedited, and frankly downright boring.    Perhaps its my lack of audience. My children and grandchildren once enjoyed my tales; the grand-kids hearing a different version from the adults of course. We don't get together like that much anymore. Perhaps its the lack of angst driving me towards the salvation of a siren past, seductively wooing towards the shores of regret, tales of adventure, lost loves and old friends. Where I used to live or work or play. Things I used to do or places I used to go.    Success, failure, abundance, loss. Where in life's puzzle do I now stand?    Whatever it is, I am feeling stagnant. My creative juices have becom

The earth is home to over 7 billion people. 7 billion!  Look at it! 7,000,000,000 It is beyond comprehension.   Estimates are that over 100 billion people have lived and died on our little slice of Terra Firma. Looking at our planet from the vantage point of mars, if no one was there to point us out we would appear as nothing but another light in the sky. Pull back further, much further, and locate our place in the galaxy. What in the hell are we doing way over there? If you had to guess, where would you expect to find us?  Imagine the violence and blood that has poured out over so many tiny pieces of ground. The battle of Hastings, Agincourt or Waterloo.  Spend some time imagining the bloodshed that this little patch of ground has seen.  War. Plague. Religion.  How much time has been allocated for love, redemption or peace? Always the talk, the dream, seldom the reality. Like ants we busily bustle and fret over a million mundane things.  In

Everyone who knows me, knows that I love babies. Holding them, tending them, quieting a restless baby. I owe it all to my parents who were foster parents for over thirty babies. Newborns to two years old shared our home - and not all came without their own share of problems. Bittersweet is too small a word to convey the heartache and joys we experienced by serving as a respite from their harsh beginnings. I had four children and doted over them all. It was a happy time. Mostly. What a thrill when my oldest daughter seemingly cloned herself. I was lucky enough to have hours and hours with my grand daughter and continue to do so, but not so much since my divorce. She is a precious jewel in my life. My youngest daughter is awaiting the return of her husband from Afghanistan with plans for starting a family in the next few years. I can't wait. Meanwhile her peers are having babies and I finally got to hold another sweet little girl and calm her to sleep. It's the mother in m

   The day is young and the sun is slowly burning off the haze that captured the morning sky. I can feel it. It's going to be a beautiful day. Mourning Doves are mating on the neighbor's rooftop. Barking dogs dot the neighborhood as people stroll the crumbling sidewalk walking to and fro the center of our small downtown. Seven chickens line the birch tree perch and watch the remainder scratch and peck below. It is almost idyllic save for the ever increasing traffic outside my door. I haven't written a thing for some time now. Nor do I feel compelled to meditate. Riding my bicycle came to a temporary halt over some minor health concerns and now that I am cleared to ride no push is on for me to do so.    Like the Honey Badger , "I don't give a shit."    I've become aware of the absence of angst that once filled my sails. Similar to noticing that something has changed but you can't seem to put your finger on it. Like a building that was torn down wh

I was on the inside looking out. What others saw they in all politeness kept to themselves. I like everything there is about the institution of marriage. A commitment of love between two people who pledge to stand by each other through the good times and bad. It's like the song says, "What's wrong with peace, love and understanding?" And then suddenly you realize that you're one in a pack of lemmings running off the edge of a cliff into the sea. How did I get here? For the past few weeks I've been having ex-wife nightmares. She is back! Assuming control while I seek to keep the peace until I at long last explode. It is more traumatic than it sounds. Coping with my divorce was made all the more difficult due to the level of grief that I carried for the two of us. Her demands, her anger, her manipulation was cute when we were twenty. I would go about crying for her and her suffering, knowing that she was destroying us. As her mother said over thirty years

The blogger community once poured out opinion and shared triumph and tragedy. Where we once opened the windows of our lives to one another, we watched as Google Blogger began to die a slow death. Wordpress, Facebook. The community pulled up stakes and moved elsewhere or gave up their blog posts altogether. There was once twenty five or thirty of us who hung out discussing everything under the sun. A veritable mish-mash of people sharing their eclectic lives and experiences. I used to hope for a BBQ believing that a get together was in order. What a great group of people to have assembled all in one place. I still maintain contact with four or five on Facebook. Some disappeared altogether. As the U.S prepared to enter Iraq to put an end to WMD's, one blogger was preparing to leave for basic training. She left for basic and later wrote a few quick updates. The she disappeared and her blog was soon no more. I wonder about her. Another was a veteran of the first Iraq war who coul

I've made a multitude of concessions trying to keep the peace, duck the fire and make my marriage work. When divorce began it's scythe-like swing, the burn of anger felt like a ton of bricks on my chest and had me also tasting blood. In wisdom and understanding a friend said, "The best revenge you can have is to go and live your life well."

The walls were colorfully decorated with streamers and balloons. A table against the wall offered punch and soda, chips and pretzels. A space was made for a birthday cake soon to follow. Put out too early, twenty little fingers would destroy it only because that's what tiny little fingers do. A few boys would grab the leftover balloons and blow feverishly in a contest of lung vs latex attempting to blow a balloon beyond its bounds until the signature, "Pop" was heard. Expansion is followed by contraction. Growth is not forever. There is birth and new growth. But eventually everything decays and death is certain. Everything is circular - not linear. And don't forget those tiny little fingers doing what tiny little fingers do. They become big fingers doing what big fingers do. The blowing balloon of expanding wealth will eventually explode. What that means is anyone's guess. A Great Depression? A revolution? The cost of everything continues to escalate while

During that period of life when I found myself as a driver for a preacher/evangelist, I came to know a man who knew all about trees. Spending time with him I began to realize how much I took trees for granted. I am surrounded by all these magnificent trees and I knew none of them. Jay however, knew that there were: Annuals Biennials Perennials Flowering trees Shrubs Bulbs  and Creepers He knew every specie of tree along with as much information about these trees as an anthropologist from his study of the American Indian. I was humbled and a little ashamed. Over twenty years ago, during a long period of illness and injury, I rediscovered the healing energy of plants and tinctures and teas. I also studied QiGong, Tai Chi and Taoism. The Yi Jing has been invaluable. I have told you of Gaia Girls enrollment in an in depth study of plants and herbs. It's amazing. I could lament that I never saw my studies through to their conclusion. But that would be silly.

Just a reminder - snow may be only four months away! Embrace the heat! Can't be beat! We're in New England ... where there are ONLY TWO SEASONS!

Katie come in to visit this morning because having a chicken in the house on occasion is well, quite alright by me! I see more chicken poop dropping off our shoes than from any of our visiting chickens. Sometimes they just like to see what life is like in the "Big House". Katie is very well mannered but as you can see she's not too sure of the cat's intention. She stuck close by to me knowing that I've always been good to her. She would chose me over the cat any day. I guess she forgot that I cooked her brother Chumley on the grill. Damned good too. Lately I've spent most of my blog time writing about my chickens. In the past I often felt compelled to share stories about a disturbed ex-wife, a broken government, and sometimes writing about Buddhism and Taoism and personal history: along with a few product endorsements thrown in here and there. Other than a few TaoSpring and chicken stories, I've not had much more in me. The chickens are fun. Most every

I love the simple ritual of gathering eggs. If there exists a training tool designed for training chickens, it's plain old, 2 loaves for $1.00 white bread for this flock o' birds. They let out a cheer every time I approach with bread in hand and eagerly throw themselves at the door hoping to grab the first bite. Learning to slip into my Muck boots prior to entering the run and Fort Seuss greatly decreased the amount of chicken shit that winds up under the table, on the stairs or piled in front of the toilet. With hat on bald dome, Muck boots on flat feet and my Guinness Bucket in hand, the bread is scattered and bread rugby begins. It's damn exciting to watch! Today every chicken laid an egg. And many of them in the extra large category. I pluck each egg with amazement and awe. I am grateful. That is truly part of why we should keep things simple. I have no desire to turn this into work. There is work to be done; and it is our responsibly to be good stewards

The wee peeps moved outside with thirteen more scheduled to round out the herd this weekend. Gaia Girl set out to build an addition to Fort Seuss and ended with a mini-me of the same. Fantastic job! Mounted on the rear of the coop is one of the original windows to TaoSpring circa 1900. She successfully built a chicken terrarium where we can now charge admission for seeing the cute little buggers do what cute little buggers do. All for the price of a smile.   I made a gallon of Cabot stain last year to match the color of TaoSpring. It sat in the basement all winter until the can began to rust, providing a little incentive to begin my staining. With Gaia Girl leading the way, I couldn't leave her masterpiece looking pretty all by it's lonesome. So yesterday, before today's monsoon moved in, I painted Fort Seuss with the help of ten mischievous and ultra curious chickens at my feet. They stood around commenting and picking and digging everywhere that I was trying to wor

The freckles dotting my Scot-Irish shoulders became hidden by the red of a sunburn and I thought to myself, "Oh shit. That's going to hurt." Sitting shirtless in the hot sun on the anniversary of my Mother's birthday and my parent's wedding anniversary, it seemed only fitting to spend the fifth of July as another day to remember my ancestors. I sat on the edge of a large and ancient rock overlooking the eastern base of the hill where my mother grew of age. Nearby on Northfield Road, my parents were married in the front room of a farm house surrounded by boughs of Lilly of the Valley. Their wedding night was in the upstairs bedroom her brothers had tied cans to the bed springs. Upon Mount Grace I marveled at the passage of time. My Mother graduated High School three years before the US was forced to enter the Great War.  Her graduating class, consisting of a few guys and a gang of farm-girls, took a bus to NYC to see Frank Sinatra for the class trip. The girls

Wise beyond years burden so great, made light with compassion           heavy by hate. A tangled web, knots expertly tied, in need of Houdini, a Buddha or Christ. Will transcendence prevail or karma invoke new life and regrowth or pig in a poke? Mistrust or faith, what is mind or decided by fate? No power it seems, no will or decision, can shape what our dreams make real or delusion. Ha! Te Shan! Burned all his books. Do you know why???