tao1776

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???

I know that in my bio I make claim of having known monks and musicians, preachers and physicians; but these days I seldom rub shoulders with monks or preachers or physicians. Nay, life has grown quiet. A group of more than four people is a stifling crowd for me. Yet I still know plenty of musicians and an assortment of artisans who captivate through their craft. Have you ever been in awe over another's ability? Their gifts, ideas and their creativity? Below, I have listed three who I would ask you to support. The first is a builder of guitars who amazes me by his ability to craft an instrument that mirrors the handcrafted work of C. F. Martin.   The second is an amazing artist, illustrator, sculptor and breeder of prize ducklings. The third crafts amazing bow-ties. I met this gentleman through the Lodge of Freemasons. Lodge officers wear bow-ties as part of their ensemble and it's rare to still see a bow-tie outside of a Freemason lodge - and that's a shame! Look

Years ago, I maintained a fairly substantial garden plot that grew the usual selection of tomatoes, squash, cucumbers and peppers. Changes forced a decision to finally put it to rest. The grass took over and I soon had before me just more lawn to be mowed. Nothing more - Nothing less. Yet I missed the garden and all that it symbolized. The planting, the dirt under the nails, the watchful expectation of seeing it grow and flourish. The smell, the texture, the color. It all seems so right. Natural and nurturing. So I decided to put in two raised beds. One away from the house and one just behind. There is a distinct advantage to having raised beds over the usual plot of tilled soil. You're totally in control of the soil for one and you can plant early too. The ground in the raised bed warms up quicker and if there is a threat of frost a small roll of plastic will suffice in covering it for the night. It's true for those cold September nights as well. It's easy to te