Trees

I like trees...No. I love trees. Especially old ones that have lived long and weathered much. Now, I don't know one from another, most of the time. I can tell an evergreen from a deciduous. I can tell a birch from a sycamore, and a pine from a cedar, but past that, I'm pretty much clueless. It doesn't matter to me, really, how little I know about them; I love them just the same. (Wish it were that easy with people.) I love the beauty in their branches, and the microcosm that each single tree represents. One tree is a small ecosystem, all by itself. My husband told me a long time ago that I should've been a druid. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am.

My favorites are the deciduous trees, because they visibly change with the seasons. I love to see them full of leaves and critters in spring and summer. I love to see their skeletons emerging in the autumn as the bright leaves blow away in the wind, revealing nests of birds long fled south. In the winter, with the trees' branches coated in snow, I like to see the abandoned nests taken over and expanded by squirrels and the new nests of the winter birds. The continual change is visible proof that life continues within the tree, and gives a sense that the tree itself is a moving thing, though its roots be planted deep in the ground. We see deciduous trees in all their everchanging glory, no matter the season.

Where I come from, most of the trees lean to the north. This is because of the predominant winds from the south that are always blowing, at least a little bit. The trees just grow that way. In eastern Oklahoma, the part referred to as 'Green Country', the angle may not be as steep, but there's a definite northward tilt. This tilt becomes much more noticeable as you move westward toward the plains, and the trees become fewer and further between. It's as if they have a harder time holding themselves straight up without other trees around them to break down the force of the wind. I guess you could say people are a lot like trees in that respect. We stand up to life a lot better with a little forest of others around us for protection and support.

To my friends and family, I'm glad you're in my little forest.

Something for Thanksgiving

My best friend in the whole wide world sent this to me, and I thought I'd spread it around a little. I appreciate Thanksgiving and all it entails, but sometimes folks take it a bit too seriously. So...while you're working on that feast, sweating over the stove, here's a little something to lighten the load.

Things you can ONLY say at Thanksgiving:

01. Talk about huge breasts!
02. Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist.
03. It's Cool Whip time!
04. If I don't undo my pants, I'll burst!
05. Whew, that's one terrific spread!
06. I'm in the mood for a little dark meat.
07. Are you ready for seconds yet?
08. It's a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
09. Just wait your turn, you'll get some!
10. Don't play with your meat.
11. Just spread the legs open and stuff it in.
12. Do you think you'll be able to handle all these people at once?
13. I didn't expect everyone to come at once!
14. You still have a little bit on your chin.
15. How long will it take after you stick it in?
16. You'll know it's ready when it pops up.
17. Wow, I didn't think I could handle all of that!
18. That's the biggest one I've ever seen!
19. How long do I beat it before it's ready?

Love Happens

I know a fella who's having some trouble with love. He's in a quandry. He's to the point of wondering whether love is good or bad. I figure when you've gotten that confused over it, it must feel like a pretty bad thing. But, just because it might feel that way doesn't mean it is that way.

There are folks we choose to love, and those we love because we can't help it. Sometimes the first kind of love conflicts with the second kind. It's damned inconvenient sometimes. For instance, consider being commited to someone through choosing to love him/her, then meeting another who knocks your socks off. Love is like sh*t; it happens. Then you're left trying to figure out how to deal with the mess you're in.

I guess a situation like this would be easier to deal with if one had no conscience. But then, it also would seem to me that you can't really love anyone unless you do have a conscience. It's that whole 'golden rule' thing, I guess.

My friend has an enormous heart, and an equally sizable conscience. I'm guessing he feels pretty cursed right now. He can't make a decision about his situation without hurting somebody.

Regardless, all in all, I think love, real love, in and of itself, is always good. The capacity to love is the one most beautiful thing humanity has with which to redeem itself. When it's real, whether one chooses to love, or it just happens, love is always good, and never wrong.

A lot of things would be easier without it, but the world would have no color without it.

A quote I once read sticks in my mind: "The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears." It's love that enables the soul to make the interpretation from a swath of disparate colors to the beauty of the rainbow.

Love is rarely painless, but always good.

My Epiphany, of Sorts

I've discovered that if you tie a knot (make sure it's a knot, not a noose) at the end of the rope you're hanging onto, you can't do it without swinging yourself around a bunch. It's dizzying at first, but once you learn to control it a bit, you can kick the bejeesus out of anybody in the way.

That has its benefits.

A good number of my acquaintances are missing some teeth, and I have rope burns, but that knot's a beauty!

It's not much to go on, but it's a start. And one must start somewhere, mustn't one?

Suffice it to say that events of my life, and the make up of my DNA, have shaped me into a 'glass half empty' sort of person. I've never been full of bubbles and sunshine (sounds kinda painful, actually). This is not to say I don't have fun, though. I laugh a lot, and I make other people laugh a lot. But in the back of my mind, there's always that thought, that memory, reminding me that fun and laughter are fleeting. It keeps me from being too disappointed when the fun's over.

And when I get really down, and feeling like I just can't deal with life, I remember this little poem by Dorothy Parker.

Resume'

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Or, as my husband's Grandpap used to say, "If living's not going well for you, consider the alternative." Ms. Parker seems to be doing just that.