Bette Noir to the Romantic Heart #4 - LOVE

This was no starry-eyed damsel looking dreamily into his eyes and declaring, "It just doesn't matter, no matter where we go, no matter what we have, no matter what happens, as longs we are together, that's all that matters."

Meg Ryan said it to Tom Hanks throughout the eighties and early nineties after all. Bergman said it to Bogey fifty years before that., but Bogey knew better, and put her on that plane.

No. This was a definite reversal of that. The look, saying without words, "You, your presence, your touch, your voice; it's not enough. I am not willing to go through that struggle with you."

 I wander between two thoughts. What was he thinking? Was it because he knew she would always regret staying in Casablanca? Or was he really thinking that putting her on that plane was best for her and he would be the one to suffer and that she would get over it in time. I can make a judgement, that I don't want to believe, that he was using her all along and with the seeming lack of concern as he walked into the fog with Claude Rains. He could have easily walked into the fog with Bergman - a much happier ending - a Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ending - that neither fit the time nor the place.

Bette Noir to the Romantic Heart #3 - WAR!

The Romance of War died along with General George C. Scott*. He said "Wonder weapons? By God, I don't see the wonder in them. Killing without heroics? Nothing is glorified? Nothing is reaffirmed? No heroes, no cowards, no troops, no generals. Only those who are left alive, and those who are left...dead. I'm glad I won't live to see it."

He did not. Having never been fired at, I am the least qualified to comment, but it seems to me that war is ugly and always has been. It's only saving grace, if it could be called that, is the romance that used to be attached to it. It meant something beyond the living or dying. Soldiers would not agree having been through it, but for others, at the very least, the ideals of honor, courage, and sacrifice, perhaps even the idea that the cause is worthy, was a coping mechanism we could draw on to get through the terror of a loved one coming home injured, maimed, partially alive or not alive at all. Now there is only the pushing of buttons or the pulling of a trigger in far away lands.

 

*yes I know George C. Scott is an actor and not a general. He played General George S. Patton in a very long movie. But I could not find an actual quote from Patton so I merged the two. Besides, from what I can tell, Patton, was not all that heroic in his own right. 

Bette Noir to the Romantic Heart #2 - VENGEANCE!

Comeuppance for a deed done wrong is one of those romantic notions, a Monte-Christ-ian trope, that peace can somehow be attained by yanking another's tooth after they had yanked yours. Superficially, that burn to lash out, to get back at, to inflict a mutual misery seems to provide that peace, that relief. But really, with the benefit of being fortunate enough to look back, it only serves to provide a distraction in the consuming purpose it provides.

Once vengeance is complete, there is an emptiness remaining where purpose once dominated time and space. For a while, this void appears to be a sort of peace; but reality shows that it is only depression disguised as serenity. He put your eye out. You put his eye out. In the end, vengeance and the hatred that comes with it leaves us all blind and toothless.

Bette Noir to the Romantic Heart #1

There is a great black beast that mauls, to death, the romantic heart. I think it is called reality. From the cries of "Chivalry is Dead" in the 70's to "Love Ain't A Love Song" in 2015, the hopeless romantic has been disappearing as the world realizes that real life has no end like the movies or our favorite love song. There is no Hallmark ending...perhaps there is no ending at all; perhaps life goes on in a singular, painful straight line, punctuated by the occasional euphoria of the hope of a happy ending. Maybe, just maybe, my heart is just broken and I will soon get over it. Maybe I am so happy I feel sad. Maybe, after all of this, it's just indigestion.


This is a new series of posts called Bette Noir (Black Beast) to the Romantic Heart - it is sad. Sorry.

Home Didn't Change While I Was Gone; I Changed Before I Came Back

Going Home

"You can't go home again?" Why? I've often pondered this question, usually, shortly after trying to go home again. I usually end up assuming that home had changed. "Why can't it all just be as it was?" After talking to a good friend, I've had a change of mind. He said, "Home isn't where you were, it's where you are and home changes with you. When you go back home you find that it has changed because you have changed because you've carried it with you the whole time."


I think he was right. The home I see and touch and hear and feel changes because I change. The drift between what I remember home to be and what it now, is because of the changing perspective I have during my absence. I can "see" home from the outside. But I can't "see" the "me" from the inside. As I drift on the inside, by degrees, it goes unnoticed by me and I assume I am standing still. I also expect Home to be standing still with me. But I am not standing still. I am drifting. Now separate yourself from home, for a year, two years, or more and come back. You've drifted. Home has not. Home now seems foreign and we ask why it did not stay as it was? It did.  It's me that has changed.


Life, if I recall my favorite but all too often forgotten philosophy, is meant to be lived in a straight line. Circling back is wasted motion.


"There is no such thing as a decision. There never was. There's whether you've had a good day or a bad day, there's going forward because there is nothing behind. And running forward- because if you stand still any longer you'll fall over. There's movement or there's stagnation, there's the past that drives you..."- John le Carre, The Night Manager

Mass Shooting, California, SEC Championships, Saving the Lost, Body of Jesus Found

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PET PEEVES PART 2

Go ahead. Schedule a meeting with me. Because, obviously, you need something FROM me. Because, you know, I don't really need anything from you. I'm okay. I'm pretty independent. Don't really need much. So, that's right! Your office is two blocks away. And, I guess you really need a whole hour with me. Must be important. It's cold and raining? No problem, you know, because I'm just that kind of guy. Squeeze me in between a 9AM meeting and a 10AM meeting both on the other side of campus. Sure! Why not?

It's 9AM. I'm here. Ran the whole long way. What did you want to talk about? Wait, you aren't here for the meeting you needed to have with me? Hmm. I'll just wait. 5 minutes. Hmm. I'll give you another 5. Still a no show? 30 minutes later...well I'll just get back to my day and try to recover the 30 minutes I just lost. No, don't be silly, it won't show up in the productivity numbers I have to report to you at the end of the month....

The whole world is being held together by just a few punctual people. The rest do not even realize it. The few "holders" stand in amazement, wondering why we do it....

PET PEEVES

 

If you know me; like if you really know me; there is no way you believe that this list will be short.

 

pet peeve

noun

informal

plural noun: pet peeves 

                                      something that a particular person finds especially annoying.

1. Using the word "like", like every other word, like using "like", adds emphasis to, like, something you really like, like the word "like" really means like.

   2. Peeple who have a peace of paper the prooves someone taught them something assuming because I dont have a peace of paper that prrovves some one taught me somthieng makes them some how supeerior.

   3. Bad grammar and spelling. Poor grammar you idiot! I am always doing that. Getting better, because now I cringe as this is coming off my tongue, instead of not realizing it has done so.

   4. Run on sentences that do not use the awesome semi-colon; the colon is seldom used as well: not like the overused comma.

   5. Floating obliviates- you know what and who you are. Maybe you don't?

   6. The guy, you know who he is, who is always talking about work-life balance and how he keeps it all together. Because, chances are good, he is the reason your work and life is now out of balance.

    7.

   

    

   
   

    8. Words that have consecutive "u"s in their spelling: continuum, for example. I mistruust them. And do youu have any idea how many there are in the English Languuage? And do youu know how hard it is to write words like this in cuursive!?! I always seem to end uup with 3 or 4 "u"s, like, youu know, continuuuuum.

    

    

Floating Obliviates

I don't always know what I want. But once I settle on something, I want to get there and get it done. It's a curse...

Waiting for a parking space...man and wife exit the store, open their trunk, load their stuff, get in the car...and sit. Put the damn key in the ignition, turn it, slide the shifter into reverse and move.

Walking down the hall...I'm walking down the hall because...you guessed it... I have somewhere to go. But no. I can't get there because three women, failing to adhere to the universal (American) law of stay to the right, spread across the 12 foot aisle and saunter along, yacking like a flock of old hens. Don't try to pass on the left, the left most hen will sway into your path blocking your passing lane, veer to the right? Nice try, the right most hen will do the same. If you are walking down the hall, at least, pretend like you have somewhere to go.

Shopping...I go to the store to get stuff, right? I have a pretty good idea of what I need, and unless the store has rearranged itself, like it is wont to do, since the last time I forced myself to go shopping, I know where it all is. But NO! Aisles are packed with Floating Obliviates, veering back and forth across the aisle in a dazed stupor, as if they accidentally found themselves in this retail establishment and are still wandering (and wondering) what it is they are there for.

Rule for Farming (or really anything one tries to do)

Rule for Farming (or really anything one tries to do)

Follow these rules and it will lead to success or at least help one justify not achieving success/

1. Most deadlines are completely arbitrary.

Plant tomatoes starting in May in Arkansas. Except for this one. This is pretty much a sure bet unless one wants to overcome April 13th frosts. And taxes, the tax deadline is pretty much a solid deadline. But those are the only two I can think of right now.

2. You will never get completely done. There will always be something left to do or something you've completed before will change and turn to crap and have to be redone. I believe the proliferation of machines on the farm and in other walks of life is due to humankind attempting to over come this law. We are seeking a machine that will help us get completely done with something faster so we can sit and enjoy (s) the results of our labor, or more likely, try to find something else to do.

3. If you don't do anything, nothing will get done.Sometimes, we don't know where to start, or we've invested money enough to do it all, but realize we'll fail. Not doing anything will almost surely mean you won't get there.

4. If you do something, something will get done. Just because you can't do it all doesn't mean something shouldn't be done at all.

Failure Misunderstood

On my first day back on the job, at my old work place, before going half crazy and attempting to "live off the land", I was greeted by an old friend. It was not, however, the warm greeting I had hoped for.

"That whole farming thing didn't work out did it?"

At this point along my journey to reentering the rat-race, I was unprepared to answer this kind of greeting.


9 months later, after a serendipitous chain of unfortunate events, I find myself back in my old job as the department manager and, as a result, find myself speaking with many of my old manager coworkers in this, my new-old sphere of influence.


Friday was my first big "meeting" with many of these former, and once again, co workers. Again I heard many of the same comments on my return...."Farming thing didn't work out huh?" was the ubiquitous response to meeting me again for the first time. There was another, "I told you, you were crazy!"


And it struck me that many in our American society regard trying something and failing in that endeavor is somehow less honorable or sane than having never tried at all.


So let's break it down. Was my too o'er hasty "retirement" a failure?


If success in our attempt at full time farming is measured in dollars earned or in longevity in the endeavor, or a stubborn refusal to quit, then I would have to say yes to this question. We failed to do what we set out to do.


If success in our attempt at full time farming, meant we learned some very important things...


1) we learned just how little we can live on.
2) we learned that we really enjoyed the experience, over all, and I had a year of spending every day with my wife. Something I may never have again.
3) we learned that dreams can be realized and that it is okay if they are not what we expect.
4) we learned that failure is less tragic than "failing to try" something new for wont of courage
5) we learned that living life in a line is much more difficult than it sounds, especially when life offers you a circle back to try again.


then I would have to say that our attempt at full time farming was an overwhelming success!






Why is the failure almost always held to be more shameful than the failure to try? In the last three years, we've been called crazy; we've been called failures; we've been accused of going back on our word, one person actually chastising me for not letting my Yes be yes and my No be no. We've met people, who for forty or more years have never left the town they were born in; who can't comprehend the insignificance of social status, income, stuff. Its as if, they are still in terror of this mythical permanent record we've all been told about since grade school.


How do I measure or success or failure over the last 4 years? I guess I would have to say, it was neither a failure or a success; or to muddy the waters even more, we were successful in our failures even in our failure of achieving success. The greatest success derived from our failure is the conquering of the fear of trying something, just because you want to try something new.


Success then, is the acceptance of whatever comes one's way, either from the failure or the success one achieves.

Things I Think I've Learned This Week

The words one says - mean something.
The things one does - really affects real people.
I am not defined by my answers to Facebook quizzes.
You can not know me by what I like or dislike.
"We will never have goats again! Even if they are free!" does not mean what I think it means.
One can wear out his welcome.
Running out into the world shouting "This is me take it or leave it" is noble but rarely effective.
"Be all things to all men" has a great deal of Biblical Wisdom about it.
The things I could do, what I could be but for the lack of a single-minded purpose.
To speak well and to comprehend is accomplished, simply, by swallowing one's pride and surrounding himself with people who speak well and think well. Even if those people are in a book, on TV, or on a DVD.
From behind a desk is a dangerous place from which to view the world.
There is nobility, courage, and heroism in the world that is not measured by how much one owns, how much one owes, or how much one is liked.
There are few quiet places in the world - but seek them out, spend some time within them - one will be better able to help someone else after the rest.
Pride sucks.
Negativity is so...negative.
Grabbing hold of and keeping one's IS-ness is harder than it sounds.

Hobbit Breakfast

Hot Black Coffee, Fresh Squeezed Orange Juice. Hot Buttered Grilled Toast, Scrambled mix of free range chicken and duck eggs, Applewood smoked bacon, potatoes and onions fried in bacon grease, mushrooms and a grilled tomato.

Wasted on All the Wrong People

It has occurred to me, on more than one occasion, that sometimes, good things are wasted on all the wrong people.

"Youth is wasted on all the wrong people", said the old guy on the front porch, as George Bailey hesitates to kiss Mary in the hydrangea bushes in It's a Wonderful Life.

Tornadoes and hurricanes occur with unheard of ferocity, at least in my life time. Once lush, fertile farm land has, in these days, become dry, hardpan, cracked, surfaces of clay that extend feet into the earth. High winds topple century old oak trees killed by drought. This hard clay of earth, now holds no water, even if it comes hurling from the sky. Inches, nay, feet of water pounding, compacting the already hard-rock soil, runs off carrying things with it, into our low places. The timing is all wrong too. When once we counted on a bounty of Spring rains prior to the blast furnace of the western Arkansas summers, and then bountiful fall rains to replenish the soil for the winter greens and soon to come spring asparagus, we now get a deluge in late March or early April, and then nothing until November.

But that is not all. Climate change, or whatever you want to call it, also wastes the bounty we do receive on all the wrong people. Not only does the cool weather finally come up to a month later than it did at the turn of the millennium, the heat comes later and is more intense. Stretches of drought and 100 degree days, make the long hot summer that much longer and that much hotter, and the farmers like me that much grouchier. It makes us wonder why we do what we do...

As I left the office building in downtown Little Rock, where I am attending some training, the clouds rolled in, the thunder boomed lowly, and the lightning cracked. By the time I finished my taco to head back to class it had come a deluge. "I wish it would stop raining. Everyday this week its rained right at lunch time and I get soaked on my way back to the office", one fellow diner bellowed - not using her inside voice at all.

It was then that it occurred to me that this rain, this bounty from heaven has been wasted on this ignorant urbanite. Farmers in 91 counties in Arkansas would give, their whatevers, for an afternoon rain shower for a week. While I am taking city water from the reservoir to water my garden, the Big City is taking rain that should be falling on my garden, collecting it in gutters and drains connected to underground pipes and dumping these gallons of life sustaining liquid, now mixed with city-filth, into the Arkansas River.

This rain today and like the rain of the past week has been wasted - on all the wrong people.

I Had A Feeling - Deep Down In My Gut

Shamrock and Thistle Farm, 5:30 AM
Somewhere in the middle of Blast Furnace, Arkansas



Up early is the only way during this time of year. Work until 10:00 AM. This is when the too-close Sun breaks the top of the trees lining the eastern border of the property and begins to try the resolve of those humans and animals still living, or mostly living.

I was able to plant 60 feet of green beans in our slowly-being-renovated garden. I meant to take some pictures to post but as the sun cleared the trees, the batteries overheated; chemicals raised in increasing amounts of agitation, boiled over, rendering the electronic device obsolete. It occurs to me that, back in the day, when picture taken relied on mechanics, optics, and the inverse square law, batteries were not required. The chores were done and some staging for some night time projects completed, I surveyed the farm just to check up on some things. The cross garden is coming into shape and the tomato plant located there, which had given us our first tomato of the year, picked too soon as it always is, had turned two more smaller fruit that had turned a deep salmon color and felt soft to the squeeze. I almost picked them - almost, but remembering the tartness of the first I decided, against something in my belly telling me to go ahead, to give them one more hot day to ripen fully. I went inside, got some things in the house accomplished, a big breakfast gulleted, the nap time she comes and goes, and then, the time being fulfilled, I go outside to pick our tomatoes which should be very ripe and ready to eat.


Apparently something got to it before I did. An eyewitness described a Female, Black and White barred, rose come, slightly pink legs leaving the scene while they were closing the gate of the garden. A warrant was issued for the apprehension of the alleged perpetrator. It will be served tonight. A trial will be commenced. Due to the egregious nature of the crime, the proceedings will be without a jury and I will be the judge. The hen will get a fair trial, then I will incarcerate her in solitary confinement for a period no less than 3 days. If this hen doesn't lay 2 eggs during the 3 day sentence, she will be executed at dawn on the fourth day...

Sometimes Dreams...

Corinth Mississippi, Airport East of Town on State Highway 72

Summer 1996

 

The distance from the squadron of Air National Guard C-130 gunships overhead to the wide brown eyes of the 6 year old below must have been insurmountable to him as he gazed into the sunlit sky. Round and round they circled. As the little boy held the hand of his father with his small right hand he shaded his face from the sun with his left. As the planes circled, his head followed them slowly. The rumble as they passed by parallel with the runway shook them both and the dozens of other spectators who had assembled for the free air show. Round and round they went as they broke formation and aligned themselves nose to tail for the final approach.

“Looks like they’re going to land,” his Dad said to him. The child was mute, awestruck, standing there in his shorts and tank top, tiny water bottle strapped to his fanny-pack.

The gunships made their approach from the north flying lower and lower, one pass, from right to left and then another. Lower and lower they went until the spectators could read their tail numbers. Slowly the rear door of the planes opened simultaneously, and they circled one more time. Doors now fully opened, they made their sweeping right hand turn and lined up with the runway again. In a single line and in order from the front aircraft to the last men started falling out of the doors. One after the other falling into the air. And then like popcorn the little dots exploded into white clouds as the chutes opened.

The Dad looked down at his son, still speechless, mouth and eyes opened wide. The inexpressible joy that is regularly seen on the face of the young and only rarely on the old lit up the father’s heart as one by one the men dangling from the white cloud of chutes dropped silently to a low spot in the ground across the runway from the crowd.

There was a moment of silence as the planes flew off into the southern horizon and the little boy looked up at his father and then back to the empty runway and then back again as if to ask in that wordless way children can do, “What’s next?”

Suddenly the boy jumped as loud pops sounded, startling the crowd back into the moment. Smoke rose from the trench in red, white, and blue colors filling the sky and the runway. Nothing but smoke could be seen the runway had disappeared into this patriotic cloud. They stared into this cloud and eventually detected movement as the Airborne Rangers snuck silently, slowly through the smoke, weapons at the ready. As they emerged, in full gear, they formed ranks with precise half left and half right turns until the entire squadron had cleared the cloud slowly dissipating into the hot Mississippi air.

From the ranks the four squad leaders quick-timed to the front and in unison, shouted:

 

“We Are Army Rangers! Attack Dogs for Democracy!”

The Dad teared up a little bit. The little boy looked up at him and said, “That’s what I want to do when I grow up.”

Sometimes dreams come to pass...sometimes they are not what you expected. They are dreams fulfilled nonetheless...

 Aaron serving on the color guard for the exit of General Petraeus in Afghanistan. (before all the scandal)

Aaron in his Class As

It's Okay - I'm From Arkansas

I had the idea for a series of very short stories I would call "It's Okay. I'm from Arkansas" a few years ago on an ill-fated "family reunion" we "good" Hutchinses held in Branson Missouri. There were 12 of us on the trip. Mom, Dad, my sister,  Patt and me, and our three boys, and my brother and sister in law and their two lovely daughters. After a weekend of shopping and a "Hee Haw" type musical show, it was left up to us (Patt and I) to decide where to eat one last time before heading home.

We decided on an Irish Pub located around the Promenade there in Branson, much to the chagrin of my mother and sister. I checked with my brother to make sure it was okay if Patt and I ordered a pint of Guiness. He said he didn't mind. I was worried that our drinking a beer would cause an uncomfortable situation with he and his daughters. It did not...an uncomfortable situation with my sister and mother was, of course, inevitable. "What are you drinking?" they asked. "Root beer", I said.

We had all finished eating our meals. Every plate was still half full. Mine because I ordered too much, my sisters and mother's because they would not admit they liked it even if they did. The waitress came out to present the check and asked if we would like "To Go" boxes for our left overs. Mom and Sis said "no" because we were going to be driving 6 hours home.

Patt and I said yes. But since no one else wants their left overs, we would take them all. "Just bring out a garbage bag. We'll fill it up to feed the pigs when we get home." The waitress smiled and said "Sure!"

I glanced down the table  at Mom and Sis to be met with looks of incredulous disgust - shock really. I looked at them and said in my most reassuring, sarcastic laden tone:

"It's okay. We're from Arkansas!"

Struck By Lightning

I started writing "Hot and Dry and Humid" in my farm journal (which I hope to turn into Boyd's New Arkansas Farmer's Almanac someday), what seems like a year ago. Progress on the farm has been occurring in fits and starts, go out, work a little until I just start feeling a little dizzy, then back inside for a rest. Hot and Dry and Humid. Every day. Eventually I stopped writing it out and opted for just the acronym, "HDH". Once I tired of this exercise I start just making the "ditto" marks, then, this being too much to bear, day after long hot day, the entries are blank. So I really can't tell the last time we got any significant rain.

Today I worked a few projects until the heat got too bearable - 9AM Arkansas Time, then I reverted back the strategy of keeping the projects short and doable, so I could run back inside, shirt soaked, in front of a fan, reading my favorite book of all time until I fall into a catnap, then back outside for another little project.

The last project I started, out of desperation, was to set up a sprinkler in the portion of the garden where our tomatoes and cow peas are planted. My hope, in addition to watering the plants, was to soften the ground which has become hard and cracked, so I could do some easy weeding early tomorrow morning.

I performed my annual ritual of soaking my self with the sprinkler until I could get the range and direction set to only water what I needed watered and then did the evening chores. Hark! What do I hear? Is that the rumble of what we used to call thunder? And the flashing on the horizon? Could that be, what was it we called those bright flashes that immediately preceded this thunder. Lightning, that's it. No rain though, just the preamble. Kind of like a movie trailer that promises a laughing in the aisles comedy but fails to deliver once your in the middle of it.

The air did cool down a bit and the breeze picked up making it tolerable, at least, to be outside. So I decided to help Patt weed the strawberries in the Cross Garden. Then...it started to rain! Rain! Glorious Rain!

I continued weeding. Patt called the dogs and ran in the house. I thought she would have asked me to come in the house with her saying something like, "You'll get hit by lightning". To which I would have replied, "Then I will die doing something I like to do...or I'll survive and be one of those savants that can read people's minds..."

When she returned, wearing her straw hat and work gloves, I smiled inside. You know, like the feeling you get when you know that everything is going to be okay? By the time she got back out to the garden my white woven cotton work shirt was soaked through. I was dead sexy! Kind of like Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy coming up out of the lake sexy. Funny that Patt did not mention it.

Any way, we got the strawberries, rosemary, and thyme beds weeded. I ran to the barn to turn the sprinkler off while Patt went inside. The cool air refreshed me as I entered. Patt showed me the radar of West Arkansas out of Russelville. There was one storm on the screen. A small one, directly over our farm.

I told Patt that what happened made all the heat worth it. She said, "well I wouldn't go that far."

Now a nice dinner of beef in a wine reduction and swiss chard with raisins and pine nuts.

Migraine Management

It starts out with a vague tingling all over my scalp which causes me to tense up my shoulders and neck. No matter how much water I drink I remain thirsty. Nausea makes its appearance. Eating a snack helps for a few minutes; fluorescent lights begin to blink - I can see the waves of photons flashing on and off giving me a sense of vertigo. I try to relax my shoulders, neck, and back, but the relief is for only as long as I can concentrate on doing so. Before I know it, I am tensed back up. My face becomes flushed and the tingling that started on my scalp begins to make my hair hurt - I know this is strange, but it is so. I start to feel dehydrated and feverish, ache-y, almost flu like. Now I feel as though a giant is standing behind me and he has placed  his big paw, fingers spread on top of my skull and he is pressing down and squeezing my brain. Bright lights intensify the general discomfort I am feeling. Smells pleasant and otherwise turn my stomach. I long for an inert environment, no smells, no lights, no heat, no noise. Now, when I have to bend over, read, or look down, the membrane between my skull and brain begins to throb. Before days end, and with still an hour's drive to get home, the throbbing is constant, the nausea is ever-present and intensifying; the air conditioner is on high, the vents directed right at my bright red face, but I can still feel the hot blood coursing through my skin. This is my migraine headache.


Here's how I fix it.

Supply List:

Damp, not dripping clean wash cloth.
2 Excedrin Migraine tablets
Ice cold glass (not plastic) of water
Oscillating fan
3 Pillows
Dark Room
Pleasant smelling (to you), natural essential oil like peppermint, lavender, or rosemary.
Loose fitting clothes

Step 1 - soak the wash cloth in cold tap water, wring it out so it is very damp but not dripping wet. Throw it in the freezer.

Step 2 - take the Excedrin tablets drinking the entire glass of ice cold water.

Migraines are generally accompanied by a feeling of fever. One can sometimes not cool down, the face is flushed and hot, one can sweat. 

Step 3 - Take a "quick-as-cold-as-you-can-stand-it" shower. Don't use soap, the aroma can make the headache worse.

Dry off so you are not dripping wet but leave your skin a little damp.

 Step 4 -Put on your pajamas or whatever loose fitting clothes you are comfortable in.

Tight fitting clothes increase the discomfort and exacerbate the stress you are feeling.

Step 5- Stack the pillows on your bed so you will be comfortably reclined. And set up a fan in such a way that it will gentle blow air across you as you lie down.

Step 6 - Get the wash cloth out of the freezer, go to the bedroom, close the door, turn out the lights, lie down, take a brief sniff of the oil (I like peppermint or lavender),  place the wash cloth over your face.

Make sure it is quiet and you are comfortable and able to relax shoulder and neck muscles. Lying on your back, I have found, is best.

Concentrate on relaxing and breathing. Consciously refrain from grinding your teeth or clenching your jaw.

Follow this breathing pattern.


Deep breath in for 4 seconds, hold it for just a moment.
Exhale for 8 seconds. (I usually just count the throbs of my temples to keep time). Hold for a second.
Count 1.
Repeat this.
Count 2 and so on.

Counting and breathing keeps your mind off your crappy day, how bad you feel, and any stresses that may creep into your mind that may cause you to tense up again.

I have found that I will drift off to sleep within about 5 minutes and if I don't have anything to do, and the family is willing, I will sleep all night. But, if I do need to get back up to take care of things during the evening, I usually am able to and I wake up refreshed and pain-free.

It Was A Good Weekend in Perryville, My Home Town

Saturday morning Patt and I arose at an unexpected hour - 630 AM and ran through the chores. The still, cool morning greeted us with the promise of a wind-less warm 70 degree day. We ate a breakfast of free range eggs and bacon (of which I will post later) from a local farmer from which we purchased a pound at the exhorbitant price of $12.00.

After breakfast, we started working, in earnest, on our kitchen garden, relining the beds, shaped like a large celtic cross, with rocks, of which there is an abundance in west Arkansas. Once the shovel cut through the thick matte of bermuda grass and chick weed, and these weeds removed we found a deep loamy, dark, sweet smelling earth that was ready for planting. So, after planting some herbs we had already purchased, we decided to go into town and buy some more plants to fill out the beds we had prepared. We ended up buying 12 strawberry plants and 9 of collard greens. When we got them home, we watered them well and waited till Saturday evening to put them in the ground.

Meanwhile, we loaded our large garden cart (quite possibly the most useful tool on the farm) with compost from a pile we had started 3 years ago. The material had broken down into a light fluffy humus which we mixed into the beds to add drainage, depth, and some nutrition. On one of the trips from this bin to the kitchen garden I stopped short and stared into a distant mountain. Patt stopped short and looked in the same direction, "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"I am going to have to control myself," says I, "I just had a sudden surge of happiness there and I wouldn't want to become too flighty."

After getting the garden beds prepared we went to the local library where I checked out a DVD of "Police Squad", a tv series that aired in 1980. It is a lost gem of comedic genius.

Lt. Drebin offering the witness a smoke: Cigarette?
Witness to the crime looking at the open and offered pack: Yes I know.

Ronny and I watched a couple of episodes and laughed like we hadn't in a while, ate a bratwurst, or two and then I headed to the barn. I cleared the breeze way and rearranged so that we can set up Patt's laundry there. Not having room in our 400 sq ft home for a washer we decided to put the washer in the barn. This after we realized that Patt prefers to dry clothes in the sun on a line and in just 3 trips to the laudromat we spent enough in quarters to pay for half of a portable hot water heater. With Ronny's Dakota 4x4 I pulled the last of the clothes line posts out of the ground from in front of the house (something I had been wanting to do for 13 years now) and relocated them to their new spot in the old potato patch.

Then I cleaned the barn fridge so we can start our egg business, which is still in its infancy. Then Ronny and I did some work on his pickup, came up with a list of parts we need.

The first week of my new routine- the 45 minute commute to Little Rock to my new/old job at Arkansas Children's Hospital and then the glorious first weekend- started off a little weird. But by Saturday night, too worn out to take off my boots,

It had turned into the warm comfortable feeling...of home.

To My Friends in Louisville

To All My Friends in Louisville,


I just wanted to say that it was a pleasure working with all of you - even the most demanding of my customers during the year and two months of my working at Baptist Health Louisville were nothing short of patient, kind, and professional. It was with a some discomfort that my wife and I made the decision to leave Louisville and head back to our home. But, really, healthcare is such a small field that it would not surprise me if we do not cross paths again at some time in the future.

 The newly renovated but not yet painted "Disle" (gaelic for trustworthy), the old farm truck now with our farm logo ready for markets that start up as early as March. Some of you made fun of me driving to work in this every morning, but she made it all the way back to Arkansas and has taken her rest and will now be used only to get produce to market or on the property when needed.

 Some of the work we had done by our caretakers while I worked with Aramark made it possible for us to move back when the opportunity arose. The opportunity just occurred a lot more quickly than we expected. The little red building is, indeed, our 396 square foot home. We will eventually build something slightly larger a little bit down the hill and then use this cottage to house visitors. When/if we get to where we can hold farm retreats for people who want to spend the weekend on a farm to see what we do, they can be rented.

 Here I am in the shop we had built by our caretakers. It is in our barn which is about 4 times more square footage than our home. Here I am attempting to rebuild a battery pack for a cordless drill because I am too cheap to keep buying new ones.

Patt has already started getting the le Petite Jardin (french for small or kitchen garden) ready for planting. We will plant this with herbs, tomatoes, and greens. by mid summer we should be able to step just outside the house and make a salad or collect ingredients for a pasta. Like the one below:

Pasta Fresca

In a blender, puree chopped fresh tomatoes, six leaves of basil, one fresh garlic clove, a 1/4 cup of olive oil, and a teaspoon of salt, until it is bright orange and mixed well. Cook your pasta (bowties are best on this). Drain the pasta and add the puree and a 1/4 to 1/2 pound of mozarrella cubes. Stir is up and have with a nice white wine like a Vouvray or cold welch's white grape juice.