As for the kiosk....I have now moved it back to Nov 1. I MAY be able to go in mid Oct if they will do a half month deal.

I have been working so much doing video/event stuff that I a still NOT prepared for the kiosk.

Next week things should slow down and I can concentrate on the kiosk.

I am finding that I am tired of what feels like the chaos of the event/entertainment industry. I am grateful for the income, and like really like being good at what I do....BUT.....it is not serving my creative side, and I want to have more control over my life and time schedule. Life is getting shorter by the minute and I am finding that the stuff that was important is not so anymore.

I am craving more quiet time, less drama, more slow interaction with people rather than wham bam!

Have NOT given up

I have not stopped blogging. Just trying to find a routine where I will take the time to do it consistently.

I am also trying to write in a place where it will reach the most people, and I don't think very many folks are looking at this.

All I ever wanted for Christmas

First off, I need to say that I did not grow up in any kind of poverty. If fact it was just the opposite. My Father was an Iron Worker. Even a little more rare, he was a college educated Iron Worker, and he was
always in great demand, as the construction industry was booming. It was the years of building the Interstate Road System, The Alaskan Pipeline, and any number of other huge projects being built in the
post Korean War boom.

My Father worked on the first Nuclear Power Plant in the country in Portsmouth Ohio. This is where he met my Mother. He was a young handsome Iron Worker, with a pocket full of money and a love for fast
cars, motorcycles and the good times, and she was a young woman born in Scott's Hollow Kentucky, who had decided that she needed to get out of the "last house in the last hollar" and had moved to Portsmouth, and was working in a beauty shop there.

Somewhere there are some pictures of them out riding horses. He was so handsome, with a wide smile, a straight back, and broad shoulders. You could tell as he sat atop the horse that this was a man whose body was strong, and quick.

My Mom..........well my Mom was beautiful.

It must have been 1950 or so, and I guess Mom was one to be on the cutting edge of fashion, because she had on one of the sweaters that seem to be associated with the time, and she was as they say .... BUILT. There were other pictures of them laughing, and always smiling.

In later years when I would see those pictures the thing that seemed so very out of place were their smiles. I don't recall the smiles when I was growing up. Oh they would smile individually, but the smiles 
between them as a couple must have stopped by the time my memory began. Still....looking at the pictures....I'm sure that there was a time when they must have been in love, or lust, or something.

Dad had a drinking problem. Later I would come to understand that Dad had always been.....different, even as a teenager, he had always been in trouble as a kid, and by all accounts, had "never been the same since he came back from the war". That would be World War Two. Dad had already ruined one short marriage before he married my Mom. It seemed he drank too much.

As the year went by Dads drinking too much would come to dominate all of our lives and just about anyone he ever came in contact with. As I was growing up, I always got what I wanted for Christmas. One year I got the John Deere pedal tractor I wanted. Back then those pedal car type toys were made of steel, and if you were not careful, you could drive half way thru a sheetrock wall if you built up enough 
speed. I got a nice tricycle one year, and there was also the year that I got the "Cisco Kid" Cowboy outfit. It came with a Cowboy Hat, a vest, some chaps, and a holster with two of the shiniest chrome pistols I have ever seen. This set up the critical decision of whether one should wear his pistols in the regular way with the pistol grips facing rearward, or if you should wear them facing forward, so you would have to cross your arms when you drew your guns in a shootout. I opted for the latter because it was "neat". I later embarrassed myself showing the outfit off to the relatives at my Aunt Sammy's house. Seems nobody had informed me that you were supposed to wear PANTS under your chaps!!!!!!!!
Now it's going to bother me which TV Cowboy wore his guns backwards like that?

I even had a BB Gun. I don't recall if it was a Red Rider or not, and I never "shot my eye out" but I can tell you a used to buy my BB's in bulk. I really was not sure that "shooting an eye out" would be all that bad. At the time there was a show on TV called "Have Gun Will Travel" and the guys name was Paladin, and he was a gun for hire. "Have Gun, Will Travel. Wire Paladin San Francisco" was how his card read. I can't recall if he always had one but sometimes he would wear a patch over one eye, as kind of a disguise. I really kind of always wanted an eye patch. Besides, when I was a kid we ALL knew someone who had shot an eye out, or poked an eye out, or something. It was always entertaining if you had a buddy who could do glass eye tricks when things got slow or you wanted to impress a girl.
When I was 8 years old my parents decided to get a divorce. They could not settle on the house that my Dad had spent 3 years building himself, so it was put up for sale, and me and my Mom moved in with my 
Aunt Ethel, Uncle Dick, and my 2 cousins Kenny, and Brucy. Mom didn't want me to have to switch schools in mid year, and we didn't know where we were going to live yet so every morning she would 
drive me back out to the country where our house was so I could catch the bus to school. I guess she could have just as well driven me to school, but back then EVERYBODY rode the bus to school unless you missed the bus, in which case you arrived about the same time as the bus anyhow, but with a few tear stains, and a very sore ass.

I couldn't go in the house because it was locked, because it was up for sale, and there had been such a nasty fight about it, nobody but the Realtor was allowed to go inside it. Now the house Dad built was a nice ranch style, though I don't know if we called them ranch style back then. I think we just called them a 
one story house. The house had a nice 2 1/2 car garage and was connected with a "breezeway" to the house. This breezeway was made of block and this really ugly mustard colored stucco just like the rest of the house, and had a sliding glad window facing the road, but no doors. Just two doorways, one front, and one back, which were kind of staggered so there could be a "breeze" blowing thru. It was winter, and along with the breeze, in the winter a little snow would blow in and pile into a snow drift inside the breezeway. Still, it offered good shelter while I waited for the School Bus to arrive.

When the Driver would toot the air horn twice, I would run down the driveway to get on the bus. After I got on the bus it was my job to ride in the seat right behind the Bus Driver, and when we would pull in front of a stop, I would reach up and pull the cord that blew the air horns so the other kids knew to run down their driveway to get on the bus. That was my job. I don't remember how I got the job, I just know I did it till the last day I rode that bus, and I have had air horns on several of my vans and pick-up trucks over the years, and even today I love to blow the air horns on the big trucks I drive. It's funny where things get started.
So it was Christmas time, and my Parents were locked in a bitter divorce, Mom had been a stay at home Mother, and "now things were going to be different, and we were not going to have much money".

That year all I had asked for was a new 26" Western Flyer bicycle. I had out grown my red 24" Western Flyer bike which was in pretty tough shape from several years of riding the trails in the woods behind the 
house, being dunked in pond where we would see who could go the farthest out before going under, and jumping the ramps that seemed to get progressively taller and taller, until someone drew blood. Besides, Punky McMannis down the road had a 26" bike and he was shorter than me so I was sure it was time for me to move up. Punky's Dad owned his own dump truck, and according to Punky they were rich, and that was why he had one of those Shwinns that has the special rear hub where if your rocked your pedals back just a little it would switch into "2nd" gear....and just ride off, leaving me "in  the dust".

Punky was the guy who taught me how to put playing cards clipped with a clothes pin in my spokes, so it sounded like we had engines. If we were out of cards, we would save our cereal boxes, cut them up into 
rectangles about the size of a playing card, and clip them in. The cardboard from the cereal boxes just never had that crisp sound that a nice fresh "Ace" from a deck of Bicycle Playing Cards had. Later Cousin Kenny and Brucy would show me how to use a balloon tied to each fender bracket and rubbing against the spokes, which made this deep rich sound that we were sure made us go faster. The balloons didn't last as long as the cards but they sounded so good, and when they would wear out they would explode, and we would lock up the rear wheel making a long curving skid mark, yelling "shit...I had a blowout". We could say "shit" out loud when nobody was around, because we were tough guys.

So I had this incredible yearning for this new bike. It was this beautiful two-tone metallic blue trimmed in white, and it had whitewall tires. I was pretty sure I wouldn't get it "because we were getting divorced" 
but that didn't keep me from wanting it badly. At that time Dad would come and get me on every other weekend, and I actually had not seen him in a while because he had missed a couple of weekends.
Mom said it might be because he was working on a job out of town, but I heard her tell Aunt Ethel it was because he was too drunk when he came to get me and she would not let him take me.

More and more I focused on my desire to have that new blue and white 26" Western Flyer, and got lost in how life would be when I was riding down the road on it all shiny, with balloons in both tires. I would add blue and white steamers to the handlebar ends, as well as one of those horns that when you squeezed the black rubber bulb would make oonka-oonka sound. Not the one with the straight horn... that one was pretty high pitched, and was for girls. I would have the one with the horn tube that had a curl in it and a much larger horn opening and a deeper sound...it went honka-honka. It was more for guys than that other one. And a light... it would have a light! It would have that big chrome light.... the one that you had to open up and put in two flashlight batteries. Later I was sure I would get the turn signal set for the rear. It took those little skinny batteries. I wasn't sure where I was going to get them though. Oh... and mud flaps!!!!!! I ALWAYS had mud flaps, with little red reflector in the middle. They didn't come with the reflector, but Dad would let me use his drill, and I would drill a hole with the electric drill, and bolt on the reflector. I guess most folks don't teach their six year-olds to use power tools like they did back then.

So it was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. Mom had driven me to the "old house" so I could catch the bus, I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that the "blue bike" was a lost cause.
It was snowing, and was "cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey". I learned that from Punky. He said he heard it from the men down where his Dad hung out with his dump truck. I think that's also where we found out just how cold it had to be to be “colder that a Witches tit, on Halloween". All pretty manly stuff, when you are eight. So me and Mom pulled up in front of "the old house" and the driveway was deep in snow because nobody lived there anymore to shovel it out. Two deep tire ruts were running up the driveway, and there sitting right in front of the 2 1/2 cars garage that Dad had built with his 
own hands was a bright red 1960 Chevy Apache pick-up truck. Dad's trucks were always red... bright red, and he always took them to the local Sign Painter and had "Fred" painted on the door just below the window, in letters about 2'' tall. It was always a nice script letter, white with a black drop shadow for accent. It had those little "  “ marks on each end. I wasn't sure what those were for. I don't think we 
learned about the " “ marks yet in school.

Mom said she was afraid she would get stuck in the snow in the drive so she just dropped me off and left. I knew it was because Mom just didn't want to see my Dad. I didn't like the idea of "us being divorced" but Mom had not had a black eye in a while, or covered up any bruises, and now it was Christmas time, and Mom always had some bruises at Christmas when Dad was around. It must have been some kind of a Christmas tradition or something because later in life, my wife would end up with some of her own bruises around the Holidays.

I was ecstatic to see Dad's truck in the driveway, as I had not seen him in a while. I ran up thru the deep snow in the driveway, my book bag in one hand, and my lunch box in the other. As I rounded the corner of the door opening onto the breezeway THERE IT WAS!!!!!!!! There sitting on it's kick stand in the middle of the breezeway, was a shiny new metallic blue with white trim, 26" Western Flyer bicycle! It already had the big chrome headlight AND the blue and white steamers hanging from the ends of the hand grips.
It seemed as though the sun was shining in the breezeway window, and I can't tell you how beautiful that metallic blue bike, with all the chrome, was there with the snow drifted behind it in the breezeway. Then when my eyes focused on the background I saw him. It was my Dad. He was lying down on the cold cement of the breezeway. He had passed out drunk, and the snow had drifted, nearly covering him up.
His tan colored work boots were sticking out. He always wore those tan boots that laced up, and had the kind of cream colored soles. He climbed steel for a living, very high steel, and he said the soles gripped the steel better than leather. His head was not covered with snow, and he still had his hat on. He always wore a ball cap, unless it was something really dress-up, and I learned that the cap sort of acted like a gauge. The more to the side the bill of his has turned.....the drunker he was. It was very reliable. There he was passed out cold in the snow drift, with his hat very much to the side, and this sickening feeling came over me that maybe this time he wasn't just drunk, because he really looked like maybe he was dead in that snow drift.

I remember that all of a sudden.....that's what folks say where I come from in place of suddenly.....so all of a sudden, here I am with the bike of my dreams....and I realized that what I wanted, all I really wanted, all I had ever really, really wanted was for my Dad to be sober, to be sober on Christmas. I wanted him to be sober at school functions, and I didn't want Mom to have any bruises, and I wanted for us to be back in the house that MY dad built with his own two bare hands. I wanted to be inside the 2 1/2 car garage that my Dad built, standing around the pot bellied, wood stove, having Dad teach me how to operate another power tool, or maybe listening to Dad and one of his Iron Worker buddies tell stories. I was sure they had much better stories that the guys that Punky's Dad hung out with down at the dump truck place, and I wanted it all back.

Dad finally came to.....and was kind of pissed because I was crying, and how he had gone to all the trouble to get me this bike and all I could do was cry.......and how I should be grateful, and happy.
That blue metallic bike became what was to be a long list of "escape machines" I would have over the years. I still love bicycles to this day, and love to just ride around and look at how other people live.
I still love just about anything painted blue metallic, and drive a 45 year-old pick-up truck with my name painted on it, though it' a little larger than "Fred" because now I am the Sign Painter, painting stuff 
on other peoples’ doors.

I guess there is just about nothing better than hanging out with my Son OR my Daughter, out in my garage. A few months back we started teaching the Grandkids a little something about power tools, and 
tomorrow when they all come over to my ranch style (one story) house with a "breezeway" we are going to fire up the chainsaw, and cut some firewood. I think a kid should know about chainsaws and drills, and 
loud circular saws, before all they can think of is "gasoline and perfume". They will all be here for Christmas... the two kids, my Son-In-Law, the Grandkids, my X Wife and her Husband (my Husband-In-Law) and if she gets any bruises it's gonna have to be from falling off the chair at Christmas dinner. There will be a few others as well, and some will come and go. My Younger Brother will be here too. He never even got to know our Dad. He never even got the good part from Dad that I was able to get before "he got really bad". Yep tomorrow, and for the last few years we have all gathered up here at my house, and eaten far too much. These days I always get what I always really wanted for Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you all!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did I mention it's been cold enough to freeze the..............well it's been cold.

Recently my Son came home with a book written by the Southern Humorist Lewis Grizzard.

I'm pretty sure he didn't pay for it, but I doubt that he stole it, so if you are missing yours....I'm pretty sure he'll bring it back after we have finished it.

The book ended up on the shelves in the bathroom where the towels are stacked, which also doubles as the toilet paper holder, until one of the three slackers that live here decide to fix the one that's supposed to be hanging on the wall.

I should say that it ending up in the bathroom is not a comment on Mr. Grizzards journalistic talents as much as it is a testiment to the fact that every other flat surface in the house is covered with something else and it was the last place to lay something down.

I decided to pick it up one day while...I was doing my business......Lewis would say "doing my business" then he would tell a story about where he learned the term from an Uncle, a Cousin, or some other strange small town character from the little town where he grew up in South Georgia.

So I was "doing my business" and decided since it would be awkward to practice my juggling, and singing seems to annoy the stray dog that's been coming around because my Little Brother, and Bonny have been secretly buying it expensive Doggy Treats, well it just seemed easier to pick Mr. Grizzard's books and read a few words.

Now I used to keep books in the bathroom all the time.

I was married to a woman who for some reason could not stand for me to just sit and read a book, relaxing or otherwise.  I developed the ability to read a complete issue of Cruising World Magazine, Soundings, or any other magazine that promoted the idea of buying a small sailboat and slowly relocating myself to a latitude much closer to the equator, where I would play out my days relaxing and reading a book without being nagged. There was also the issue of the Naked Pearl Divers I'd read about in National Geo when I was a kid but maybe we can talk about that later.

I could read a complete issue in the bathroom while doing my business, and she would never know I was breaking the rules and reading purely for pleasure.

The only negative consequence of this plan was the lecture I always got about "all those sailing magazines laying around that you never read".

Now I used to keep the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous in the bathroom to read while doing my business, but it tended to put me to sleep, and then there I would be snoring on the throne, only to wake up with a ring around my bottom that would not go away for days, my legs so asleep that I would have to fall of the seat until the circulation would return to my legs enough for me walk out of the bathroom in an upright manner. It also left one with the distinct feeling you had somewhere along the line sat down in a bowl of corn flakes.

Besides I never drank in the bathroom.

I will admit the feeling of laying on the bathroom floor, unable to walk was somehow vaguely familiar.

There was a time when I would keep a Playboy Magazine hidden between the towels but now that all that I can really do is read the articles....and Mother told me one should not rush "doing your business" so I need something with a few more pages.

Now I guess my Son  is reading Mr. Grizzards book to, because there is a bookmark of sorts marking the place where someone has stopped.'

I'm pretty sure it is my Son's because it is marked with a fall out card....the kind of annoying ad card that falls out of a magazine until they finally wear you down enough to subscribe to the magazine because you are so  damned tired of picking the card off the bathroom floor when it falls out while you are doing your business.

I'm also pretty sure it's his, left over from the days when he was married, and learned to keep a magazine in the bathroom so he could read about distant trails to distant places, where you could just relax and read a book without being nagged.

Now sharing a book between father and Son can be a wonderful bonding experience. I'm looking forward to when I am in the hospital fr my heart by-pass, and my Son and I can share thoughts about Mr.Grizzards thoughts while he was in the hospital for his by-pass.

Since my Son started the book before I did, he got a head start on me.

Each time I go to do my business I try to read enough to catch up to where his bookmark from the camping magazine is. 

Now I don't want to say there is too much competition between us, but I had to complain that he was reading to fast and I was having a hard time keeping my place.

Since he spent all that money going to UNC Carolina Law School he is pretty sharp and suggested I get my own bookmark. I thought maybe  going to one of those Liberal Schools had made him a little selfish, but in the end it is not an issue.

This morning I went in to do my business, picked up Mr. Grizzard's book, and read until I had finally caught up to where the camping magazine bookmark was.

I can't tell you what a satisfying thing it is when Father and Son are finally on the same page. 

After all the reading, and all the catching up, and enjoying all of Mr. Grizzard's wonderful observations of life and the human condition I have a little concern.

If I was able to catch up with my Son........I'm pretty sure he's not getting enough fiber.

More about the rain

  I decided that I needed to get out of the shorts, and into some long pants as I knew the temp would be dropping. I looked for a place to change, but there really was no place to hide, besides it was raining and getting in a hidy-spot would require getting soaked.

  I decided that all the cars were focused on the road and the rain and just "dropped trou" right there next to the bike and it was done. 

  There is something liberating about standing on the side of the road in a rainstorm in your underwear........lol

  When the rain passed, I decided to get rolling. It had been a long day, getting up early to get the band, then driving the 11 hours down from HELL (New York City), then the bus change over, and now I was wanting to see my own bed!

  I rolled out on the wet pavement, and built up road speed. It looked as though things would be fine until I drove right into the back of the storm that had just passed. I decided to press on.

  I was trying to focus on the road surface, where the puddles were, and spotting anything that might require  a ride in the big van with the flashing lights. I was driving in a pounding rain, 45 mph on a 70 mph freeway, with Big Trucks flying by me, throwing up huge water sprays that felt like getting hit with a big bore garden hose. I needed all the concentration I could muster, as I could only see a few yards in front of my front tire. I was well aware that the road could reach out and bite me at any moment. My experience told me it was raining far too hard to be out there in the dark......but I just kept pushing on against my better judgement. 

  As the rain increased it rain down my face, and as it touched my lips it tickled a little. I licked my lips and the taste of the warm rain sent me back in time.

  My mind left the rain slicked North Carolina road, and took me to to our side yard in central Ohio, where we were all kids, in our "swim suits" running around in a beautiful warm summer rain shower, jumping in the warm puddles, splashing each other. 

  Now I am not sure just WHY rain water tastes so special, and I had not had it happen for years, probably since I was out on the Appallatian Trail and it was a daily thing to keep walking thru the daily thunder storms in order to make the miles you needed to the next camp spot.

  Each time the rain water would trickle down my face, and I would run my tongue across my lips to capture it, I would wonder why it is that we go to so much effort and expense to avoid it?

  We buy umbrellas, and stand under shelters for long periods. We check the Weather Man, to see if it MIGHT rain, then we stay home if it MIGHT.

  I wonder what it is in us that lets us forget what it tastes like to go out and play in the rain, on a warm day?

  By the time I finally finished the 80+ mile ride home, I was tired, soaked to the bone wearing a leather jacket that must have weighted 50 pounds wet, and near the point of hypothermic shivers, but I would not trade anything for just a little time travel back to a time when we went out of out way to taste the rain. 

Tasting the Rain

  So the the other night when I got to the end of the Redman/Methodman Hip-Hop tour I switched out with the other Bus Driver in Charlotte NC.

  It was 11:30pm by the time it was all done and as I had ridden my motorcycle down there to get the bus I was looking forward to a nice ride home to shake off the tension accumulated while dealing with "the challenges" of that tour.

  It was a balmy summer night and I decided it was so nice, I would just ride in my shorts and t-shirt for the 87 mile putt home.

  When I got up to road speed it was wonderful. Just the right temp, very few bugs in spite of the evening summer heat, and I could feel the tension draining from my body. 

  Life was good. The tour was over for me, I had a pocket full of money, and I was headed home to my own bed and my own life.

  When I felt a little sting, I assumed it was just a bug who had sacrificed himself, but soon there was another, then another, then the bottom dropped out of the sky.

  My first reaction was "wow....the rain is so warm, this won't be bad at all". That was good seeing that I had forgotten to take anything that resembled rain gear with me when I went to get the bus on short notice, so the fact that it was pouring was just going to be the way it was going to be, and at midnight there was not much I could do about it.

  As the rain pelted me I spotted a run down repair shop on the side of the road, and along with an assortment of old cars, a broken dow RV, and a couple of old washing machines,  there was one of those aluminum carports you see every few miles with a big For Sale sign with large white numbers reading $696.00.

  I decided to duck under the display carport, splash thru the giant puddle at the end of the driveway, hoping there was not a pothole the size of a bathtub hidden under the puddle.

  As I cross the puddle, cross the pavement, negotiate the slippery grass, I roll to a stop, and realize I am actually not really all that wet......good news.

  I would sit out this "passing shower" after all I had nowhere to be, the rush of the tour was over, I would get there when I got there....life is good.

  

Tuesday night from Staten Island NY (part of HELL)

I spent over 12 hours today getting the bus engine serviced and the broken window replaced.

Now I need to get a few hours sleep and then haul ass southbound as quick as I can get there.

I am looking forward to getting home and getting on with things.

The money has been very good doing this, and THAT is what draws me out here from time to time.

While the tour has had it's bumps, I am very grateful that I have been able to get this influx if money in order to finance some of the other projects I will be working on.

A new company called me and they need a Stage TECH for their big portable stages that I am certified to set up and operate.

They are a local company, and have booked me for about 5 shows thru sept and oct, but they are in NC and Charleston SC so I will only be away for 3 days at one time.

The money is good, and it is something that I am good at. 

I have worked a lot of years to get to a point where folks were calling me for all this stuff. 

Now the task is to pick and choose what works for me and NOT get back into the spot where it all is running me.

It should work well as a transition from the show stuff into the Rags n Tags kiosk at the mall......just in time for the shopping season.

Time for a few hours sleep and then back at it.

Tuesday the 4th of August From NJ

I am at the Prevo bus repair shop in NJ. I am looking forward to getting back home and getting on with the details of my life. I should be in there late tomorrow night.

It seems like my schedule is packed from now until November but I am excited about the prospects and projects I have coming up.

LIke always, my life has NEVER been limited by lack of opportunities. I have ignored or squandered away more opportunities than most folks EVER get in their lives. I have always been very fortunate in that way.

My problem has ALWAYS been a lack of discipline, and the ability to follow things thru to fruition. 

The other thing that has plagued me over the years is my EGO not being able to say NO to a project, even when I know it is going to be something I am going to hate, because there is no real money in it, or it's going to be a crazy pain in the pitoot!

I have been trying to nibble away at some of those defects, and to try and complete a few things here and there.

In addition to trying to build the business to a point where I can actually live off of it again, getting my home in order, and finishing some projects there, I MUST,MUST,MUST,MUST, MUST do something about my weight.

It may be that I am finally getting to some sort of emotional bottom with this thing, where I will finally take some solid action, and get some results. This stuff is killing me! My joints hurt, I have NO flexibility, even my FAT clothes don't fit, and carrying the equivalent of ANOTHER PERSON around just sucks the energy out of me physically and mentally.

OK.....there may be more later......for some reason I just feel the need to think out loud on this thing.

So today I begin a new method for staying in touch with the folks who are interested in my ramblings, and keeping folks up to speed on my whereabouts and current projects.  

                       

It will be interesting to see who reads and who does not.

  I thought it would be better to NOT impose my daily drivel on the ones who did not want their mailboxes cluttered up, and just put the stuff out there and if ya wanna read it.......read it.

I know that the facebook experience while novel in the beginning, did NOT meet my needs.

 I wanted  to have the space to express myself, and cover a number of different subjects.

I hope you come along for the ride....let's see where it takes us.