Got some time to stroll?

Walk With Me

When the Good Lord made each one of us
He gave each of us our own free will.
I aspire to teach my kids discipline because
it is a valuable attribute which to instill.

I strive not to control or push them
in any manner or direction I want.
Instead I teach them the minimum requiem
so that life, in its craziness, won't daunt.

I illuminate them from whence they came
of their forefathers and their struggles.
How they managed to excel at the game
and avoid some of life's big troubles.

I wish to show them the easier way
to make it from challenge to challenge.
How to manage and plan their day
so they may enjoy a healthy balance.

Most would say that it is our goal
to raise a healthy and wealthy brood,
but I say I aspire to be the best
at showing my kids a good attitude.

I laugh with them every chance I get
and I try to dance whenever I can.
I sing everyday (if you can call it that)
and I smile because life is grand.

But life is not all kicks and grins,
it takes work to make it through.
And each of us must pay for our sins.
We all know this to be true.

So as we walk along our chosen path
in this topsy turvy, crazy theme park.
I hope that both my kids somehow hath
my beacon to help penetrate the dark.

I want them to glance to either side
and see all of their family there;
walking with them, along for the ride
so they don't feel like they must beware.

They must learn and understand each day
that the lessons passed down from the wise
come from travelling with the old and gray
and by sharing with them smiles and cries.

For a time will come when we are gone
and our children will enter the fray
and at that time I hope they are strong,
so to teach their own children the way.

stu pidasso

17June2009

Be sure to check out the plethora of other writers at Mama Kat's Writers' Workshop. There are some really good posts out there waiting to be shared. And for the record, I did not fake my aging mother for cyber sympathy. She is real and she is old and we do love her very much. The above picture is also included in the zoo slide show on my last post over at Mudville Musings. Give it a view if you'd like.......or not......but have a great day and hug your kids.

Writers' Workshop: Tears, fears and a shotgun ringing in my ears

I had a meltdown at work today. I had to get up out of my chair, leave my office, go outside of the building inside of which I work and weather the storm. Anyone who knows me would be asking, "who was he angry at this time?" I was angry with no one. I wasn’t angry, I was floored. I could not stop the grief from pouring out of me. It is known to happen more than I care to admit and has been for the last ten years. But I digress. When and where I have emotional meltdowns is not as important here and now as why I had this particular meltdown.

For once again I have been over to Mama Kat’s blog, Mama’s Losing It! I like to participate in the Writers’ Workshop she features each week, catch up on what she has been posting (she has some of the most creative posts I have read) and she has such a collection of interesting blog-stalkers and commentors. But today she has laid my heart so low with her post from her own heart, a poem written about one of the continual looping cycles of families. She has penned one of the most heart-touching poems about the metamorphosis of her life as a child. It spans the timeline from having a whole family, through the loss and mourning of her father, to her eventual adulthood including a husband and children, thereby bringing her situation back to the wholeness of a complete family once more, but for the next generation.

And she sums it up quite well by describing it simply as "a scary place to be."

I look at her pictures, especially the second one of her in her grief, and I rue that I may have caused such suffering for my own two children. I know that I caused it. I know that it is my own fault and that as much as I may rant about how my ex is treating me, that it is a direct consequence of my own failures as a husband and father. The thought and realization of this possible effect on my daughter and son is rending me. It has for ten years and it will continue. It is my invisible prison cell and a cell from which I will never be able to escape from or pay restitution enough to ease the burden of my cross. I am humbled and ashamed of my actions and lack of foresight.

Describing it is not good enough, you should read it for yourself and see the accompanying photos. It is simply beautiful.

What a/an (insert own appropriate descriptive name here – I used wench)!! I stop by her post to participate in the writing festivities and she sandbags me with own guilt. Women, we just can’t trust them guys. Sheesh.

But nonetheless, I am going to participate anyway! So here are the prompts:

1.) Define goodness...joy...sorrow...and anger using pictures you've taken.

2.) Tomorrow I will do it differently. Here's how...

3.) Describe a 'sound' from your childhood. What was it? When did you hear it? What does it bring to mind?

4.) I remember when...

5.) Right now is the best time to start. What's your first step?

Tough prompts this week. I will skip the first one because I don’t have my pictures available at the moment (but I thought Mama Kat did a good job of covering this one with her post, as well as prompt #4). The second one, maybe. The third prompt is interesting, but I don’t recall a lot of "sounds" that spark memories from my childhood. Wait, I do have one for prompt #3. I’ll come back to that. Prompt #4, Mama Kat blew it out of the water. It doesn’t even exist anymore. And the last prompt just makes my head hurt thinking about it. So I’ll write about the third one.

There is at least one sound that I do remember that has a lot to do with a big chunk of my past. That sound is loud and quick! It makes you almost pee your pants if you are not expecting it. Even when you are expecting it you jump when it happens. It yells "DANGER" at you when it sounds. It makes every bit of nature around you flee. It is a criminal’s worst nightmare and sweet music to an honest man.

It is the sound of a shotgun being fired.

I am one of eight brothers. And my grandfather was one of a number of brothers also. He grew up on a farm in western Missouri. He was taught how to fish and hunt at an early age. He joined the army right after graduating high school to serve in World War I. Even though serving in the war as a messenger, he was commended for trading his side arm pistol for a rifle, which he used as a sniper against the enemy within the Arragon forest in France. He was mustard gassed and had his backpack shot while on his back. He was lethal with a firearm. When he came home he took up wild-catting and made his home and living here in the desert of West Texas. He competed in and won a lot of sporting competitions for shotguns. He hunted a lot. My father hunted a lot and he was also quite lethal with a firearm. My father was also a retired full colonel in the military. Hunting and guns have been a part of my families heritage for as far back as I can find in my research. My grandfather and father passed on enough guns to us boys that we each have several. I am quite lethal with a shotgun. I hunt. I take my son hunting and will take my daughter if she ever shows an interest. They will be lethal with firearms too (call it a self-preservation skill).

And that sound, the sound of a shotgun being fired, brings back fond memories of many Saturday and Sunday mornings and evenings out in the fields around West Texas. Those trips, walking and whispering with my brothers or my father, were moments shared with the people closest to my heart. Moments with no worries or fears, just the excitement of stalking and successfully hunting game. Not hunting just for the sake of killing, but for food and sport, for the experience and the practice to be good with the tool that allowed our forefathers to break out from under their oppressors. This, to me, is the sound of freedom and security from the tool that allows an honest man to defend his home and family from intruders and criminals.

Mother's Day poem, summer plans and quasi-vlogging

I have been working on an "assignment" from Mama Kat's Writers' Workshop. She is nice enough to prompt us with a few choices each week to help us get our creative juices flowing and this week she did not disappoint. When I read the five prompts, I smiled as I had (unbeknownst to myself) accomplished one ahead of time. So I did two more with it and I am going to post all three. I probably should skip prompt 1, but I need to get used to posting videos. My vlog attempt is a bit embarrassing, but since it came from the heart I'll do it anyway. Pardon the bit of slurring, but I had a few cold ones by that point.



Now to begin. I wrote my mother a poem (it might be the first). I hope you like it.

DEVOTION

Devotion
is the single word to be heard
that sums it up for all.
It is what you've done for forty-one
of the years I can recall.

Devotion
is what my fortunate father received
when he took your hand.
How is it that he correctly perceived
you as the fairest of the land?

Devotion
helped build a rock solid home
for seven bros and my sis.
Perpetually chasing us as we all did roam
ready with a hug and a kiss.

Devotion
to your choice of life work to do
by becoming a nurse.
Opting to aid the sick and needy, too;
instead of stuffing your purse.

Devotion
is what your favorite priest finds
when you grace his eyes.
Your resolve is the kind that binds,
strong faith you epitomize.

Devotion
to being the type of kind soul
to turn the other cheek.
Forgiving trespassers no matter the toll
and striving to be meek.

Devotion
the same offered to welcome guests
calling at your door.
Open to filling any and all requests
while refusing to keep score.

Devotion
to husband, family, job, church,
foes and friends the same.
For the word, no need to search
I just use your name.

Devotion
to helping you enjoy your life
in any way I can.
If dad deserved it, doubly so his wife
the only mother for this man.

stu pidasso

7May2009

This summer, I want to take my kids across Texas. Every other day we will enjoy a different waterhole in this great state. We will start out west in Balmorhea, and proceed to work our way across Texas to the east on our trip to Houston. I intend to have stops in Christoval, Junction, Llano, Burnet, Austin, New Braunfels, Bastrop and maybe more. I hope to do some swimming, fishing, canoing, dam jumping, cliff jumping, river tubing and more. We may even get my sister and her three men to come along for part or all of the trip. We may have to split it into two trips and do half of it next summer. I'll keep you posted.

And the last bit of bidness, is the posting of my first attempt at video upload.

Sorry, I just feel like I'm Dragon today

The Dragon soars once more,
freed by the greed of those with no need,
peaceful prosperity yields way to Horror's rancor.

The savage swoops o'er stoops and through peach basket hoops
preying upon peasants; man, woman or child.
Torn like a thorn by tarragon with horn,
forlorn families mourn through their scorn
tormented by scaly winged serpent so wild.

Idle slaves hoist their glaives with raves
against wyvern parlayed by pampered knaves.
How to conquer? How to defeat?
What treasure laid at monster's feet
will alleviate appetite with allure so sweet?

None knows what it is that eases the throes
of those dying horribly from basilisk blows.
But As hydra haunts, and future daunts
the heroes survive by delaying their wants.

And as behemoth retreats to rest from it's feats
I implore, you do not find the fiend at fault
instead chastise those with the keys to It's vault,
Instead buy up their lands while their blood's in the streets.

If I could only plagarize love......

Mandala's Divine Love Swing

For my assignment from Mama Kat this week, I chose to tackle the prompt she deemed hardest. Not because I love a challenge (which I do), but because the poem from which I am stealing the last line touched my life.

While living in Fort Worth after my marriage failed, the concept of a loving relationship was lost to me. I floated in and out of a long distance relationship which also failed and I was pretty down on the whole idea that I might find someone special to me that would find me special to them. I was having a hard time coming to grips with my belief about what love should be and encompass. Eventually I stumbled across a book of love poems written by Nikki Giovanni. I read most of it in one sitting in the nearest Barnes & Nobles to my house, and I purchased it before leaving the store. I still have it and reread it on occasion. Her style of writing, as well as her vivid depictions of how deeply she loved those who she was writing to and about tuned my heart strings in again so that I could make wonderful music within myself and feel once more the possibility that I might love again. As Diane says, it was a defining moment in my life. One particular poem reminded me just how innocent and light headed love could make me feel. Here is her poem that touched me in just the right spot in my heart to jump start me again.


I WROTE A GOOD OMELET

I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem...
after loving you
Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the rain...
after loving you
I goed on red...and stopped on green....floating somewhere in between...
being here and being there...
after loving you
I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly confused but...I don't care...
Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood ...and laid me down...
to sleep...
after loving you

--Nikki Giovanni

After Loving You

After loving you.....
what else was there left to do?
All I could smell and taste and hear
could not ease or abate my fear
that true love wouldn't visit again
as prolonged penance for my sin.
Things that used to make me smile
no longer held power to beguile,
and the things once pleasing to my touch
chaffed and chapped as if much too rough.
At first the gaping wounds felt so deep
as if doomed to ooze and forever seep,
as a festering wound is known to rot
viler my disposition towards love got.
But as time would slowly tell it's tale
my anger ebbed and gradually fell.
I found myself with book in hand
at one lone stop in wandered land.
Twas a book of odes to love was writ
that my melancholy made me forget.
I bought the cute little hard back tome
and many days, reading I did roam.
And the joy and exuberance of words within
my forlornness and gloom helped do in.
And free once more my feelings flew
and the hope to love grew anew.
My spirit climbed and rose so high
cartwheeled, flipped and danced through sky.
Once more the feelings of possible love
let my heart barrel-roll above.
And as I free fall from skies of blue,
to Nikki I say, "God bless and keep you."
This time I know what not and to do
To give me a chance at loving.....who?
Who knows?? It may even be you.

Stu Pidasso 14Jan2009

Weekly Assignment

For this weeks assignment I am going to combine two of the prompts as they fit right together. My dog, Brutus, was actually my first bloggy friend. I remember it well. I was just starting my blog and put my settings together (with lots of green because I like green, not green as in money - but I like that too - but green as in nature, because nature just amazes me) and posted my first entry. The next day I came back and was shocked to find that I already had a comment. Cool!! So I clicked on in and read the first comment on my blog. It read like this:

Commenter: "Woof woof woof woof woof. Aroooooooo, woof"

Shroomzilla: "Well, that is sweet of you Brutus. I like the green, I think it looks good too!"

Commenter: "Woof woof woof woof."

Shroomzilla: "Yes, I am new at this. How am I doing?"

Commenter: "Woof arf arf arf, meow."

Shroomzilla: "Thanks and no, I will not post those kind of pictures and I don't care that you have a thing for cats."

Commenter: "Woof woof woof, pant pant pant, woof woof bark bark aroooooo."

Shroomzilla: "Yeah. I guess poodles are okay. What does that have to do with this blog?"

Commenter: "Bark bark bark, woof woof, arf arf , aroooooooo, meow."

Shroomzilla: "Wow. I didn't know that about poodles!?!? And when did you start watching Ellen?
Commenter: "Woof arooooo arooooo arooooo, bark bark bark. Yip yip yip, meow."

Shroomzilla: "Now I just don't believe that. Why would Ellen have a show on poodles and cats that love big strong dogs? And when did you learn to speak Cat anyway??"

Commenter: "Woof woof woof, arf arf arf bark bark meow yip yip yip. Pant pant."

Shroomzilla: "I don't care if you get bored easily!! Part of the reason we keep you around and feed you is so you will protect the house. If you are at the college, how are you doing your job??"

Commenter: "Woof woof woof bark bark yip bark woof."

Shroomzilla: "I really don't think that the squirrels are the same thing. How many scary squirrels have you ever met?"

Commenter: "Bark bark arooooo woof woof woof."

Shroomzilla: "I don't care if they go nuts on a stalkers nuts, you leave your post again and I'll have a bone to pick with you!! Now get off the computer and get back to your job, dog!!"

Brutus is my man!! He is my dog and my best friend. Not like a human best friend with whom you fight over something and then make fun of after you are victorious, but as in "man's best friend". He always is happy to see me. He can't wait until I get home and has trained his inner alarm clock to my schedule. He waits anxiously at the front window for my return in the afternoon. He wags his tail like a ninja swinging his katana; not side to side, but in every direction thinkable. And he is forgiving. When I first got Brutus from a rugby teammate back in 1998, he was a little more than a year old. He was shacked up in a house with five guys, four other dogs, an iguana, a calf and two baby alligators. It took two full years for him to get over his cowering fear complex, and he still is timid when confronted by a loud or aggressive personality. But he is soooo lovable. He thinks he is a lap dog and is not shy about pushing your hands to let you know that you should be petting him.

Discovery

I took up this writing challenge from Pictures, Poetry and Prose. I found this wonderful site by reading the offerings of the Bard from OZ, J. Cosmo Newbury. If you haven't stopped in and read his material, you are jilting yourself, but he does request that you visit with a glass of pinot noir in hand (I made that up, but he may adopt it in the future). So with no further ado, I present to you, my interpretation of the photo above, entitled Discovery.

DISCOVERY

My college professor for freshman English
assigned us the essay, "Look at your Fish".
I was so unprepared, my head he could squish.
To be anywhere else was my only wish

The story involved a scientific pupil once hesitant,
who had to keep reinspecting his droll assignment,
and each day he took up his mind-numbing regiment
he discovered a new symmetry or minute alignment.

I now find it simply amazing and amusing,
that for twenty-five years his insight I've been using.
The lesson which he strived to make so unconfusing,
was for us to be in a constant state of perusing.

Long ago, being the student who had finally caught on
I now look at my "fish" until dusk, from first dawn.

Writers Workshop Assignment....Childhood games

I.LOVE.MAMA.KAT's.WRITERS.WORKSHOP!!

She prompts me to write (and I love drawing on my life experiences to do so). Let's cut through the chase and get down to the meat of this thing!! I give you a fictionalized day in the life of Francis, Michael, Will, Andrew and Anthony.

The boys hated babysitting. It was bad enough they had to endure these brats they knew as little brothers, let alone take care of them. But what are a couple of teenage boys to do? They had explicit instructions from mom and dad to keep a close eye on their brothers, so no one would get hurt or into trouble. But as they sat around the house pondering the social scene at the youth hall, their active imaginations got the better of them.

"What if we were to isolate the brats so they can't get into trouble? asked Francis.

"I dunno, as long as they are safe and out of harms way, I guess that would be okay." replied Michael.

"Then we could go hook up with the guys, and as long as we are home before mom and dad, no one else will know." said Francis.

"I'm down with that, fo shizzle! What do you have in mind?" queried Michael.

"For starters we can put Will under the sink in the kitchen. Andrew can be locked in the footlocker, but we will have to make sure he can get air." suggested Francis.

"And we can put Anthony under the toy box, there is no way he can lift that thing." added Michael.

"Cool. You get your bicycle chain and padlock, I'll empty the toy box and footlocker." said Francis.

"How are we going to get the brats to get into these things without a fight?" asked Michael.

"The same way I get them to make me sandwiches when I am hungry, kick their asses." sneered Francis.

"Yeah, I guess. Works every time, huh? Well, let's get this ball rolling." suggested Michael.

They take a little time and effort to get their pieces in place, but all goes as expected for them. With the three younger brothers playing a really cool game of "Prisoners Of War", the older two siblings set out for their rendezvous with the other local kids at the nearby junior high school. After an unspecific amount of time has elapsed, they return home to find all the doors and windows to the house locked.

While they were away, the prisoners escape!! Anthony sits in total darkness under the wooden toy box. Will sits in the cupboard below the sink. He is peering out through the small amount of space which the doors will open under the slack of the chain and lock. He is watching Andrew, who is latched into the footlocker. Andrew is getting restless with this game and has started kicking and thrashing about.

"Hey!! You almost popped the latch on the footlocker. Kick it again and try to undo it!!" squeals Will.

Bam. Bam bam. Bam bam bam. the kicking finally works, and Andrew crawls from the footlocker. He surveys the scene in the kitchen. The older siblings have used toy wooden building blocks to wedge the toy box against the footlocker and wall. A quick kick to the blocks and Andrew is able to tilt the toy box off of Anthony, freeing him from his incarceration. The two of them turn their attention to Will.

"Oh. They have you chained and locked under there. Do you think we can pick the lock (I think it was a key lock??)? asked Andrew.

Anthony replied, "I dunno know." (he was young, very young)

"Get dad's hacksaw out of the utility room. We can cut this chain. It isn't real big." begged Will.

Andrew and Anthony head outside to get the saw. They return with the required tool, and make short work of the imprisoning item. Having freed all the prisoners, they turned toward securing the compound. They checked all the windows and locked all the doors. They even wedged the doors shut, which the others were sure to have keys for, using their ingenious little minds to get the task done. Then they ate and watched television. Will and Andrew even exacted some revenge by peeing on cherished items of their oppressors. But then, right around lunch time, the oppressors returned.

"Hey!! The door won't open." exclaimed Francis.

"That's strange. Let's try the back." added Michael.

"This one is locked, too!! Look the brats are loose. How did they get out?" cried Michael.

Time passed as the older boys tried any and every trick they could think of to get in the house. Eventually they used the lamest trick they could muster.

"Come on guys, I really need to use the bathroom. Let us in and we'll forget about this whole thing." begged Francis.

Against their better judgement, the three younger brothers relented and gave access to the older boys.

"Now you are in for it!! Who sawed my chain in half??? You are all going to get the treatment now. Get under that sink." growled Michael.

Abandoning their separate (but equal??) prison quarters, Francis and Michael relegated the three younger boys to one temporary jail cell. All three boys were placed under the kitchen sink, locked inside the cupboard, and treated to several minutes of hot water flowing through the drain pipes. After which, they were chastised for escaping in the first place, assured that they were being watched, threatened with even harsher punishment if they escaped again (or tattled to the parents) and left locked up again.

All was as the oppressors wanted it to be, until Dad came home early from work. Let the beatings commence.


This post was brought to you by the letters "F" and "U", and is dedicated to Francis and Michael (don't trust me to watch your kids!!).

Writers Workshop - Glass

I am soooo depressed. I have no idea why, but some days you just get in a funk. Maybe, it is because I feel dirty and used. Maybe because I feel half empty. Maybe it is because people treat me like I am transparent. I dunno. I mean, last night everything was going fine. There were a ton of people here, we were all having a good time. There were drinks everywhere. Wine glasses with merlot, shortballs with scotch straight up, shot glasses with the tequila flowing. Some idiot even pulled a "Flick Nynn" (tequila shot, snort the salt, squeeze lime in eye; WHOOOOOOOOOAA!! BABY!! THOSE BURN!!) The poor fool was hacking salt out of his nasal cavity for an hour and squinting like Popeye for almost as long. The party went on and on into the night. Eventually people started wandering out into the night to head home and Shaggy and Batgirl were doing some late night straightening. Tables got wiped down hastily, food got wrapped and stowed, drinks were poured into the sink and dishes put in the washer. Finally they cleared out up stairs to the Batbed.....and left me all alone down here in the dark. ALONE. FORGOTTEN. A.B.A.N.D.O.N.E.D. it was like they didn't even see me over here in the corner under the lamp that hasn't worked in ...I dunno...how long?! sometimes it is enough to make you contemplate......no, no can't think of that!! Well, I am reaaaaaallly close to the edge here. Screw it, I 'm jumping.


C R A S H!!


ooooooooohhhhhhhh. Sheesh that didn't feel good. Damn carpet!! Well at least they'll have to clean up the mess in the morning.....crap here comes that poodle.


Thanks, Mama Kat, puuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrr! I really like these workshops and some are pretty challenging..


Saturday, I will post about the pictures on the TUESDAY CAPTION CONTEST. Everyone has until Saturday to submit entries. Angie, I still haven't seen where to send this CD. Ask Melissa and Wendy if they like theirs (for references). I did buy two of the new Jack Johnson CD. I listened to mine already and it is on par with his other releases. If I can find one more song of his like "BUBBLE TOES", it will have me dancing on my hardwood floors for long hours into the night. And "MUDFOOTBALL", is still my pick-me-up before rugby games..


Gotta go for now. Have a good day all and God Bless.

The name is Zilla....Shroomzilla

OH,
The words, they swirl, they flow,
nimble fingers dosey-doh,
typing frantic by alarm clock glow,
until my work is done, you know.
now time to greet my soft pillow,
and off to work again I go,
to try to earn my weekly dough,
eagerly waiting the whistle blow,
like every other working Joe.
but such is life, ain't it bro?
can I get a big "FO' SHO' "?


This may come as a surprise, but I'd walk a mile for a new nickname.

While living in Fort Worth, I was feeding my secret rugby addiction in the evenings after work. I would go to the northwest side of downtown Fort Worth (the seedy side, where all the rugby players loiter between Scrabble games and Ellen airings) and engage in lots of anonymous, unprotected touch rugby. I was becoming a regular there and all the other addicts were getting used to me being around. After one particular evening of some really hot, wet touch rugby, I was taking the post-practice recovery pretty hard. We played at a park that was kind of ignored by the parks department, because they were scared of the types of people who frequented the area (ruggers' reputations precede them many places, being the vicious scrabble players and dancers that they are), consequently the grass was unkempt and quite long. After my customary "blowing chunks" display, I laid down (collapsed?) beneath the massive oak tree on the side of the field and tried to catch my breath (while picturing myself dancing with Ellen and Mama Kat on their award winning episode, "Blogging ideas for keeping lunatics entertained). All the rest of the "recovering" rugby addicts, were discussing which bar we were going to grace with our support group meeting. They wanted to, finally, invite me along for the meeting. It was a huge break through for me, as I was at last being accepted by my peers. So, there they were looking for me, as I lay under the oak tree in the long grass; and I could hear one of the guys (Fuen-dog) ask, "Where is that new guy?". To which another answered, "Maybe he is behind the trunk of that tree over there by that giant mushroom"?! That giant mushroom was all you could see of me and my belly over the top of the tall grass.

And that's how I got the nickname "Shroom".

This writer's workshop production has been brought to you by the letter "O", and the numbers four, two and zero!

For more fun, check out this weeks Caption Contest below, Mama Kat's for the Writers' Workshop, and Seven Clown Circus for Wordful Wednesdays.