tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-268130802024-03-15T07:16:50.382-05:00Meanderings on Two WheelsRides, ramblings and rants on a motorcycle.Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.comBlogger761125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-55865915179628555902023-05-21T09:16:00.003-05:002023-09-12T16:37:56.659-05:00Rites of Passage
Sometimes travel is mandated, sometimes it is endured, but often it is undertaken for the sheer pleasure of seeing new places or visiting old friends.
I recently read an essay, Rite of Passage, in the current issue of the magazine 'Orion'. Writer and climate change activist Mike Tidwell takes his son to camp in a place which is part of what I used to call 'Home': Big Bend National Park. Mike Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-76271771449206430972023-03-04T09:08:00.000-06:002023-03-04T09:08:09.869-06:00Love and LifeWe meet people and fall in love. And when we
part, they leave marks for us to remember them by. Our lovers sculpt us. They
define us. For better or worse. Like a pinball, we slam into them and rebound
in a different direction. Propelled by the contact. And after their parting, we
might be scarred. But stronger. Or more fragile or needy or angry or guilty.
But never unchanged. Our lovers linger Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-63470218953552048202022-10-14T12:21:00.000-05:002022-10-15T10:09:22.489-05:00We are Light and Dark
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“We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.”― Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-63718705309369862992022-10-01T06:56:00.000-05:002022-10-01T06:56:13.623-05:00Wet and webbedWebbed membranes are appearing between my fingers. Perhaps all the greens I’ve been eating have methylated some genes and turned on those that express for webbed membranes in ducks and other aquatic avians and mammals. If I wake up with gills, I’ll know it’s time to get outa this place. Rain has been a daily thing for many weeks, minus the outlier day or 2 when we are bedazzled Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-47132155554218051682020-08-27T17:53:00.000-05:002020-08-27T17:53:27.836-05:00“Hell hath no terror like a woman’s fury.”That was my answer when a friend asked me how I was. First, I looked at her and asked myself, ‘Should I show my fake smile and lie like a robot?’. Then I decided to be honest. The response to my reply was an up-tick of the eyebrows and peering over her glasses, with a loud silent ‘Ohh?’. The many inner dialogues have been argumentative, unsure, illogical, but all too human. I’m sure I’mMacrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-59454026676063297772019-12-16T16:57:00.003-06:002023-05-21T08:47:28.878-05:00On Both SidesOn Both Sides
It was the same dream
so many times over
The last five decades.
But recently.....
Not in a long time.
Running on all fours,
Branches and leaves
Snapping and sliding
Along my body.
Breathing hard and fast
Tongue slipping from my muzzle
With each labored breath.
Odors stronger and sharper
Than ever before.
Each paw hitting the ground
In Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-11815762245746824232019-05-12T11:25:00.000-05:002019-05-12T11:25:15.878-05:00The Dark Ages in America
Alyssa Milano calls for sex strike as protest over Republican abortion laws
I think a more public protest and boycott would have more impact, but she is right in publicizing the warning. And if we women and men do not oppose and protest, we will truly be a third-world country and controlled by the power of dominating males.
I find it ironic that the republicans and conservatives want less Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-34236036344098794882018-03-14T09:23:00.001-05:002018-03-14T09:25:28.253-05:00The Echo ChambersQuotes from a newly released book — “Trumpocracy: The Corruption of the American Democracy” by David Frum, a senior Editor at The Atlantic.
A few excerpts from the introduction:
“President Trump has plunged the government of the United States into chaos that enhances his personal power.”
“He has persuaded millions of Americans to ignore information they need as fake news from a corrupt media.”Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-34255298342322565212018-02-13T06:45:00.002-06:002018-02-13T06:45:52.779-06:00The Dutchess!Watching 'The Last Dukes' on PBS. Of Britain, of course.
All the pageantry, fuss, regality, enormity. The gigantic, and I mean very pregnant domiciles with pom-pom shrubs and expanses of green lawn (where's the sheep?).
I proclaim myself the landless Duchess of Nevermore! I reign over the snow piles pure from male dogs, the crows announce my presence, and I march with a shovel in my hand!
Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-36703996378997290422017-11-14T21:20:00.002-06:002017-11-14T21:20:18.960-06:00The Eternal Question"Was it as good for you as it was for me?"
;)Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-39461483212105212982017-11-11T19:38:00.000-06:002017-11-11T19:38:20.577-06:00Veterans. Every day.The restaurant where my daughter works at in Eugene, OR, had free meals to all veterans today. She visited at the 'community' table full of vets of all ages, where they all shared stories. Some were in tears. She was in tears with them. Her Dad is a Vietnam vet, wounded in action. She understood their pain and camaraderie.
Some of you have been in war. Some of you may have lost a family Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-9131333937023771252017-11-10T07:32:00.000-06:002017-11-10T07:32:26.144-06:00What is your story?"No matter how little you have, you'll always have your story."
If no one hears or reads your story, it's still yours. And that is what makes our lives: stories.
But those stories overlap and intertwine with other people's stories. You are the narrator of your story and a character in other stories. You read other people's stories the minute you meet them; when your eyes meet, you see the firstMacrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-31044826504618677672017-07-21T21:59:00.002-05:002023-05-21T08:49:40.158-05:00Rest In Peace, Chester BenningtonSad to hear about the untimely death of Chester Bennington, lead singer of Linkin' Park.
His voice and lyrics have been a private source of angst for over a decade. And the band's peace activism has been admirable.
Listened to some Chester Bennington and Linkin' Park sitting near the lake tonight.
It's amazing how music, songs, can open a locked door of memories and flood the the mind and bodyMacrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-7266425717867265082017-01-21T14:54:00.003-06:002017-01-21T14:54:42.571-06:00Not my President!!!Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-53488737023982248292017-01-21T14:40:00.002-06:002023-05-21T08:51:26.075-05:00Between Sky and Ground
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Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-35526943748835258242016-10-28T23:17:00.001-05:002023-05-21T08:51:43.451-05:00Ghosts knocking at the door"We meet people and fall in love. And when we part, they leave marks for
us to remember them by. Our lovers sculpt us. They define us. For
better or worse. Like a pinball, we slam into them and rebound in a
different direction. Propelled by the contact. And after their parting,
we might be scarred. But stronger. Or more fragile or needy or angry or
guilty. But never unchanged. Our lovers Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-18373616166619817532016-04-23T20:49:00.001-05:002016-04-23T20:49:30.374-05:00The Bass Pro Siren
Forgive me, Goddess, for I have sinned.
Almost passing a Bass Pro store, the steering wheel suddenly steered left and turned into their parking lot. Struggling against a magnet, I was pulled into their front doors and pushed around aimlessly.
Passing the boot section, the tall muck boots called me like sirens. Several good 16" waterproof neoprene-top boots grabbed at me, but the plethora of Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-38535578521993435322016-04-16T10:59:00.004-05:002022-10-15T07:59:07.008-05:00Strawmen. Please go back to your caves.
Pet Peeve: Strawman arguments.
The one I hear and read most is a parroting of this: people protesting or opposing anything related to industrial energy, especially any coal, gas, or oil extractions and/or related utility industry, should immediately and completely denounce everything associated and related with those resources.
e.g. Wearing textiles or fabrics derived Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-83252582185593993592016-04-03T13:24:00.002-05:002016-04-03T13:24:30.301-05:00We are all in this together
My exponentially great grandfather was a Neanderthal.
My exponentially exponential grandmother was a bacteria.
I share tiny bits of DNA with ancient viruses.
The water in my blood came from dinosaurs.
The calcium in my bones came from stardust.
And the oxygen I just breathed in came from an ancient plant.
I embrace diversity and connections. We are all partsMacrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-21503311216406243042016-03-19T19:43:00.002-05:002023-05-21T08:52:39.320-05:00The Wild Within
“Be
wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in
polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we
want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to
be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring
nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To
create one must be willing to be stone Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-36746579321802420892016-03-08T17:51:00.004-06:002023-01-28T10:27:41.137-06:00The ghosts in musicDriving in the rain with a black and blue sky, listening to music I
have not for nearly 35 years. The music unlocked a box from which a
myriad of memories and emotions swirled around me and carried me back.
It was like hovering over myself, listening to a silent train of
thoughts that years later are bitter sweet. Looking back while waiting
for the future to unfold. Then hurtling forward, Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-88858211009944762302016-01-15T21:22:00.001-06:002023-05-21T08:54:27.949-05:00Music is in me
Sometimes.
On my day off.
If I'm not on a mountain top,
In a canyon,
On a trail.......
I listen to music.
Humanity's crowning achievement.
Music is a language
That knows no borders,
No colors,
No grammar,
No rules,
No politics.
The river is music, the bird's songs,
The coyote yips, the elephant's trumpet.
For humans,
Music is our hearts, our passions, our joy,
Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-28499871546978830142015-12-31T21:55:00.001-06:002023-01-28T10:16:44.983-06:00Years ahead, years behindAs I strolled home tonight in the dark, the whispering wind guided me. It rolled forward and back like the tides of a dry invisible ocean, soothing and calm as a baby rocking in its arms. The cold air was refreshing after an enjoyable dinner with a dozen friends, heat from the stove and food making me sleepy.In the silence between the ebbing wind, the Milky Way caught my attention. A river of Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-21660038384252585052015-08-29T22:45:00.000-05:002015-08-29T22:45:07.788-05:00Another door, another lifeIt's been a year and a half since I left Texas. Memories there are like a book I read of someone else's life. Flipping through the chapters, I am glad some are distant. Others, I mourn their passing. Former friends are busy living their lives, but I still send occasional postcards or letters rather than emails. Handwritten words seem more personal than finger messages typed in a hurry. It Macrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26813080.post-23994430312886032882015-08-23T19:23:00.002-05:002023-05-21T09:08:09.053-05:00Prowling
The caged female canid leaped out and dispersed. She roamed north and explored the margins of a rural town. With no GPS or track marks, no one knew where she roamed. Nor did she mark any territory.
She lurked out of sight and watched passerbyes, but didn't linger long in one place. Slipping in and out of shadows, she explored until the heat and dust made her thirsty. Slowly she returnedMacrobehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01612571749282257004noreply@blogger.com0