Madeline and Jack
What is it about a girl and a horse?
What brings them together, what powerful force?
Not the beautiful tack,
Nor the ride on his back,
But the unconditional love, of course!
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Here’s my favorite song about horses. Written by the daughter of folk singer Peter Rowan and featured on a CD called “Daddy’s Sing Goodnight” which I’d encourage you to get a copy of if you have little ones!
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To my loyal long-term subscribers, don’t be concerned, you will not be subjected again, to the squirrel in this post.
In my last entry I discussed possibly closing down Brown Road Chronicles. I also mentioned that I’d decided to keep this blog going and I am here to send some appreciation out to all the people who offered comments and encouragement. Thanks… seriously!
“So… what’s your point?”
Today I was driving home down a major four lane road in a nearby town. I was in the right lane, a small white car was in the left lane just ahead of me. On the other side, no cars were headed in our direction. About 100 yards ahead of me I saw a squirrel start running across the road. Now, this clearly wasn’t just any squirrel… this was a squirrel of epic and noble stature, powerful and athletic. This squirrel was running…. FAST… like Usain Bolt breaking world records in the 100 meters at the recent summer Olympics. I could tell, even from a distance, that this squirrel possessed a nimbleness and agility not often seen in the small animal world. I could almost hear the synapses firing as his muscular rear legs propelled him, with hydraulic force, in leaps and bounds across the pavement.
Why was this squirrel crossing the road? Who knows! That’s one of those profound, life altering questions that will perhaps never be answered in our lifetimes. We’ve pretty much figured out why Chickens cross the road, I mean that’s been hashed out over centuries in riddle after riddle. But why do squirrels cross the road? Yeah, I know… seriously… mind blowing….
Perhaps he saw a good-looking girl squirrel on the other side, or a large oak tree dripping with acorns. Maybe he was late for an important appointment. I don’t know… regardless, when you see a squirrel running across the road they are clearly on a mission, they have a goal in sight, they are focused… like a laser… no even more than that… they’re focused… like a pair of binoculars on a boat full of bikini-clad beauties… uhhh, not that I would do that.
Anyhow, so this mythological squirrel goes running across the road, across four lanes, and gets to literally about two feet from the edge of the opposite side. He had made it across four lanes! He could taste it, two more leaps and he would have been safely in the grass and off to claim whatever dangling carrot had driven him across on this journey in the first place.
BUT…
With just two feet to spare, and still no cars within harm’s way, he slammed on his brakes. I could hear the pads of his feet, squealing like an Indy Car, as he turned around, righted the ship… and just as powerfully and athletically ran back to his starting position and off into the woods. It was a dramatic change of events, an epic reversal of fortune. Perhaps he was just attempting to play a little chicken (no pun intended) with any cars that might be in the road, but more likely, he had been plagued with that brief moment of doubt that we have all experienced in life. He had lost his confidence, panicked and had a sudden bout of uncertainty. He didn’t believe in himself and he gave up.
“So… what’s your point?”
Well, don’t be that squirrel.
I’ve decided not to be that squirrel either. I don’t really know why I write this blog, what my goals are, what the purpose is, what the end result will be. What I do know… if you’ve got some nuts you are chasing and you are so close that you can taste them… well, whether they hang from the tree that is your job, or your writing career, or your relationships or wherever… those are your goals and your dreams and they’re important. They are oh, so important. So dig down deep in your gut and find the will to go that extra couple of feet and cross your particular road.
Because when you get there… those will be some of the tastiest proverbial nuts you’ve ever eaten!
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Have you ever thought about retiring your blog?
Lately I have been seriously considering retiring Brown Road Chronicles. Seriously! This isn’t a joke like when I wrote this April Fool’s Day post awhile ago. I just haven’t been writing and the last thing I want is a blog site that people show up to and wonder if the author has passed away as their last post was three years ago.
Then today I got a pingback on one of my posts from my friend Anne Schilde. Anne posted about one of my favorite satirical topics… being Freshly Pressed… or maybe I should say… NOT being Freshly Pressed, because she writes fiction which doesn’t seem to catch the eye of the WordPress Editors. Go ahead and read it… it’s a good post! I won’t get into the Freshly Pressed discussion, but it did remind me what I enjoy about blogging, the interactions and the idea that something you’ve written made someone smile or laugh out loud or cry or yell and scream… or whatever.
So I have decided, at least for now, not to retire Brown Road Chronicles. You can all say a collective “thank you” to Anne… or you can say “Anne, what the fuck were you thinking? Now we have to continue to read the crap this guy puts out there?”
But I still wonder… how does someone go about retiring a blog? Because that day will surely come. Do you throw a party, have a contest, get really drunk and post nude pictures as a final post? Do you write some morbid final diatribe like an attorney writing a Last Will and Testament?
And I leave my post “BOOBS” to Jared Karol because he was one of my first blogging friends… and he probably likes BOOBS.”
Do you just close it down and go away quietly? Do you leave it up so the few dozen creeps, delinquents, porn seekers and the record number of people trying to open a Lemonade Stand have a place to go each day? I don’t know and I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.
Some days I do feel like I’ve done everything I can do here. I honestly believe this is a good site, funny, interesting and entertaining, but that maybe it’s as good as it could… or should be. Like a good book, even a blog has to have an ending. Sure, I could post more stuff about my kids and my goats and living in the country… but honestly that’s never what this site was about. In reality it was about me… it’s always been about me. I started this site at a time when I didn’t feel very settled in my life. I was disillusioned and frankly, disillusion is a great source of inspiration. So I started writing, and writing a few times a week helped, it was a creative release, it was fun and it made me happy. I guess it still does as I was reminded today when Anne pinged one of my posts.
“So Steve, you’re saying you finally feel settled?”
No, I’ve learned I’ll never be settled… well, let me rephrase that… I’m very settled in my family life, my home life, and in my current business which I have been slowly building. So yes, I do feel more settled, enough so that, I guess, it’s depleted my reservoir of topics to blog about. But I’m also learning to understand it’s just my nature to never feel completely settled. I’m a dreamer and I have this tendency to think that maybe there’s a better way out there, something more meaningful than the quest for money and wealth and stuff. Maybe that’s a good thing as it keeps me on my toes…
… and for at least a while longer, keeps me writing.
And to Anne, thanks for the pingback… just sayin’ 😉
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One day he woke up an old man.
He rolled over in his bed and saw his wife was not there.
But he knew she had awoken before him and gone downstairs.
Just as she had so many days before.
He rolled his old, worn body out of his bed.
And rubbed away the remaining sleep from his eyes.
Arthritic pain and stiffness reared its ugly head.
Just as it had so many days before.
A glance in the mirror revealed deep creases in his skin.
He wondered where those wrinkles had come from.
He remembered the days when he seemed invincible to aging.
Just as he had so many days before.
Downstairs the windows were opened wide.
And a fresh, cool, country morning breeze was flowing through.
He felt blessed for another day of reasonable health.
Just as he had so many days before.
His wife glanced up at him from the other room.
Her long gray hair in a pony tail and glasses perched on her nose.
She paused from her book, smiled and said “good morning”.
Just as she had so many days before.
In the kitchen he poured a cup of coffee.
Into his favorite coffee mug with its brown stained porcelain.
The deep, rich aroma awakened his senses.
Just as it had so many days before.
As he took the first sip from the coffee cup.
He stared out the window at the fenced pasture outside.
Where his animals would be spending their day grazing.
Just as they had so many days before.
For a moment he thought about his children.
He wondered what they would be doing today.
Spending their hours working hard and raising his grandchildren.
Just as they had so many days before.
He wondered what the weather was like where they lived.
Whether it would be sunny and warm or rainy and cold.
And he missed them and wished they lived closer.
Just as he had so many days before.
He thought about what he might do today.
What activities would fill the many hours available to him.
He remembered the days when so much freedom seemed implausible.
Just as he had so many days before.
He was reminded of those years when there just wasn’t enough time.
When excuses for putting things off were readily available.
He thought about some of the things that he’d never accomplished.
Just as he had so many days before.
But in reality he knew he had accomplished so much.
He knew that he had lived and loved and been a good husband and father.
He knew he could still write words that might have a small effect on someone.
Just as he had so many days before.
So he sat down at his computer and began typing.
The dark veins in his hands pulsed through his thinning, aged skin.
It reminded him of his grandmother’s hands when he was a boy.
Just as it had so many days before.
He typed a post about life and love and growing old.
A post about finding the time to do the things that are important to you.
The words flowed onto his computer screen effortlessly.
Just as they had so many days before.
When he finished he knew that he had produced something meaningful.
He knew he had written something small, yet substantive and important.
Words that would be eagerly read and digested by friends and strangers.
Just as they had so many days before.
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The Brown Road Chronicles 