We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Thanks for that.... I've been lurking for some time on your site. Really enjoy your poems, music commentary, etc. Taking my daughter to school next week. She's my youngest and this song just struck such a chord. Thanks.
Thanks from me too, Van Morrison must have some power as a singer because it struck a chord with me too. I'm also taking my youngest to school next week, but the song struck a chord for me for a completely different reason. It made me think of my dad who's in his 80's and raised 7 children. He was a tough father, and he lived to regret his toughness. He was sorry that he couldn't recapture the love of his children later on, after being such a hard guy early on. I don't know why this particular song brought it up, but I am thinking that I should tell my father that we really do love him for all of the good he did in spite of the fact that he was such a hard guy. He passed along a lot of good stuff too, and he said once that it bothered him every day of his life that he wasn't more loving. I think he should know that we really do love him.
Sat next to the creek today, watching my beloved (aged 70) take down a leaning tree. The tree was "a danger to our girls--they won't know how to handle it." He used a come-along and the Stihl chain saw we bought him for father's day. He worked on it for several hours--refusing my help, I sat quietly watching. When it was clear he only had a minute or two of strength left that ol tree slid down the hillside. He is so beautiful still has all that beautiful silver hair. I am trying to think of a way to trade in the big Stihl this fall for a smaller limbing saw--hate to see him work that hard. It's too too much for him--but, then again--maybe not . . .