News from Ohio

I received word today that I am officially a Gradpa! As of 3:08 AM EST on June 4, 2013 my grandson Finnian Knohr Culey was born at home in Cleveland OH. Mother (Britt-Marie) and son are doing fine.

Finnian is the son of Shane, who is the son of Tim, who is the son of Giles, who is the son of Dennis who is the son of John who emigratged to Wisconsin from Ireland during the potato famine.

At a Snail's Pace

Don’t rush me, I’m going fast as I can

Just hurry along, I’ll be there in awhile

I’ll get there eventually, that is my plan.

A tasty plant ahead, that makes me smile.

 

There certainly are others more speedy than I

They zip along madly as fast as they can go

It all seems pointless, I can’t see the reason why

At a snail’s pace or not, our future is still escargot.
 

Tim D. Culey -2013-

 

Take your time, but crawl back to Creative Challenge.

FAITH

There appears to me that there are an exorbitant number of those on the "social media" locations who have some desire to either convince me how Holy they are or I could be if I mended my ways and accepted the superstitious teachings of residents of the Middle East who have been dead for a couple thousand years.

 

I am told to forsake the wisdom of the secular world and resort to pure faith and my life will be forever changed.

 

A number of years ago in Baton Rouge, I knew a man of the cloth who could preach fire and brimstone so hot it would defrost windshields two blocks away. He would get himself worked up into such a frenzy he would go through 2 or 3 suits during an average session. (I was always happy I didn’t have to pay his dry cleaning bill.)

His flock consisted primarily of employees of Louisiana State Penitentiary near Angloa, La. This area is not far from the Tunica Hills, which is an area even experienced hunters and outdoorsmen avoid because not only is it the home of one or more large families of nearly every dangerous animal in the USA that slinks, crawls, slithers or bounds, but the terrain is treacherous.

 

You may walk up to what appears to be a 25 or 30 foot tall pine tree surrounded by years of accumulated pine needles only to discover, much too late, what you are seeing is actually the top of a 125 to 130 tree with an accumulation of pine needles suspended from it’s branches.

 

If you unknowingly walk toward that tree, there is a very good chance you will be taking the express elevator going down. Conjecture is that the 120 feet fall to  the base of the tree likely won’t kill you, but the sudden stop surely will.

 

This is where the Dear Reverend decided to take a walk one Sunday to calm himself down after one of his fiery sermons.

 

He certainly must have known the dangers, having grown up in that area, and we can only speculate that he was so deep in thought he was distracted because before he could say ,”Help me Gee-hay-zus!” he was on his way to the first floor from the penthouse.

About 20 feet into the fall, he was able to grab a branch of the tree temporarily suspending his descent. We won’t go into how decent the limb was, but it soon became apparent that it would not support him indefinitely so he began to shout.

 

“Help me! Somebody help me! Is there anybody up there who can help me?”

 

Suddenly this voice booms out of the clouds. “LET GO OF THE TREE! I WILL SEND MY ANGELS TO BEAR YOU UP. YOU MUST HAVE FAITH!”

 

The preacher was uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment, he looked all around him, back up the top and finally he yells out, “Is there anybody ELSE up there?”

 

 

 

 

Voodoo Chile

Instrument -- Creative Challenge

I watch mesmerized as she strokes her cello

She adjusts each string in  careful tuning

The tones that ensue are so deep, rich and mellow

Every new note sends my mind reeling

 

She methodically applies bow to strings

Coaxing the cello into revealing his voice

I am drawn deeper and my heart is ringing

I close my eyes and weep, I simply have no choice.

 

I want it to stop, but hope that it never will

She moves onward going inexorably further

Up and down my spine I feel the cold chil

Her cello has become the instrument of my torture.

 

 

 

Put down your Yo-Yo, say goodbye to your Ma. Be a mellow fellow and return to Creative Challenge