Has it been 10 years (& 2 days)?

"Like a steam locomotive,
rolling down the track,
he's gone, he's gone and
nothing's gonna bring him back.
He's gone."

By now, you may be tired of the tributes and praises that have been given to Jerry Garcia, who died on Aug. 9, 1995.

I don't think of Jerry as the next coming of the Messiah or attribute anything else that mystical to him. He was a guy that really liked making music and having fun. He met some other like-minded guys, people liked listening to them and we had the Dead and Deadheads.

But here's one view you may not have considered:
Jerry Garcia was closer to Rush Limbaugh than Al Gore in his outlook on life. Jerry was one of the first people I ever heard discussing personal responsibility. He expressed the view that individuals are accountable for their own actions and should deal with the consequences of those actions themselves.
Now, when I heard that, the discussion was over the "recreational" use of drugs like pot, coke and LSD. So of course, I was on his side. Leave me alone if I want to be a burn out.
But I wonder how many of us never considered that it also pertains to planning for old age, deciding how and where to educate my kids, what kind of car I want to drive, who I vote for (or whether I even vote).
It's your own deal. Take care of it. Or not.

I enjoy listening to the dead and Jerry's other stuff. If you haven't ever heard them, you should check 'em out.

Who gives a sh*t?

I do.
And sometimes that sucks.
I wish that I could just say,"screw it, I don't care" about things and take the next few months off. From everything.
Like this guy did (thanks for the link, Jen). Okay, not exactly like him. But enough like him to not worry about anything.
Unfortunately, I am not wired that way. I care about my work, my family, my friends, etc. Now, I am selfish too. I know it.
But I probably wouldn't mind experiencing the "joy of the uncluttered mind" for awhile.

Guinness World Record?

More strange crap invading my brain -
I wonder what the record is for longest hair growing out of your ear?
Well, wonder no more, here is The Answer. There's a picture there as well!!!

Happy Birthday, Ma

Although she has been gone a few years now, there is much I remember about my mother.
I remember her leaving for work every night at 5.
I remember her being my class room-mom a couple of years. She didn't decline when I told her I volunteered her. I never heard her complain about it then, even though it meant she would be inconvenienced. She did ask me not to volunteer for things without checking first.
I remember shopping with her for groceries and getting the chance to put a few "treats" in the cart. And picking out black cherry soda when we were buying 20 or 30 cans for summmer lunches.
I remember her taking us to swimming lessons at Lion's Club Beach, and going down to the lake when we wanted to swim.
I remember making "mud traps" in our driveway and her getting stuck 1/4 mile from the house.
I remember her quiet strength and love.
I remember her taking the time over 4 years to turn our neighbor's Black Lab from chasing us to being our best protector.
I remember her tolerance for us kids being stupid, well no, being kids.
I remember her putting up with my father.
I remember her welcoming anyone I ever brought to the house.
I remember her never saying she wanted more but enjoying what she had.
I remember her laughing.
I remember making her cry. Sorry, Ma.
I remember making her proud of me, and her telling me. Thanks, Ma.
I remember her speaking French on the phone and knowing she was talking to her family. Or Gerry (her best friend).
I remember her with Eben, her first grandchild. Then with my kids. And finally with great-grandchildren.
I remember her very low tolerance for medicine and how she couldn't get up one Saturday. That scared me.
I remember how her hands shook, even before we knew she had Parkinson's disease.
I remember her being a bit sassy and even impertinent.
I remember her "adopting" Darryl, which our pastor needed.
I remember "sneaking" her out of the nursing home or apartment when I went back for visits, getting her out of the house. And letting my sister deal with it after I left- sorry Gretchen.
There are so many more...but mostly,
I remember she loved me.
Happy Birthday, Ma. I miss you.