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| Life as a blade of grass.I've
discovered something as of late. As most know about me, I spend
anywhere from 40 to 60 hours a week cutting millions, if
not...no...wait...yeah...millions of small, tiny blades of green ,
sometimes dewy, yet most often parched and dry grass. Every week it's
the same schedule--Monday: wake up at 4am, make lunch, leave for work,
mow the same 9 yards we mow every Monday, head back to the shop, put up
equipment, go home, take shower, clean or sleep until my lovely wife
gets home. Tuesday: wake up at 4am, make lunch, leave for work, mow the
same 5 yards we mow
every Tuesday, head back to the shop, put up equipment, go home, take
shower, clean or sleep until my lovely wife gets home. Wednesday:
wake...no. I won't put you through that again. You get the point.
Today
was just another Tuesday. I followed the same Ol' routine. And it
stayed that way for the largest part of the day. But there was a brief
moment which took place today around 1:30pm (ct). I was standing there,
trimmer in hand, gliding it's rapid rotating strings across a rough,
rocky ditch off of north main street, when suddenly a small blade of
grass was thrown straight up in the air by the strong spinning motion
of the trimmer, landing directly in my throat. I want to say it landed
within my wind pipe, but to be honest, I don't know if that's what it's
called. But just know that it landed in an area which made it quite
difficult for me to breath. (Before I go one, let me provide some
context: When it's 98 degrees outside with an index of 108, the
slightest little mishap can make a meek man turn into Mr. Hide). I blew
up! I was sweaty, itchy, burnt, tired. sore, and ticked off! Everything
I've learned about turning the other cheek and walking an extra mile
was thrown out the window this afternoon--and all because of a small
tiny little blade of grass.
I did not let that grass get away with
it, though. In fact, out of my frustration came anger, out of my anger
came blame, out of my blame came revenge. And I blamed that little
blade of grass.
I spit it out of my mouth (well, more like hocked
it out) and watched to see where it had landed. It had landed, wouldn't
you know, in yet another patch of grass. Now it was on! It thought it
could hide from me, but little did it know that its cowardly act would
only make my fire burn even hotter than before. I tore into that grass
with my trimmer as if it were standing between me and life itself.
Vengence was mine!!! "Die grass, die!!" I thought to myself as I hacked
away with no regard for the life of the other innocent grass. To my
dismay, when the grass had become nothing but green dust lying atop
beat up dirt, I did not have that feeling of contentment, that sweet
taste of victory I was expecting. No, instead, I felt pitty for the
grass. After all, who am I to put forth judgment on something that does
not even have a will of it's own? I was a victim, that was for certain, but what I came to realize was that that tiny blade of grass, too, had become victimized.
Have
you heard the expression, "Stick it to the man?" Well, those are the
words I wanted to share with that blade of grass that afternoon. For it
was not the blade of grass that developed such a frustration in my
throat, but the heat from the sun, the sweat of my brow, the sting of
my pores, the ache of my weary shoulders, and the discontentment of my
low paying job that illed me to the point of this cold murder.
How did I come to this? Imigration? Gas prices? Iraq? Only God knows...
So long sweet, innocent, victimized blade of dry bermuda grass.
THE END.
I know it's an abrupt ending, but it's all I got right now.
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| I know it's been quite a while since I've posted anything here on my blog thingy. See, here's the thing: I'm too lazy really to write anything. It's quite sad really. Plus, anytime I do have the time to write, I always have something come up...and i fail to do so. Sorry to all of those who look so much foward to my pieces. I appreciate your patience and good will. I will have something for you to read within the month (that means within the next 31 days [starting today]). Ciao my loved ones.
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Running as quick as he possibly could, he chased after that butterfly as if he were an officer in pursuit of an internationally infamous jewel thief. In his right hand was an old, warped fishing net that his dad had passed down to him from when he was a little boy. It had a cracked, plastic blue handle wrapped with two layers of duct tape that held together its long years and numerous fishing trips back at the old pond. The net gripped itself around a slightly bent, rusted, egg-shaped rim that had once been a bright, shiny silver with not even a single speck of rust. But like any old tool, it had seen its better days.
Alex, though, wasn’t going to let the likes of an old beat up fishing net stop him from catching that butterfly. In fact, he viewed the old net as his mighty sword in battle—He, being King Arthur, and the net, his Excalibur. Yet, still, the task was not easy. This particular butterfly was quite agile, quick, and clever, finding every which way to out-whit Alex and his mighty net swooshing skills. But Alex was not one to give up so easily. He chased that pesky insect more than five times around his house and yard, leaping over numerous bushes, tiptoeing his way through mothers vegetable garden, and even climbing the tress and chain-linked fence in times when the butterfly was too high for normal reach.
Finally, toward the end of the fifth term around the house and yard, after twenty-two minutes of exhausting pursuit, Alex cornered the equally tired butterfly. It had found itself a resting place atop the gas meter located against the backside of the house right beside the wooden porch. Alex quietly approached the meter where it lay with its wings placed together pointing straight up in the air, as if it were content with its safety.
But Alex knew that this time he had it where he wanted. This was the moment of truth. Now just one foot or so away from the creature, Alex lifted his old, duct-taped handled fishing net and made one more final sweep toward the tired, yet content butterfly—SWOOSH!
Alex was certain he had it this time; his aim was more than perfect. The net had practically covered the entire meter, and the butterfly...well, the butterfly, at least he thought had no means of escape.
You see, unfortunately, this particular butterfly was quite a bit smaller than your average fish...
BY DACII:
.........taking into account though that the average fish in the nearby pond weighs in at about 15 pounds due to the chemical spill in '62. Just a little history about where this story takes place before we move on.
In Nevada back in the late 40's and throught the 50's & 60's there was a lot of government "testing" going on. You see, Nevada is mostly desert surrounded by...desert; so when Nuclear technology was in its infant stages and they didn't know about the con sequences yet, they were a little more that careless with the run-off.....much of which went into ponds and streams.
....now, back to the problem at hand.
The net was BIG to a normal size person......but to Alex it was a tiny little butterfly net. The butterfly, with a wing span of nearly 5 feet, instantly got entangled in the in the horse-tail hair fiber of the net. With a great thrust of his legs and with breath like fire he pushed foward and his razor tipped wings sliced throught the net as if a car had run through a spider web.....This is when Alex decided to duck, but just as he did so............................
BY MATT:
…The Great and Mighty King of the Aire Rico, Luthanio, Son of Magdaliano, the first of All Great Golden Warrior Eagles, had been watching the battle take place from a high resting point on the Cliffs of the Great Kismet. Just as Alex’s life was about to be taken by the great Butterfly of Death, Luthanio flew down with speed as of lightening and clutched the evil butterfly in his mighty jaws.
“Your Majesty,” spoke Luthanio, for you see, Alex was actually the Son of Barthalamis, King of Catapermia, which had been titled as far back as year 3024 of the Ancient World with the name, “Deserts of Death” or “Nevada,” due to the frequent snowfalls in the summer months and the terrible droughts in the winter months. “You must watch for the dark hand of the adversary, as the future of Catapermia depends upon your survival, young Lord!”
Alex, who was also know as Prince Alejandro, responded back with humility in his voice, for he knew he was the one who had started the conflict between him and the Great Butterfly in the first place. To the Great Golden Warrior, he said, “Luthanio, I am but at your service for the heroic act of bravery you have shown me this day.”
“We must hurry, my Lord, as there is trouble arising among the people of the City of Temor at the Cliffs of Kismet.” At that, Luthanio…
BY AARON:
At that, Luthanio put down his net and stomped off into the distance, raising small clouds of dust with each step.
Meanwhile, the City of Temor faced their moment of darkness.
Resting at the center of each citizen of Temor¡¯s home was a clear, glass cube. Each evening, images were projected into this cube, and families would gather to watch. The cube told stories through these images, and the people were mesmerized.
The most popular entertainment the cube projected was called Temorian Idol, which followed a group of young contestants, each vying for one position of prominence, fame and influence in Temorian society. The contestants competed through vocal performances, singing old, worn songs that had been passed down through the ages. After a performance was given, a court of judges would comment on the level of satisfaction the performance brought, and then the contestants would be handed over to the Temorian viewing audience. It was then up to the viewing audience to decide if a particular contestant would remain on Temorian Idol, or be forced back into the world of Temorian service jobs, where they would spend their days serving food to fat people, and their nights searching for roles on reality-based programs created for the cube.
The popularity of Temorian Idol had plunged all of Temor into darkness, and the people could no longer see that this contest was weakening their ability to judge true creativity, beauty, truth and art. Instead, an entire nation of people sat, satisfied to watch a grand game of Karaoke.
Tonight though, from off in the desert, moving quickly toward the city, comes a low rumble. The sound of a Giant's footsteps...
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NOTE:
That is not the end of the story. No, in fact, this is only the beginning. The rest is up to you. Whoever reads this next must write their own 3 or 4 Paragraphs in attempt to make the story more interesting.
Keep it going guys. I'm counting you. I need a good grade on this...(cough)...I mean. It will be fun!
Remember not to finish the story. It MUST go on forver. Maybe we'll write a whole childrens novel.
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T'was the blog which fit my fancy
While embarking in my bi-weekly email check a couple days back, I came across an email from my brother Dave. The subject title read "Read about me! I gotta blog now!" At first, I simply pushed it to the side and moved along in attempt to discover a seemingly more interesting message. So I began to scroll down to see if anyone else had taken the time to share their most sincere and deep thoughts with me via email. "Hmmm..." I thought to myself as the twenty-four unread messages mirrored themselves off my glazed, tired eyes, "should I read of what great savings I can make at Khols this week or should I read one of the four weekly newsletters I have yet to open from NFL.com?" The decision was not easy. I continued to scroll. "Maybe I should go ahead and fill out that one spiritual gifts survey I got from Postman "C" a few weeks back..." I paused for a moment. "Nah, takes too much time."
Eventually it came down to these two emails: 1) A Message from the school about Christian Service, and, once again,2) The message from Dave titled "Read about me! I gotta a blog now!". Of course, being the good brother that I am, I chose to wait on Dave's email for a moment when I had more time to enjoy its intriguing content; thus, I opened the Christian Service memo.
What a waste of a mouse click...
Well, it was quite rainy this afternoon, and work fell through (I work outside). I had the time. I followed through with my promise.
I opened the message, followed the link to his blog, and read what Dave had to Say.To tell you the truth, I have never seen Dave write so much in my entire life! Especially in something involving the Internet.
I've gone on for so long not caring if I open my email or not. Why? Because it has been ages since I have received even one personal, sincere message from anyone. Well, through Dave's blog today, I feel I have come to receive the closest thing to it.
So here I am. After weeks upon weeks of my mother and sister begging me to begin a blog, I have finally given in.
Communication has changed quite, I suppose. Letter to phone, phone to email, email to blog. It just took me a while to get my board on the right wave.
Plan on hearing from me here quite a bit. Maybe even as much as...bi-weekly. Or maybe no. | | | |
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