Chance

I've never been much of a gambler. I decided early on that my winning streak wouldn't be one at all, more like a stumble. I would enter contests as a kid but was always dissappointed. Bikes, BB guns and other toys to drool over, went to those that Chance smiled upon. I gave up trying in my adolecent years.

When the state lottery became official, temptation coaxed me out of my wariness and I got the itch to scratch. I don't remember how many tickets I bought, but I can assure you that there weren't many and all my money stayed in the treasury. I now think of money spent on lottery tickets as taxes which keeps me from buying them.

My wife and I stayed a night in Reno once while on a road trip. We did the cheap buffet in one of the joints and sauntered over to the slots. She played the nickel machines. I think all the bells, flashing lights and noise must have numbed me into thinking I could leave with more than I came with. I was overcome with naievity and invested in a quarter bandit. I looked at my small handful of coins and hoped that one would nausiate the box enough for it to puke out a pot. It just burped a beep and had no indigestion for any of them. Susan the Lucky though, won a bucket full of nickles and we left pretty happy. However, a speeding ticket on the way home consumed her winnings along with a bit more. Did I mention she was driving? We've since sworn off casinos.

I have never even once entertained the thought of betting on horses. The odds against winning to me seem astronomical. My relationship with Chance along with the inconceivable variables of horse and rider, guarantee a loss for me. You've got this guy on a horse who has to keep his weight down and may be faint from hunger. Or maybe had a fight with his trainer, girl friend or wife or maybe all three and is not in the mood to ride. Or perhaps nature calls in the middle of the ride. Cramps, pulled muscle, brain anurysm. Is he going to race at his full capacity? No. Then there's the horse who may have had a bad oat for breakfast or a fight with rider. Maybe it's thinking it will just stop running because it's tired of getting whipped and wants to retire. Cramps, pulled muscle, brain anurysm. No bob-tail nag for me. Gambling on horses is like feeding them dollars.

We were standing on the platform in Polgate, England waiting for the train to London when I noticed small gaggles of ladies starting to gather. They were dressed in their finery and all had hats of various sizes perched on their heads. We boarded the train and I sat across from the woman pictured above. Her's was much less ostentatious than most, but I wanted to ask if the crow put up much of a fight. I thought better of it. Someone popped open a champagne bottle and passed around the bubbly in paper cups. Curiosity won and I finally asked her what the occasion was. It was ladies day at the horse races and those of the feminine variety with a hat would get in free.

Oh. I immediately explained to her that the laws of probability were dead set against her and suggested she give me her betting money since she was going to lose it anyway. No, she wanted the chance to lose it herself. Too bad. I would have spent it wisely on overcrowded tourist attractions and taken a chance on bland fish n chips.

Hair

My face is taller now. It was much shorter earlier in my life but has grown alot over the last few years. I don't like it. As a matter of fact I never really liked it. It never looked good enough for me. I had someone once tell me I had bedroom eyes but that's a different item. If I could go back to those days of yesteryear, I'd tell myself I looked pretty ok. My face wasn't movie star material but I look acceptable in photos from then. I should have accepted what I had and not worried about my handsomness factor. I would have been less shy.

Andre Aggasi was concerned about his looks. His face grew taller than mine at an early age. So much so that he had fake hair in his twenties. It looked good probably because it was long and flowing when he played tennis. He doesn't have much hair now but he looks good. Real good. I'd like to look like him but I've decided that what I have is enough. When I'm seventy and my face lengthens to the upper back half of my head, I won't look as great as I do now. I'll see pictures of myself taken in my more hansome years and realize even though women didn't chase me down I need to like my face now. I'm starting to.

It's been said that God knows the number of hairs on an individual's head. I think people lose their hair so He doesn't have to keep track of so many. I'd be more comfortable now though if I still had my younger number.

Sign of the Times

I returned recently from a three and a half week visit to England where I did all the tourist stuff. We spent most of our time in London. I marveled at the art, monuments and architecture and took way too many pictures. After a while I became visually saturated and everything began to look like one giant antique. I was ready to come back to the bland modern of Phoenix.

We visited the city of Rye in Sussex, a port on the Channel and wandered down its cobbled streets. It could have easily been a set for filming a medieval movie. We came across a house with a four foot tall entry door. People were supposedly shorter then because of diet or maybe genetics. Evidently the home owners were a bit more diminutive than their neighbors whose doors were taller. Maybe they wanted to keep the average sized swat team of the era from easily storming the building.

The plaque shown above was a few doors down. I wonder if it could been mounted on every building in the city.

Good Love

It knocked me down, it dragged me out, it left me there for dead. It took all the freedom I wanted and gave me something else instead. It blew my mind, it bled me dry, it hit me like a long goodbye, and nobody here knows better than I that it’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing. It’ll fall like rain on your parade, laugh at the plans that you tried to make, it’ll wear you down till your heart just breaks and it’s a good thing. Love is a good thing.
It’ll wake you up in the middle of the night, it’ll take just a little too much. It’ll burn you like a cinder till you’re tender to the touch. It’ll chase you down, swallow you whole, it’ll make your blood run hot and cold. Like a thief in the night it’ll steal your soul, and that’s a good thing. Love is a good thing. It’ll follow you down to the ruin of your great divide, and open the wounds that you tried to hide. And there in the rubble of the heart that died you’ll find a good thing. Love is a good thing.
Take cover, the end is near. Take cover, but do not fear. It’ll break your will, it’ll change your mind, it’ll loose all the chains of the ties that bind. If you’re lucky you’ll never make it out alive, and that’s a good thing. Love is a good thing. It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade when all that used to matter is blown away. There in the middle of the mess it made you’ll find a good thing.Yes, it’s worth every penny of the price you paid. It’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
Do not fear.

Andrew Peterson

Looking Good

If good looks are so important,
Why do beautiful people
Get divorced?

Aged People

I took my camera to the mall the other day to find a new subject. I found this gentleman just outside sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He appeared to be well into his seventies and was wearing slippers. I seem to see alot of elderly wearing slippers in public. Perhaps it's their standard footwear around the house and it takes too much effort to change into street shoes.

I'm kind of intrigued by older folks when I see them. I wonder about their histories. Where were they born. What kind of family life did they have. Were there siblings and what gender. How many loves and were they ever broken hearted. Would their lives make interesting biographies. I didn't want to bother this fellow with all my questions. He seemed deep in thought.

There have been some intersting experiences in my life I could write about. There's been lots of emotion. Perhaps when I'm in my seventies and truly aged I'll write about it.

Pigs

I like pigs.

Dogs look up to us.

Cats look down on us.

Pigs treat us as equals.

Winston Churchill

Sometimes Life

Susan and I were house parents for a time and looked after a group of young women who were hormonally pregnant, had OCD, PTSD and all the other personality traits associated with dysfunctional families. It was hard, very hard at times. The work was rewarding though, when we saw girls get their lives together and return to school or obtain work. The stress however, needed relieving and I would often get away. The photo shows a scene taken then, along the river in Portland's Waterfront Park, a calming place I would frequent. Another winter shot, it probably reflects the feelings and frame of mind I was in.

On Living

I would rather live my life as if there is a God

and die to find out there isn't,

than live my life as if there isn't

and die to find out there is.

Albert Camus

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Jane Sophia

My five year old grand daughter was over for a visit and asked if she could play with my iPod. She found an old Stetson Fedora in our play clothes, punched the top to make it round, and nestled into an over-stuffed chair. I caught her in deep concentration.