The Open Road

The opportunity presented itself for some time off and how could I resist? The open road beckoned . . . I will see y'all in a few days, miss you all. . .

What Treasure Awaits?

Fresh out of the shower, you walk into the room. . .you stand there waiting for me to look up from the book I'm reading. Upward my eyes travel from the words on the page to see you, standing there. . . no words spoken, none needed. The hint of a smile appears on your lips as your eyes meet mine, you know I can't resist, I lay the book aside . . . my treasure awaits.

"Happy Trails" to You

What can I say? Yes, I find this photo sexy, there is just something about a guy with that beautiful tuff of hair leading down from his navel. . .it warms my heart and fuels the imagination of what lies hidden. I guess it comes from some of the earlier images and the realization I discovered from growing up in the tobacco fields of the South. It was early in the morning when my Dad would go around and pick the workers up, crowded together huddled down in the back of the pickup truck, usually teenagers out of school for the summer needing to earn extra money. Boys for the cropping and girls for the stringing. Mind you, this was in the early days of tobacco harvesting, but long after Grand Dad's days of pulling sleds with mules through the rows of tobacco while the men walked and cropped and the girls waited back at the barn to string the tobacco, things now was modernized. Tractor drawn tobacco harvesters, two storied, at that. The boys would sit on the lower lever, two on each side and crop the ripen leaves of tobacco off the stalk and then place two or three leaves at a time in a chain which carried it up to the girls stringing it onto tobacco sticks on the second story. In the early mornings, the leaves of the tobacco would be wet and sticky and all the boys would remain shirted, keeping on their shirts of long sleeves to keep the dirt and grim off, but later in the day, when the hot Southern sun came out, often times the shirts would come off. I guess, it was during this time I realized things were a little different. For some reason, I could not help myself from looking, there was something about seeing hot, muscled, half naked. country boys with sweat glistening off their bodies and it was "this" something that was causing "this" tingle I felt inside. Especially, the one boy that lived down the road, he was tall, lean, and had a light dusting of hair on his chest, but leading down from his navel it was thick and full, downward it grew, hidden from my view by his tight worn jeans. Yes, I knew . . .there was no denying it . . .especially after what happened later that summer.

Dedication

Mystery Man Places Roses On Poe Gravesite

By: Kasey Jones,Associated Press Writer

Baltimore - For the 57th straight year, a mystery man paid tribute to Edgar Allan Poe by placing roses and a bottle of cognac on the writer's grave to mark his birthday. Some of the 25 spectators drawn to a tiny, locked gravesite in downtown Baltimore for the ceremony climbed over the walls of the site and were "running all over the place trying to find out how the guy gets in,"according to Jeff Jerome, the most faithful viewer of the event.

Jerome, curator of the Poe House and Museum, said early Thursday he had to chase people out of the graveyard, fearing they would interfere with the mystery visitor's ceremony."In letting people know about this tribute, I've been contributing to these people's desire to catch this guy," Jerome said. "It's such a touching tribute, and its been disrupted by the actions of a few people trying to interfere and expose this guy." Jerome has seen the mysterious visitor every Jan. 19 since 1976."They had a game plan," Jerome said of the spectators. "They knew from previous years when the guy would appear." But Jerome declined to reveal details of what the Poe toaster was wearing, what he did at Poe's grave, and whether he left anything besides the roses and cognac, such as a note. It was a crisp, cold clear night. "I was hoping for wind and rain in keeping with a Poe story," Jerome said. But the museum curator was saddened by the disrespectful spectators. "I hope to preserve this tribute. It's one of those things that makes Baltimore so unique," he said. For decades, a frail figure made the visit to Poe's grave. In 1993 the original visitor, left a cryptic note saying, "The torch will be passed." A later note said the man, who apparently died in 1998, had handed the tradition on to his sons. Poe, who wrote poems and horror stories such as "The Raven" and "The Telltale Heart." died Oct. 7 1849 in Baltimore at the age of 40 after collapsing in a tavern.

This is amazing "Dedication". . . .

To be so lucky as to make such an impact on another's life. A love, a friendship strong enough to last long after your gone is the greatest wish one could ever hope for. . . .

Rough Days Ahead

The next few days looks like it's going to be some pretty rough sailing. Long hours, little free time so I thought I would leave you guys, yes, all of you, my best blogging buddies just a little bit of eye candy to tide you over while I batten the hatches down and sail away on the stormy seas called work. Be good, stay safe, and don't abandon ship while I'm gone. I will see you when the waters subside. . .

Sunday Morning Downtime

I've had a few busy days so I decided to skip out on my Sunday duties for some rest and relaxation, in other words, alone time. I hope you are enjoying some Sunday Morning Downtime, as well. However, when I ran across today's photo pick it got me to thinking, I believe I would gladly give up the "alone time" if I had to pick between him and being alone. . .

Friends

We all have a road we travel on and it is called life, sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy. Well, the other day, I ran into a roadblock, there it was, smack in the middle of the road, I found myself staring at it, wondering, second guessing myself, questioning why on earth was it happening here, asking myself if it was really happening or if it was only my imagination. And at the same time knowing in either case nothing could possibly happen. Out to dinner with family and friends, sitting with my back against the wall, being able to observe the comings and goings, making idle chit chat while eating Mexican. . . "How was your day?", "No, kidding, really!" you know, what I mean, attentive but not really listening, but hearing enough to carry on the conversation. This continued on for a while and then all of a sudden out-of-no-where came "The Roadblack". Straight in front, well actually, a little to the left of straight ahead, but still directly in a perfect line of my eyesight, there he sat, back against the wall, observing the comings and goings of the room . . .having dinner with family and friends. First glance innocent, second glance could be a little more than a glance, perhaps staring is more of a better word but whatever you want to call it I found myself looking, but mind you, I didn't miss a beat, I was still able to carry on my end of the conversation perhaps it comes from years of practice. I don't know what caused it perhaps I glanced once too many times but then it happened. No not what your thinking, no one at my table was any the wiser, but at his table maybe. First contact, nothing out of the ordinary, complete strangers making eye contact, sort of being able to say, "Hey, nice to meet you", but without saying any words, you know what I mean. But when I looked up again there he was, directing in my line of view, his eyes meeting my eyes, lingering longer, unspoken words being spoken but understood. . . look down, look away, quick before the warm flushed feeling exposes your cover. Composing myself, throwing myself, wholeheartedly back into reality, idle chit chat, I remind myself who, what ,where I am. One last glance, eyes meet, he whispers something to the lady next to him, he stands, walks past, my eyes cannot resist following as he makes his way across the room disappearing down the hall to where I know the men's room is. Dare I make excuses and follow?

Well guys, maybe this will explain what put me in the mood to write this earlier post: Is This All There Is? So, I guess you know the rest of the story?

Today's photo pic is my dedication to each of you who left comments to that post. You are my lifelines. . . my Friends.

Is This All There Is?

There is a war raging within and it seems to only be getting worse, the casualties of this war being my mind, my sanity. . . for the most part I deal with it and like "water off a ducks back" am able to put it all in prospective and carry on, but sometimes, especially lately, the battles of this war has become more intense, the struggle more intense, my ability to place the happiness of many above the happiness of one, myself. . . lessens. Mortar rounds lighting up the darkness of my mind, bullets firing. . . I dig deeper into the foxhole waiting for this battle of the war to be over. If I dare to surrender to my dreams surely it will lead to madness, the happiness of many depend on me. . . being me. . . strong, logical, practical. The performance of a lifetime, Oscar nominated, I perform daily. . . wondering - Is This All There is?

It Just Feels Right

When I came across this choice of photos for today's post, it just felt right. Somehow, this is the way life should be. Right or wrong having absolutely nothing to do with it. My arms around you, me loving you, the rest of the world and all its problems shut out. . . nothing else matters . . . there is nothing that needs saying or debated. . ."It Just Feels Right"

Shouting It From the Mountaintop

You know, since starting this expedition into blogging, I have discovered and became richer by the wealth of friends I've made. Today's post is a special shout-out to a couple of fellow bloggers I've had the pleasure of getting to know a little bit about.

Shouting It From the Mountaintop:

Jetboy747 hails from our sister country, Canada. He refers to himself as a gay Canadian a little too aviation obsessed for his own good. Every time I drop by for a visit, I leave thinking I should have paid for a nightclub performance. He will entertain you with his humor, his wit, and bring a smile to your face, trust me, the boy is good!



Rob (Aka "Ziggy") Rob comes to us from Michigan and likes to refer to himself as - an angel with a tarnished halo. As Rob will tell you, Ziggy's Lounge is always open and friends are always welcome, drop by, make yourself comfortable, while Rob shares his thoughts, his rantings, and his occasional confession with you. I know my life has been enriched since meeting Rob and I'm proud to call him a friend.

Here's To a New Year

I found myself bringing in the "New Year" with a bang but a far different one than most. There was no parties, no fireworks, no little bubbly spirits to tickle my nose. . . my ass had to work. And work it did for the past three days but it was all worth it. When I finally had a chance to log on and see all the comments from you guys it made me thankful for the New Year, it made me thankful to be able to call you my friends, your friendship was like a warm blanket surrounding me, protecting me, from the bitter cold of a harsh and cruel world. It made me realize even when life catches you with your pants down, never is it really as bad as it seems, not when you have friends like you. I raise my glass in a toast to each of you, a toast of friendship, a toast of getting to know and share more of our lives in this coming year. . .