Bob Dylan, Maryland, and The Home Stretch

Bob Dylan
You know those quizzes people pass around on the social media sites, asking how many things from a list that you have done?  I love those.  I always want to check them all off, but I have not been to Europe nor have I gone sky diving.  

Some of the quizzes are about mostly minor delinquency - like skinny dipping? Hitch-hiking?  Ever been arrested?  (I can check all of those off the list.) 

Some quizzes are lists of random things, like, have you ever been to Mexico, been on tv, or broken a bone?  I normally get most of those checked off but I have not been anywhere in Europe or Asia, or even Canada.  I have not been to New York but I have been to Philadelphia and Los Angeles.  I have not broken a bone.  I have not been snow skiing but I was a scuba diver. I had never been on television until March, 2025.  

March 30, 2025, Topeka Performing Arts Center, Bob Dylan and his band took the stage at 8 pm.  This time the whole family was there.  Me. Daughter. Son.  My third time. Daughter's second time.  Son's first time.  I can now depart this realm in peace knowing that both of my children have been in the living presence of the Old Poet.  I was breathing the same air as that irascible old man yet one more time. 

I had warned my kids that unless you genuinely know his songs, you aren't likely to recognize any of them!  I do not care about that.  The music itself was excellent, as always.  I do not think Bob Dylan can sing any of his songs the same ever again once they have been recorded.  I have tried to reproduce copies of my own water color or acrylic paintings.  It simply cannot be done.  You are not stepping into the same creative river the second time around. Besides, it is Bob Dylan we are talking about here. They are his songs and he can sing them anyway he feels like singing them!  And if his singing voice is so awful now, (never that great to begin with), who the hell cares?  The millions of fans around the world have spent long hours in his company, getting through life quite well with his subtle humor, his fierce outrage, and his joy.  He simply is not an apologetic person, even when he sings the blues. 

So, while we were standing in the security check line, there was a very young local tv reporter interviewing old people, looking for the oldest fans who had seen Dylan more than once.  It was only slightly patronizing but I forgave her.  In the first place, she had no idea who Bob Dylan truly is, what he has brought into the world, or why it is important.  It was probably funny to all those youngsters at the tv station that a bunch of old boomers would turn out for an 83 year old man no one can clearly understand on stage any longer.  All she had to do was look around at the generations in attendance.  Real art, genuine creativity, speaks to any and all who lend an ear, regardless of age. 

So, yes, I had my fifteen seconds of local fame on television that night.  At least two people that I know personally recognized me on their tvs.  The trouble came when I saw myself.  My glasses were seriously askew on my face.  I looked senile, as if my kids had dragged old Mom out of the Home and treated her to some old guy - Bill Dylan, was it?  Oh, lord.  

Those youngsters at the television station need to do better at fact checking.  They called Bob Dylan a Pulitzer winning entertainer.  No, my dears.  He is a Nobel Prize in Literature recipient. 

A lot was accomplished on March 30, 2025.  My whole family has seen Dylan perform live now.  I have seen my personal muse for the third and likely last time in this life.  I can check off another item on the Facebook quizzes.  I have been on television. 

Maryland
I was filling the gas tank at the truck stop and noticed a Maryland license plate on the truck next to me.  A young, stern faced man set about filling up.  I asked him how things were up in Maryland.  He was only a bit taken aback, but politely said things were fine.  Not willing to leave the guy in peace, I asked, if he did not mind me asking, what was he doing in Kansas? 

That opened the flood gates.  He was on a long trip across the USA going to as many National Parks as they could manage.  He had spent two nights in Yellowstone, visited the Black Hills.  They went to Custer State Park and they were on their way to Kansas City for Barbecue!  I was delighted he was willing to share those couple of minutes of his summer adventure. 

I always want to talk to people with out of state plates.  Sometimes I do, but mostly I do not.  I think I will make it a point to ask more.

The Home Stretch
I thought getting old was going to be awful.  It is not awful, at least not yet.  There are many things to enjoy.  I am set free of a host of insecurities and doubts, and far removed from the most embarrassing times.  Most of my heartache is far in the past, though I am reluctant to speak such a thing for fear of calling down the cruel realities life offers daily to every single living thing.  We can only live one moment at a time so we have no choice, really.  It is, always, take the next step.  

I found out that you can go to bed old but wake up elderly.  I am still getting around alright.  I can still mow and keep my own house.  I can safely drive.  I am tending my own affairs though I realize my memory can be slipping a bit.  When I was young, if I had ever spoken to you once, I recognized you again, even decades later.  Now, I am not sure if I am talking to the same nurse I saw last time I was in the doctor's office!  I have high anxiety when I am introduced to new people because not only will I not remember their name, I likely will not recognize their face the next time I see them - even if it is later in the same event. 

I cannot remember if I have done some things.  The pest control service man had been coming to my house for 15 years, then suddenly I had a new technician.  He retired without saying anything!  At least I do not remember he said anything about retiring.  I wanted to send a card, thanking and congratulating him.  The trouble is, I think I did send him a retirement card.  Should I send him another card and explain?  Or just send it and hope he has already forgotten I sent one earlier?  If I did send one already, that is.  See what I mean?

I am in the home stretch.  Such things are to be expected. I sometimes cannot remember if I fed both dogs, or if I fed them at all.  (I think they often get fed twice.)  I worry that I might not be able to see well enough to renew my license, though my vision still corrects to 20/20 with glasses.  I worry that I might do something stupid like leave the car running, or a burner on the stove.  

Getting old is not terrible, yet.  If I live long enough, it will be terrible. I simply cannot imagine living in an old folks home.  How goddamned awful that would be!  I am in no hurry to check out, but I also do not want to overstay my welcome on this old earth.  

I know I am coming down the homestretch, or as Bob puts it:  "The fourth part of the day is already gone."

Whoever or whatever created this world with all her creatures has a reason for the horrific reality of suffering and death.  I hope it is a damn good reason.

Fuck All Y'all

As you may recall, I continued to do business with a conveniently located farm store in town despite the fact that the employees were universally the rudest, most nonmotivated people I ever had to deal with.  (If it was my attitude, I would expect to encounter rude people everywhere, which is not the case, though I certainly have resting bitch face.) 

A corporate buyout of the farm store brought in a small army of motivated, attentive, courteous employees that absolutely delighted me.  It was pleasant to do business there and that lasted quite awhile.  Alas, all good things come to an end.  I was recently disappointed to find that the employees are back to the natural state of rudeness and minimal customer service.  It is comforting to have things back to normal. However, the new rude employees are even worse than the old rude employees.  I am seriously considering never spending any money there again. The old employees simply vexed me with their sullen and rude minimal customer service.  The new employees have no problem speaking to me as if I am four years old, or stupid, or both.  Fuck the farm store.  Fuck the farm store very much.

Here is another example of great customer service:  I bought a new car in September, 2024.  The guy doing to the final paperwork enrolled me in over $7000 worth of warranties that I specifically said no to, repeatedly.  While most of the money had been refunded, they owed me over $800 for a tire warranty that I never agreed to.  On Tuesday of this week, I finally received the refund.  It took almost 9 months for them to cut a check.  Nine months, about two dozen phone calls, (almost all of them unreturned) and four trips in person.  Also, fuck the car dealership.  Fuck the car dealership very much.

I am not sure what is going on.  I am properly an old woman now so perhaps the disrespect simply comes as part of the aging process.  There is a lot of worry thanks to the despicable things taking place in our country right now.  Every day the headlines are more worrisome than the day before. Maybe everyone is under such stress that it is just the best they can do.  Insulting and embarrassing an old woman is apparently acceptable to the farm store employees.  Adding over $7000 to a car's purchase price despite clear and repeated refusal is actually dishonest, something you would expect from a cut-rate used car joint, not a premier car dealership. 

Some days I genuinely feel like fuck all y'all, fuck all y'all very much.

Careening Planet, Mothership, Portal or Cloud? It's A Cloud. It's Always a Cloud.

On the morning of February 21, 2025 at approximately 7:08 am, on location in Wabaunsee County, Kansas, I witnessed a phantom planet drawn close to the earth.  Or, a mothership in the east.  Or, an enormous portal that dwarfed the sun.  Or, I was dreaming. 

I found my glasses and got out of bed to look through the window, the upper pane that has no screen.  What was I seeing?

It was nearly sunrise,  but partially hidden by the timber behind my house was an enormous orb. It  appeared to be a near planet, the way they are depicted in science fiction movies. It was electrifying! Had Mars been knocked out of orbit into a collision with the earth?  Probably not. (Would we not have felt a disturbance in the force?)

Were the extraterrestrials at long last returning to earth, the gigantic spherical mothership parked between me and the sun?  No.  Millions of people would have already seen it.  Someone would surely have called me by now. (That would be news worth more than a mere text, right?)

Still awash in the brain waves of the dream state, maybe I was capable of seeing a portal of space/time, or a spiritual gateway - in my pasture. Maybe.  (My dogs were behaving as if I was pretty darned wide awake.)

I went to the other east windows to try to get a better view.  The orb did not shift or change from a different angle so it was, in fact, very large or very far away.  I decided to just observe it.  I thought maybe I should try to photograph it.  If it was real, it would show up in a photo.

So, I photographed it, knowing the true size, the strangeness, or the wonder of it, whatever it was, would not translate.  It was underwhelming in the photo.  I waited until the sun was up then photographed it again to get a comparison in size.

Ultimately, I thought it had to be a cloud.  (A perfectly round, featureless, unchanging cloud that I have never witnessed in all the decades of cloud watching I have logged?) Occam's razor instructs us to prefer the hypothesis that requires the fewest assumptions. For a few glorious moments, I thought the world had shifted.  

  

Here is the photo of the strange anomaly.  I tweaked every aspect I could to try to better see it. In this extreme zoom it is pixilated but it was smooth and perfectly round to the eye.  

Here is the sun rising behind it, for comparison.  Using my circle templates, I measured the "mothership" as 1-7/8" on the screen while the diameter of the sun measures 11/32" - roughly twelve times the size of the sun.

 

We Grieve When Nothing is Lost

 

In a remote realm of perfection, there was a just monarch who had a wife and a wonderful son and daughter.  They all lived together in happiness.

One day the father called his children before him and said:

"The time has come, as it does for all.  You are to go down, an infinite distance, to another land.  You shall seek and find and bring back a precious Jewel."

The travelers were conducted in disguise to a strange land, whose inhabitants almost all lived a dark existence. Such was the effect of this place that the two lost touch with each other, wandering as if asleep.

From time to time they saw phantoms, similitudes of their country and of the Jewel, but such was their condition that these things only increased the depth of their reveries, which they now began to take as reality.

When news of his children's plight reached the king, he sent word by a trusted servant, a wise man:

"Remember your mission, awaken from your dream, and remain together."

With this message they roused themselves, and with the help of their rescuing guide they dared the monstrous perils which surrounded the Jewel, and by its magic aid returned to their realm of light, to remain in increased happiness for evermore.                                                                              

                                                                              - Thinkers of the East by Idries Shah - 1971

Human beings, each one of us, catch glimmers of the Light.  We feel the celestial chord.  Sometimes it is a conscious, resounding flash.  Often it is a whisper, a fleeting sigh in the first stirring breeze of sunrise.  Maybe it comes in an dream, forgotten except for a sustained peace for a day or so. There are moments of delight with family or friends.  The generous earth herself often sounds the clarion.

As beings with a vocal language, the gift we evolved into alphabets in order to share across time and distance, the written word often incandesces, illuminating another bit of the mystery.

"You are to go down, an infinite distance, to another land."

It is why we grieve when nothing is lost, when we weep in the full light of day.  

We Need More Freshly Baked Bread

 

Almost every morning I have the idea that I will quickly finish the chores so I can drive to Manhattan for freshly baked bread and a flat white. It requires very little to change my mind - too cold, too tired, too far, too wasteful, too fattening.  It also elicits a touch of depression.  A genuine bakery does not exist in Topeka. A bakery is too woke, I guess.  

Next, inevitably, I think I could bake my own bread.  There is enough time in my day, every day, that I should get in the habit of baking my own bread. I wonder if I lived on freshly baked bread and whole milk, would I eventually weigh a thousand pounds or would I lose weight? Become young again? Be happy despite the "generally wretched times" we live in?

My grandmother often made bread, baked in the oven of a large wood burning stove.  The aroma of the rising dough was an elixir of comfort and love that I experienced no where else in my life, not then and not since. The yeast and baking bread and burning wood created a deeply satisfying warmth that nourished me to my very center.  Grandma loved me.  Simply.  And never once in her long life did she ever hurt my feelings or make me feel bad about myself.  She was the only one.  Maybe that is why freshly baked bread is disproportionately delicious.  It is, after all, merely yeast and flour.  Hardly a complicated list of ingredients. 

My grandmother was a loving old woman. The worst thing I ever heard her say was to call a particularly unpleasant woman an old heifer.  There were several women she deemed old heifers. I think an old heifer is a double insult, as a heifer is actually a cow that has not yet given birth. You had to be a horrible person to have my sweet old granny say such a thing about you.

Grandma was a musician, an accomplished pianist.  There was a long list of songs she could play from memory. Once in a great while, when the whole family was gathered, she could be persuaded to open the parlor and play for us.  The old piano was so terribly out of tune, but it mattered not.  The longer she played, the livelier the tunes and the more complicated the music.  A brief island of light and ease in all of our lives. She outlived her music and piano playing skill. I was not around for all those years that she surely filled the air with her joyful music.  

It was not until her funeral that I learned that one thing she did to earn money as a young woman was to break horses for people. How did I not know this about her?  That was important information that someone should have told me! I never had the chance to ask her a thing about it!

She rode a horse to school. She explained the purpose of those enormous horse blanket pins to me.   You pinned the horse blanket closed over your legs when riding in the cold.  She often told me of her father hauling a piano home in a wagon with a team of big work horses.  It must have been one of her favorite memories.

Her father called her Babe.  When she cut off her long hair the way the young women were doing in the Twenties, he was shocked.  He asked, "Babe, what have you done to your hair?"  She said she never cut her hair again. 

My grandmother was the oldest daughter of ten children.  I wonder if her father called all of his daughters "Babe", or if that was his name just for her. She clearly loved her father dearly and missed him her entire long life.  Just as I have missed her.

Another year passes into the mystery of wherever time goes.  We consume our time whether we wish to or not.  Such a strange state of affairs for a sentient being to find herself in.  People we love so deeply and dearly, like our fathers and our grandmas and our children and grandchildren, all strung along a deep river of time.  Some come and go quickly and others stay the distance but, ultimately, we are all separated.  Someone can be gone for a lifetime yet we love and miss them as acutely as when they lived.  I am not sad about this, though it seems tragic from our point of view in our finite lives.  Once we are gone, either simply vanished into the ethers or expanded into an infinite knowing, it is all good because:  what a gift a life is... how delicious freshly baked bread is...how clearly music is joy made manifest...how dearly we love one another.  

As is my custom, I wish:

Peace on Earth and Good Will to (some) men.  From the old lady, the supreme beings, and the German Shepherds of Spiritcreek.