She played the keys with an angels caress,
drawing upon emotions from love to duress.
He would come place a single rose of blue hues,
upon the ivories to express his love true.
Gently she would place the gift in her raven hair.
While from his chair he would listen and stare.
Never a time did he miss presenting his blue rose.
He enjoyed a love deeper than most men know.
The years quickly passed, as they have wont to do.
Their love for each other, like his blue roses grew.
One night from, her silver hair, the blue rose fell gently to lay
upon the ivory keys, as she did beautifully play.
There it dried and wilted before her eyes.
With tears, she looked over at him and knew he had died.

I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.

When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:

1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid

2. The size of the grill

3. Rotisserie?

4. Accessories

5. Bar-B-Q covers


Let us take each consideration in turn.

Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.

Propane men:

Some men want instant gratification.  Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat.  Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM!  In with the meat.  Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away.  No muss.  No fuss.

Charcoal men:

Other men are more inclined to take their time.  savor the experience.  They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat.  When everything is just right, they gently place the meat.  They stand gaurd over it.  Tending to it.  Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready.  These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards.  Watching the heat fade and cool.  Then they will ask their woman they had served  "How'd you like your steak babe?"

Charcoal Fluid And Men:

Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames.  It always ends in disaster and or injury.

Size Of The Bar-B-Q:

O.K.  Now this is a touchy subject for most men.  It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two.  Men think bigger is better.

When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation.  That's right.  How will it look to the neighbors and guests?  Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over?  Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.

Rotisserie:

This is an important decision.  Does having your meat spin make it better?  I think that this is more of an individual decision.

Accessories:

Now we have reached a critical point.  How to accessorize.  Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success.  And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector.  Now that's a man who cares about his meat.

Bar-B-Q Cover:

Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make.  To cover or not to cover?

Men!  Always, with out fail, should cover.  It is for their own protection.  And it shows you care.

Thank you.

There was a time when my oldest was young, we thought we were going to lose him.  It all started with recurring headaches he would have.  These headaches became more frequent and intense over a few months.  Next, tremors started to acompany the headaches.

After countless trips to the Doctor and many days of having to leave work to go get our son from school and help him thru these episodes, I blew a gasket.  I demanded a CT scan.  I think that the only reason the Doctor agreed to it was to shut me up.  But I knew in my Mother's gut, that these were not migraines.

The day of that CT scan, they had my son lie down on the table.  They injected a tranq into his I.V.  The CT started.  I sat in an area where it allowed me to see my son and hear the technicians.  At first they were very chatty with one another.  One tech said, "He is asleep now, we can proceed."  They spoke in general terms about this and that as the scan continued.  Then the dread words were said by one ...."Oh ****!"  the tech said.  After that, silence.  No more chit chat.  Nothing.  My heart dropped.

After the scan was over, I was told that I would be hearing from his Doctor in about 24 hours.

Two weeks later, I recieved a call from the Docotors scheduling nurse.  "Why haven't you come in to see the Doctor?"  She demanded.  I explained that I was told that the office would be calling me to schedule an appointment.  The she exclaims..."You need to get in here right now.  Don't you know how serious this is?"  
WELL I DID NOW!

Long story short, he had an arachnoidal cyst.  The left temporal lobe of his brain was not there.  In its place was a large fluid filled sack.  The pressure was causing all the symptoms he had.

After more visits and much gut wrenching, the surgery day arrived.

It went well.  He has a tube implanted just under the skin that runs from his skull to his belly to let fluid drain.

But the place I want to guide you to now, is in the Hospital room.

There was our son.  Lying in the big white hospital bed.  he himself, almost as white as the sheets.  his head bandaged, tubes everywhere.  In the room with me were two friends from work and our younger son.  Two years younger.  So he was 5.

As our son started to wake up, his first words were.."Where's my brother?"

His brother flew to his side.  "I'm right here!"  he said as he grabbed his older brothers hand.  Very weakly Jess was able to say   "I love you Mike."  Mike in turn said  "I love you Jess."

That was the one and only time I cried during the whole ordeal.

Jess made a complete recovery.  No Problems.  The rest of his brain had taken over the work the temporal lobe was suppose to do.  A miracle.

What I found so amazing was that I never once shed a tear during the lead up and the findings and the aftermath.  Not untill I heard those words expressed by my sons to one another.

Most children would want their Mother or Father at a time like that.

Nope!  My boys were joined at the hip, so to speak.  Those few words spoken to each other confirmed the special bond I knew they had, that has never wavered.

As the wind cavorts among the Palo Verde limbs,
blossoms leap, float away, according to natures whim.
Landing within the waterfall, passed from rock to rock.
Or decorating pebbled paths, tiny yellow dots.

All along, unawares, of the blooms adventure.
The Palo Verde stands its ground, knarled, strong and sure.
Yet, by bending, yielding, to a strong winds desire,
the Palo Verde won't end up upon a camp bonfire.

The next time you find yourself headstrong in opinion,
so sure you are right, that you create undue tension,
think back to the Palo Verde and its sacrifice.
Give in a bit, so cooperation you will entice.

Let new ideas dance round like wind in your mind and grow
Don't let your bullheadedness be all that you show.
Allow yourself to not be rigid, learn how to bend,
you will find standing tall so much easier in the end

Just the other day I was there,
running, laughing once again with no cares.
I was playing tag around the old pear tree.
I'm the one with Band-aids on my knees.
There's my mom helping grandma tend the yard,
while grandpa's in his hammock, snoring hard.
The journey isn't very far for me
I go home every now and then in my memories.

There's my friend who with secrets I could share.
Oh!  The fragrant roses between our yard and theirs.
Whose thorns left me this scar upon my hand.
See my brother, his Tonka trucks in the sand.
On the sidewalk my sister rides her bike.
That's the phone line that always ate our kites.
Going home is not that hard for me,
I go there every now and then in my memories.

Dead Man's Alley was a place we could dare,
each other to go down, if they weren't scared.
The neighbors driveway, we always thought so steep.
It's funny, the mental images we keep.
Our front porch, home to Barbie's and Troll Dolls.
The hours grandma spent sewing outfits for them all.
To visit once again, for me, is so easy,
I go home every now and then in my memories.


The stereo my brother touched so that he could "hear"
the music through the vibrations, the big smile he would wear.
The walks with grandpa to the Rexall Store.
Roller skating round the tiled basement floor.
The hearth with the huge mirror hung above
All the happiness, especially all the love.
Yes, coming home again is a treat for me,
I come here every now and then in my memories.