Magazine Posts

“All Creatures Great and Small” Art Exhibition runs from Sep 4th – 30th, 2018.
Birds and Bunnies and Butterflies - Parklane Gallery in Kirkland has them all!
Artwork includes a fascinating mix of subtle creatures hidden in landscapes and florals as well as artistic interpretations of domestic pets and wildlife. It’s a very cool show – fun for the whole family!
The downtown Kirkland Artwalk is on Friday, September 14th, from 5 to 8pm.

The days of yore, my good friend,
Those days we thought, would never end,
Are long gone now, but still remain,
To remind us, of times gone by,
When we tried hard, not to die.
But now my friend, as we approach senility,
The last of this life's own finality,
Was it worth, the risk and fame,
To hope the world, recalls our name?

Our world today, is dark and dreary.
Of arguments and lies, I grow weary.

Will there be a time, within this life,
When there is, no hate or strife,
When love for others, as we are,
No matter, how close or how far?

A great sadness, lies inside of me
And subverts, my daily thought of thee.
A loss that, is ever so chagrin
And want not, to keep it within.

Just do, one day at a time.
That's all I will, ask of you.
Be the best, that you can be,
It's what I expect you to do.

I spend too much, of my time,
In searching for words, that will rhyme.
Why is that, you ask of me,
For words are abundant and are free?
I wish I knew, was my reply
But I must always rhyme or try.

Sometimes, the lost memories, from the past,
Invoke images, that elude my feeble grasp.
I think of those, from long ago
And wonder about, where did they go?

What happens to all of the sorrow,
If there is never one more tomorrow?

Can I be, any less a man,
If I don't understand, who I am?
The answer, isn't for me to say,
But for your reply, on this day.

The slab showed up unannounced, a 4 foot by 4 foot concrete square sitting at the edge of the little park I caretake, a mystery to me. Maybe the county had decided to bring in artwork, who knows, maybe a commemorative sculpture of me, Ranger Daddle. I know, not too likely given the fact the county may not know the park even exists or if they do, who is doing the maintenance. But a mystery, like winning the Lottery, is mostly about firing our greedy imaginations.

A week went by … then two. A month. No bronze Skeeter appeared one morning. No plaque. Nothing. Just that square of concrete poured apparently by hand in the dark of night either by aliens or South End tricksters. I mowed around it and pondered its meaning the way astronauts in 2001: A Space Odyssey pondered the Black Obelisk, knowing only that some intelligence had brought it, who knows whether for good or ill. All I knew was I wouldn’t be moving it, not a half ton of concrete.

After a few weeks I stopped paying attention to my mystery square, stopped guessing what its Maker intended, stopped seeing it at all … until a few days ago when the phone booth showed up, one of those rectangular booths from a time just before the cellphone made public telephones obsolete. Clark Kent would have to change in a McDonalds bathroom hereafter and every citizen, no matter how impoverished, would need to purchase a personal phone and a plan.

And yet … here was the Last Phone Booth on the South End, possibly in America, maybe even the world!! In my park. Under my care. Which, considering I do not own a cellphone, is Totally Apropos, as if the Gods of Wire Transmission or the Ghost of Alexander Graham Bell had anointed me Keeper of the Dial Tone.

Of course it arrived without a working phone, just a payphone with no incoming line off the street. Most gifts, if you think about it, come with strings attached. Mine did, but not the useful ones. Nevertheless, I’m the Ranger, an American Dr. Who with his very own nonfunctioning Tardis. I would find a Way, count on it, because that’s my job. The concrete square was, it turns out, my new purpose, better, I suspect, than winning the Lottery where the end of my days would be filled with South Enders begging for loans.

Visit The Skeeter Daddle Diaries Site

There is a light, inside my head,
That, on some occasion, is turned on.
When that happens, thoughts spew out
And I can see, what I'm about.