Halloween Perceptions

I was standing in line in my local Wal-Mart this morning, when I noticed the gentleman standing behind me, and I thought to myself, "Is he in costume or is that the way he chooses to look?" sometimes you can't really tell. His spouse "or whatever" walked up and stood with him, both dressed like hardcore bikers, leather jackets, chaps, bandanna on their heads and all kinds of patches on their apparel, so I had to look a little harder. I noticed that both were covered in tattoos, not really a tell these days. Both of them were wearing biker boots, again not really a tell, and his wallet, now in his hand, was attached to his pants with a chain. A little unusual for Ardmore Oklahoma, but there could have been a biker rally today. And it IS Halloween.
I paid for my items and gimped my way to the door, and out into the parking lot. The "Bikers" came out and headed for a pair of motorcycles Parked very near where I was parked. When I noticed them staring at me.
Now, I started to wonder if they were profiling me, I'm parked in a handicapped space. I'm using a pair of crutch-canes, Do they think I'm just another cripple, or is it my clothes, I am wearing a typical "Amish" beard (no mustache). My dress is fairly plain, black slacks, black shoes, white shirt, all that was missing was the suspenders and a hat.  I'm getting into a plain pickup. It's very possible that they were debating the same question that I had been earlier.Physically I do fit the profile. I wonder what they were thinking of me?
I was not in costume! and it was pretty clear that they were not either!
Isn't it odd that I was asking myself that question, any other day and I would have just thought "Oh look, a couple bikers!"
Were they thinking " oh look a Mennonite!"? or were they asking  themselves "what's wrong with his legs, or were they asking themselves " Is he in costume?"
When we expect something, it alters our perceptions!
A holiday, or a persons dress, or simply the way someone looks physically.
Will this revelation change the way I see things, NO, I'm a fan of profiling, because it works! But it may soften my judgment a bit. At least I hope so.

Today would have been my sister's 47th birthday. She's been gone for 29 years now. And I can still hear her voice, her laugh. I still miss her sense of humor.
I still celebrate her, but before you write me off as a huge nutjob, just give me a chance to explain why.
Kelly was my only sibling, and she was only three years younger than myself. Her birthday was as much of a big deal to me as it was to her. It was like a second birthday for me. And it was a several day affair, because it occurred so very near Halloween.
For a period of her life she actually hated that it was so near the holiday. Her birthday cake and decorations were always dominated by Halloween. So much so, that she rebelled at around age 6. She pitched so much of a fit, that my parents made a monumental effort to eliminate all references to the holiday, on what was her (I think) 6th birthday. Decorating her cake with a ballerina, and doing all the decorations in pink. Not an easy task in the late 60's, and a week from Halloween.
Halloween was still her favorite holiday, and she dropped her objections to the black and orange birthday decor the very next year. Witches and black cats were back in her favor again.
She always reveled in Halloween, because she loved costumes, makeup, treats, tricks, and parties. Not just on Halloween, Anytime! But especially, on that, particular holiday. Her world was a stage and she was the star.
It's hard to believe it's been 29 years. We were so close. I still miss her very much. Especially on her favorite holiday.

Rainy Days

It's raining here this morning, an unusual circumstance. We're in the third year of a drought, so it's hard to complain about any rain, but it's also cold.
I live in a house that's over a hundred years old, and the central heating system is a rather large fireplace, that's positioned roughly in the middle of the house. It works really well for heating, the problem is that you have to feed it, and I don't have enough wood for the winter yet, so I really need to get about gathering some.
I lit a fire this morning, the first of the season, not the first cold snap, but the first that made me, and the house, feel cold. My computer is in the main room of the house, and I'm sitting here watching the fire now, I'm wearing a wool sweater and I have a really hot cup of coffee, but my feet are still cold, from my ailments and the fact that I have been out in the cold wet fall morning, tending my animals.
I'm reminded of a song from my favorite musical group, Rehab. The song is called "Rainy Days" and the line from the song is " Rainy days are good for sleeping, when it's gray and cold, They got a way to make you feel like your getting old","Your memories of being worry free are often sold, youth are so bold, you wish'd you still feel like that"   I guess that, that's the way I feel this morning. Sitting here in front of the warm fire, surrounded by my cats, wishing the day would just leave me alone so I could just sit here in my wheel chair, enjoy my coffee, my fire, and my cats.
But I have to do battle with the bureaucracy in about a half hour, and I'm afraid that the other pressing matters of the day will have to be confronted sooner or later, so.
But they are right, it does have a way of making you feel old.
here's the youtube link for "Rainy Days"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwToJ0b0FoI

Charles Bukowski

If you haven't ever run across his writings before, you really should. Thousands of poems, Hundreds of short stories, and over 60 books. Time magazine once called him "the laureate of American lowlife"  What a description!
He influenced hundreds of poets and writers. "Notes from a dirty old man and Portions from a wine stained notebook"  should be required reading for everyone who is searching for meaning in their lives.
You probably won't find it there but it will give you a perspective outside your comfort zone. 
His writings are about the ordinary lives of average "poor" Americans, he wrote about the act of writing, his rather bad relationships with women, and alcohol, but mostly about everyday life of the poor and the drudgery of work, all the while maintaining a sense of humor. The sense of humor is the important element of all of his writings.
If you haven't guessed by now, Mr. Bukowski is one of my favorite authors. Not so much the content but the style. I also really like the style of  J.Q. Wolf, and yes he's a relative. But his book "Life in the Leatherwoods" is a series of stand alone chapters, not the typical storyline where everything relates and flows from one chapter to the next to tell a cohesive story, with a beginning, middle, and end."Life in the Leatherwoods" is a series of stories that don't necessarily relate to one another chronologically, but the stories of a life's experiences. Each chapter was originally written as articles for a newspaper, and later edited together as a book. I can admire that. Having been there myself.
I guess the moral of this story is just write, someone somewhere will relate to it, look at Bukowski, "the laureate of American Lowlife" always amazed that people wanted to read his stuff. Stuff he wrote! Because he wrote! 
And people read it !   Imagine that!

Mayday, Mayday, man down!!!!! but leave a message, and we'll call you back!

Ever had one of those days where everything goes wrong? I'm not talking about regular old everyday wrong, I'm talking about "train wreck" wrong. 9-1-1 wrong!  I'm having one of those days, Everything went wrong with a Doctors appointment, then I found out that my voice-mail had a message from last Friday that it just offered up today, Tuesday,  so I frantically tried to get ahold of the person, just to find out that she won't be in the office today! Great, it was just really important, but I guess a 6th day won't matter very much!!!!!!!! Then my phone decided that it didn't want to connect to the network, so I missed a different, very important phone call, (again)!!!! But I did get the voicemail!!!! I just can't call them back because I don't have any bars, no firgging network again!!!!!!!!!! but at least I get to change the flat on my pickup, with no tools, and a flat spare!  Some may be skeptical about all of this happening to the same person, on the same day? But wait, it gets waaaay better! I find out that my electric bill that I've been waiting till the last minute to pay was due yesterday! so now I'm going to get hit with the entire amount that I owe then, because I had a payment arrangement with them and now the entire amount is due! about a grand! Great and DO I HAVE IT, of course not! It's only 2-o'clock in the afternoon! and I just want to hide under the barn! What a crappy day! I just wish there was a reset button I could hit.
There's a prayer that is used by the 12 steppers, AA and the substance abuse people, that my father had carved in a huge piece of  flat onyx, it sat on his desk and now it sits on mine, the prayer is actually a prayer by a priest named Reinhold Niebuhr, and adapted for the abuse people.
My father had a this saying, I guess it's another Wolf-ism, "it's carved in stone" which meant that it was an absolute truth, I'm looking at that stone now! His stone! and Nievuhr's prayer carved into it. And it gives me some hope, both that this crappy day is going to end, and that Pop was right, it is an absolute truth.
Father, grant to us the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.
And tomorrow IS another day, a different day, where I will set about to correct the mistakes and missteps of today, which is most of them, I hope. 

Writing Stuff

In discussing this blog with family and friends, I have again, been asked why do I write stuff, why do I bother. And I have a standard answer, because it's important.
I generally refer people to my autobiography, and the chapter called "Writing", however since it doesn't seem to be in print anymore then I shall reproduce it here. So read, hopefully enjoy, but most of all,WRITE.
Don't worry it's fairly short!

"Writing"

   " How do you go about writing your story?
I’ve included this chapter because I’ve been unsuccessful in motivating my father, my grandmother and other family members to write their stories. It’s extremely important for you to write your story, for the same reason that it was important for me to write this story. To preserve, not just the history of your life, but to tell everyone who you were, what you thought, after your gone.
    There are several ways to do it. How you do it, isn’t as important as Doing it. You can write it as a timeline story, (I was born, I did stuff, and now I’m here). Or you can write it as individual events as you remember them. Write poetry. Write short stories. Hell, write a novel.  It can be fiction, or poetry, it really doesn’t matter.
    The method doesn’t matter either. Just get your remembrances on paper. It may not be your job to integrate them into a coherent timeline, or story. Just put it on paper and put them in one place (in a box under your bed for example.) You can leave it for someone else to bring them together. Your descendants can bring them together, edit them, correct the spelling, maybe even publish them.
    My sister’s poetry would be lost today if not for the fact that she kept them, she put them in a shoe box and kept them under her bed. And the most important thing, she told us that they were there. It wasn’t till after her death that they were typed and edited together. I took me 26 years to publish them. The point is, they were published. They are preserved for my descendants. True, it took a great deal of persistence to preserve them. But they were there for us to preserve. As yours will be there for someone else to preserve, if you take the time to write them down. Otherwise your story will be lost.     In my sister’s notes was a cryptic message. “If anyone should find my poems please rewrite them for me, and change the spelling. I can’t stand my handwriting.”
    My father passed away before he could write his story.  And my father was an author. Having published several works of fiction (co-written with one of his many ex wives) medical papers, and dissertations. I pleaded with him to write his story several times, and each time I was told that there was time. He believed that he would retire soon and have time to write. He was wrong! He believed that he was bullet proof. That he’d see death coming as old age or an illness. I’ve come to understand that it’s a delusion that most people suffer from. Old age isn’t objective. It’s subjective. But people don’t see it that way, when its happening to them. I’m reminded of the old saying, “death is a thief that steals in the night.” And if you believe that then your daft. It’s never happened that way for me. If you need an analogy then, I’ve found that it’s a 10.5 earthquake that hits you on a sunny Tuesday afternoon when your sitting on a toilet in the basement of a 150 year old brick high-rise building. You never see it coming, and there’s nothing you can do about it. So make sure your wearing clean underwear, and that everyone knows that you’ve written your stories and where they are.
    My father was a traditional author in every respect. Traditionally trained (Texas Christian University Masters degree in Literature) and traditional in his methods. Mapping out the story, developing the characters and the story line. He used a method known as storyboarding. The method me and my sister use are very different from the traditional methodology of my father. Writing Poetry, Philosophy, and Shorts are a little more etheric.
    I understand that writing your life story from beginning to end is difficult for anyone. It’s a work in progress, and it’s very difficult to establish a proper timeline. Where to start and how to end it. My advise is “Don’t Try!” Write the stories that you remember, when you remember them. Any story that’s important to you. Title it, or date it, and put it in the box.     And let your descendants figure it out. It’s a mosaic. The stories will come together, when they’re read in their entirety. You can let someone else write the ending, and put it together. “How do I know what’s important?” You Don’t! Write it all down. Your readers will make their own conclusions. Your job is to preserve your story, your feelings, your thoughts. Who you were. The stories that make up your life, even if it’s about someone you knew, or even events that occurred around you, no matter how mundane. Think about the diaries that have been preserved form the Revolution or the Civil War. It may be all anyone will remember of you, after your gone. And If you write your stories, and you put them somewhere safe, and you tell someone where they are, then that‘s all you can do.
    After my father’s death, his property was looted, and after a protracted court battle, none of it was ever recovered. After my sisters death, her stuff was sold at a garage sale without our knowledge.     My sister’s clarinet (I’m told) sold for $20. My oldest daughter (Hanna) plays the clarinet. It would have been nice to have had that instrument. Not just because it was worth a couple grand ( I’ve bought 2 of the same quality now) but because it was a family heirloom, my sister inherited it from my grandmother (my mother‘s mother).
   Gold diggers and looters, a bunch of buzzards and jackals, waiting for someone to die so they can profit off their death,  I’ve been through the whole death and loosing everything a couple times now and “I know beyond a shadow of a doubt” to use one of my fathers expressions, that it will happen again in the future. It’s the worst of human nature."

Poetry Selections by Kelly Lynn Wolf

I just learned today that one of my first things that I ever published, a book of my sisters poems, is still in print after a decade. A church member brought it to my attention. They found it after a Google search of my name turned it up on Amazon.com.
I'm amazed and confused, I've published half a dozen books. yet this one, my first, is still in print!
I have to admit, this is not my finest work, I am, however, more proud of this publication than I am of all my work as a whole.
This particular work, is a collection of my late sisters poems. The poems were found in a shoe box under her bed after her passing.
My father had them transcribed and typed onto individual pages. This was in the early 1980's, they were actually typed on a typewriter, on a standard typing paper. My mother had possession of them until the death of my father, some 20 years after he passing of my sister.
She gave them to me in the early 2000's. Yellowing and fragile, but continuing to survive.
I had to go through and retype each poem, my sister's thoughts, and place them on a transferable electronic media. One of the most difficult task, emotionally, that I have ever performed.
This was my first attempt at self publishing, it was simple and sophomoric. Yet I am (again) more proud of it than I am of "The Tail of the Wolf" my largest novel. Or any of my publications.
To any that are interested, I am very pleased that it survived and is still in publication.

photo of Kelly Lynn Wolf 10-28-1964 to 4-24-1982
Here is the link to her poems on Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&keywords=Kelly%20Wolf&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3AKelly%20Wolf&page=1

Muses

I've been asked to share my books - So here's titles and an explanations of contents of a few
"Poetry Selections of Kelly Lynn Wolf", my first book and the content should be fairly self explanatory, her poems, published around 2002, still in print at booksellers somewhere- or Amazon.com
"The Tail of the Wolf" autobiographical, with elements of my father's and sister's biographies, 200 pages, was hardback only, good luck in finding it, but I do still have it on one of my hard-drives so if anyone is interested I can probably get them a copy in some form or another
"The Great Depression II, an Unwelcome Sequel", fictional story of a rural family's life and recovery from an economic depression, derived from a short that was originally published  in the early 1980's and updated and republished again as a novel in the early 2000's.
"Off the Grid" a compilation of semi autobiographical short articles about our efforts to remove our farm and home from the dependence on the usual utilities. Published in a series starting in 2001 or 2002 till 2009 again I maintain a digital copy of each.
 

New at Blogging

I'm new at blogging, today is my very first blogging attempt so forgive me if it's a little weird. But I'm an old dog and this is a new trick for me.
I was led to this form of communication by a new acquaintance who does this on a regular basis, I don't know if I really have that much to share with the world but I'll try my best to keep up. and if your reading this then thank you for your interest, I can't help but feel that I'm going to disappoint, If I do then please let me know!