Category Archives: Metaphysics

Citrus Desparado

This is a story about a man whose son supplemented his day-job income by working as kind of a jack-of-all-trades for a company that produced concerts and other shows at large entertainment venues in a particular mid-sized southern city.

One day Don Henley came to town. Former co-leader of the Eagles rock group, the singer-song writer-guitarist tours with his own band now, and was preparing for a local show.

It’s somewhat customary for well-known entertainers to request and be provided various foods and other comfort items for consumption before and after their shows. In this case, so the story goes, the owners of the concert venue required such items be obtained from a hotel attached to said venue and being operated by a national hotel chain.

But after an ominous breakfast, which included a salad containing metalic foreign objects, it became clear the hotel was not capable of providing this particular group’s needs.

For instance, the lemons were inadequate. “I hate small lemons,” Henley was quoted as saying, approximately, to the people producing the show. “Don Henley hates small lemons,” the production company officials said to the son mentioned above. “Go out and find us the largest lemons available.”

“You’re not going to believe this,” the son replied. “But it turns out that my father grows the biggest lemons in the world.” Then he drove to his home and retrieved a half-dozen lemons given to him by the man who is the subject of this story.

It turns out that man is me. While it is an exaggeration to call them the biggest in the world, it is true that I grow Meyer lemons, which are considerably larger than Lisbon lemons – the type almost always seen in grocery stores. Meyer lemons, more importantly, are incredibly flavorful and fragrant.

And while I have not been directly informed by any of his people, I have heard no complaints whatsoever about the lemons my son provided to Don Henley, and it is my belief that he probably found them of outstanding size and flavor, and may even recall them with fondness in the future in the likely event he is presented with some inferior lemon.

Which just goes to show you, anything can happen. I forget that sometimes.

As kind of a postscript, I have to say that my lemon tree was seriously damaged in our recent and uncommon freezing weather. I have hopes that the tree will survive, although nothing is guaranteed. I have decided that if the tree manages to live and produce fruit, I will heretofore refer to them as Desparado Lemons, just for fun.

Also posted in Fruit, Garden, Kids

Here Comes The Sun

This is the time I would preserve in a big canning jar, when waters finally recede and the sun commands the world to morph.


And the world complies, pulling shaggy green over everything, reclaiming the flotsam left to rot everywhere by the humans and their ridiculously temporary antics.


I’d open the jar and spread This Time across the windowsills after the gardens submit to the cracklingly inevitable steam-heat of summer: Fresh salsa and caprese all around for another two weeks, a month, until the jar runs out.


Yeah I sure would.

Also posted in Food, Garden, Nature, Vegetables

Regrets And Resolutions

Nah, I’m not up for that. You drive better when you’re looking through the windshield instead of the rear-view mirror. So lets just charge into 2016, official Year of the ‘Dillo:


Also posted in Critters, Photography

Sometimes The Hardest Thing

Even at my age, it’s very difficult sometimes just figuring out approximately who you are, and then being yourself.

As a writer, photographer or artist, you find that in order to be true to your craft, you must reveal a piece of yourself previously unknown. This causes you to look within yourself and examine what’s down there.

Trying Just To Be MyselfThat can be scary. The sum of our past experiences and our dreaded future, our fears and mistakes, our acts of good and evil, the height of our happiness and the depths of our pain, the breadth of our imagination and the narrow blackness of our despair, the miracle of our birth and the eventuality of our death – all of it exists inside, mixed together like ingredients in some cosmic chili.

When you create, you reach down there and bring a gob of that chili outside for inspection. Sometimes, lots of times, you’re afraid to show it – to show yourself – to the world. That which is inside you runs the gamut. It can be horrifying. It can be shocking. It can be socially unacceptable. It can be anything.

One of my current goals is to learn to be at peace with whatever my art reveals. This has not been easy, but I take comfort in the fact that art is not a reflection of the artist himself, but a reflection of what the universe has done to him.

Does that make sense?

Also posted in Art, Writing