Pouring Music From a Cup

          I mentioned in my last post that I've been away from social media-- my blog and Facebook in particular --for the last eight months. I said I had my reasons. I said I wasn't sure I wanted to be back. I'm not very comfortable around people, even less so in forum where I can't see their faces or hear their voices. I need to look into a person's eyes to know whether they care, whether they're telling the truth. But my instincts (my spirit guide?) suggested it was time to give it a try, so I'm giving it a try. For a while.           I am not the kind of person who makes friends easily. I am not one who turns heads when I enter a room. I am the kind of person, it seems, who has a quiet impact on the people I meet. They don't notice me until I'm gone. And that's okay. My ex-wife always used to say that I am the kind of person who craves attention and "attaboys," but that when they come I don't want them. I run from the spotlight

        Marcher seul sur la route.         It means “walking the road alone.”         Starting back in 2011 or 2012, somewhere in there, I created my first blog site. It was called Pouring Music From a Cup and its banner photograph was the view from the top of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. You may remember it.        A few years later I put a collection of my blog posts together, 42 of them, and self-published the collection in a book also called Pouring Music From a Cup . The cover of the book was c reated by a young artist named Summer Westover, and it looked like this:        However, like the blog, I chose to put the book to sleep last autumn. The reasons don’t matter. The point is, the book is resting comfortably on Amazon, along with my other books, and won’t awaken again until it is kissed by a beautiful wandering princess. You can’t see or buy any of my books with the lone exception of a little horror novella I wrote called Jellybeans, Curse of

The following text thread speaks for itself. My youngest, now 20, is staying with his grandparents for a couple of weeks before he flies to Maryland to help me move back to Texas. It began with me asking how things were going. Son - Things are fine, time is moving pretty fast but it’s amazing how slow this year has felt. I feel like I can remember something about every week since early February. I’m not the only one who thinks this year resembles 1968 fairly closely. Me -   I heard a historian on NPR today say that the recent events reminded him of 1968 also. The major difference, he said, is that   this time people have time to get involved because they’re unemployed or on lockdown, out of school, etc. Son -    I wouldn’t want to erase this period away, it’s been incredible to see. You no longer can claim “blah, blah we all got involved   back in the day, none of you youngsters protest.” I’d be out there if I wan’t living out of my suitcases pinned between family   memb