I think most kids learn to drive long before they receive their driver's license. I know I did. Do you remember when you first learned to drive and who taught you? My sister taught me to drive on my Grandfather's farm in a sixty-two Ford or Chevy truck, I can't remember exactly. It was a three speed in the column, which was not the easiest thing to learn to drive on. I was twelve or thirteen. She let me drive on the old country roads, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever and I felt all grown up and important. I guess this was probably in 1980 when I was twelve. The next time we feel all grown up and important is when we get our license. It is such a big life deal when your fifteen, but we find, or at least I did, that that I was hauling around every pre-teen kid in the neighborhood and that got old quickly. Before too long it becomes old hat just like everything else in life. Nowadays, I try to get out of driving places as much as I can. Have a good day everyone.---Keith
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It's human nature to judge other people in some way. I find it an easy thing to do. The surface reasons we judge other people are countless, but the underlying reason, below it all, is our own fear. We judge anything different. In general as humans, we fear anything different. What we don't realize sometimes is that the person we are judging may be someone who can really enhance our lives in some way, or maybe not, if we judge them not giving them a chance. Point is, if we judge others, we could miss out on knowing a good-hearted person. Not fair is it? Our own fears get in our way. In the end, when we judge, we are the ones who lose. I issue a challenge to you, the reader, as well as myself. Our assignment for today is to not judge anyone, can we do it?---Keith
Below is an excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Symphony of Life. Enjoy. Keith
July 2nd, 1984 is a day I will never forget. I stare at the sun melting into the horizon. The evening air smells ripe, with a sultry thickness southerners are accustomed to, like tasting sweet iced tea and annual visits to the cemetery. Mother drives me home from the airport. I settle back against the seat, aware of its comfort, and close my eyes, intent on shutting out the drudge of the last four days. I want nothing more than to think about getting out of my sweat-drenched clothes, which feel horrible on my skin, and washing off a long day of airports and flight changes. Mother convinced me that I needed to go with her to Atlanta for a small business seminar called “Mind Your Own Business.” The whole experience has been ridiculous and trite as the title. Truth is, I’ve resented our family business for as long as I can remember. I never intended to be stuck between the isles of groceries and shelves of bagels and donuts. My grandparents willed the store to my parents, and the business became the favored child. Like a dutiful child, I spent every day after school, every weekend, and every summer day exhausted and looking after the shop. Spending a week of my two-week annual vacation bored as hell at a seminar is the farthest thing I’ve wanted to do. The only bright spot over the course of these four days has been the fact that the presenter became ill and cancelled the last two days of the seminar. If I’d known my life would be full of depression several hours later, I would have stayed, found a cheap place to rent, and buried my head under the covers. I open my eyes. We round the corner and come to a stop in front of the house. I focus on the lights shining through the living room window. “Dammit, Roscoe, you chicken!” I clumsily step out of the car and walk up the sidewalk, deciding not to chastise Roscoe for keeping the lights on. He’s afraid of the dark. We’ve had the “why do you keep every light on in the house?” conversation so many times throughout our six-year marriage. No lights shine from the bedroom. I surmise that Roscoe is likely asleep, which is perfect. Chitchat isn’t what I want right now. Walking into the house, my cold fingers find the switch. I flick off the lights, walking down the long hallway leading to our bedroom. I maneuver my way through the darkness, my nails scratching along the wall and making a hideous sound with every step I take. Minutes later, I walk into the room and kick off my shoes, turning on the small desk lamp on the dresser. I glance at the outline of a body lying across the bed. The meager light makes it difficult to see, however. My eyes acclimate. I realize it isn’t Roscoe. A skinny, smooth body lies on its stomach. The back straps of a sequined bra gleam. New Boots
By Kelly Darrow Pappy’s on the porch smoking his pipe Sadness filling his eyes I’m sitting at his feet Looking up at him “What’s he thinking?” He talks about crops gone bad I don’t really know what that means, But it puts that look in his eyes His big brown boots worn and torn Doing without new, so I could have mine I walk to school everyday He bought boots for me When I get older I will love him even more Because I will realize all he sacrificed So that I could have my new boots 1. The best things happen when we are not looking for them.
2. Music is a nostalgic avenue. 3. Writing is an escape. 4. You deal with what you receive. 5. Equal cost for equal loss. 6. Experience is the real education. 7. Closed mindedness leads to unhealthy choices and behaviors. 8. If your quiet people will listen when you talk. 9. Your relationships are a reflection of yourself |
AuthorKeith Kelly currently lives in Rio Rancho New Mexico. Archives
October 2020
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