Our House is Blessed…by a Condor!

Condors are the largest flying land birds in the Western Hemisphere. There are two species who claim some air space in America.  These can be found in the coastal regions of California and Mexico, and some a little farther east in northern Arizona.  There must be one Condor, however, who lives in South Florida.  How do I know this?  Well, I cannot imagine anything but the largest of birds that must have cleared entrance into the airspace above my house.  That’s all it has taken—just one condor executing a special fly-over.

Condors, or at least the people who write about them, seem to be pre-occupied with time.  To be specific, Condors have a 24-hour syndrome.  Did you know there are several books that include the word “Condor” in their title, along with an associated reference to “day?”  For example: Three Days of the Condor, Six Days of the Condor,  Next Day of the Condor, Last Day of the Condor.

Now, I do not know a lot about birds but when it comes to Condors I know one ugly bird when I see it.  And the fact that Condors are jumbo jet size compared to other birds, makes them pretty creepy characters to have flying around your neighborhood.

I guess I better stop for a moment and ‘splain what this is all about, especially since it is only speculation on my part that a Condor is what flew over my house today.  Since I did not see it, I really have no proof.  Oh wait, I do have solid proof that something large flew over my house. I’m just not sure what. Hey, it could have been Dumbo the Elephant for all I know.

So what happened today was that my house was strafed by a flying object…much like a British Spitfire in World War II.  Something large flew over my house and with precision timing and discharge, this large something unloaded what must have been an an urgent call from Mother Nature.  

I have been told when a bird poops on you it is actually called a “bird blessing.”  Well, my house was blessed today. My guess is, it was by a Condor, making today, at least at my house, THE day of the Condor!


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It was a beautiful day here in South Florida.  My Cubs game in Chicago was postponed due to rain and snow.  Snow???  This is mid-April for cry’n out loud.  Who wants to live in a climate that snows halfway through spingtime…not this stay-at-home hermit.  

So anyway, the temps were very comfortable and there was the traditional balmy breeze fluttering my homemade awning that I rigged over the back patio since a hurricane took the shade from the big three-story tree that was there since Jesus was a teenager.  My friend, Ron, will marvel at how long that last sentence was.  Anyway, there I sat in my thinking chair pondering what in heaven’s name I was going to discuss in my blog’s next posting—this one! Oh, by the way, that really isn’t my thinking chair in the sketch…but it’s what I would like to think I’d like it to look like.

I admit I did doze off for a few brief mini-naps.  But whilst awake as I sat in my thinking chair, I got to thinking about some of the latest news items.  Just a glance at the newspaper or a newsy website if you’ve given up on newspapers, and you can find all kinds of things to ooh and ahh at…or boo and naa at.  For example, a well known cruise line may face being kicked out of U.S. ports.  Seems their ships have had a habit of discarding various substances overboard, the kind of stuff that simply plays havoc with marine life and pollutes our salty seas.  Those bastards!  And here they have signs in all their guest cabins encouraging passengers to be good citizens and use their towels more than once and don’t toss left-over buffet dishes overboard.  It would be hard to fathom what this particularly popular cruise line would do without being able to tie up at U.S. docks.  It could sink their business, that’s for shore.   

Then there’s the news that Doris Day turned 97 last week.  Lots of people thought she had already died.  Lots of people don’t even know who she is.  You have to be my age to remember seeing her in movies like The Pajama Game and Pillow Talk.   She sang too.  But most of all, she just filled the cliché as “America’s Sweetheart.” Teenage boys hoped their future wife would look just like her and many of their fathers wished the same.  She was a perfect fit for the fifties, or so I thought as I sat in my thinking chair this afternoon, the balmy breeze blow’n over my almost hairless skull while the Egyptian goose honked at something bothering her across the canal that runs by my house on its way to the mighty Atlantic.

The geese got me to thinking too.  It’s the female that honks, relentlessly, until you begin thinking of her as dinner.  The male only hisses.  The children—quite a few in this case—don’t make much noise at all, God bless ‘em.  Imagine that…children who do not make noise!  They simply follow their parents who meander about the canal, mostly along the water’s edge and not in it.  They are a complete family. The parents stay together and ride herd over the young’uns until they are old enough to fend for themselves.  They are the total opposite of the Muscovy ducks who outnumber them in these parts. The ducks are worse than rabbits when it comes to mating.  The males strike when the mood hits and it makes no never-mind what female victim bleeps on theirs sonar.  They’re all fair game, so to speak.

And finally I got to thinking about politics…hard not to these days.  But, no no, I  do not discuss politics on my blog.  That never makes for a happy ending.  But it is a puzzlement how all the current divisiveness will end, if ever.    If anything, the times we live in are testing the foresight of our founding fathers more than ever before.  I sense they must be rolling their eyes and re-reading Tom Paine’s Common Sense.  If you step back—something most of us cannot do—it is interesting to watch the sides clash as things never done before are being done. It’s one giant video game and I guess he or she who last holds the controller…wins?  Sort of reminds me of a Doris Day song…

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be…


By the way, any one who was interested in my series of lessons on self-publishing, Lesson 3 (part I) is available at http://marckuhn.com. Go the to the section on self-publishing and look for the lessons link. Lesson 3 has to do with page numbering, which Microsoft Word has refined into a process so complicated and inconsistent that it is used by the FBI to test frustration levels of job applicants.

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A few years back when I was still getting used to not setting an alarm clock, wrestling with rushhour traffic and dealing with cantankerous bosses, I found I had a lot of new free time to occupy.  Given my sleeping issues there was no way I’d fill a lot of that time snoring away with long naps.  My writing was going full throttle, but I still had this drive to get involved in something new.   So, what to do?

I have always been a football fan but that’s about all the sports I’ve paid any attention to.  Some of that involvement resulted from my work. I served several years as the radio network producer for both the Washington Redskins and the Miami Dolphins. Those were pretty exciting jobs but your perspective on the game is a bit different from those sitting in the stands sloshing a beer and cheering on the team.

I’ve never been into basketball, hockey or curling, but there was some hope for baseball.  Yeah, baseball.  I decided I wanted to learn more about the game—you know, all the strategy of who pitches when, why does player C follow player F in the batting order…stuff like that.  Now, I obviously knew nothing about baseball beyond the basics, but I decided I’d pick one team and become a loyal fan.  But what team?  I was set on wanting a team that wouldn’t lose a lot of games.  I favored one that maybe had a chance of making it into the playoffs and maybe, just maybe, eventually into the World Series.  That’s the team I wanted to follow, one on the way up.

I consulted with one of the two baseball experts I know and my friend Ron told me I should the Chicago Cubs.  So I forked over the season fee to Major League Baseball and subscribed to all the Cubs games that are streamed on the Internet.  This was in 2015.  The Cubs went to the playoffs that year, something  not to be taken lightly by a team with an unusually dismal past.  Then, in 2016…guess what?  The Cubs won the World Series for the first time in over 100 years.  It was very exciting, especially having faithfully followed the team for the past two years.  Since then, however, they’ve fallen back a bit and the glow from their championship season has dissipated.  It has been especially troublesome this year as they’ve only won two of their first eight games.

A team is just like a family—capable of being just as complex and just as dysfunctional.  There are many moving  parts, some are people, others are things…like schedules and opponents.  Then there’s all the logistics, the weather, injuries, player slumps and even player misbehavior.  But it’s all family, so you gotta stick by it and love everybody.  I know I must have arrived at that point with the Cubs because this past week has been like watching your kid make just about every mistake possible doing something he or she has previously mastered. For sure, a sports team is a living organism that breaths in and out, has good days and bad and exudes all the emotional stress of a family.  In fact the only thing I don’t worry about with the Chicago Cubs is all the financial stuff and the incredible amonts of money it takes to run a baseball team.  And, oh yeah, it’s a good thing I don’t have to cook and feed all those people.

My wife bought me a Cubs hat and a t-shirt and my one granddaughter got me a Cubs blanket and a mug. But that’s the extent of my craziness. I don’t get all dressed up in blue and red or paint my face when I watch the Cubs play.  That’s not to say I don’t understand why many fans turn fanatics.  Being married to a team can do that.  Things are great when it plays well and then things are just as miserable when nary a run makes it onto the scoreboard.

Now, all that being said, as emotionally tied as sports fans get to their teams, there is one thought to hold onto if you want to keep in touch with reality, especially when your team has had a rough time getting started as the Cubs have this season. What’s that, you ask?  It’s simple.  If the game is making you a wreck, you just turn it off and walk away.  You are under no obligation to continue a relationship with the team if things have gone too far and your wellbeing is threatened.  It happens!  Sure, if you are a true fan you stick with your team regardless of how goes it on the fielf.  But sports can be a pretty potent inhibitor.  People have blood pressure and it goes up and down with all of life’s ups and downs, including numbers on a scoreboard. If your health—mental or physical—is suffering simply based on the performance of a sports team, it’s time for you to blow the whistle and yell, “Game Over!” …and then you just walk off the field and find something else to do with your time.  In other words, if they build it, no, you don’t have to go.


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One thing about Florida…it’s flat.  If you wish to tell your lover you will swim any ocean or climb any mountain, this is not the state in which to declare such devotion.  Yes, there is plenty of ocean, but nary a pimple of a hill.  Or so I thought.

I’ve lived in South Florida for some 30 years and I’ve been up and down the eastern coast from the Keys to the Georgia border.  And, I’ve been over to the west coast of the state as far up as Sarasota.  It’s all flat.  This past week, for the first time, I traveled through what is called the “panhandle” of the state and guess what?  There are hills!  They are modest in height, but they do go up and down as you travel west through the state’s capital, Tallahassee.  Our destination was a small resort town called Panama City Beach.

In my younger working years I had a reputation for being a very detail-oriented person.  I was especially good at looking ahead and anticipating things that could go wrong and always having a plan “B,” “C” and beyond if needed.  Well, that was then and some of those skills have now lost their edge in my retirement. Take the time (just a few weeks ago) when I booked a couple of days to lounge around the sandy shores of Panama City Beach in Florida’s panhandle, right at the tippy top of the  Gulf of Mexico.

“Spring Breakers” playing on the beach outside our window…funny, they did not ask Rosemarie or me if we wanted to play.

Did I know that that I booked our stay right in the middle of spring break for some nearby and not-so-nearby major universities?  Of course not.  Needless to say, Panama City Beach was a happen’n place.  From what I saw, I think Rosemarie and I were the most “senior” vacationers on the beach.  However, I have to admit, while the streets were crowded, along with every restaurant, the younger visitors were very well behaved  and we all got along swimmingly.

This section of Florida is rural for the most part and the highways have been cut through long-existing woodlands where Native Americans once pitched their tents and hunted for deer and less tamer animals to feed their families.  It is a vast area that appears quite desolate today and driving through some of the isolated backwoods roadways can be an almost surreal experience. There are acres and acres of  ravaged woodlands ripped from the pages of a Stephen King novel.  All this is because of Michael…Hurricane Michael, which slammed into the northern beaches of the Gulf of Mexico last October.  Little has changed since.  Sustaining winds of 155 mph smashed miles inland and along its path, the storm left homes, businesses, signs, fences and just about everything else either bent, broken, or altogether obliterated.  Mile after mile of the roadways we drove through were lined on both sides by trees atilt or broken in half like toothpicks.

The only good thing about this frightening experience is that not many people live in these wooded areas so there are no major signs of widespread personal devastation to anyone….except the wildlife.  These poor creatures obviously had no awareness of a hurricane coming their way, no forethought to take shelter or develop a Plan B since they had no either.  Nor, I am sure, none of them has ever debated climate change.



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Now that I am almost midway in my 70’s I realize once again my thinking has changed. This, I have found, is perfectly normal, just as I have changed my way of thinking through other stages of my life.  Circumstances change.  It may be the environment in which you live, the relationships you have, the career path you’ve embarked on—all kinds of things that affect your daily life can cause change in the way you think.  It simply depends upon when and where you are in your journey.  And it is a journey, make no mistake about it.

You have no doubt heard, or been told about, finding oneself. Early on, I  did not understand the concept.  “Hell,” I’d say, “I’m not lost.”  Subsequently, I actually remember when I was first aware, seriously aware, of where I was in life and what I had to do. I realized that adjustments had to made. I guess I had found myself.  I was in tenth grade and, lucky me, I realized then that I better start applying myself to my school work if I were to survive the rest of my life in a way I envisioned. I did not know at the time what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I did know that I did not want to stock groceries on a shelf or hustle up pancakes for hungry customers. Nope, I knew then that studying, reading and doing my homework were important. I actually began looking forward to report card day instead of dreading it. Oh, I still went to summer school every year because I always needed “extra” time to figure out algebra. But the rest of my grades kept me afloat enough to be accepted by a college when the time came.

When I was 18, I met a girl. My thinking from that point forward took a dramatic change in direction. There were course adjustments along the way for things like marriage and children, career maneuvers, living in different cities and houses and a gazillion other things that many of us experience along our journey. Consequently, your thinking is forever changing. Your attitude adjusts, your taste changes, former dislikes become likes and, overall, you are always looking ahead to your future, filled with ambition and a compulsion to get there.

And then, there is still more change when you reach the so-called senior years. But the change this time, at least for me, is like none I’ve experienced. Peers begin dying. Not surprisingly, you cannot help but think about your own mortality. It becomes evident at this stage of life that the end has come into range, enough so that it has now become your future. You will find this to be the most daunting influence you’ve ever felt. Dreams and aspirations occupied your mind up until this time. Now, when you look to the future, you think about things like insurance coverage, getting your personal affairs in order and making sure your will is up to date. You can choose to ignore all this, grit your teeth and face it head-on, or set your switch to “denial” But remember this, these days you could, after all, survive another 20 to 30 years.

I remember an incident when Rosemarie and I were just married and we had very little money. Setting up our household was a slow process. Acquiring furniture was a piece-by-piece procedure. We would save up money and when we had enough to purchase the next chair or table, off we’d go to the store. We wanted everything to be very contemporary—that was our thinking at the time. So, the couch we bought was very sleek and unusual…and, as we learned later, very uncomfortable. Upon seeing it as we proudly displayed it to my mother for the first time, I remember her reaction. She was politely complimentary about it, but she did make a comment to the effect that “you will be surprised how different your taste in furniture will change over the years.” She was spot on and, indeed, our couch today is quite traditional and a lot more conservative…just as our thinking has become.

You will find that your mind is exceptionally reactive.   As you go through life, the way you process things it is exposed to will change, sometimes drastically or sometimes subtly.  So, if you would like to monitor your thinking as you proceed along your journey, it’s really quite easy. Simply stand in your living room and take a look around.


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On today’s posting, you shall go on a date.  Not to worry, you are not part of the date, just an obvserver standing off in the background.  This is an excerpt from my latest effort, titled AGAIN.  If you wish, you can learn more about the book at http://againkuhn.com.  However, you do not need to do any preparation to go on the date.  The year is 1964.  You will be accompanying Richard and Patricia to Washington, D.C.  The train ride begins in Philadelphia.  Have a seat…

Chapter 24

Museum trip

Richard would look for any excuse to make a trip to Washington. He loved the “politics” of the city and marveled at all the buildings and monuments along its famous mall. In 1964 the Smithsonian Institution opened its newest addition, The Museum of History and Technology, featuring exhibits focusing on the nation’s history and displaying artifacts that reflected what many referred to as The American Experience.

Richard and Patricia were on the early train to D.C. with the mission of spending the entire day at the new museum. For Richard, it was the perfect day that included his favorite things: a train ride, the nation’s capital and, of course, the girl of his dreams.

Both travelers had gotten up extra early so it was no surprise they were both fast asleep, leaning shoulder to shoulder against each other by the time the train passed through Wilmington, Delaware. Richard woke up as the conductor was announcing the train pulling into Union Station in Washington. He felt well rested, but disappointed that he had slept through practically the entire train ride. He attempted to awaken Patricia slowly so as not to startle her. That didn’t work. The minute he began rubbing her arm softly, she let out a yelp and at first was totally disoriented until she realized where she was.

“Wow, I hope you enjoyed my companionship. I guess I talked your head off the entire trip since we left Philly,” she said in a sleepy voice.

“Actually, I didn’t hear a word you said. We both slept through every clickety-clack. But I feel great. I needed the sleep. I’ve got my museum shoes on and I’m ready to go.”

“I need a little more time to wake up and I am hungry. Can we get something breakfastsy to eat before we take on the entire history of the country?”

“Not to worry. I will find a chicken willing to give us some eggs.”

The two got off the train and walked through the door into the main chamber of Union Station. Richard stopped for a moment to get his bearings, then he grabbed Patricia by the hand and headed off in a diagonal direction. When he got to a certain point he stopped.

“I don’t see breakfast here,” Patricia said.

“No, breakfast is not here,” Richard responded. “There’s a restaurant about one block away when we get outside, but I wanted to show you a little history while we’re here.”

“Oh no, is this one of your train stories? I know you love trains, but I love breakfast even more.”

“Patty, just give me a moment because right where we are standing, something pretty colossal happened in 1953.”

“That’s the same year I last had breakfast so be quick about your little train time capsule, okay?” Richard was undaunted by her sarcasm.

“Patty, right where we are standing, back in January 1953 a train arrived here at Union State. But it didn’t make a normal arrival. It was full of people who were coming to President Eisenhower’s inauguration, all the way from Boston on down. The engine pulling this train was what was called a GG-l. It was the largest train engine of its time and the Pennsylvania Railroad had tons of them pulling their passenger trains. This particular engine, just a few miles outside of Washington, developed a problem. The brakes had stopped working. No matter what the engineer did, he was not able to slow down the train. They were able to notify the people here and get everyone out just as the GG-1 came roaring into the station—literally. It went right through the platform, crashed through the wall over there and came to about here and collapsed through the floor to the basement level below. It was like a scene out of a movie with big special effects and all. And can you believe it, people were injured, but no one was killed. Isn’t that amazing?” Patricia actually gave Richard credit.

“Y’know, I actually remember seeing that on the news. I was ten years old. That’s pretty cool that we’re standing right where it happened. You do know your train stuff.”

“Okay, more history to come at the museum, but for now you are free. Let’s get breakfast.”

They spent the rest of the day at the museum and still didn’t get to see everything they wanted. But there was one special exhibit that was just temporary as part of the opening celebration for the new museum. You had to make a reservation for it, which Richard and Patricia did first thing when they arrived. Their appointment was for two o’clock that afternoon. When the time came, they showed up in an area where there was a photography studio. Here they were first instructed to select a backdrop for their picture. These were on rolls above like pull-down shades. They provided a background for the picture and featured different scenes throughout history. In addition to the backdrop, those to be in the photograph then selected from a collection of clothing to match the period of time. Richard and Patricia selected a picture of a parlor from a photo taken in 1910. Then they each changed into the appropriate clothing. Richard put on a fine vested suit with a stiff upturned shirt collar and bowtie. He topped it off with a black felt bowler. Patricia picked a full-length lacy dress with a high, tight collar all the way up to her throat. She then picked the widest, most feathered hat and tied it to her head with a big ribbon that came down and knotted under her chin. When they appeared in front of the backdrop, a crowd had formed and applauded loudly. They made the perfect Victorian couple. Even the photographer commented he had never seen a more natural couple representing that time period.

The test Polaroid™ picture the photographer took came out so well that Richard and Patricia ordered several larger prints of the master set that would be mailed home to them later.

“Maybe we’ll get them framed,” Patricia suggested, “Then hold them until Christmas and give them to our parents as a fun gift. What do you think?”

“That’d be a good idea. I think they’d get a laugh out of them,” Richard said.

They had a late lunch at the museum and spent another few hours until it was time to head back to Union Station. They had walked quite a bit since morning so they took a cab back. Once inside the station, Patricia suddenly stopped Richard and grabbed both his hands.

“Do you know what happened right here at this very spot?” she asked him.

“No, what?”

“A girl was about to catch a train home to Philadelphia when she realized she hadn’t once all day told her boyfriend how much fun she had and how much she loved him more and more everyday. And then right here, Richard, in front of everybody at this very spot, she plowed her lips into his and gave him a great big kiss.”

Afterward, Richard admitted he had never heard that particular train story before. Patricia was so proud she knew all about it and he didn’t.


AGAIN won First Place, General Fiction, at this year’s Independent Book Awards.   Both Kindle and paperback are available at amazon.  I hope you made it back home before your parents’ curfew.

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Everything’s Just Ducky Around Here

Maybe in your neighborhood you have to worry about fast drivers, kids playing in the streets, potholes that eat tires and keep wheel alignments shops busy.  Yeah, I remember all those things when I lived in the northeast USA, but they are not the concern in the neighborhood where I live now. Nope, our worry is ducks, especially this time of year.

South Florida has a good supply of waterways, be it canals, lakes, the Everglades or the Atlantic Ocean itself.  So it is not unusual to have a lot of water-sourced creatures wandering our neighborhoods…especially ducks.

They are called Muscovy by breed and it’s hard to walk or drive around suburbia without having to dodge a few…or lots.   You’ve heard of the ugly duckling?  That’s the Muscovy.  And this time of year is particularly ducky given that the male Muscovy gets pretty frisky in early spring.  Consequently there are lots of mother ducks wandering the streets with a slew of new babies close in tow.  And yes, just like the toy ducks, the little ones line up one-by-one behind their mother when the official marching orders are given.

This mother of 13 (below) has no idea of what “don’t play in the street” means.  This past week she and her herd have been hanging out—mostly—in the middle of  the street and she has enough of a entourage to spread completely from side-to-side.  This other mother below her has only three to worry about.  She probably had many more last week, but the circle of life, which includes the duck-consuming Great Egret, is a constant threat to the tiny chicks early on when they are most vulnerable.

Now, I  personally have never witnessed it, but I am told that the duck seen on the menus at area oriental restaurants is….yep, Muscovy.  That may make some sense…I mean, who wants to go all the way to Peking when there’s a Muscovy likely hanging around just outside the back door?

Well, as annoying as they can be, the ducks are part of the environment around these parts and they seem to accept us humans as we do them.  And when push comes to shove, I suppose I’d probably prefer a bowl of pothole stew to a cup of duck soup.


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Well, there has been a hiccup in my blogging efforts this past week.  My blog’s host, WordPress, changed the entire procedure for publishing a post and I had absolutely no warning.  So the old dog/new tricks scenario came into play.  I will not bore you with the drama trauma all this caused me, but I make a great martyr so I will carry on…I hope.

Now, where was I?  Oh yes, the little picture of the flower I left for you.  I asked if you knew what it was.  Well, if  you don’t hang out in these parts of  the country, or Hawaii too, for that matter, you may not realize the  picture is of a fresh bloomin’ pineapple. I grow pineapples in my back yard—not in the yard itself, but in pots.  I’ve shown them in one or two posts before.  Here’s the complete pineapple garden…

Pineapples are actually pretty easy to grow.  Once a year you have to thin them out since they like to duplicate themselves a lot.  Then there are always a few pesky weeds to weed out much like any plant and that’s about it….ah, except one thing…

Any time you put your hands and arms into the plant you can expect to have them come out a bloody mess. That’s because the “breed” of plant I have features little razor-sharp barbs that line the edge of the leaves. The leaf blades are akin to what is called “sawgrass” which is a similar species that grows here in South Florida and lives up to its name if you choose to walk through it.  Meanwhile, over in the other end of the yard is this monstrosity pictured below…

Believe it or not, this is a coconut tree.  It’s only about four years old.  I started it from an actual coconut that was floating in the canal with about a three-inch sprout  growing out of its top.  I had it in a pot for a year or so and then planted it.  It took off like it’s been on coconut steroids ever since and  hasn’t stopped.  I don’t know very much about coconut trees, but what you see–I think– is the TOP of the tree.  The trunk which I assume will grow up from under it, has just started to emerge (see bottom picture).   This tree is really cool to watch grow.  It even produces a burlap-like material wrapped  around it.  Too bad though, I do not think the tree will  produce a coconut cream pie anytime soon.



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2 QUESTIONS…Correction: Only 1 Question!

Well, the BIG SINGLE question is: What the hell has WordPress done???? WordPress, for those of you who do know know it from mashed prunes, is the technical host of Marc’s Blog. It provides the space, the server and all the facilities that make this blog function despite my haphazard writing. So, apparently, like soooooo many companies who are involved in this kind of computer service, they are never happy with the way things work. This is a good thing…this is a bad thing. WordPress has decided to change the entire way by which I have produced this blog…all 600+ postings to date for the past 7 years. The problem is, they just dumped it on me. I went to write a new posting two days ago and all that I knew had become history. A new process, call the gutenberg editor had taken over. I have spent the past two days reading and watching tutorials and I still have not been able to produce a new posting for my blog, a task that usually takes me about 10-15 minutes. In fact, I am using the last pre-gutenberg posting to sneak in this message. I do not like change unless for the better–not someone else’s better, but MY better. My cheese has been moved, my tipping point tipped, and my breaking point broken. I have to “park” all this for the moment or else I will go more nutty than I am. If my blog suddenly disappears, I will update its status on the home page of http://marckuhn.com. Thank you for your interest!

And next, do you know what this is?

Stay tuned….I’ll explain on my next posting. Have a nice day!

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Cropped shot musician artist working on workplace with guitar on hand and holding a pencil writing on notebook paper,song writer concept.I always had the will to attempt writing songs, but not the way.  I really like music, especially good lyrics.  But I ain’t got rhythm let alone any understanding of music.  I  have tried and failed to learn how to play an instrument and I can’t even tap my fingers in proper time.  But, as the cliché goes, I know what I like.

So I thought I’d make a list…Marc’s Hit Lyrics. These are words from songs that have left a dent in my brain, the kind of words that make me say, “I wish I had written that!” There are a tons more than what I have selected here, and even these are random.  And, oh, they are in no particular order with the exception that I start and end with my favorites. Forgive the spacing on this posting. WordPress, my blog’s host, doesn’t  allow you much control of arranging things unless you want to pay extra for their premium package.  Okay, nuff said, here are some lyrics…

       “Time it was and what a time it was, it  was.

        As time of innocence, a time of confidences.

       Long ago it must be.  I have a photogaph.

       Preserve your memories.  They’re all that’s left you.”

                   – Simon and Garfunkel, Bookends


     “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes,

       you just might find you get what you need.”       – Rolling Stones


    “…if your time to you is worth saving, then you better start swimmin’    

     or you’ll sink like a stone, for the times they are a changin’.”

                                                                                               –  Bob Dylan

    “So it’s going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.   You can

    tell me when it’s over if the high was worth the pain.”   

                                                                     – Taylor Swift, Blank Space

    “You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul, you’re in my breath should I

     grow old. You are my lover and my best friend, you’re in my soul.”    

                                                                                       – Rod Stewart

    “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls            

     and tennament halls.”   – Simon and Garfunkel, Sound of Silence

And the best for last is a bit of poetry by Bob Dylan that is part of a very popular song, but it is very seldom included in the versions you hear played in public.  I discovered it years after the Byrds sang their abreviated hit version.  It is a great piece of song writing—Dylan at his best, I think—but few people are familiar with it.  If you find the beach your escape from reality, your elixir for solitude and peace of mind, this smidgeon of Dylan should work for you.  So here it is, the final, hidden verse of Mr. Tambourine Man

     “….And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind,

     Down the foggy ruins of time

    Far past the frozen leaves

    The haunted frightened trees

    Out to the windy beach

     Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

     Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky

     With one hand waving free

     Silhouetted by the sea

    Circled by the circus sands

    With all memory and fate

    Driven deep beneath the waves

    Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

    Hey! Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me

   I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to

   Hey! Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me

   In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come following you.”



…and one more item for those following my “lecture series” on self-publishing:  Lesson #2 has been posted.  Follow the links @ http://marckuhn.com

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