It's the third week of the season and things are looking good for the Kansans City Chiefs. The local team, nicknamed the Flubitup Bills have won one and lost one, both in the final minute. Today they play their division rival Jets in the Meadowlands. Both teams are tied at 1-1.

I used to be a true football fan. I loved the Cowboys back in the Tom Landry, Roger Stauback days. I cheered them on during the Jimmy Johnson, Troy Aikman era. It is hard though to get really excited about this years team. I quietly sit with my fingers crossed hoping they have a winning season, that is, better than 500.

The Bills on the other hand are a team to watch and love and hate both at the same time. I don't think any other team has found as many different ways to lose a game over the last 15 seasons as Buffalo. Still I keep secretly rooting for them, hoping they win each time they go out on the field. I am not a Bills fan, but so many of the people I love are,  my wife, mom and sisters I keep hoping that at the very least, the players don't embarrass themselves each Sunday. As long as they play well, keep the game close and exciting a loss isn't quite as painful.

I was reading a post last week, in which the blogger was saying that they didn't get football. I think it isn't so much the game itself that is important as the whole experience surrounding the game. Football on Sundays is a pleasant distraction from a long arduous workweek, the onset of cold harsh weather and the drudgery of otherwise mundane lives. To see these young men exert themselves with complete abandon and sacrifice themselves physically and emotionally is socially therapeutic. It is a brutal improvised ballet of quickness, strength and endurance. sometimes it is frustrating, others heartbreaking, but mostly it is exciting and entertaining.

As a youngster I enjoyed playing the game. I could run and catch the ball well. I had great balance and quickness. It sharpened my skills as an observer, because on the football field things happen fast. Of course I took my lumps, bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes. You learn to tough it out when things get a little rough. It does a young man good to learn how to handle life's more difficult moments. Many young men just aren't tough enough, physically or mentally to cope with the challenges they face. Toughness is important. Toughness and kindness go hand in hand. When you have suffered through deep pain, you learn to be compassionate towards others who are suffering.

Back to the game. Buffalo at NY, 4:25 PM. Who are you rooting for? Do you have a favorite team? Do you enjoy the game?

Lately I have been spending a lot of time thinking about music. I listen to a lot of music. Heck, I think most of us do. You hear it in the background on TV, in the movies, in cars as people pass, coming from open windows in the neighborhood. It plays over and over in my head. The songs of birds singing, children laughing, and old ladies yacking. At work I hear the rhythms of the hammer, humming engines, and young men grumbling. Even when I am all alone late in the night I hear the stars twinkling and the crickets chirping.

Outside in the yard critters squeak, inside my head a long forgotten teacher speaks, the voice echoing in poetic chimes, in unpredictable rhymes.

I have been playing the keyboards regularly, trying to sort out all the music swirling around in my head, but I don't think there is enough time to get it all out before I find myself dead. I tried counting out time, syncopation, 4/4 time, half beats, quarter rests and the sorts, but it all ends up jumble mumbled and tumbled out from my fat fingers greasy like day old French fries.

Sometimes I play the same notes over and over again for hours on end, arranging them in different orders, but they still never make any sense. It is good that I must go to work. There I try to forget the music that echoes in the recesses of my brain. But there I am only reminded of how important the music truly is. It keeps me sane in a world where commonsense is rarely common, and more rarely used.

The coyote howls.
The sea of dust drifts away in the wind.
The sun sets in reds.
The clouds rise with the crescent moon.
Venus stands out against the night sky.
Meanwhile children run and laugh.
Playing Hide and Find or is it Seek?

The last days of summer fade away
Perhaps if you had the courage to listen to the music in my head you would come to have a better understanding of what I am trying to say, although I doubt it very much. I hear it all day long and I am not entirely sure I know what I am trying to say.
The frost coats my car overnight.

The pumpkins are almost ripe.
I saw a single oak leaf lying on the ground today...

Physicists in Germany have discovered "Time Flies", small unidentified and yet to be explained particles traveling at faster than light speed, from what they theorize as a parallel universe through our own and possibly into another parallel universe. Researchers at the Heidelberg Institute have detected faster than light particles which appear and then vanish after traveling great distances in nearly immeasurable times. They estimate that these particles can travel 2.3 parsecs (70 trillion kilometers) in less than 3 nanoseconds (3 x 10 -9 seconds or 3/1,000,000,000 of a second)

Professor Ausdenken explains that parallel universes do not exist at the same time, but rather at different times from our own. Some how these particles are able to jump from one universe to the next by accelerating to faster than light speeds and jumping across time, thus passing through our universe. Though these particles can not be seen directly, evidence of their existence and path of travel has been observed by German scientists aboard the International Space Station using sophisticated imaging technology, which records interference in the contents of intergalactic space.

In German these Zeit Fliegt or Time Flies refers to the miniscule high energy particles as insects, but Professor Ausdenken warns that it is highly unlikely that these are living entities of any sort. One can't help but wonder, but what if they were?

My first memory of playing a piano was at my uncle's house. I remember being fascinated by the sounds that came out. I wanted to play all the time but the adults had bigger and better plans for me. "Go play out side!", they would say. And I being the obedient one left the magical instrument and played hide and seek and tag with my siblings and cousins.

Years later the music teacher came around and asked if anyone wanted to take piano lessons. My hand shot up like a cannon ball, just about ripped my shoulder out of the socket. But my folks said we couldn't afford a piano. They bought me a clarinet instead. I took lessons for 7 years, and all the while Sister Mary Pool, my teacher would accompany me on the piano. I watched her play with far greater enthusiasm than I had for my own instrument. The clarinet is a poor substitute for a piano.

Eventually, my grandpa bought us a piano and my sister was able to take lessons. I would listen to her play and thought about how lucky she was. I was already a senior in high school and had quit playing the clarinet a few years earlier. I would sneak in to the living room when no one was around and pretend I could play, but I would get chased away, because it was her instrument and I was going to bring it out of tune. I would play softly when everyone was outside or at the other end of the house watching TV.

When I arrived at Alfred there was a piano in our dorm. I would play at every opportunity, but there were strict limits as to the times I could play. There were people studying and other musicians that wanted the instrument for themselves. Eventually though I discovered the music annex and the closed soundproof practice rooms. I would play and play 5 or 6 hours at a time, making up tunes and hand movements. I never did take a lesson. I never learned to play a classical song, not even Chopsticks. I was now freer to play more often at home. I guess my folks thought I had improved enough now. Besides, my sister wasn't playing as much as she used to.

After graduating I rented an apartment and a Yamaha electric piano. I would play quite a bit, but there were my many other hobbies and interests, drawing and painting, fishing, hunting and camping, volunteering with the Boy Scouts, women and of course work, mostly 10-12 hours a day, 6 sometimes 7 days a week. I returned the Yamaha.

Then a friend of mine needed an engine for his car but was broke. I had a little cash and a connection, so I bought him a new engine. When he said he wouldn't be able to pay me back for a long while I told him not to worry. He and his mom had an old upright piano that no one played anymore. I told him he could let me have the piano until he had the money and I gave his mom a small Casio keyboard I had in exchange. I knew she liked to play but her health prevented her from playing the old upright.

I played and played my piano, but it sounded awful. Even after repeated tunings and maintenance. I think the sound board has a crack. I still have the piano. It sounds extremely tinny. I made hundreds of recordings. I am not sure why I play. I rarely have an audience. I rarely receive any praise or adulation. I think there is music inside me that just wants to be heard. I can't explain it.

Fast forward to this past winter. While in Ecuador, the house I was staying at had a beautiful electronic keyboard which awakened my childish dream of making music with my fingers. Upon my return home I went out and bought a used Roland FP5 Digital Piano. Now I play and compose regularly. I am 50 years behind myself living in a childish dream, I know. Let me live and let me dream. Maybe I can inspire you to search out your childhood dreams and start to pursue them anew.

Listen please and then, follow your own childish dreams...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNGQFsCituY

we'll try this...

The key is to break the hyperlink before publishing! WOOO!

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/KNGQFsCituY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNGQFsCituY&feature=share&list=UU3sgDn9z_uvFJZtQSci3GUg

Apparently Xanga won't link directly to YouTube, nor will it allow me to upload the video. I'm glad we are not required to pay for this service... oh wait....

How do you know if somebody replied to one of your comments on their post??? I haven't seen any type of notification, but when I have gone back to check, out of curiosity I discovered several replies to my comments. Are we suppose to check back in periodically on all our previous comments? What if they add something relevant and I miss it? What if they call me a fool and I don't have the opportunity to prove them right? Am I missing something? (I mean besides my sanity)

Passing on some important information:
Name Link not Working?

If you notice that names in comments are no longer clickable and the avatars lead to a ‘not found’ page, do this: Top right, of your screen where your cute lil avatar is, chose Edit Profile. Scroll through and look for the space next to Website. Add in your xanga address (eg. http://myname.xanga.com) and this make it so that your name becomes a clickable link. It still does not work with your avatar image however.

Thanks to http://adamswomanback.xanga.com