Picking mulberries right outside your kitchen window and baking a pie the same night with your preggy wife who is dancing to Waylon Jennings having just come up from BBQing down at the pond and fishing while we waited for the meat and corn to cook works. Sparrows and bats flying above us as we ate then red tailed hawks screeching above this morning as we fished again works. And the 200 year old pitch fork from the mission at San Miguel, where we can’t help but go into the church and say a little prayer, the same prayers we say as we walk through Pleasant Valley Cemetery off Estrella Rd out on the northeastern side of town amazed at all the people through the years come and gone creates the feels.
This is where I grew up. I know this country well and as I reread “Cannery Row”. I understand the oak trees and the rows of cabbage and the horses and the alfalfa of the Central Valley and I understand the rocky sea beyond San Simeon and Hearst Castle with the smell of rotten kelp and the sounds of elephant seals fighting. I understand the ground squirrels making an underground labyrinth of our ranch, and the few bald eagles that are left flying above it. I understand the Templeton Eagle Football team and how I always smile when I’m driving by their field on the 101 and see them practicing.
It’s easy to get all caught up in the bullshit: the status, the who’s who, the want, the money. But when it comes down to it, we all die, and those who lived mostest lived bestest. #hereandnow#dontsweatthebullshitters#findyourlove#gratefuli
TODAY WE REMEMBER The 2,977 innocent people whose lives were stripped away unjustly by FUCKN COWARD TERRORIST. We would like to recognize the NYFD, NYPD, victims, and victims’ Families for showing Bravery and undergoing the unthinkable.
8 months pregnant and you couldn’t be more sexy, more relevant, more prevalent, more delicate. You are an Andrew Wyeth come to life. You are each and every Chris Stapleton belted note. You are the wave that comes ashore and saturates with all your salty, churning joy. You are the essence of every naked, free, happy child you see running toward his or her parent. You are that first blink awake to the perfect orange morning. And yet you fall. And so do I. And we get up together, always, arm in arm, breath to breath. @kathrynbrolin#jbkbstucktogether@chrisstapleton#beanglow#godscountry
Reset. Those tortured years but so vibrant, that desert, those naked sunsets and the deep southern blues that played in my head, riffs that never faded. I don’t need you back, baby, but your memory in my lap is enough to sustain me. Out there novice infant rattlesnakes tails wag and I see a coyote silhouetted alongside a saguaro and it brings tears to my eyes still. 110 degree heat while vibrating on my Harley: ape hangers floating above the blacktop, and a torn tee-shirt from a bar fight from the night before and some lady’s lipstick scent still on half my mouth. There’re broken bottles swatched on the side of the road and a blur of a vulture, I’m sure hit by a passing Semi, slightly decomposed. I feel the rock tight against my leg in my jeans pocket I picked up off the side of the highway yesterday to remind me that I’m here, or that I was there, and that I might never be here or there ever again. August 10, 1991. Complete.
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” — Anais Nin # # # # # # # @kathrynbrolin@andi_bagus#freedom
This was my childhood. Burt Reynolds was that guy for me: “Hooper” “Smokey and the Bandit” then, eventually, “Boogie Nights”. He was tough, funny, self deprecating, and a stuntman turned actor. Dar Robinson. Buddy Joe Hooker. Those were my heroes. Evil Knievel. Out on the ranch with our dirt bikes, jumping jumps, chasing coyotes back into the hills, riding as fast as we could try to clear the pond, airborne. All in the memories. All in that adolescent proving that manliness was ready for us. Burt Reynolds had it all when we were kids and, from@way out there, his pedestal seemed perched a million miles away. #ripburtreynolds#countrylife#hooper