Just Another Life

What is in your woods?

2012-01-28T09:25:00.000-08:00

I heard this topic from some author, I think it was MauriceSendak but it makes no never mind. The thought was about the symbolization of “thewoods” in folklore.

Since childhood, we’ve been told the woods are filled withmystery and possible danger. Maybe the woods are filled with big bad wolves orgingerbread houses or a possible teddy bear picnic.

But what are these woods and why are we told to avoid thefear inside?

Woods appear to be the unknown. A place of wonder with mysterioussounds and movement, dark shadows and unseen creatures with glowing eyes.

And just like telling a child not to touch the stove, onlywhen the heat if felt will the child understand the concept.

Thus true when the woods are view from afar, they onlyappear as a group of trees. Textures of barks and variety of greenery living ona carpet of leftovers, but at night the rustle of leaves, the sway of thebranches invent all sorts of wonders in the mind. This is the same feeling ofthe monsters living under the bed when the lights go out.

Yet the draw into the woods is the challenge. The adventureto explore the unknown is irresistible.

So many novels have been written about venturing into theunknown to resolve the curiosity and conquer the fear. Going into the woods isa rite of passage.

To some it may be overcoming the fear of flying or seekingthat first kiss or perhaps buying some clothing that you know your parentswon’t accept. The woods may be ventured into when first married or the birth ofchildren or creating a new home in a new city. The woods could be as simple ascreating a new meal for guest or as complicated of persuading someone topartake in physical indulgence.

So what is in "your" woods?

Me? I live in the woods. I’m the boogie man.

Living Apart

2012-01-19T23:18:00.000-08:00

Variation to a theme I’ve already written, but it is justthat, a realization of the inevitable.

As a species we seem to gather with needs of associationwith like kind. Our individual needs interaction with others.

We seem to need to share like experiences to explore newventures. There is a desire to let loose what we hold inside.

So our being seeks one who will feel comfortable with ourown evaluation of the life experiences presented to us with a feeling that itis meant to be a comparative emotion.

With the discovery of a like mate to cohabitate with, thecompromises come whether wanted or desired but necessary to continue therelationship.

And yet the individual wonders?

For each has desires and dreams that may not be included inthis new coupling.

Is the grass greener on the other side? Was it better beforewe met?

Yet some relationships have complications. Finances areshared, furniture has been purchased with acceptance, and then there are thebegat.

The struggle to find a common ground to make life tolerablesometimes leads to the realization that perhaps being in the same space is notthe best way to be.

Work offers many opportunities for getting into a separatespace at least for a few hours. Travel and long hours softens the long distanceand with continuous repetition becomes common to the relationship.

Sometimes the distance is not so far away but yet necessary.The arrangement can be as easy as a dinner together then parting for theevening in different directions or a shopping incursion only to separate in anap and a football game.

The excuse may be the time needed to have self-relevance orto contemplate the soul or to exercise the creative venture interrupted.

This is not a bad thing; it is just that we, as individuals,must have a certain amount of space to be able to understand our ownconsistence.

It is not we don’t feel compassion and whatever that otheremotion is for the other person we share space with, but each of us need acertain amount of time alone to contemplate the world around us.

Trust me, this time is valuable to each of us and should notbe jealous.

Knowing each individual has certain feelings and likes anddesires which can somewhat intertwine with each other, enjoy the time togetherin the shared experiences, for they are fleeting and will only be memories.

Sunday Morning

2012-01-15T12:03:00.000-08:00

Wake up to the radio. The radio is always on in the morningbut this morning it is classical guitar. Open the eyes and note the sunshine isstarting to fill the window. Turn over and listen for a minute before sweepingthe legs over the edge with bare feet on the cool floor. The comforter is onthe floor where it was kicked off the bed. It seems a sheet and blanket isenough even on a cold winter night. Slip on the gray sweat pants then set backdown to put on yesterday’s wool socks and vented black river slip-ons. Brushthe hair to release the tangles of the night then pulls a bunch back to wrapthe elastic band three times. Close the eyes to put on the clear vision makersand stare out the window to see what the morning will bring. The light ishitting the tops of the trees where the cardinals and chickadees sit quietlywarming themselves. “Good morning day.” Walk to the music room and pull overthe blue zippered shirt that is a size too big with arms down to the knucklesbut very comfortable. Lift the gray holey hoodie and zip up both. The day looksclear but cold, yet the air in the rooms is warm. Open the curtains to let inthe morning sunshine erasing the last night’s darkness. Slowly walk into thekitchen observing the layout of the house to make sure nothing has moved duringthe unconscious time. Open the blinds saying “Good morning guys.” Move thecooled oven to the top of the washing machine. Add some water to the pot andpress down the lever. Pull the pink sugar from the canister, and then place itback by the knives. The sink still holes the one plate soaking in water and thepizza cutter used last night. They will be wiped off with a paper towel andused again tonight. Pour in some chocolate creamer and jot “creamer” on thegrocery list before pulling the new package of instant coffee off the shelf.Trying to tear the thin package of premeasured coffee and realizing it won’ttear easily where marked, grab the kitchen scissors and chop off the top. Pourthe contents into the hot cup and note how small the amount is. While the waterstarts to perk, visit the facilities to remove some of the liquid so prevalentfrom last night. Run cold water over the hands and pat the beach towel hangingon the back of the door, then wipe the moister on the eyes. “I’m coming” as thebubbles, tells the room it is ready. A mucus cough perhaps from last night orthe cold from a couple of weeks ago that may now dry up until warm weatherhits. Fill the cup with the bubbling liquid and tighten the top. The emptypizza box sits on top of the step stool waiting to be delivered to the trash. Lookat the stack of home insurance papers to be reviewed later. Back to the musicroom and turn on the electronics, then open the black curtains and note thecritters fluttering in the bamboo. Other than that there is little movement inthe yard. Sit in the new fake leather chair and wheel around to put in thepassword. Unplug the headphones used last night to listen to recorded musicthat calmed the soul and made a smile and sing along to verses that toldstories of times gone by. Shut down drop-box due to the connection with thenetwork, and then log onto Facebook. Smile at a couple of comments, scrollthrough the silliness people write for the world to see, and learn a littlemore about how some people know this town. Read the message about a localdining establishment that is closing and the family living across the streethas complained about for year and just found out, then respond that anotherredneck bar will probably replace it. Keep Facebook up then open another tab.Scroll down bookmarks to the local newspaper web site. The only story toinvestigate is a multiple stabbing and kidnapping, but it is on south side andaway from home. The rest is all yesterday’s news. Move onto the localtelevision news, then Huffington news all full of political gaffs, uglydresses, celeb breakups, old television shows, and a sinking cruise ship. Openemail with only junk from Apple talking about new stuff to purchase, but theyhave all they will get for awhile. Back to Facebook to see someone is warmingherself by a fire, someone else is in love with their husband for puttingclothes in the dryer, and a few pictures of dogs. Finish the cup of coffee, andthen it is time to take part of the day. Slip off the morning sweats for longjohns, jeans with suspenders and black shoes wore everyday the same way. Thinkabout the bath that should have been taken yesterday, but might be taken todaybetween the football games. Back to the sink to run the toothbrush around themouth relieved there is no blood in the spit, only remnants of last nightdinner. A swish of mouthwash and a mental note to clean the mirror beforeanother year goes buy. Turn the two locks open and step out on the front porchto feel the air and check out the day. The wind is less than yesterday and thesun is bright. No one is stirring except for one critter across the street.Relock the front door and take the bolt off the back door. Say “Hello” to thecritter on the stack of mulch finishing off yesterdays treat of sunflower seeds.Walk softly out into the shadows and stop to allow the critters to adjust to anew creature in their space. Walk slowly back to the deck observing the yardblazon in beams of light. Half of the pond has a think sheet of ice. It doesfeels colder than yesterday. Find the golden key and open up the room that waslife support for so many years. Roll out the ride prepared for the venture.Strap on the uniform with a problem with one glove until realizing it was apeanut lodged in one finger, take a deep breath and start the journey toanother world. The streets are still quiet even as it is noon and only youngwomen are out jogging in the sunshine and cold air. The air is much colder thanyesterday, but the travel is not far. Locking up and grabbing my black bag,observe the masses coming and going to the food provider under construction. Wheelinga small cart around to the usual spots of produce and deli, notice the new configurationwill have a build-your-own salad bar. Great! Drive around the new layout to getseed, then back to the deli for freshly fried chicken pieces, pick up a crackedpepper steak (don’t know why but like the packaging), then reload the bullets.A pleasant checkout having the only conversation of the day was followed by a quickcold ride back home laden with the daily treats. Spread out the variety of yardtreats and settle back in the warm chair with a cold drink, hot sauce on overfried chicken bites and football.

It is just another morning in just another life.

Take Care

2012-01-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

We say it as a parting statement, “Take Care” short for“Take Care of Yourself”. It is a charming and thoughtful phrase of good healthto you and yours.

Do we know how to take care of ourselves? And moreimportantly, do we take care of ourselves?

In our youth, our elders try to protect us from harm bywrapping us up in the cold or warning us about danger, but we still discardlayers as we run around in the snow or skid on that hill with scraps andbruises.

But in the end, our mom sends us to bed and puts a washcloth on our head when there is a fever or makes us drink strange concoctionswhen we are sick or bandages our wounds sealed with a kiss to make the boo-boosgo away.

And when pains become more than the usual means can handle,we are delivered to a doctor for a few minutes of strange questions and pokingand prodding before we get a shot.

Then when that doesn’t solve the problem, we are rushed to alarge building with lots of rooms like a hotel, but they only have beds inthem. Stripped down and laid on a rolling cart, we are wheeled into a brightroom and told to breath in some gas so we will sleep only to awaken in a groggyfog and a pain in our stomach where we find out later one of those maskedfigures cut us open and removed part of our body.

Later in life, we find that special someone who will carefor each other through sickness and in health; someone who will feed thestrange potions and take your temperature and pull up the covers while givingyou tender loving care.

So are we really taking care of ourselves or taking care ofeach other?

We know what to do. The government and health commissionreports and fitness gurus preach proper eating habits and exercise, then wewatch for hour’s flashy ads promoting fatty, greasy, cheesy, overstuffedpotions of junk with access on every corner. Our palettes become accustomed tosugar and salt and fat wrapped in starch.

And every year we begin by resolving we will eat better andexercise more, but we buy elastic clothing and sit with the remote hoping theshortness of breath or the pains in the joints or the ever-present fatigue willjust go away.

In our waning years, there are organizations full ofqualified medical and physical fitness and nutritional and even psychologicalexperts who for a fee will take care of you when the family cannot. Assistedliving facilities offering room and board with meals and activities to give aquality of life, as we grow older. It is great to know these professionals willmake ever effort to keep you alive as long as the insurance can pay for it.

Yet some cannot afford such luxuries or do not want toprolong the inevitable. We live by our own meals when hungry, exercise whendesired and rest when tired.

For in the end, we have only ourselves to take care of.

Living In The Library

2012-01-11T09:35:00.000-08:00

Time was when all the information and knowledge was spoken.Word of mouth spread events, occasions, wars, and wisdom with a certain degreeof exaggeration and personal prejudice.

As languages grew and writing replaced the spoken word, onlya few had the skill to translate these old stories into manuscripts. Againpersonal and religious beliefs changed the spoken word to a more acceptablewriting document.

With a few that could write and read these documents, theywere cherished and kept under lock and key.

As the masses became educated enough to read and printingsped up the process of recording and duplicating the written word, the demandfor these books required some form of distribution.

The public library was formed. A large building full ofshelves and a special staff arranged books in categories by a special code. Thecommon person of the street, browse hundreds of 3x5 cards looking for titles orauthors or subjects of interest. The card was presented to a librarian who wouldretrieve the book.

Slowly the process became more familiar with the public whocould find their own books and even take them out of the building for a shortperiod of time.

Still some volumes were kept in cages under lock and key dueto their age and value and only visited by a rare few.

Then the computer, with its speed and volume of storage, wasdeveloped and began to house this information. The tedious task of punch cards to typing to textrecognition again sped the process of recording words and pictures, but therewas no way to search all the data because these “libraries” were not linked.

And as mankind has always done, when seeing a problem,created a solution.

This one was called the Internet.

So today, we live in a library. The library is available tous every minute of every day. Every possible idea or subject or even thoughtcan be searched with millions of words and pictures and movies and sounds atour fingertips.

But (there is always a but) how much of what we have accessto is true?

Just like in the word-of-mouth stories told around the fire,the teller reacted to the listener perhaps straying from the truth orembellishing the facts. Books on the other hand were trusted because the personwho wrote it was an “author” and authors were held in a certain reverence.Anyone who had the knowledge of language and grammar, anyone who would spendhours researching and documenting events in proper order or even writes aboutfictional stories that could thrill or scare or keep up spellbound in wonderwas viewed as an esteem occupation.

And the authors of today may be anyone. Everyone can post onthe Internet whether they are knowledgeable of the subject or not. Facts,opinions, thoughts, comments and even false statements can and are posted everyminute for the reader or viewer to decide if it is relevant or believable.

So while surfing through all the news sites, entertainment,music, posting photos and commenting to friends you don’t know, think of howdifficult is was to get information before the Internet and how we areoverwhelmed now with what maybe fact or maybe fiction because we cannot always trustthe author.

Living Together

2012-01-10T17:14:00.000-08:00

Strange all the little habits each of us have that we maynot realize, yet living with someone else to point them out to us maybe how weadapt to the world.

The first group we live with is our family.

We don’t have much choice so early in our life molding wemust follow rules presented to us by elders responsible for feeding, clothingand providing shelter. Without any power or enough money, the training is fed backfor the praise and acknowledgment of the continuing of the name.

Outside groups such as schools or church or sports teamsoffer actions that must be filtered through the family to be accepted andfollowed. More and more outside influences creep into your self being as ageallows more time away from the family and more responsible to present yourself asan individual.

Usually going to college is the first real test of thisindividual behavior. Most students not studying from home will live in dorms orapartments with a “roommate”.

A complete stranger who shares a room becomes part of thenew experience of growing up. Not only are you responsible for studying andgetting to class on time, but you must also dress yourself, feed yourself, andeven bath occasionally with this stranger in the same room.

The first similarity is that you both are going to the sameschool. Everything else may become irreverent. Survival finds a way to formsome kind of bond with this new person sharing “your” space. Music, literature,girls, food…. are some of the possibilities of interest that can be exploredand discussed until some liked platform is agreed upon.

Roommates are just that, people that share a space and aslong as agreed boundaries are accepted and followed, life can mildly adjustedto meet the new conditions.

Now throw in romance and this living together takes a wholenew angle.

People living together can become close friends or buddies,but when cupid strikes a new evaluation must take place.

As casual as people try to be, when there are twotoothbrushes in the bathroom, life has changed. Suddenly the socks left on thefloor are no longer acceptable.

It is called compromise.

And how much each other gives to the compromise will makethe new rules for the living conditions.

And the “living together” arrangements continue to mold thetwo into one thought pattern unknown to both. The singular individual each wassearching for becomes a couple and by all appearance in clothing, furniture,artwork, even animals or children, the condition of life in inextinguishable bythe two, or the one, until the situation changes.

Then the old habits come back. The socks lay on the floor.The dishes sit in the sink. The bed is unmade and there are more beer cans inthe trash than before.

Realization that the “self” patterns are back and not inconflict with another must be evaluated as acceptable behavior or just childlike wishes for another time. There still must be realistic expectations ofliving in the bigger community, yet a certain freedom presents itself.

Living together shows how much an individual can adjust foranother and also how much we give up of ourselves.

Getting to know you

2012-01-02T16:21:00.000-08:00

Two years ago was kind of a shocker year and last year was apatch-up-and-get-back-on-your-feet year, but I learned a lot of things aboutmyself.

I had come to the realization of where I was and what theoutlook was, so I could do some self-analyzing with some interestingconclusions.

Home

I started out getting a furnace after a new roof and a lotof patching of walls. The next project was to get a bathroom floor, but Istopped. The estimate surprised me and even though I had the funds, I stopped.I bought supplies for additional projects but could not get started. I made allthe excuses of it is too hot or too late or I’m too tired or I’ll wait untilnext season or I’ll take a vacation and come back and get inspired. None of myexcuses prompted me to move on, so I gave up and just enjoyed every day.

Looking at my budget I realize I spend as much on theInternet as I do for my cell phone or my electric bill. The two credit cardsare paid off every month and the taxes are paid on time.

Transportation

A trip up to Pennsylvania in the early spring was my firstvacation from the house in a while. It was a pleasant uneventful ride with someinteresting observations of friends who offered me their homes, food andcompany.

The spring brought the usual “spring overhaul” of all mywheels that I would rotate everyday for morning rides, grocery store pick-upsand just get-a-ways.

Then they were gone.

So the cost of transportation was a bit more than I hadplanned this year, but lesson learned.

Now the black beauties are under lock and key and the bodystill is adjusting to the new rides after a decade with old friends.

Still take some long walks when the weather gets too cold orwindy.

And I haven’t ridden a bus in over a year.

Food

Groceries take 30% of my expenditures.

This year I’ve discovered what food I really enjoy bytesting all types of breakfast / lunch / and dinners. Everything from TVdinners and frozen pizza to deli cooked fried chicken and prepared sandwichesto fish and beef and chicken and noodles and sauces and microwave rice tocanned or frozen veggies.

Shopping became a daily routine filtering out dishes thatdidn’t entice my flavor buds.

Also the portions of meals began to shrink.

Cooking by griddle, crock-pot, steamer, and microwave becamesimpler due to clean up which was reserved to one plate, one cup, one bowl andone cup.

Not having any interest for sweets, salty chips, and junkfood saved a few calories, but half of my grocery budget was spent on beer.

Entertainment

Most people didn’t want to “party” due to the economy andthe desire to go out became less interesting. The few gatherings have beenpleasant and fairly inexpensive but thinking of eating alone has limited myventures into dining establishments.

Movies (either in the theatre or on television) did not peakmy interest. A few concerts were attended but nothing exciting.

Television viewing has become limited to nightly news andPBS weekly wrap up. The rest flash in the pan is boring, except for football.

Radio is only set to WCVE that is on all night waking me upto news and classical concerts and putting me asleep to jazz and quietconversations.

The computer has become my connection to the outside worldwith e-mail and social media but I don’t spend much time surfing because I havenothing to look for. I do write on my “Just Another Life” blog (135 entriesthis year) that gives me an outage for those things rattling around in my head.It’s a log to record events and anyone to see and respond to. I wrote about 40years ago experiences, Uncle Billy, a robbery, a hurricane, and lots of sillythoughts.

And though I bought new guitars, I slowed playing them untilrecently. Getting a new computer just to record music has gotten to playeveryday during the nightly news.

The cell phone is still stupid and is only on while I’mawake. There is no surfing or texting or tweeting.

And all the other geek gadgets that have come I don’t seehow I will use them.

Clothing

I am still wearing t-shirts and jeans. Simple, comfortableand utilitarian is my policy. Sweats have become the eveningwear also forcomfort. There is no one around to say I should wear a sweatshirt with a holein it or I should change my shirt before it stands up on itself. A few t-shirtswent into the rag bin this summer but there are still drawers full of others. Idon’t need to become a fashionable so I won’t purchase until the inventorywears out.

So as the New Year has arrived I can look back and say Iunderstand myself more and learn more every day. I now know I am completelycrazy but harmless. I can entertain and feed myself and even transport myselfto distant places. I can participate in conversations but will probably loseinterest quickly. I seem to attract other crazies like Wild Eyed Willy or CrazyEddie or Rosco, the Mayor of Kroger but the real chills come from the occasional smileand comment by the passing jogger. Met some youngsters and experienced what Imight have enjoyed 30 years ago, but marked it up as part of history. Wentthrough what could had turned into a romance but logic overruled. Met somepeople I had not seen in decades with a better understand of why not.

And little desire to change, so here I am self sufficient,content, and settled. I guess that is not a bad place to be, but I’ll continueto learn more this year.

I’ll let you know what happens.

Happy at the Hyatt

2012-01-01T17:30:00.001-08:00

There is nothing new about taking a vacation and checkinginto a hotel to place your belongings on the bed then heading for the bar.

Except when it is a holiday.

Say “New Years Eve” and there is no place to go. Yourfriends and family are busy, there are no parties in the neighborhood and noone has invited you to any local gathering, so where do you go to celebrate thewelcoming of the New Year?

All the local taverns are having special night events, butwhen the bar closes you have to get a cab or a ride home in the cold night air.

For what is the best place to go to for the “New Years”celebration full of drinking and laughter and watching the ball drop thenwander off to the bedroom - without staying at home?

A hotel.

They are all open on New Year’s Eve because hotels are 24/7operations and they all have fully stocked bars.

So I reserve a room and pack a light bag only be staying onenight, lock up the house and walk to the building with more bedrooms thanWindsor Castle. After the cordial welcome at the desk and the requiredpaperwork, I get your plastic card and wander to the elevator to take me to myone day home.

Placing my now worldly goods in the closet, I flip on thetelevision that has the same shows as home, touch ever piece of furniture inthe room, turn through the desk numbers for room service and check the drawerfor the bible. Going to the window, I stare at the parking lot below seeingother travelers coming and going.

So as the time grows closer, I shower and shave and dress asif I am going to impress another with no one in mind. For the first time in twoyears, I wear a collared shirt and a sports coat. Closing the door andreversing my steps I drop to the lobby then turn to the noise coming from adark hidden space.

The hotel restaurant.

The room full of table clothes tables and several groups andcouples enjoying the beginning of a long evening. I’m seated in a corner andhanded a menu while being asked if I would like some refreshment. Knowing thatI will order a steak, I order a bottle of red wine. A couple of minutes later,the waiter brings me the wine list. Not being a expert on wine, I point out anCabernet Sauvignon and the list is torn from my hands as he rushes off. After afew more minutes of unfolding the napkin and arranging the silver wear thewaiter returns with a basket of rolls and ask if I am ready to order. He startsto tell me of the nightly specials when I interrupt his spiel with a requestfor a steak and a baked potato. “You get two sides” he replies then impatientlywaits as I open the minute again. “French style green beans” and the menuleaves me alone again. I entertain myself tearing open the butter and spreadingit on the cold bread. As I take a large bite, the wine arrives with a tastepoured into a glass. Blowing chunks of bread, I sniff the glass, swirl itaround and take a sip. I nod approval since I cannot speak with a mouthful andthe bottle is left on the table. The wine is very bold and heavy, to heavy forbread so I try to get the attention of one of the passing waiters to request aglass of water with no success. The first glass is emptied and I pour anotherbefore the steak arrives. A huge plate of meat covered in mushrooms and somesort of gravy with a open potato along side. A small bowl of green beans and Ifinally get a chance to order my water. As I butter my potato realizing it isnot very hot, I do not see a steak knife. I will need something sharper thanthis butter knife to attack this half of cow. When my water arrives in a spottedglass, I ask for a steak knife. Now I seem to be ticking off the waiter whoturns quickly back to the kitchen. I finish putting the other little pat ofbutter on the potato and have a sample of the beans. They are somewhat warm andvery stringy. A wooden serrated knife still steaming was a washing is placed onthe table and I begin savoring my New Years meal. Cutting into the steak, it isa little more done than the usual medium rare I’m accustomed to and the potatois hard, almost raw.

I sat for some time, just sipping the wine and observing thesurroundings because this was more food than I normally have in a week.Finishing off the bottle I waited for the check or some attention. Finally thewaiter in passing notices I have pushed the half finished plate to the otherside of the table and stops. “Will there be anything else, sir?” I sign thecheck with my room number and notice he was going to get 15% tip whether heearned it or not.

Now I was on to my intended destination.

The hotel bar.

Waiting at the door I observe where I would start the NewYear. Several couples are sitting at small tables around tiny candles. They arelean toward each other in quick conversation and smiles under the dim ofchatter filling the air. At one long table a half dozen people wave their armsand move glasses back and forth with loud shouts and uproarious laughter.

The few hotel staff in black skirts and white shirts bustleback and forth between the tables removing empty glasses and nodding to neworders without smiles. This is how they will celebrate the coming of a newyear.

Instead of moving to another lonely table, the bar stoollooks more inviting.

Scanning the variety of sizes, shapes, and colors of bottlesagainst a reflective glass, I start to become wrapped up in the atmosphere. Oneof the hotel wait staff puts down her tray, walks behind the bar to me. “Whatwill you have?” she asks with a dowered face.

I do not see any taps so I don’t ask what is on draft. Sinceshe already seems frustrated with me, I point to a bottle of Bass ale andreply, “It’s only one night.” She looked confused then turns to acknowledge mydirection before reaching into a metal bin under a sliding door and pulls asimilar bottle out of a bucket of ice, shakes it off, pops the top on a metalopener, pulls a paper napkin and places the dripping bottle on it. “Do you wanta glass?” she asks. I look directly into her eyes pulling the bottle toward mesaying, “No, I want a smile.” She again stares at me blankly with a littleattitude as if she had heard that line a million times, then moves back to thecorner of the bar.

Taking the first gulp, I swivel around and notice the bigscreen television on the wall is already showing Times Square with the sounddown or at least being drowned by the room, as it grows nosier with everydelivery. Looking left down the padded bar there are two men jotting somethings down on a piece of paper oblivious to the rest of the world. They wereprobably just transient workers who do not stop even on a holiday. To my rightis a woman lost in her olive rolling it around her martini. Her hair has beenpampered and she is dressed to the nines. Probably awaiting her date or husbandor whatever to meet her here to move onto a big night.

Trying to avert my eyes and not stare, I turn back to thebig TV watching the scripted events for the holiday and wonder why the massesof people want to stand in the cold blowing horns and wearing funny hats for hoursjust to say they were there.

As the night goes on, the room thins as several couples andthe loud group leaves. Perhaps they are going to their rooms in the hotel orleaving after this brief rendezvous.

The hotel staff slows their pace standing together at theend of the bar, talking and giggling and occasionally wandering back behindswinging doors to what must be the kitchen.

On one of my bathroom breaks, I pass a conference room fullof people and tables and chairs and balloons and streamers and a three-pieceband playing to a few dancing couples wearing paper hats. A sign next to thedoor says “New Years at the Hyatt - $10 per couple.”

On my return I notice the young lady still sitting at thebar and wonder why?

“Ready for another” the bartender, says wakening me from thedull hum of the television. I turn and notice my glass is empty and agree witha nod. She repeats her dance and places the dripping bottle on the stainednapkin. “Could I have another napkin and a smile?” I ask trying to be witty.She pulls a new 3” x 3” napkin from a stack by the cash register, removes theold soggy napkin dropping it into a pale next to her foot, slamming the bottleback down and stomping off to the corner to tell her staff mates the story ofthe rude customer. Sometimes trying to be humorous doesn’t work. Reachingacross the bar, I grab a hand full of napkins and stack them next to me whileburning with the stares in the corner. I wipe off the bottle and toss theballed up wad onto the floor, maybe entering the tub. I wrap another napkin,now appearing as dollar bills, around my bottle and turn back to the quietingroom and the flashing celebration on the wall.

I noticed the woman at the bar was still sitting spinningher martini with little attention from anyone else. After a couple of minutesof looking then looking away then looking again, I turn to the hotel staffmumbling in the darken corner and wave my hand.

They all look at each other and with some annoyance; oneputs down her glass and slowly comes up to the bar. “I’d like to buy that womana drink.” I motion to the stranger sitting two seats away. “What do you want tobuy her?” she asked in a graveled voice. “Whatever she wants.” I reply with aCheshire cat smile.

With some distain she wanders down the bar to the womanpointing to me and to her glass. The woman looks up slowly then with a confusedposture turns her face to me. I’ve already turned back to the television butcannot resist capturing the scene out of the corner of my eye. I hear thebartender huffing back to the bar and mixing the shaker.

As she takes the glass and removes the old placing it into astainless steel sink, I turn and say, “Thank you.” Which catches her off guard.“Can I buy you…” then looking into the dark corner, “and your friendsanything?” She stops, looking surprised and stammers, “No, ah, we are notsupposed to drink on work.” Then she shyly smiles.

“There it is.” I smile back.

She glides back to her white shirted associates in thecorner and they start laughing.

It is getting closer to midnight so someone turns up thesound on the television. Two or three comments are made by the announcer tryingto speak over the crowd, then a commercial blares in.

“Thank you.” I hear from the side. The nice looking ladywalked up to me with drink in hand and taps her glass on my bottle. “Happy NewYear.”

A long pause was broken by a smile and then an odd statementwas blurted, “I just thought you might like….” I could finish my thoughtbecause I didn’t know what my thought was.

She looked at the stool next to me and asked if she could sitthere knowing it was not occupied.

She sat on the stool next to me and we started small talk.Names, drinks, and a fluffy explanation on why we were sitting at a bar in ahotel on New Years Eve were discussed as if they were factual. She told me shehad to be in Baltimore Tuesday but her car broke down and was across the streetbeing repaired. As we talked I wondered why she was so dressed up but thenagain I was pretty dressed up for the night. The group in the corner watchedour actions like a soap opera and giggled.

Now the bartender smiles as she interrupts our conversationpresenting another round without request. We have become the entertainment forthe room.

The kitchen door opened and a man in a tuxedo stuck his headout and motioned to the girls in the corner. They quickly followed him backinto the kitchen then in a steady stream started delivering bottles ofchampagne to all the participants of the bar. A bottle was delivered to the twoof us sitting on stools with two glasses with the Hyatt logo etched on it. Itwas almost midnight.

We all stared at the television and counted the minutes offin unison. 10….9….8…. and then “Happy New Year!” was shouted with smiles andclinking of glasses. For a brief moment everyone in the room seemed totallyhappy.

Sharon, I believe her name was, and I looked at each other.Leaning toward each other we shared saliva without a doctors exam. It was justthe moment.

Now everyone was excited and new orders scurried the staff.Another bottle of champagne was delivered and the waitress said since we wereon separate tickets, we each gets a bottle. We all laughed and I ordered one lastbottle of ale and indicated that the lady and my tickets be combined.

Some more brief statements becoming less meaningful or informativeand more attention to the television, I placed the final bottle down, signedthe tab and bid adieu to my companion, stumbling toward the elevator.

Finding my blurred way to my room, I peel of the jacket andthe shirt now soaked with sweat and slap on some sweats. I turn on thetelevision out of habit, close the curtains and unfold the covers on the bed.Thinking I might see some news after a night of senseless entertainment, Istack the pillows and get comfortable with the remote. Then a knock on thedoor.

I didn’t even look through the peephole, just swung open thedoor.

“Sara?” (Maybe it was Sharon? Or Karen?) “How did you findme?”

She held up the etched glass and said, “You forgot yourglass.” Then she held up the other bottle of champagne and said, “and I neededsomeone to share this with.”

Being a man of scruples and a bit of discretion, I willleave the rest of this to your imagination.

A warm sunny first day of the year made the walk homeagreeable and found a bottle of wine left on my doorstep by a friend. Nicesurprise.

Unpacking and putting things away I found her business cardand phone number. I threw it away because it was just what it was and will bethat smile no one else will know.

Having a happy at the Hyatt.

PS – Forgot the two glasses. Don’t need any more memories.

See The World

2011-12-26T15:35:00.000-08:00

This phrase sailed many anadventurer over the waters to view different cultures and taste unusualdelicacies and marvel in the wonders of this globe. Away from the usual intothe unknown, our species seems to be driven into exploring.

Unfortunately for those who welcomethe strangers in to their way of life, they are often killed and their land andresources stolen.

Recently a couple of friends werediscussing all the places on this blue marble they had visited and made methink (or I wouldn’t be writing this).

It was a rite of passage to grow upand see the world. This was the theme of recruitment for the Navy with ideas ofa girl in every port and coming home a well rounded more intelligent young manhaving experienced what the globe offers and needing some shots.

Industries of travel agents promisethe getaway from the routine dull and boring mundane life each of us liveeveryday with a full color brochures showing perfectly white soft beachesdotted with cool drinks under palms swaying in the breezes served by attractivenatives at your beckoned call. Any location will be provided on multiple levelsof exploration - for a price.

But you can only stay for a shorttime before you have to leave and return to your routine dull and boringmundane life. The next batches of travelers have to be shown the routine ofantiquities and worthless bargains that wouldn’t be sold in Wal-Mart.

The guides intoxicate the visitorswith tales of kings and queens, mysterious scoundrels and romance while thecontinuous train of consumers grab up over priced trinkets and unusualdelicacies that often does not set well with their normal bland diet.

My parents sent me toTravel-o-loges perhaps to get me interested in traveling or maybe to peak myinterest in learning about all these far off places. I found the pictures andmovies and lectures interesting but they only scratched the surface, much likehistory class.

Sure I’ve gone a few places andseen some stuff, but the travels I cherish and remember with great fondness areabout “the people” not the places.

I was lucky enough to learn enoughof the guitar so many of my early travels brought people together with music.Strangers can become life long friends over a pint and a song.

Other, more distant travelsrequired exploring places not on the tour list. Don’t ask the hotel Conciergefor directions to the local hot spot, but ask the bus boy where the locals hangout.

Even without knowing the languagepeople can relate to one another, but be aware to observe. This is what travelis all about. See how people, just like you, relate to each other.

(Sidenote: in today’s internet, we communicate with people all over the globewithout taking off our pajamas, but it is different in the smell and the heatand the sound of a different environment).

Being invited into a stranger’shome and partaking of his or her normal dinner is the real treat of travel. Itis always good to carry a treat to repay such hospitality.

And though this is not as easy asfollowing a pre-assigned schedule and you will not get any photos of the usualsites, you will get a feel for the culture and what makes us all similar yetdifferent.

Perhaps I’ve been lucky with thelimited adventures I’ve had, but each is the memory of people and not theplaces. A return trip might bring a different reminder or a totally newexploration.

But I never found anything oranyone better than home.

And home is wherever you are.

Home (alone) for the Holidays

2011-12-25T12:40:00.000-08:00

The season of festive behavior and camaraderie is here. Muchdressing up and drinking and acting silly with loud laughter and peculiarbehavior end the year as the holiday season takes us to give gifts tostrangers, feel good about spending money and the occasional excuse to crossboundaries.

Some times we travel to visit family and friends for a briefmeal and some catching up before repacking and slogging home.

And sometimes we stay at home.

For the past two years I have traveled down to a littlehistorical tourist town to spend my holiday but this year was different.

Due to a cold and the lack of inspiration of staying in ahotel on Christmas, I stayed home.

It is a quiet day. One of the most undisturbed days witheveryone inside lighting the fire, opening presents, call their friends andpreparing the feast. Most of the travelers have reached their destinationsunless they wander to a nearby family banquet or party. The one-day a year wheneveryone is content to stay inside and not run leaf blowers

As I walk into the yard there is no movement, no sound. Thisis a little rare for the creatures that live here don’t know it is Christmas. Aflutter in the trees and an unwanted visitor leaves explaining the lack ofactivity.

A few neighbors walking their dogs or meeting at the localchurch or testing out their gifts from Santa dot the way, but for the most partit is quiet. A few cars are being loaded for the family caravan-visitinggrandmother to hugs and lots of sweets. And everyone is smiling with friendlygreetings.

Upon completion of my daily journey and no other place togo, I feed the yard and wander inside.

There is no pile of paper on the floor or giant boxes undera tree glistening with lights. There is no sound of video games or childrenlaughing. There is no kindly tips from mother to daughter on secret recipesonly given during this season or old stories remembered by those who’s time isfleeting reliving memories which only they understand.

Instead of the smells of turkey basting and scented pinecandles, the house is the same as when I left. The same as it was yesterday.The same as it will be tomorrow.

No, it not as bad as living on cardboard under a bridge.There is a half of a coffee cake given by a neighbor covered in so much sugarand lard it will be washed down by a quart of orange juice. The speakers playguitar Christmas carols and in the tattered and worn snuggle’s the room is warmand well lit. There is nothing on television until tonight’s football game sothe decision is made to try and get across what this day is like for those ofus home alone for the holidays.

After a few years of traveling back and forth betweenfamilies sharing holidays I got an excuse to get out of the seasonal struggle –work. When I became part of the 24 hours operation, someone had to work theholidays, and without children I seemed the perfect choice. The day was notdifficult and the celebration could be performed much later, but it was adifferent schedule than the rest of the world.

So the last few years, there is no decoration or baking forguest because no one comes over and no gift giving or receiving (except for thecoffee cake, but I think she is trying to kill me with all that stuff). Onlythe warm greeting from Blue and Millie when I return, but I have nothing tooffer them as they accept a pet on their heads.

So I look around at the piles of projects in front of me andthink, “This is what the holidays are going to be like from now on.”

Having already given myself a Christmas present I must makea note to buy and wrap something next year, just to keep it different. Andthere is a pine wreath on the door with shiny trinkets from Williamsburg pastso I did decorate a little.

And this is better than being in a hotel where people arebiding their time to be able to leave and join the festivities. Even thoughhotels spend time and effort trying to decorate for the few who decide to leavehome during the holidays, it is still a hotel room. Even the complimentarychampagne does not give the same warmth as friends and family, so I should stayhome with my yard buddies and my toys and enjoy the quiet of the day.

For Christmas day is like every other day when you are homealone for the holidays.

Next decision: Whom do you kiss for New Years?

Teddy Bear Picnic

2011-12-22T13:35:00.000-08:00

If you go out in the woods today
You're sure of a big surprise.
If you go out in the woods today
You'd better go in disguise.

For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

Picnic time for teddy bears,
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today.
Watch them, catch them unawares,
And see them picnic on their holiday.
See them gaily dance about.
They love to play and shout.
And never have any cares.
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears.

If you go out in the woods today,
You'd better not go alone.
It's lovely out in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home.

For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Picnic time for teddy bears,
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today.
Watch them, catch them unawares,
And see them picnic on their holiday.
See them gaily dance about.
They love to play and shout.
And never have any cares.
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears.

Every teddy bear, that's been good
Is sure of a treat today
There's lots of wonderful things to eat
And wonderful games to play

Beneath the trees, where nobody sees
They'll hide and seek as long as they please
Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic
Picnic time for teddy bears,
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today.
Watch them, catch them unawares,
And see them picnic on their holiday.
See them gaily dance about.
They love to play and shout.
And never have any cares.
At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears.

We’ve Got That!

2011-12-18T12:06:00.000-08:00

Some call it “Keeping up with the Jones” but this habit of buying what everyone else has is how we were brought up.

Consumption or consumerism was taught to us at an early age as the gauge of success that meant wealth.

Wealth brought esteem from those who coveted the amount of goods and wares one owned.

Advertisers promote the latest, shiniest, biggest and newest appliance, mobile machine or shelter hypnotizing the public in the need to purchase and proudly display.

Gatherings of office workers, potential clients, friends and family are brought into your abode to show off your furnishings, décor, electronics and landscaping.

To keep up with the Jones, we reply, “We’ve Got That!” as if joining a consumers club.

This season is suppose to be for the children but after the early morning decent on wrapped boxes and bows the kids discover the socks and underwear and shaving cream and tie clips and watches and usually a one big toy that Santa left for them.

After the paper is gathered and thrown away and the ritual family portrait of the loot, the kids were dismissed to go to other kids and see what they got.

Merry Christmas.

What is your foundation?

2011-12-17T12:59:00.000-08:00

During the giving season, more request than normal present themselves to us with pictures of children and puppies and tugging at our emotions to part with some of our hard earned funds.

And there is a new good meaning organization or charity or foundation of special fund set up every minute to provide comfort to those less fortunate than us.

When you give to one, the others come knocking, under a network of good will to all.

Some of us set aside a certain percentage for charitable donations to the groups that have touched us personally, like cancer or heart or animal rescue, but even those have been fractured into subgroups specializing in weekend yard sales, concerts, 10k races, clothing, books, and even celebrity endorsements.

If someone is making good money, you know, the 1%, then they will form a foundation to feed the hungry, or teach the dumb, or offer financial assistance to the poor. A foundation or organization with names like “Human Response” or “Caregivers International” or “Love For All” pop up on every corner giving good sound bites to afternoon television and giving dozens of telemarketers something to do. And since they are non-profit, they are a tax deduction.

So while you are writing all those checks to save the water or education the world on the dangers of global warming or help some child in a far off land living in squalor get a new pair of used shoes, feel good in your righteousness knowing full well your pennies are making a difference.

Yet there are still poor and hungry and damaged because all the good will cannot overcome all the bad our species can inflict on each other.

Guest

2011-12-16T17:38:00.000-08:00

Tis’ the season for cleaning, decorating, and celebrating this special season, but why?

It is all in preparation of entertaining the “guest”.

Invitations are written and mailed, the best china is brought out of storage, pictures are replaced on the wall, carpets are vacuumed, funky items only used once a year are dug out of dark places, silver polished and candles lit to impress strangers invading our living space. Old socks are picked up off the floor, scented arrangements are strategically placed attempting to hide the normal odious smells, and children are dressed in their finery and paraded about to be tiny servants.

But do these “guest” who come into our abode appreciate all the effort or do they just want to drink our wine and eat our food and make loud noises while destroying family relics then stumble home leaving their trash and putrid behaviors.

OK, look now. you won’t invite them over to invade your space if they weren’t someone special to you right? Well, they may be relevant to the occupation environment or perhaps long lost relatives in close proximity for the holidays.

But they are still “guest”.

Normal behavior is put on hold so you can gather their wraps and place them on the bed while welcoming them into your house presenting them with the tinsel and glitter hoping to divert their attention from the spread of sliced meats and veggies on the dining room table, but they quickly gather to munch there.

The careful selection of seasonal musical entertainment is drowned out by the clinking of glasses and drunken laughter.

Conversations of how the health of family members are without really caring and lying about how wonderful their appearance is, all the while the “guest” are surveying the surroundings with crocodile smiles and pleasantries until they can leave and tell hateful comments while swerving home.

And once they are gone, the lights are turned down and the tree unplugged and the fancy clothes replaced by the comfortable cuddly garments we really wanted to wear with a deep sigh.

So why do we go through this?

Well, it is the season for entertaining others and to entertain we must invite people we do not normally hang out with to our home.

But don’t worry, this zany season will be over soon and they will not invite you to their homes, so you can relax and get back into the habit of living your life the way you want to.

Knowing No One

2011-12-13T14:56:00.000-08:00

Knowing No One

Wake up troubled. Long dreams filled the night with lots of problems including being trapped on a railroad trestle over water and being scared of heights. Listen to soft news and shaking it off preparing for the day. The usual windows are opened to the sunshine and the day is welcomed as the water heats for the shake of creamer and sugar and instant coffee mixture. Wondering if the dreams were due to being too hot settle down before the big screen and fire up the news of the world and whatever people want to share with others. A sip of tap water to loosen up the leftovers of last night and type in the password wondering if the shop who updated this machine remembered it. A sip of hot liquid as the mind starts to wake in the light of the morning reading that a daughter of a high school friend is engaged. What is the reaction? A smile and a quick email are sent and then the continued search of the news locations as the morning breakfast treat disappears. After an hour it is time to wander onto the next journey. The usual change from flannel to jeans with an additional layer due to an evening of below freezing temps. Open the front door and take a breathe of the morning air. Review the layout of the land as done every day and pause to reflect on the past evening and present yourself on the dawn. Double lock and take a scan of the inside before opening the back door to the forest. So far the only words to leave the lips are, “Good Morning Day!” when the shades are adjusted to let in the light. Step down after securing the back door and pause to introduce you to the yard. They pause and adjust to the voice of “Hello” (which seems to be the phrase to whatever new awaits) and slow their panic due to the familiar tone. The awkward yet trained steps over the broken trail of wooden beams to the platform next to the pond. Looking around and taking a breath, the day has begun. Leaves and pine tags carpet the floor of the woods and all is quiet, except for the distant leaf blower. Saddle up a pony and prepare to ride only to look at the water and wonder if this view will be seen again. Across the gravel and into the traffic lanes adjust position and breathing for the adventures that lay ahead. The usual pattern is to deviate onto a different path, but today will be different. Not quiet as steady as normal, the venture follows the daily route knowing it will change to return around the long hills and into the city. Then the thoughts come which are the reason for the ride. Waiting for a light and the traffic to decide which way they intend to turn notice the young couple walking by and think, “Nice rack” as she smiles knowing full well of her endowments and the young lad parading her with pride across the street from a church where the blind are leading the blind. Over the rough roads layered by years only to avoid some holes showing the true original dirt establishing the path. The morning pace is starting to pick up since this run is a little later than normal. Again the thoughts of the strange dreams of faces known but events confused intermingle with songs of the season and themes repeated last night on the guitar. A group wanders down the street, perhaps students, passing by a man photographing a house front, possibly a realtor but there is no sign and the jeans are examined. A quick turn to return home and stranger thoughts pause at the light. The third story windows where she said she had lived are reviewed as the bottle refreshes. A knowing yet frustrated smile continues the wonderment and so the pedals move forward. “We will stay over on this side to stay in the sunshine” a father tells his daughter on this Sunday ride. Another father daughter will be seen later while the slow pace is approached and space given. So the thoughts continue. Names and faces and actions and reactions and conclusions continue to form thought visions into the unknown. Passing by the museum with a reflection into the window the thoughts of past times continue. The young girls in this neighborhood who were searching for the same future yet their God did not allow it and the ones who did soon devalued the attention. The tennis players are not on the court on the return possibility due to the cool weather or the lack of interest in the game. A turn toward home with a wonderment of seasonal plastic images lying dead on lawns under trees filled with large colored balls. Yet none of these houses have names or occupants who are known. Thinking of what would happen moving into a new neighborhood or more so a new city. Strange surroundings and surrounded by strangers. What would happen? How would one find people to talk to or even friends? Most moves of this nature are due to occupational changes so the workplace is the social ground for making associates into familiar faces and possible friends. It gives a playing field to ask the questions and make common references to events and minded agreements. Many times the workplace is where romantic relations start. So if that central grouping ground is missing, what happens? Clubs and nightspots, if ventured, can connect unknown persons to one-another even though there is a fee. And if these are not explored does that make a hermit? A hermit who is living life apart from the rest of society? Making a lifestyle that eliminates the luxury of companionship sharing experiences only to review them years later that only the two will understand. Making a lifestyle that only one understands or is content in it’s meaning. Making a lifestyle that is perhaps misunderstood by the outside but answers the questions that maybe we don’t have to be friends with our neighbors. Perhaps leaving their beliefs and feelings and life baggage alone makes the trip lighter. There is enough to carry by you. On the way back to the four-walled box ahead are two riders on horses walking calmly through the neighborhood. No explaining but it makes sense.

Gifts

2011-12-10T18:27:00.001-08:00

This is the season for presenting and sharing and giving. This is the season for decorations, food, warmth, song, and best of all…. GIFTS!

That is what it is all about isn’t it? Getting something that you hoped for and even asked a mystery man named “Santa” for.

You know on December 25^th, you will be waking your mother and father before dawn with the great anticipation of going down stairs and viewing the piles of brightly wrapped boxes stacked under the tree which is mysteriously already lit.

Gifts of all sizes and descriptions on this one-day of the year when access is tolerated.

Now some gifts are practical like the socks and ties you had been wanting (not so much) or a blender (though functional will not make points on the response meter), but what is really scrabbled for is the games and toys and wonder gifts that could not be purchased during the hot days of summer or the fall leaf raking time or the attention of the family was on some other important issue like cutting the grass or taking out the trash.

This is the time to make up for all of that. This was the time to ask for unbelievable treasures and hope to be rewarded.

Piles of boxes and bags prepared in paper and bows that an entire industry survives on this day with cute cards tapes to the mystery box assigning the recipient from the giver.

These small offerings are expected to relay affection or reply in kind of other gifts.

And they should be surprises!

Boxes and bags containing mysteries presented to the recipient for a reward.

Covered up to continue the wonderment of discovery, the paper is torn and discarded to awaken what hopes reveal.

And if the reward is not what was expected, how do you react?

Sometimes the best gifts are those that were never perceived or contemplated.

The diamond ring hidden down in a second pair of wool gloves might make the day.

The trail of construction paper red hearts leading down the walkway to your house up the steps and into the bedroom covered in rose petals.

Maybe the last M*A*S*H program presented with sheets covering the ceiling like tents and dog tags and sweatshirts with special significances and a dinner out of tin pans and laughter.

So while you are out there spending your well earned cashed to reward someone else with the reward of happiness, think about this.

After the paper and ribbons are thrown away and the decorations are taken down and stored and the cold grey days creep in, what will be remembered?

Tis' The Season

2011-12-10T17:30:00.000-08:00

Tis’ The Season for the holiday season.

From November 24 to January 1, everyone is in a frantic festival mood, on ladders stringing their abodes with flashing lights and strange objects that would get them arrested during the summer and urgently trying to purchase items beyond our budget buying affection from people we only see during this time of year.

It is the time of overindulgence and slovenly attitude, dressing up in costumes and eating too much poultry.

There is even special music for celebrating the last of the year

(Note: recording a Christmas song includes the artist into the royalties of all that performed that song before. Not a bad gig)

A time for family and friends to gather exchanging pleasantries and wrapped surprises, acting as if the roof didn’t leak or Aunt Sally wasn’t moving to an assisted living facility close to you which would require you to go and visit regularly or your son-in-law can not find a job or the scent that may distract others goes unnoticed or the new administrative assistant seemed to be giving extra attention during the Christmas party or the bill for the braces to your daughter was due or you wonder why the curtains needed to be changed just to impress the in-laws as if they need to be guided into a belief that your spouse married a righteous provider or wearing the green and red vest with reindeer and snow flakes that is too tight and would not match the 10 best looks in GQ or either saying the wrong thing to a neighbor trying to give some holiday cheer that will be regretted for another year or dropping a nickel into the red pot fulfilling your commitment to give to charity or giving your kids more than you can afford in hopes of buying their warmth or falling asleep during the evening gathering or forgetting the words to “Jingle Bells” with a bourbon in your hand or laying in the snow to make a snow angle and not being able to get up or hoping this time of year was over.

It will be soon.

Tis’ The Season.

Given Name

2011-12-10T16:49:00.000-08:00

What single word identifies you?

The one word that identifies YOU is your “given” name.

Given to you at birth, due to the requirements at the hospital at conception or state registration licensing, hopefully by the people who spawned you, this one word will be carried to the grave.

Your “given” name has lots of different origins and definitions and your “given” name can designate your existence on this planet.

Now your last name is a family name declaring which clan you came from, but the “given” name, your first name, is chosen and handed to you without your approval.

So I looked up some of my friend’s names and was somewhat surprised.

(* Editors note: I never went through this process of identifying another human being, so this was a bit interesting to me.)

Many of the names were Hebrew from the Christian “Good Book”. Names like prophets and chapters reveling “The Lord is God” or “Beloved” or “God is Gracious” or "Who is like God”.

Some were ancient Britannia like “Artos” or Greek meaning “Water” or “Crown”.

I know where mine came from thought the researched meaning is now very exciting.

“Riverbank” is the earliest destination of the meaning, but in the geology of my ancestry it probably fits. It seems my clan wandered up through Europe selling salt.

The significances of my name come from the person I was named after. An uncle I never met who downed his plane in the Pacific during World War II.

At first I was not very happy with the name because it was rough like a “Bob” or “Butch” or “Hank” but over the years I recognize the honor of wearing his name.

But what’s up with hit middle name?

Not the name that everyone calls you. That’s the first name, your given name.

Not the last name that is the family name, usually from your father’s side. Everyone in the family carries that name. Even mom changed her last name to his name when she got married. That is part of the rules.

But like “middle school” is not elementary school or high school, but caught in the middle what’s up with a “middle” name?

And yet, those few years were probably more formidable than we would like to think.

So what the heck is a middle name?

On applications, all they want is an initial. Does that make the “middle” name less important?

Some are silly combinations with the first name like “Joe Bob” or “ Peggy Sue” which indicates the family couldn’t decide what to call you.

And some decide to keep all the names presented to them or even in extreme fascination to recreate their personal identity, legal change the word that is used for a call to attention in a crowd of others.

And that special word, used so many times to identify so many others, is your “given” name.

Embrace it for it is who you are.

Biding My Time

2011-12-05T17:04:00.000-08:00

When are you the most comfortable? What do you do on your “free” time?

Sitting back and entertaining you without a schedule to meet or someone to see or chores to do we bid our time?

Sounds like “lazy doesn’t it? Yet, this is the time that we all say, “We don’t have enough of” and hold as precious. But do we really?

As soon as there is a little time on your own to do whatever you want without any restrictions, what happens?

Turn to the electronic distractions to waste what freedom there is.

And when you don’t need any clothing or furniture or transportation or communication or housing or food and there is no one else around to interfere with your “free” time or ask you to share in his or her projects or wishes, what do you do?

When the pile of dirty cloths can wait or the spider webs don’t bother or kicking around dust balls becomes familiar, then one realizes I’m just biding my time.

Listening for the Rain

2011-11-28T18:10:00.000-08:00

Nine o’clock seems the time to retrieve consciences. The repetitive syndrome seems to reappear. Awakening to liquid and a lighted word, wrapped in old clothing. Taking a look around the foliage and detecting the delicate changes while preparing for another long voyage. Strange sense awakens the thought that this could be the last time of viewing the familiar. Crumbling over the long gravel road to the city. Stop to review the cloud patterns and the change in seasons. Deep breathe and begin Yesterdays news is resting in plastic wrap awaiting someone to unfold and review what is already known. And the hill waits. Sunday pattern turns a different direction. More traffic than normal, but patience is a virtue. Indian summer brings dripping water but a smile at the refresh station. A turn and down the opulent neighborhood to two lads walking in the sunshine. Another turn to another slow downhill past the volumes of knowledge with an unused card. The dogs don’t bark here. And the hill waits. Traveling onward into the darkness of the last shade enjoying the waterfall of leaves. The street is paved now but the way is still bumpy. Fresh smells of coffee with the clink of dishes and conversations at a pause for light. The children play in the sunshine. Another rider passes in more of a hurry or to meet a tattooed deadline. And the hill waits. Perhaps taking a different route as last week, but return to the lane of streetlights. No one is walking? The shirt and sweatshirt is wet now. This is supposed to be fall. Wait for traffic when the street narrows. And the hill waits. A final water break is taken before the assent that stands before. Not a remarkably tall or even evil climb, but a constant incline bears witness to last weeks overwhelming attempt to catch air. Today was a continuous push without shifting gears or stopping. Success! Glide back into the quiet and remove the traveling equipment.

Another morning travel to refresh the mind and body.

Tonight, with the streetlight flashing off and on and the neighbor coming home to let her dogs pee and the other neighbor putting up candle lights and the runner going down the street while the jet flies overhead, the carpet of leaves catch the first sound of the rain that was felt earlier. Rocking and resting and listening for the rain.

Three is the Perfect Pair

2011-11-17T16:35:00.000-08:00

What? A pair is two. Maybe this is supposed to be pear? Or maybe pare?

Think about this.

Get your head out of the gutter. This is not about an Ménage à trois.

But we have all done it.

You meet a person. Boy or girl. You become friends. You hang around together and become a pair.

Then one of you meets another person.

Perhaps introduce that person to the first person.

So why is this the perfect pair?

With two people, there are mutual agreements and easily shared conversations, but a third person brings tension.

A pair can become romantically involved or become couples with another pair, but not with a trio.

The third person is the odd person out raising conflict to any situation.

Three is the Perfect Pair.

Couples

2011-11-17T16:20:00.000-08:00

You probably don’t realize it, but couples have an interesting interaction and conversational quality about them.

Just being a couple means you know each other better than anyone else. You know secrets and share experiences that only the two of you will ever be able to relate to.

Couples have pet names for one another created on some quirky reference only intended for special meaning.

Some couples are so close they their names become intertwined, like Fred and Ginger, Bonnie and Clyde or even Tom and Jerry.

People lose their individuality to become a couple. In the setting of being a couple some seemingly deep-set values and beliefs are altered to compensate the other.

Couples may laugh together or finish each others sentences with familiarity, but certain subjects or topics of conversation that were openly discussed before are foreboded.

Couples who have been together for a long time even mimic each others patterns.

Having not had a “couple” relationship early in life, like having a girlfriend or going steady, my first experience was getting married.

Marriage puts a contract announcing that the two people of legally a couple, but a couple of what’s?

Since there are no classes on marriage the only reference is your own family. What made mom and dad a couple?

Well it’s too late for that. No one said how things might change.

So to all the couples out there, please continue. I’m enjoying the discovery of watching and listening and learning.

Spend Your Life Avoiding Boredom

2011-11-17T15:13:00.000-08:00

Have you ever sat alone with no distractions?

No meetings to go to.

No family requirements.

No appointments or deadlines

Just alone, by yourself.

Left to your own devices.

Some call this boredom, actually many call this time as being bored.

Nothing to do?

So we have to go somewhere or do something to keep ourselves entertained and amused until exhaustion forces us to rest.

Certain activities take up some of the time, like eating and working and producing waste, yet much of our time is spent avoiding boredom.

Making a Living with my Hands

2011-11-17T14:52:00.001-08:00

Each of us has the possibility of learning and practicing some talent or skill for dutiful monetary rewards. While some have the opportunity for higher education, an occupation can be accomplished with just our hands.

I had one of the occupations.

With a title of artist, I had the joy of working with my hands, using the tools of the trade to form visuals of thoughts and turn dreams into reality. There were some more skilled in techniques but the field of expertise continued changing and evolving.

Ideas and brainstorming sessions with others motivated actions but it was the hands that did all the work. Drawing a line, adding color, evaluating space and texture was all manipulated by hands. The feel of the scratchy pen on paper, the finger rubbing the hash line into shade, then stepping back to view the concept and extending the next move down to the hands.

Rather than shuffling papers or numbers or even people around, there is a great sense of accomplishment creating something with your hands.

My first attempt at making a living with my hands was not as lucrative or perhaps I lacked the talent or drive so playing the guitar became my hobby and enjoyment.

So I guess if anyone asked me what I did for a living, I should respond, “I had a hand-job.”

Who Owns The Moon?

2011-11-17T14:17:00.000-08:00

Saw this title of an article today and couldn’t remember where I saw it, so naturally I had to Goggle it and found a bunch of articles with the same title.

They were all talking about the space race to the moon continuing to private entrepreneurs who will provide travel for ordinary people to the moon. One line I liked is “If we pee on it first, does it mark out claim?”

But the title struck me differently. “Who Owns The Moon?”

We, as a species, work to earn money to go out shopping, especially this time of year. We wander about looking at merchandise comparing colors, features and even prices. Our goal is to give away some of our money for items. Perhaps these items will be shared with others or even given away as presents. Some of these items are for self-gratification or perceived value.

So stop and look around you. The computer you read this on, the bottle drink sitting next to you, the soft plush chair you sit on, the jacket hanging on the door, the large screen television in the corner, the entertainment center blaring more invitations for spend more money are all yours. They declare who you are. You OWN them.

But do you really?

First there is an industry out there manufacturing hundred or thousands of more items just like them for hundreds of thousands more individual for feel complete just like you.

Second the items that make you feel so good today are already obsolete and must be replaced with the newer model.

Third and possibly the most important is does obtaining these objects do you really own them.

Sure they sit in your house on your plot of land in your presence but one day each and every one of these items will be passed down to another family member or given away to charity or even placed in a heap of leftovers and forgotten.

As a culture or a society we have learned it is better not to share but to own.

Wars have been fought for greed of land and wealth and thousands if not millions have given their lives to own something or fight to keep what they own away from others.

We even owned people in our not too distant past.

So who should own the moon?

And just like that, we recognize in our surroundings the freedoms of life like air, wind, sky, and possibly on a warm summer night relaxing under a tree, a sleepy dog at your feet and the love of your life cuddled in your arms looking up, even the moon.

Sleeping on a New Bed

2011-11-15T18:43:00.001-08:00

To some, a bed is just another piece of furniture, but a bed is almost a personal friend.

Rooms are named after the bed. There is no chair-room or table-room, but every home has at least one bedroom.

They are quiet dark places with only the most intimate reactions take place by couples. There is even special clothing to be worn on the bed.

On the bed is where you start your day and on the bed is where you finish your night.

The bed gives comfort to the sick, a gathering spot for families on Christmas, and a platform for incredible pleasure.

The bed may be the most important piece of furniture one purchases. More time is spent on the bed than anywhere else.

Our dreams and sometimes hopes rely on the bed being comfortable and a haven for relaxing.

On the bed, couples tell their most vulnerable secrets that no one else will ever know. The bed offers a safe haven for holding on to one another, sharing the same breath, sometimes bringing out horrible noises and performing bodily functions that would never be accepting in other locations.

A simple wooden box woven with metal springs and wrapped in soft material has become the treasured location for our body to rest yet out minds continue to sort our emotions, memories, anxieties into dreams.

Laying down and closing our eyes either by time of day or exhaustion our bodies go into an altered state.

Perhaps the darkness will bring rejuvenation and a blissful feeling welcoming a new dawn. Perhaps the act of sleeping only torments the body to uneasy tossing and struggling through nightmares.

When traveling, a hotel room is nothing more than an elaborate bedroom. There are no reservations for the firmness of the bed, only the size. Sheets that may have been cleaned cover a bed that hundreds have laid on before you.

In our youth we are given a bed to grow up on. Once to large to fit in a protective caged crib, we are taught to “make up” our bed every morning. A night we resist going into a dark room where frightful things may be lurking. Beds are where books are read to us by our parents to inspire the mind to dream of pirates, unicorns, and fairies.

The purchasing of a bed is much like buying a car. Lots of models and price ranges, but they are all made the same. This one is too soft. This one is too hard. This one is just right.

My first bed, in this home, was the bed I had as a child. The bed was one of two that was transformed by my father from two singles to bunk beds. The bed traveled with me through my first apartment in college resting on the floor. This bed went back to my parents when my first wife and I decided we needed more space between us. When that space increased, I gave her the bed and went back to my ole childhood friend. After a few years, I decided to move to a larger bedroom and a larger bed. Then one bed became two beds stacked up on top of each other only a few feet from the ceiling. Every room in the house was tried and tested as a bedroom until one matched the size and space needed for two people. To celebrate, a larger bed was purchased.

A brand new top-of-the-line bed with softness and space for the expanding family was placed as directed and assembled. The bed became the location for Sunday morning coffee and television, the quiet place during illnesses, a scratching post and finally a crash pad for long nights outside.

So now I can check off an item that has been on the to-do list for over two years. Tonight I will try to sleep on the new member of the household while the other cushion where she died is carted away.

Stimulation

2011-11-15T13:44:00.000-08:00

The continual sunrise and sunset revolves our life.

Open the eyes to the brightness, splash water on the face, open the window and welcome the morning.

You have survived another day.

Put on a clean shirt or at least one that doesn’t smell too bad.

Drag on the slacks and tighten the buckle that is tighter than it use to be.

Walk outside, pause and take it all in.

Breathe deep and present yourself to the little blue marble you ride on.

Feel the light that warms you.

Listen to the conversations of the creatures that accompany you on this journey.

Enjoy the constant evolving surroundings nature creates.

Taste the air that provides life.

Each day presents itself as a new adventure.

Shake yourself off and continue on your quest.

A Table For One

2011-11-11T18:21:00.000-08:00

This is what happens.

When asked at the door, "How many will being dining tonight?" and you reply "A table for one." the adventure has just taken a turn.

You usually get a table by the kitchen door or the bathroom. Small, with barely room for salt and pepper and two settings which is quickly reduced.

Like a second hand citizen your order takes longer as you are left in the dark to entertain yourself.

Others turn and stare then comment to each other describing their thoughts on the reason one person sits at a table – alone. “Perhaps he is waiting for someone?” “It’s so sad.” “Maybe his date didn’t show up?” then their conversation changes to the reviews of their meals washed down with laughter and wine.

Without electronic appliances to entertain during the wait, one can observe the faces of other town folk who have left the warmth and safety of their homes to wander out to an establishment for a dining experience.

Some look bored as if this is a weekly tradition that must be observed. Some are engulfed in fascinating wonder of each others words losing the interest in the meal. Some are regulars recognizing and acknowledging others in the room as in a sales meeting. Some are family groups with adults discussing the births, deaths and success under the same name as the children squirm.

Some times there are few in the room except for bored wait staff wrapping silver wear in napkins and telling lies to busboys anxiously waiting for a couple to leave a booth while the manager at the cash register scans his emails.

The wallpaper pattern is studied against the shadows of the twirling overhead fans. Even paintings probably purchased at the local box store attract a scrutiny while a background soundtrack of clinking glasses and dull mumble of a variety of voices and stories fills the air.

If really creative, one can look at a table of people and decide what their names are, what they do for a living, where they live, all by their body language, clothing and menu choices, but there is no one to share this revelation with.

Once the meal arrives with perhaps a pleasant comment from the delivery person, then again, perhaps not a decision must be made. Should the preparation be savored and enjoyed or merely consumed as quickly as possible to get on with the task at hand.

Life is funny that way.

Watching TV

2011-11-09T07:04:00.001-08:00

We don’t realize how much time and effort it takes to watch TV. The magic box that is turned on at the beginning of the day with the lame excuse to find out what the weather will be or update our sleepiness with world events. It is the background noise of our lives.

Remembering the big wooden box in our house with fuzzy black and white images and terrible sound became a hypnotic attraction. The radio continued to play in the kitchen with Paul Harvey and George Goble, but the fleeting moments of television drew us in with its mysterious spell.

So the need to continue viewing this glass window on the world around us grew with more programs and longer hours. What was a brief family gathering became a daily necessary with continuous news, sports, weather, and a variety of entertainment. Polls were kept to judge the viewing audience and adjust programming and advertising to fill all desires. Celebrities were formed and fans began to follow weekly series of westerns, comedies, and live performances with varied results. Soap operas filled the housewife’s afternoon then the family would gather around the glowing screen while eating dinner under Walter Cronkite’s wisdom then become enthralled in whatever appeared before sign off.

Networks started to assimilate programs and families picked their favorite of the three because they didn’t want to have to get up and switch the tuning knob. Yes, there were no remote controls to surf with.

Ingrained into our culture, this box told us what to buy, how to look, and what was important to our daily lives and conversations with one another. It presented us with examples of the wealthy to aspire to or the poor bumbling fools we could mock or heroic examples of our past to emulate.

The small wooden box became the entertainment center with surround sound, wide high definition screens, recording and playback devices constantly changing requiring families to purchase additional units with the latest new and improved features to enhance our viewing pleasure.

The television is the first appliance turned on in the morning and the last to be shut down at night. We can not function until we know what the latest weather forecast is and how the traffic flow will effect our attempt to arrive at work on time, all brought to us by pleasant looking people smiling and creating a comfortable atmosphere to give us a positive start of the day. Talk shows and soap operas fill the afternoons for the sick, retired, or unemployed leading into a bank of flashing news programs combining entertainment with celebrating sightings or social media events.

Police shows, or at least authoritarian good over evil shows, have taken over from too graphic medical shows as a cast interaction with recent events and predicable outcomes. Reality shows of every size and description are the new comedy and mystery showing the struggles of good looking people surviving in the wild or losing weight or competing for a gazillion dollars hoping to make the viewers life seems a little better or at least tolerable.

Yet as we surf through the infomercials and repeated enticements to eat and drink and lust after the latest gadget, hours of our lives are wasted staring at the light. Multitasking with preparing food, checking emails, surfing the social media, downloading music, watching online movies, talking on the phone, texting a neighbor; the television is still on as a background drone, always ready to announce something we must be aware of.

Perhaps this is the “light” we are to walk toward?

As for me, I just turn it off and watch the glow fade to black. I got better things to do.

Crowds

2011-11-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

Recently an event in town reminded me one of my “least favorite” occurrences. Being surrounded by crowds.

Now crowds are just people like you and me who come together for an event like music or other performing art or shopping or even a family gathering, but with over 7 billion of us now, it is starting to get crowded.

Sporting venues are constantly expanding to accommodate for the crowds. Music events have become outdoor extravaganzas for the crowds. Wherever we go or whatever we do, there is a crowd around.

Again, I’m not opposed to people; why I am one, but I do like my space and in today’s crowds I get a little cramped.

Don’t know where this feeling started but I think at the State Fair when I was just a little tot and got separated from my family and wandered about lost in a sea of legs.

People do things in crowds they would never do by themselves. They dress up funny and scream and holler at sporting events supporting “their” team. People dance and sing in mass responding to deafening music. People will follow one another like lemmings with the support of each other in a crowd.

Crowds will wait for hours to get tickets or get a brief glance at someone who is presented as someone better than the crowd or gather because others are gathering.

Some crowds can be meaningful protest to show solidity in numbers. Some crowds can get out of hand and cause the animal instinct in all of us that can create harm and destruction.

The individual is lost in the crowd and perhaps that is a protective device, but I find it annoying.

I notice, even in the grocery store, if an aisle is crowded with people examining a vast array of boxes and jars deciding on which has the best elements or price per pound, I move to the next aisle, sometimes going all around the store to avoid a entanglement with someone else.

I know that is my shopping phobia but when someone comes up behind me too close for my comfort I move on.

Imagine that feeling in a crowd.

Time and space to contemplate are rare and should be cherished.

Enjoy solitude.

Under Two Flags

2011-10-31T16:12:00.000-07:00

In the Capitol of the Confederacy, I was part of an outdoor activity celebrating the Civil War centennial. The play called “Richmond Under Two Flags” was presented at an outdoor arena sculptured into the ground in semi-round layers using a clamshell background to reflect the sound. There were no tickets or seats, so city residents sat on the grassy plans spreading blankets or lawn chairs.

I forgot how I got conned into participating, since I had not been trained as a thespian but remember hours spent at Pine Camp (a recreational facility on north side behind John Marshall High School) listening to scripts read over and over again. Night after night the cast with speaking rolls would go over their lines until they were memorized including all those in the room.

The casting call seemed to have parts for all the adults who wanted to perform to an audience of their neighbors and families while the others of us filled voids. My role was to be a “Young Man of Richmond”. That meant I was to run around on stage in one scene as a confederate soldier then change into fake blood splattered rags to return as a wounded warrior only to change again to a collarless shirt and wool coat to portray the evacuation of the city as it burnt.

After weeks of listening to the same lines every night, we were moved to the site for dry run rehearsals. Lighting and sound and our entire running around were directed and redirected until each step became routine.

Finally it was dress rehearsal time. Behind the clamshell were two rooms (one for men and one for women) to prepare their costumes and make up if needed. We ran through our paces in the mosquito filled summer air blinded by spotlights with no music or sound except the small group at the front of the stage prompting the moves of the sweating mass. In the mist on the rustic stage it seemed like utter confusion but I guess it looked different in the audience.

Being a teenage boy, I found a couple of girls about my age and began to flirt. The girls were typical of their age whispering to each other and giggling while fluttering their doe eyes. This was an excellent way to pass the time between scenes. I would take my guitar to rehearsals and play folk songs to impress the girls. To keep with the theme of the night I even played spirituals.

After the last performance, the lights were dimmed, the stage crew took down the settings, and the cast hung up their costumes and gathered one last time for the curtain call.

This presentation was the last event of fours years celebrating my hometown being the Capitol of states who tried and failed to separate from the rest of the republic for a variety of reasons. There were stars and bars Confederate flags flying all over town, parades with the last of the gray soldiers being driven around in convertibles, and marching bands playing “Dixie”. Even a dome building was constructed for displays and exhibits showing how it was really a lost cause.

I never figured out why we celebrated losing a war, but was told it was just the time of un-pleasantries and the South would rise again.

But that was 50 years ago.

I don’t remember the girls’ names. I remember they were going to go to a different high school so we lost track of each other quickly.

Without a monetary gain or fame, the experience is favorability etched in my mind.

History of Halloween

2011-10-31T09:12:00.000-07:00

Halloween has its origins in the ancient Celtic festival known as Samhain (pronounced "sah-win").

The festival of Samhain is a celebration of the end of the harvest season in Gaelic culture. Samhain was a time used by the ancient pagans to take stock of supplies and prepare for winter.

The ancient Gaels believed that on October 31, the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead overlapped and the deceased would come back to life and cause havoc such as sickness or damaged crops.

The festival would frequently involve bonfires. It is believed that the fires attracted insects to the area, which attracted bats to the area.

Masks and consumes were worn in an attempt to mimic the evil spirits or appease them.

In Ohio, Iowa, and Massachusetts, the night designated for Trick-or-treating is often referred to as Beggars Night.

Trick or Treat

The practice of dressing up in costumes and begging door to door for treats on holidays goes back to the Middle Ages, and includes Christmas wassailing.

Trick-or-treating resembles the late medieval practice of "souling," when poor folk would go door to door on Hallowmas (November 1), receiving food in return for prayers for the dead on All Souls Day (November 2).

It originated in Ireland and Britain, although similar practices for the souls of the dead were found as far south as Italy. Shakespeare mentions the practice in his comedy The Two Gentlemen of Verona (1593), when Speed accuses his master of "puling [whimpering, whining], like a beggar at Hallowmas."

The earliest known reference to ritual begging on Halloween in English speaking North America occurs in 1911, when a newspaper in Kingston, Ontario, reported that it was normal for the smaller children to go street guising (see below) on Halloween between 6 and 7 p.m., visiting shops and neighbors to be rewarded with nuts and candies for their rhymes and songs.

Early national attention to trick-or-treating was given in October 1947 issues of the children's magazines “Jack and Jill” and “Children's Activities”, and by Halloween episodes of the network radio programs “The Baby Snooks Show” in 1946 and “The Jack Benny Show” and “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” in 1948. The custom had become firmly established in popular culture by 1952, when Walt Disney portrayed it in the cartoon “Trick or Treat” and UNICEF first conducted a national campaign for children to raise funds for the charity while trick-or-treating.

Treat-or-Trick

It must have been a fairly poor year in our household for this fall celebration. A ripped shirt, pants that were too short, a plastic mask and a straw hat my parents had brought back from a convention they attended down in Florida.

If I had answered the door and seen this, I would be fearful too. I’d give any amount of candy to rid myself of this creature on my porch.

My mother used to say I like the season of Halloween more than any other holiday, but I don’t remember it that way.

What I do remember is in high school and even in college; I turned the table around on the holiday in a rebellious activity called “Treat-or-Trick”.

Gather a group of people, fill grocery bags with candy, go to a neighbor’s house, ring the bell, and when they open the door, announce yourself by a cry of “Treat-or-Trick” and hand the surprised occupant candy from your bag. Offer a quick smile and brief happy song then walk away with a wave.

While this seems a silly action on a night for children, it does give a new meaning to the holiday tradition and a variance to the ritual of handing out candy to obese greedy rug-rats.

*Note: The only problem with this “Treat-to-Trick” process is that the homeowners expecting small children coming to their door in an innocent family tradition only to find adults handing out questionable treats usually call the police, so the activity will only last for a few houses.

What is the next holiday I can dress up?

Beach Bum

2011-10-29T22:15:00.001-07:00

Had to put on some Beach Boys to get in the mood for this, so if I start singing “In My Room” forgive me.

With all the talk recently about the 1% of the rich against the 99% of the have-nots with protest and debates and blogs and comments in social network, I look at the financial rewards I have made through the years and wonder.

So there are a few rich people who have made a lot of money in whatever endeavor they pursued after school years. Some worked hard and climbed the ladder obeying the corporate laws and using their innovative skills to use the ins and outs of the business world to make a fortune. Others use their youth to grab the gold ring with sport skills until injury shortens a flash of fame. Some create their own celebrity in order to proclaim their importance. Fame is thrust upon some for their ability to create writings, paintings, entertainment shows and less so, intellectual findings.

Look around your surroundings and contemplate the wealth of your life on this planet. All the riches that give vindication of life shown to others with envy reflect on our self worth.

And yet we look at the great wealth of someone else and think they are getting away with something and should be punished for flaunting the opulent excess.

Indulging into purchasing items no one else could ever purchase, the 1% is also attacked by the paparazzi who want to capture their every move, hounded by every foundation and charity that pleads for assistance, and overwhelmed by entrepreneurs who show their wears and good hoping to get a marketing deal.

Do we really need the golden beds and marbled floors and multiple homes and fish eggs to be happy?

So I get to what I really wanted to discuss: being a Beach Bum!

If you look back at your youth, with little change in your pocket and few worldly possessions, life was simple and wonderful. The most important factor of your life was being around friends, sharing ideas, music and laughter. Discussions and debates of world events shaped the being without costing a penny.

In the recesses of the mind are thoughts of living on the beach, surfing or water skiing or sailing with buddies at the break of dawn then stacking shelves at the local drug store or sweeping barroom floors to get enough change to buy some cheap beer, bread and cheese to share around a fire and playing music until exhaustion took over.

So many names are gone, but at the time nothing else mattered.

Only later did we all get sucked into the consumption spiral of having more money that we needed for essentials only to squander it on material goods that television, radio, newspaper, billboards, and movies told use we must purchase and acquire to become popular.

The gold watch, the fast car, the big house, the fancy suit are bought only to find a new fashion hit the market ten minutes later.

What creates our desire to be the 1%?

The beach bum doesn’t care.

The pants might has a hole in the leg, or the shirt is a little dirty with yesterday’s lunch, the dust bunny running across the floor is caught in spider webs, and for dinner a cold can of beans is fine.

So maybe if we didn’t worry about envy and only care about what makes us happy, we can find peace in our lives.

I know, so many are saying we must survive, but at what level. Will the gold facets on the bathtub make us any cleaner? Will having a private jet exclude us from the adventure of traveling with others? Will having a yacht with all it’s maintenance and upkeep make it worth a few parties to impress others that don’t care who you are but just want to mooch your money.

I can’t decide for you, but I’ve found the beach bum was right for me.

Gotta go, surfs up!

Obnoxious

2011-10-29T00:07:00.001-07:00

Last week a strange thing happened.

Sitting with a few friends in a booth at one of the local watering holes, a young blond in a blue dress walked up and said she had been watching us and wished she could join us because she thought we were having fun.

Now get this in perspective.

This woman looked young enough to be a daughter or even a grand daughter but she was smiling and laughing with us ole guys so we appreciated the attention.

Our reactions were interesting if not telling of our personalities at meeting a beautiful stranger.

One went into suave quiet mode like a James Bond character all subtle and demure with his statements while another one went into an open freewheeling mode inviting the attention with smiles and welcoming statements and gestures, both forgetting for the moment they were married.

Me? Well I did what I normally do.

I became obnoxious.

Not harmful or hateful or even loathsome obnoxious, just silly obnoxious.

A slap-stick Jerry Lewis obnoxious, drop a French fry in a beer glass (which she quickly retrieved) obnoxious, a laughing silliness kind of obnoxious

At the brief moment in time, I did not think anything about it as she parted and we continued our conversations and adult beverage drinking.

Only later did I ponder our reactions and realize I’ve been obnoxious for years.

A lack of confidence and self-esteem seems to have formed this behavior over the years. Reviewing my past, I realize this has been my presentation to the world, especially when the unknown is there.

When approached by the informal, we put up a facade to protect our inner self.

It takes us off our usual path and reactions to a scary surprise of our deepest emotions.

These are not ingrained traits born with us, but a survival reaction learned through our childhood. With continuous education and exposure to the world around us, we fall back into a safe mode maybe even a fetal position to cope with change.

So we create methods to cope with the barrage of information and emotions invading our security.

Some have the perfect hair-do while others have a shiny car or a new suit or perhaps the wisdom of studying in class or a famous family name or the possibility of attending a country club dance or massive amounts of money to attract the opposite gender.

For the rest of us, we struggle to get some attention from the fairer sex with whatever means are available.

So if we don’t have the perfect hair or shiny car or family lineage or massive wealth, we make up for our lack with whatever we can concoct to attract attention.

For me it was being obnoxious.

It worked for the Beatles and the Monkees who made a short career of being wild and crazy characters that if you saw them on the street, you would walk away trying to avoid their obvious obnoxious behavior.

But that is what attracted the young girls of the time.

Some called it charm or charisma, but they were just being obnoxious.

So I learned this trait, throwing away years of polite style and grace and indicate and proper training.

And does it do me any good?

Well, I seem to gravitate toward those who make a fuss, the movers and shakers and innovators who don’t seem to be restricted by societies restrictions.

So if you see someone in the room, loud and obnoxious, just smile and respect their effort for seeking contact with the outside world.

PS: Is that Sir Paul?

I Wanna Be Free

2011-10-23T08:30:00.001-07:00

We all proclaim to want to be free, but do we really.

We all come into this world free, but not for long.

Immediately we are forced to feed at a certain time and wrapped in a cloth that will collect our poop that may at some point be replaced.

As we grow up through life we take orders, work schedules, wake up and go to sleep at specific times, buy items we really don’t want only to look like we are associated with the surroundings, attend ceremonies binding us to others, procreate in our early lives to match our neighbors, complain about the restrictions of our companions, then get old losing our ability to enjoy our freedom.

Maybe we don’t really want to be free?

Otherwise, we would all run around like children in a park, without a care, full of laughter and joy.

Don’t let the butterfly get away.

Walking With Strangers

2011-10-17T17:32:00.001-07:00

Interesting day yesterday as a gathering of old college buddies got together at a local watering hole.

Coming from far away places, they took some of their time to travel just for the reason of each others company.

Reconnected by e-mail after years of marriages, children, careers, and the usual life adversities and rewards, we met in the wooden booths to hugs and smiles accustomed to old friends.

Yet, we are all strangers to each other.

There has been a few emails discussing past shared experiences and links to current artwork, but now we were face-to-face.

Exchanging pleasantries, we settled in for discovering who we were 40 years ago and present to one another, what we think we are now.

Laughter and smiles, breakfast and lunch, quick rotation of tales were shared in a noisy room.

The plan was to wander back through time and visit the school that brought us together so long ago.

Instead of a packed auto, we decided to walk the perfect sunny fall day. The houses we passed have new families, redesigned interiors, and a few paint jobs, but they were the same as we passed back then.

Then we were there. The cameras came out and building that replaced old sites that were digitally captured. Standing in front of doorways where old brownstones were used for sheltering us during our growing up period. “My roommate from 928” became a motto during our wandering.

Three country boys sharing tales of high school and coming to the big city, the city I grew up in.

By now a familiar ease had overcome us. A passing group was asked to take one of the cameras to capture this motley crew, then the other. Joking and kidding like a group of schoolboys in the sunshine, we talked to students passing by without any consequences to grades or disciplinary action.

The stories turned to trying to remember names and showing places where we did what was the most important part of our life education, finding girls.

A quick pit stop in a side coffee shop converted from a bookstore or head shop or perhaps a carriage house introduced some of the gang to a booth full of young ladies. Surprisingly we seem to be attracting some attention from the young.

Pointing out some of the locations and their newly adapted conversions, I become a tour guide. A demonstration is going on in Monroe Park, a parent’s day is in progress, and the school and the city combine in its usual rhythm.

The view of our old school constant construction and expanding is interrupted by predetermined requirements, so the journey turns back to our predestined meeting point. All along the return trip new wonders and old memories flooded every sense along with continued conversation and revelations.

A few more hand shakes and hugs, two final goodbyes, then to kill some more time before the last Amigo had to make his second engagement, we returned for some more libations and tales. Enjoying the eye candy, my booth mate seemed to know every woman in my town from passing waitress to other diners. He reveled in his accomplishments during our youth, probably not knowing we all wandered down that path due to the atmosphere of the time, but stopping to talk to some young ladies before reaching the door, he did seem to have an attraction that most of us do not utilize.

A quick trip to Puppywoods to prepared for his social commitment; the last stranger is introduced to the inner sanctuary and music trends that may entice him to partner some ideas. The seed is planted.

Bid adieu to last visitor and return to the new/old world. A fun reminder of the past time when we were young and were thrown into an institution to combine ideas with strangers and become educated with strangers was over.

It will be back to sending links and photos and emails to stay in contact with these few that I remember from college. Enjoying the time and conversation and fellowship with my fellow mate, they are still strangers to me.

So ends the day of walking with strangers, yet very few know us, including our spouses. Even the ones we share our identities with, know so little about us.

The only one who really knows me… is...?

Going to the Grocery Store

2011-10-12T14:20:00.001-07:00

It is a daily occurrence for me to strap up the bags and pedal to the grocery store. It is only a mile and a half, one-way, and mostly downhill. I’ve found a weaving path through the neighborhood and though I do not speak to the households I pass, they call out sometimes to the “Coors Man” or the “Silver Bullet” so I’m sure they recognize me by my prize.

Once at the building that was once a JC Penney offering clothing like my last suit or lawnmower that I tried to latch on the back of the bike, but it was too heavy, so I hid it in the trees and went home and got a cart and walked back to drag it home an hour later, I lock up and observe the other participants in this adventure as I strip away my gloves and brain bucket before pulling out my recycle bag to get 5¢ discount for just bringing it.

The carts have gotten smaller and easier to handle, but I do not wipe them down with the available alcohol wipes for if I am going to die, it will probably be from one of the group who shop for food and stuffy here. Although I’ve been un-ill for several years by avoiding the general public (especially the little germ factories) I feel my immune system has learned to cope with the sneezing and coughing and other methods of spreading their plague.

So I pass the opening doors to the produce section, usually crowded with elderly women who barely made it passed the door to talk to each other as if they had not seen one-another from the parking lot or the adjacent condo building a few yards away.

Even thought people in blue shirts pushing carts over-stacked with boxes of fruit and veggies, constantly stacking and restocking carrots and tomatoes and celery and lots of other green things, I wonder of the freshness. The mist sprinklers do not reassure me that if I touch a green pepper, that I am guaranteed it is as good meaning tasty without poisoning me as I can get.

I may pick up some carrots or broccoli or cauliflower and dip, a few tomatoes and some leafy stuff in a bag, but I quickly move past the produce, only to stop to pick up a bag of unsalted peanuts for the critter crewe.

Passing by the bakery that does not interest me except for multi-grain slices used for sandwich, I move to the “deli” section.

Here people in hairnets offer sushi, sandwiches, crappy chicken but none of it is appealing. The latest box lunch section only offers badly cooked chicken, collard greens, and mac and cheese most unappetizing. Sneezing blue shirts in their preparation area and the elderly partaking of the sample bins for their lunch chases me away.

Weaving between the red headed flower witch and the mothers looking at the bloody animals, I roll down to the canned products.

There is a expiration date to each prepared and processed foods in cans, but I never check. As long as the can is not bent, I pick up the first line and thrown it in the cart. Red beans, black beans, chic peas all make the cart. I know they are full of sodium but I also never look at the nutrition breakdown. I know enough about ingredients that if I examined, I would never eat.

Next stop the fruit aisle. Another row of cans marked with produce I had already passed in the “fresh” section, but these are fruit prepared in some kind of sweet water or sauce and sealed. There must be some long gone theory in my brain that they will still be eatable. Perhaps it was all the can goods we stored in our utility room growing up. Perhaps it is the fact that buying fresh produce for one will mean that much of it will go bad before being thrown away.

Fruit is now used as dessert, since there is no sweet tooth for cookies or cakes or pies, though I splurge on my birthday for a cupcake and ice cream and during the winter will get some peanut butter cookies or an apple pie, but then the taste for that is gone and the desires ends.

The long row of cereals offering sugar and cartoon characters in half filled boxes also requires buying milk which is just too much trouble and space in the little refrigerator. Dried oatmeal will last through the winter and fade in the heat of the summer.

Coffee, creamer, green tea, and fake sugar are staples but few spices make the cart. The blue shirt stacker wearing a huge cross and saying “Bless You” between singing hymns continues to smile.

Noodles, potatoes, and other starches are of little interest until it is cold outside and a bowl of stew or chili will end the winter chill, but in the summer the act of cooking does little to interest the effort.

Pass the chips aisle and the cookie aisle and the personal hygiene aisle (I’m still trying to get rid of animal shampoo from two years ago) has no interest to me. Besides I don’t need diapers yet.

Eggs will probably be on the menu soon, but that requires I buy butter and break out the skillet.

I look at the aisle of frozen pizza in amazement that there is that many varieties. I did burn a lot of these during the summer due to the ease of baking them, but with little taste or satisfaction. The white hair blue shirt wearing winter clothes sings along with the 60’s music coming from the ceiling while opening the frosted doors and restocking the TV dinners.

Weaving through the rows of shelves with products trying to entice the shopper to place it in their cart by their placement and fancy packaging, I wander aimlessly trying to find something that will spark my taste buds. I look at boxes and bags while applying the aroma and flavor on my tongue trying to awake an interest.

The act of preparing food has been learned through many different techniques and appliances, but it is “the taste” that makes the effort worthwhile.

And as the palate becomes bland having experienced grand efforts by chefs of many destinations, a sandwich with processed meat slathered in mustard, pepper and hot sauce, perhaps a slice of Swiss cheese and an occasional tomato fills the daily meal requirement.

Exotic dishes with techniques and special tools have been used and appreciated in the past, but in the end, the basics of meat, fruit, vegetables, and bread are the ingredients of the mixtures.

So through the maze of products waiting for something to stand out, excite, grab hold of the daily meal; yet it all looks the same and unexciting with very little interest to pick up and carry home.

Some people plan a weekly family menu and shop for the ingredients to prepare and present to their loved ones, but when you are the only participant in the eating process, the adventure is less fulfilling.

As I load up my bags and strap on my gear, I seem to attract the weird Wild Eyed Willie, Crazy Eddie, or Leroy the bagger who is the best slacker I’ve ever seen.

Of course, I could go to a building that prepares food in Styrofoam containers or wrapped in plastic by young dull people wearing paper hats, but I also find that unsatisfying.

Today’s venture brought home crappy over-fried dried chicken prepared in the suspiciously hygiene deli area that I could drown in hot sauce and pepper washing it down with frothing beers. They were placed in the recycle 5¢ bag with a brief conversation with the blue shirt checker about the weather, or smiles or nothing at all due to lack of personality. For dinner, only because it was time and not hunger, a sandwich and a half of micro waved reheated BBQ out of a plastic container with little flavor even under a blanket of sauce followed by a tomato on a pile of Cole slaw.

The shelf that holds all the food available in the kitchen has one can of dark red kidney beans, an almost finished jar of peanut butter, two slices of bread and enough instant coffee and powered creamer to get me thought the week. The little refrigerator is empty.

Tomorrow’s big decision will be: “What Will I Prepare and Consume To Stay Alive?”

Chewing Air

2011-10-08T04:16:00.000-07:00

It is a strange phenomenon to find out certain aspects of yourself that you don’t realize.

The other day while riding I found myself chewing air.

Now I concentrate on my breathing, which is one of the reasons for the daily exercise, but this was different.

Not the long inhales through the nose and exhales through the mouth to get the brain active. Not the panting up the hill trying to catch another heart beat.

This was different.

I was riding along with a care and I was chewing air.

Finding this strange action puzzling, I began to wonder why I was doing this.

I wasn’t tired so that didn’t cause this action.

I wasn’t blowing out words even to an invisible conversation.

I wasn’t grinding my teeth nervously.

I was chewing.

Chewing without gum.

Just a chewing movement of my jar to no particular pace.

After several days of noticing this action, I started to become aware of other eccentricities that I seem to have.

When walking through the grocery aisles, I sing a song to myself. Lately or at least I’ve just noticed it, I’m halfway singing out loud. Perhaps it keeps the other shoppers entertained. Perhaps it gets them to move out of my way.

I take it as a sign that I’m content, even happy.

I recall singing to myself years ago but I either stopped or hadn’t noticed myself doing it.

Sometimes being by yourself, you get to find out the little things that make you unique.

Wonder what else I’ll find?

Breaking the Fall

2011-10-05T08:05:00.000-07:00

But before I forget, the graphic named “On The Edge” is not mine. A local artist, Diane Clement, created it. I swiped it because I thought it might fit my thought process. So sorry for not getting your permission but here is her website. http://www.dianeclement.com/ or you can buy her artwork here http://www.zazzle.com/inadiane

The leaves are changing and the air is getting colder. Time to turn the calendar preparing for a new season.

Get out of bed and look in the mirror at the Albert Einstein hairdo.

Open the blinds to welcome the day.

Heat up the water and pour the ingredients without measurement for a warm breakfast.

Listen to classical music while watching the messages of strangers about their kids, activities and political views.

Walk out in the woods and adjust for the sun and the next hour.

The wind blows through my sweatshirt but the warmth increases as I move along.

Spooks decorate the trees already. A life-size black silhouette of a witch catches my eye as cutouts I did in elementary school with rounded scissors.

Two bikers ride by with head bob acknowledgment to each other, and then move on.

The leaves are starting to fall but I have not caught one yet.

Without a daily song in my head I had already reached one third of my travels without realizing it.

Beginning of another season.

I place the bike back on the porch and go inside to cool down and peel the spandex loaded diaper off.

Again checking messages of the world, another bottle of water and a cool down.

Looking around I see the projects marked on the to-do list with the header JUNE.

The news has become boring. Television has become boring. Only classical music, though are the only sounds I tolerate for very long. Then the radio is turned off.

In the quiet the realization of one of my greatest fears takes over my thoughts.

Falling.

I ride a bicycle everywhere, everyday, in traffic, on quiet roads, avoiding children, and animals on two-thin wheels.

The idea of a bicycle is motion and balance. Motion has become easy within a gear structure I’ve found works for me. Normally balance is routine and like breathing, goes unnoticed.

But, sometimes, due to lack of sleep or unfamiliar surrounds, my reactions seem to falter and my balance becomes unsure.

Today I slowed to a stop going down a hill to let a car pass. Facing the steepness of the path ahead it seemed impossible to start pedaling. I sat there for a couple of minutes milling over my next action, I climbed off the bike and walked it down the hill.

It wasn’t total panic but an unsure fear of falling.

At the bottom of the hill, I climbed back on and continued my ride, which included other hills that I had no problem with.

Remembering when I first learn to ride a bicycle, with training wheels on, around the block over and over again, without fear knowing something or someone would catch me or keep me upright.

Then the training wheels came off and it was all up to me.

Riding a bike was probably my first confidence builder, but I wondered was it failing.

Tomorrow the hill will still be there and this realization of frailties could change my daily path, but I will continue to face my demons.

When we are pushed to the edge, only then can we decide how to break our fall.

Order Your Copy NOW!

2011-09-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

That’s right, boys and girls! You can have your very own copy of

“The Adventures of Ike Patterson and Ginger Bonneau”.

Adventure, mystery, action, and fictional figures based on real people.

What is the Dusty Rose?

How can A2O2 destroy the country?

What is the Enigma Club? (with the permission of the adventurer author)

What are the names on the notches mean?

Can they ride out a hurricane?

Oh what excitement! 83 pages of easy reading!

Easy, fun and full of fantasy.

Send your email address and you will receive a PDF copy of

“The Adventures of Ike and Ginger”.

And as Bluto said, "It don't cost nothing!"

Authors Note: Only one request; send back your review.

Doesn’t matter if it is good or bad.

There may be another adventure if enough like Ike and Ginger.

I’m So Busy I Don’t Have Time To Worry

2011-09-27T19:46:00.001-07:00

Is this what the work-a-day world has become?

With instant messaging, emails, social media, cell phones, texting ….. Our minute-by-minute access to everything that goes on in the world takes it’s time away from some of the basic human traits.

Laughter, concern, caring, worry and many more emotions are what makes us human, but do we have time for these?

But we are too busy for all these things. Sure, we pass the daily chores and trend to forget the last stress only to find another, but we are just too busy to worry about it.

The world revolves and the rain falls and the sun shines and trees grow and flowers bloom then fade and drop to the ground to evaporate into the dirt, but are we too busy to notice.

Reports are prepared and meetings are attended on an ever-increasing schedule requiring more time spent confirming the electronic calendar. Evenings are spent reviewing the day’s process while upgrading software and emails while tending to self-indulgence.

Sometimes it takes a hurricane to turn off the power to realize what else there is.

With enough time to breathe and reflect and ponder and think, one might just become aware.

Aware of the surroundings we pass everyday so quickly with only the thought of does the grass need trimming or the automobile need washing. Perhaps the dinner out can be in the backyard sharing with some of your furry neighbors.

While all the craziness that is reported on the news everyday of financial crisis or destruction or natural disastrous events, a mind could go crazy contemplating all this stuff.

So maybe we stay busy so to blur all the real world activities that would make a sane man cry.

Stay busy as long as you can, because when you are alone, the truth comes out.

And you have no one to look to except in the mirror.

The Rabbit Died

2011-09-26T17:17:00.000-07:00

The sun was out and the rain had stopped, so I thought it was a usual day. After instant coffee with French vanilla creamer and fake sugar and a bottle of tap water, it was time for a ride.

The neighborhood was getting back to normal after all the weather, but still some stumps leaped up cracking sidewalks as a reminder that nothing is permanent.

Young women walked their dogs or babies and smiled as I rode by enjoying the fresh air and seeing that Leo will be working hard after 11 inches of rain.

As I rode up the hill to my block, I noticed something to the left. It appeared to be a critter in the road. I slow as I always do to see if it was going to cross in front of me yet as I grew closer I realized it was not going to move.

I normally move past, with some respect for the deceased, and say, “Sorry bud” then rides on knowing the crows will feast tonight.

But this time it was different.

I expected to see the usual gray of a Petey or a small brown stripe of a Bo-Bo and hoped to see it was just a pile of leaves, but then I saw the white tail.

The rest of the ride was contemplating what might have happened in front of my house yesterday.

Returning home, I rehydrate and checked the silliness of the Internet.

I peered out the front to look again but could not see the carcass. Perhaps nature’s morticians had already done their duty.

Continuing my day’s routine I returned from the store with seed and p-nuts spread in the usual feeding areas.

I watched the yard critters scamper for their lunch but was saddened than one of our family would not attend the feast.

After an hour allowing them to settle into their normal feeding, I started up to the house to prepare my own lunch when to my surprise, what did I see?

There was Bun-Bun!

She was sitting in her usual spot munching up some seed.

I stopped and with a soft tone acknowledged her.

After watching still, I backed off to allow her space.

Sometime later, she appeared to the second feeding spot, then munched on some grass and disappeared in her yard.

As darkness set in, I slowly walked to the house hoping not to disturb anyone.

Under her shelter of bamboo and grasses, there was Bunny stretched out napping in the last of the sunshine.

So you never know when it will be a good day.

Seeing Something Strange

2011-09-22T17:49:00.000-07:00

Saw something strange today.

Not like I don't observe strange activities or occurrences or even interactions, but this one truly surprised me.

After the hurricane, the neighborhood was filled with more than the usual white trucks fixing roofs, making repairs on gutters, removing wood, patching streets, so it was not usual to see heavy equipment on my daily routes.

City employees spray yellow and blue marks on the pavement one day, then blocking off the street the next to dig holes and stand around in their hard hats and stare and discuss the hole they had just dug. It become a routine site in an old neighborhood, but this was something different.

On the way back from the grocery store I noticed a house in the middle of a block of similar houses that had all of it's aluminum siding missing. It had all been removed.

What surprised me was that the house didn't seem to be damaged by the storm and looked like every other house on the block. I had to assume it was getting new siding and thought no more about it.

The next day on my ride I passed the same house and noticed more white trucks in front of it with men scurrying back and forth. The front door was open and I could see the studs where there had been walls. A large dumpster on the lawn was being filled with plaster and other materials.

This a new owner (yes, the house had been for sale) gutting it to make over the antique wiring and plumbing from post-WWII construction. I smiled to see someone was making an investment in the neighborhood and moved on.

I could understand the problems with quickly constructed houses made after the war to accept the influx of GIs and new families. In the past year I have tried to sure up my own home of an similar age so I felt good that someone had purchased the home and decided to make it new again.

Today I rode by the same location and much to my surprise, the house was gone.

A huge mechanical machine had dug up the foundation to the dirt and only a dirt plot surrounded by a plastic fence remained.

What happened yesterday?

My first thought was the neighbor had bought the house and had it removed so the lawn could be enlarged for more grass cutting, but the construction sign out front suggested a new building was to take it's place.

How would it fit in the neighborhood? All these homes are very similar and though some are unique in their presentation, the repetitiveness of the rows give familiarity to the neighborhood.

The neighborhood behind me, well, the neighbor before the neighbor before the...., well you get the picture, bought a plot of yard from another neighbor, cut down a huge and beautiful tree and built a three-story house. The style did not match any of the surrounding buildings, but the yard was kept clean and the family didn't cause a fuss, so the diversity fit in.

Other houses have been dropped in between rows of established families trough the years, but this was the first time I had seen a house demolished.

So this fall and winter and next year, I will watch what will come of this now plot of land.

Like the fallen trees from the hurricane, many lost their homes, but I could welcome them into my little plot of ground for safety, warmth, water and food.

Other than that, I can only observe.

Cooking

2011-09-20T20:08:00.001-07:00

It is a funny thing that the kitchen is most popular room in the house. All the pots and pans and water and heat giving all the household the process and space for preparation of food and chores of cleaning up, yet it can be a lonely place.

The kitchen is the meeting room, where you post the drawings of the children, put up the grocery list, calendars, with the television running and cook books stacked in corners, the microwave beep and hustle and bustle of preparing the next meal.

We seem to be consumed by the making of food spending hours cutting and slicing and sorting and shopping for ingredients to fill our bellies, then starting all over again.

Stores are filled with appliances to make the process easier and faster and cleaner with the latest additions of timers and ice makers without a thought of what we really enjoy about being in the kitchen.

Yes, the preparation of food, if done correctly and properly can be an exciting experience with the reward of a wonderful tasting meal, but is that all?

Over the summer, I realized it was too hot to cook, not that I was all that adventurous into the cuisine.

My mother was not a great chef but she fed her boys every night. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, cheese and pickles sandwiches, dry scrambled eggs, milk, peanut butter (no jelly) sandwiches, and for a treat the hidden M&Ms were found, but we never starved.

We ate out occasionally, probably more than I remember due to my father’s connections with the food industry, with Chicken in the Rough, and S&K cafeteria, and Duson’s Steak House. Mostly ordered beef and potatoes that was the custom of the time. Big plates of fried chicken covered in honey and lots of biscuits or giant slices of roast beef or fried steak followed by huge desserts of chocolate pie was the norm.

But over the years, the taste buds change.

The routine of going to the grocery, selecting the products, and preparing the meal has not changed much, but what is wanted has.

Over the years, I’ve been exposed to many techniques of cooking. Grilling, baking, deep-fry, steamed, and stir-fry have all been experimented with outstanding results.

Now remember I grew up with a wealth of substance available to me. I did not think twice about pulling a steak out of the freezer, dropping it into an iron skillet and making a sandwich covered in mustard.

And as my taste buds matured, I found certain flavors I enjoyed and others I knew I should appreciate.

So the cool months come on and I realize this is the season to cook, since the summer was all sandwiches or chicken tenders and salads.

Last year I went through all the foods I thought I liked including flank steak (which I made in college as a special meal), peanut butter cookies, a variety of pizzas, stuffed potatoes, slow-cooked chili and stew, tacos, and even noodle dishes.

The conclusion was the preparation was fun, but the clean up was too much. Plus if you cook a huge pot of “stuff” you have to eat it for several days.

As the season turns, I am preparing myself for a new adventure into the realm of cooking. I’m not so interested in the spices, for after watching several cooking shows I know what they use and what I like.

I’m not so interested in following a cookbook or recipe because I can judge the intensity of the flavor and as any good cook will tell you, continue to taste through the process.

The fun of cooking is to share the experience with another and get a review on the final product.

If I cook alone during the cold and raining nights, I will reward myself with a glass of wine and toast my success.

Missing Work?

2011-09-20T17:44:00.000-07:00

Since the day is mostly filled with work related activities, what happens when you no longer work?

They call it retirement.

The time when you do not have to get up early, dress in formal attire, arrive at a location on a specific hour, mingle and interact with people you would not ordinarily associate with.

The alarm goes off and you can turn over and go back to sleep.

Now, it takes a while to get over the daily rut and stress in trying to accomplish goals set by an unknown management dictating visions of former accomplishments.

First the realization that one can do whatever without scrutiny is revealing. That immediately reduced the stress level. (Note: if there is someone else at home that is unaware of this occurrence, be empathetic.)

Second, as you settle into this new life, put your “work” clothes into a space where they won’t be seen.

For that matter, put all your “work” associated materials into a box and place them away. Later you can go through them and realize you do not need them anymore. If you want to save this junk it is up to you, but your kids won’t want them.

Third is to change your routine. Go out for a walk during that 10 o’clock meeting time. Have lunch at 2 o’clock instead of noon. Take a nap or work out in the garden in the afternoon instead of trying to wrap up the endless problems of the day.

It takes a while to realize what “not” working means, but it will sink in.

Dreams fascinated me. I kept having dreams of problems and people at work as if I was still there. Slowly, they started to fade away to problems in new situations with faces I did not recognize. Now I am awed by the stories that my brain creates for me in the darkness with people and situations I was unaware of.

Also, if you allow yourself, you can relax. There will still be the interactions between family and friends and the constant daily occurrences that are unpredictable, but there is time for YOU.

Like when you were a child, the day is yours to explore and the adventure can behold wonders not covered up by the daily grind but available for the viewing as it always was.

This time, you get to learn who you really are. Without the restrictions of the work-a-day world your inner self comes out.

If you want to volunteer, do so. If you want to enjoy your family, do so. If you want to find a new relationship with your maker, do so. If you want to be a beach bum, do so.

It is up to you. These are the “golden years”, but the other side of the coin is the purpose for being on the planet, the reason for existence, is evident.

So the goal of growing up, being educated, finding substantial employment, and making a life for yourself, suddenly comes to an end; what will you do?

I thought about some opportunities that became available to me, but I compared them to the economy and the market and the daily stress and decided not to follow that path. I was lucky enough to be able to make that decision.

Looking back I learned a lot and met some wonderful people and had some good times, but missing work?

After two years, I get calls from old associates telling me tales from the office, yet I sincerely don’t care.

It is not a bad feeling. I know someone has taken my chair. Someone else is doing my duties. Someone will fill the void.

But I have accomplished more than I had anticipated, so I can release the balloon and relax.

Losing Interest

2011-09-16T19:31:00.000-07:00

This is a Carol King song I liked for some time and in review, I understand it better.

"Pierre"

[Prologue:]
There was once a boy named Pierre
Who only would say, I don't care!
Read his story, my friend, for you'll find
At the end that a suitable
Moral lies there

[Chapter I]

One day his mother said
When Pierre climbed out of bed
-Good morning, darling boy, you are my only joy
Pierre said-I don't care!
-What would you like to eat?
-I don't care!
-Some lovely cream of wheat?
-I don't care!
-Don't sit backwards in your chair
-I don't care!
-Or pour syrup on your hair
-I don't care!
-You are acting like a clown
-I don't care!
-And we have to go to town
-I don't care!
-Don't you want to come, my dear?
-I don't care!
-Would you rather stay right here?
-I don't care!
So his mother left him there

[Chapter II]

His father said-Get off your head
Or I will march you up to bed!
Pierre said-I don't care!
-I would think that you could see -
-I don't care!
-Your head is where your feet should be!
-I don't care!
-If you keep standing upside down -
-I don't care!
-We'll never get to town
-I don't care!
-If only you would say, I care
-I don't care!
-I'd let you fold the folding chair
-I don't care!
So his parents left him there
They didn't take him anywhere

[Chapter III]

Now as the night began to fall
A hungry lion paid a call
He looked Pierre right in the eye
And asked him if he'd like to die
Pierre said-I don't care!
-I can eat you, don't you see?
-I don't care!
-And you will be inside of me
-I don't care!
-Then you will never have to bother -
-I don't care!
-With a mother and a father
-I don't care!
-Is that all you have to say?
-I don't care!
-Then I'll eat you, if I may
-I don't care!
So the lion ate Pierre

[Chapter IV]

arriving home at six o'clock
His parents had a dreadful shock!
They found the lion sick in bed and cried
-Pierre is surely dead!
They pulled the lion by the hair
they hit him with the folding chair
His mother asked-Where is Pierre?
The lion answered-I don't care!
His father said-Pierre's in there!

[Chapter V]

They rushed the lion into town
The doctor shook him up and down
And when the lion gave a roar
Pierre fell out upon the floor
He rubbed his eyes and scratched his head
And laughed because he wasn't dead
His mother cried and held him tight
His father asked-Are you alright?
Pierre said-I am feeling fine
Please take me home, it's half past nine

The lion said-If you would care
To climb on me, I'll take you there
Then everyone looked at Pierre
Who shouted-Yes, indeed, I care!
The lion took them home to rest
And stayed on as a weekend guest
The moral of Pierre is: CARE!

Perhaps it age or time, but I realize I am losing interest in so many of the things that filled my time and space.

Things that used to interest me are now boring. Even football.

Sure football is the only sport I ever paid attention to, but it was only for the coaching, yet now it is so predictable that I’ve become bored watching a game. I even turn down the sound and listen to music while watching it, but there are too many commercials for autos or pizzas to keep my attention. If I miss something there will be replays or I can catch it on the web.

Maybe it is the “microwave mentality” that forces me to surf through channels where Dr. Phil presents a set of actors describing some heinous symptom of bad behavior so he can cast ratings, or RR will mix up another burger with the same ingredients, or old time antenna television showing crummy movies surrounded by terrible commercials for lawyers, guns and money.

Books, magazines, television shows, even music on the popular radio bores me. I look at the bestseller list and find no interest in fiction or fact or even biographies of people I don’t care about. The magazines are filled will advertisements and little reveling information. Television, which has always been a visual wasteland, now presents flash and fluff with little substance. Even the “news” shows have talking heads with little credibility for analyst or viable thoughts.

Internet messages about celebrities I do not know or care about bores me. I look at the movie trailers realizing I have just seen the best scenes. Without an interest in flash and burn and special effects or vampires or zombies or stupid gooey predictable love stories, I avoid the popcorn and sticky floors of the darkness.

Even walking through the super market looking at noodles, tomatoes, potatoes, tacos, ice cream, chips, frozen dinners, baby food, depends…. None of these things interest me. I survive by preparing minimal easy food that doesn’t require a lot of prep time or clean up. The important part is to stay hydrated. Perhaps in the cooler months ahead, cooking will occupy my time while the rain and snow comes?

I look at the latest technology and wonder what will it do for me? I go to the shopping centers and walk away empty handed. I walk past restaurants with little desire for there preparations.

Every now and then something catches my eye or ear or my fancy, but now it quickly fades because it doesn’t meet my expectations. Maybe I have high expectations.

Even conversations must present themselves as thrilling or unexpected yet I find them only to become boring and a waste of sharing air.

So what interest me?

Finding a feather on the ground left by one of my buddies after a feeding, not in a panic of attack for they know they are protected here, but as an afterthought.

A light and shadow pattern on the road or a distant sound of a crow chasing a hawk.

On a cool morning ride, the smell of fall filling your nostrils takes your breath away.

Stopping at a stop light with a girl on a three-wheel bike and commenting on it with her response that I also had a nice bike before we smiled and rode off in different directions.

The bright sky in the morning, the silence of the darkness of night and the comfort of the wooden stalks protruding from the ground around me holding an array of furry creatures, some of which I will never see.

A sound of fireworks in the distance and knowing it is the baseball team celebration.

So many things have lost importance through the years, yet a few remain to keep my curiosity of the future.

Music still fascinates me, though I listen to more of the classical now. A phrase or riff can always catch my ear, but I only listen to music that I know. Even the music I grew up with when replayed becomes dull due to little evolution.

Expression will catch my eye and ear if creative and innovative, but it takes a lot to make me follow it. I don’t want to be disappointed by the second act.

So as the weather grows cooler, the windows will close quieting the crickets. Surrounded by four walls without the escape of freedom into the sunlight, I must reevaluate my interest.

Check the project list, but this winter music will be a main interest. I’ve got a lot of recording and writing to do, so it is now the season to get busy.

Telephone Etiquette

2011-09-10T10:35:00.001-07:00

What happens when you don’t identify yourself or confirm the caller?

Me: Hello

? Girl (with party sounds in the background): Hi

Me: Hi

? Girl: Did I wake you?

Me: No

? Girl: I thought you might have gone to bed already

Me: OK

? Girl: mumble mumble??

Me: Ok

? Girl: Are they in bed?

Me: Yes

? Girl: mumble, mumble

Me: Sure

? Girl: Are you sure it is OK?

Me: Sure

Click. I hang up so this doesn’t go any further. Two minutes later the phone rings again with the same number. I don’t pick it up this time.

Me: Hello

? Guy: Dude

Me: Dude

? Guy: Just wanted to make sure I can use your truck this weekend.

Me: Sure

? Guy: And that loaned I asked about last night. I really need it. Peggy has to have an anniversary present and I just don’t, well you already know cause we talked about it. She is kinda like really mad if she doesn’t get…

Me: Yeah

? Guy: I can swing by about five if that is good for you to pick up the truck.

Me: Do you know who this is?

? Guy: (pause) Hank?

Me: Nope

? Guy: (pause)

Me: Dude you got the wrong number.

Click

Me: Hello

? : I want a large pepperoni and black olive pizza

Me: Sure

? : And a large cola

Me; Sure

? : Wait. What? (he speaks to someone in the background). No make those two large pizzas. One with pepperoni and black olives and the other one with pineapple and sausage.

Me: (waiting)

? : And two colas and an order of breadstix.

Me: Address

? : (gives me an address)

Me: OK, it will be there in 30-minutes of less or it is FREE!

Click.

Oh, I thought you were talking to me.

2011-09-06T17:26:00.001-07:00

Since it has been a rainy day and kinda of cool and I’ve already seen the news and played the guitar and had my dinner and bath, I thought I’d sit down and write about one of my favorite subjects: communication.

I probably like this subject since I spent much of my time in advertising that is a type of communication. Imagine a room full of people who are all talking and there is one guy over in the corner yelling. That is advertising.

Advertising is sort of the rock star of communication. It has to be flashy and trashy and in your face to get our attention for the purpose of advertising is to sell you something you didn’t know you wanted or needed.

But enough of that, this started when I got my electrical power back to enjoy the creature comfort of watching the news and there was this report about the progress of returning the rest of the world to the state of light. A representative or spokesman or whatever they call the guys who read the script was Skyped to the news station to answer the obvious. He was pleasant looking and well mannered in a calm setting with a frustrating objective.

He smiled and answered the reporter’s questions in what I call “govspeak” which means he didn’t tell the viewer anything new or important, but gave the impression he was communicating with the public.

When asked how the work was proceeding, he responded the crews working “diligently” to restore power in overwhelming circumstances.

Then he reflected questions showing the companies feelings by expressing he understood the “challenges” their customers were going through, with great pathos.

Continuing with his infomercial he noted the on-going information of where the crews were working was to be the “transparency” required by the public.

At the end of the presentation I only wondered what had he really said?

He had used all the buzzwords and the politically correct procedure to present a positive public relations piece to the blurry-eyed public, but nothing was said.

In this day of microwave mentality, we send electronic messages and comment at the blink of an eye with little to no meaning. It is a kneejerk reaction to another’s statement.

Back in the day of letters, each word scratched out on paper had to take the trip from the mind to hand with a thought of proper sentence structure and the overall meaning of each phrase. Some letters were written several times to get what was hoped the reader would comprehend.

And face-to-face communication may be totally lost. It used to be called conversation, but today I find it lacking.

Few comment to each other in passing and if so they make bland statements like, “How are you doing?” (Which we all know they don’t really want to know) or if you say “Thank You” to someone his or her response is “No Problem.” (Don’t get me started on that one).

Then talking, actual conversation with another humanoid takes many paths I never expected or realized before. Some start at one point and then turn into disgusting complaints. Some start on personal introspective revelations only to turn in to bombastic egotistic self-pity. Some start on the usual format of family, health, wealth, and food before quickly declining into an abyss of lack of interest.

When there is no interest between the compatriots, there is little else to say.

There was a time when people gathered, without distinction of race, religion, or ideology to discuss the topics of the day. Each was respected for their point of view to present to the group broadening the thought process. Even if the communication became heated at the end, everyone gained.

The self-absorption of today allows us to immediately converse to others our pains and complaints and problems without a thought of the listener. If the other person talks of their plans, we are all too quick to give our opinion and directions without any basis of knowledge.

If we continue the path of electronic communication, will we loose our voice? Why speak to one another if we can just text them. LOL.

And if we lose our voices, how will we ever again sing?

So I speak out loud every day.

“Hello Bluejay.” “Hello Petie. Do you want a peanut?” “Hello crows.” “Hello Bun-Bun.” I say out loud to ears that stop and try to respond but do not understand the language.

If anyone else hears me, I’m sure they will be calling the men with the white jackets that tie in the back, but these are the only ones I have a meaningful conversation with.

Creature Comforts

2011-09-04T20:35:00.001-07:00

Recently, due to inclement weather, the electrical power was interrupted.

So a few days there were no creature comforts. The electronic devices that conform our daily life were useless. No television, no radio, no CDs, no fans, no lights, no refrigeration, no cooking, no washing cloths, and no computer.

Did this blip in electrical server change our lives?

To some it seems to.

Neighbors went out and bought generators to keep the connections with the outside world and the dead animal products fresh. Others decided to pack up and move to another place where there was electricity.

Is this power source this important to our every day life? Do we have to have the creature comforts to survive?

Yes, I adjusted my environment around the change, ultimately knowing that the big trucks would come in and bring back the power.

And soon the truck appeared and the lights came back on.

But in the meantime, I didn’t miss any of the elements of creature comforts.

Television is a global wasteland with little to offer now, the repeated playing of CDs I’ve heard many times before were not missed, without light when darkness fell seemed to be the time to rest until the sun arose the next day, and food can be prepared without electricity.

Of course, this situation may not be as comfortable as the normal routine, but one learns to adapt. If not, how can we adjust to the future?

So when the power goes out, get a glass of water and sit outside on the porch. It is an amazing world out there that we miss everyday.

Unplugged

2011-08-31T18:18:00.000-07:00

Day 1-

About 5:50 PM, the power went out. Don’t know why? Hurricane Irene is blowing through this town. The lights have flickered a few times and a few power boxes sparked and popped.

Now the electricity is defiantly off.

Sirens go down Patterson from East to West probably to the hospital. Other than that it is the wind and rain and silence.

Been sitting out in Mansland watching the yard. There is a branch on the cherry tree that has been chewing on by the critters and it seems it will take a hurricane to make it fail. Pop! Another breaker goes off in the distance like a gunshot.

So being easily entertained, I watch the limb ply under the rain and the wind. I will take Mother Nature takes its course. The critter crewe seem to be handling this weather pretty well. The ritual to return to the usual feeding areas to find them empty with an excuse note and a promise of treats tomorrow.

It has been a well-needed rain and wind to clean out the trees. Maybe I won’t have that pizza tonight., but I’m not hungry.

Likely I won’t watch the football schedule tonight. Maybe just strum the guitar by candlelight or sit on the porch feeling the mist and thinking about past times at the beach in such weather.

The branch continues to sway under the weight of soaking while my friends find solstices in yesterday’s remains.

Now that the power is out, good time to think about cutting the holly that is rubbing on the neighbor’s power line. (But that didn’t happen).

30 mph winds eliminate the thought. Maybe if the power is out for a couple of days. Maybe tomorrow?

The weather is supposed to clear tomorrow with heat and humidity. It will be fun to ride around the neighborhood and see what happened. Another siren.

I should go upstairs and see if there are any kind of leak, but if there are what am I going to do about it? I don’t even have any weather gear. My only protection from the rain is a light nylon jacket.

Wonder when everyone is driving today? Where do they “have” to go? Glad to see the critters congregate around. There is plenty of shelter here with bushes, and trees and they can even gather under Mansland.

Do I need the power to come on? Well a pizza for dinner would be nice, but not a necessity.

What about tomorrow?

One day at a time. Another distant explosion. Sleep may come early tonight. No communications with the rest of the world. Only my little island is secure.

Wonder if the mail came? Think I’ll go and check. Another distant explosion. I think our grid is done for the night or the baseball team is having fireworks in the worst I way.

I sit outside on the porch having brought in my wet mail. Seeing some of the branches down, I’ll wait till tomorrow to clean them up. I’m already wet sitting on the damp cushions.

The little birds come join me finding a brief respect from the weather. I have nothing else to offer them for the evening.

There is not major damage I can see, but the wild ones must coop with this unusable weather.

No one is walking his or her dog. No one is pushing baby carriage. On one is jogging. Across the street the wind seems to blow more fiercely.

Perhaps tall fences on both sides silence the pain. Without gutter the rain pours off the roof into giant lakes. Second set of bullets will keep me refreshed and occupied.

All is silent (except for the wind). No activity from any neighbors is observed. I notice across the street a tree that had definitely gone bad had been taken down. Probably good timing.

It will be fun to go around the neighborhood to see what has changed.

It is almost chilly enough to put on a sweatshirt, so I will.

On one side it sounds like the ocean, the other side the mountains in the fall. A small fire truck rolls by and stops just across the intersection.

I hear voices, but can’t make out the messages. Red lights flashing but no sirens.

I’m very proud of my elm out front. While others wind and sing, she stands strong perhaps knowing she harbors the critters crewes children.

Checked the windows upstairs and everything appears to be tight. The fire truck backs up then off it turns and escapes into the darkness.

Imagine the phone lines are busy with no one getting to the internet or television Like the pioneers days, what you see around you is what is happening. A tree frog welcomes the night.

A white SUV drives by with only one resident. What is so important to go out tonight?

The mobile machines sit silently in rows. They don’t care about he weather. And they just await more fossil fuel., like the rows of houses without electricity.

Lighting and rolling thunder take the neighborhood. What is next? Flash lights across the street to many houses trying to cope.

Sleet filled rain drives me inside writing by cell phone light.

Put on sweats then went outside. Can’t resist the environment. The house is ark inside yet everything is where it was and familiar. Another siren, but id doesn’t’ stop here.

8:41. The wind seems have slacken. Maybe it is over?

Think about guitar chords but need to trim my nails again. What is it about my nails that grow so fast?

Where is that light coming from?

The moon reflects the light from the other side of the world. By now the batteries on the computers have died. To every house is dark. Much like the beach. Wind blowing a constant mist in my face.

Very refreshing at night.

One of the rough things is going to the pee pee / poo poo tank in the dark.

Some of you boys have learned to side down, but men (like dogs) are to pee standing up, hoping to hit the mark. Stilt duano or puppy continues in the dark.

Played guitar for a while given it some moistly from the coast. Good for wood, bad for strings. Smell of asphalt in the air.

I’m really enjoying this.

Outside in the damp and blowing the cricket are chirping. The rest is silent. The door blows open but I don’t’ care. There is something special about being in this air. These cars have spotlights that would make a movie sight blush. Neighbors hide inside, but they will be disappointed by the wonder.

I applaud a jogger as she runs by appreciating the effort to try. She waves and continues on her path.

Every now and ten there is a flash of light but only a passing car.

Day 2-

Woke up to the sounds of the next door neighbor’s leaf blower at 9 am. Must be preparing for the Good Housekeeping. Then there are the lawn movers. Something to do to use fossil fuel.

Bright sunshine and cool breeze. Still no power but days after a hurricane are beautiful. People driving around and walking, children noises and dogs barking. Pick up sticks is the game to play. Neighbors are actually talking to each other over the incident. “How about you….? “ Have to see if the highway branch went down.

Pen and paper still work without power. People probably have cabin fever (even though on most days the stay inside hooked to their electronics) and have to drive somewhere to consume something.

Now what to do with the children who are used to being absorbed by video games and television?

Time to finish my water and take a ride around the neighborhood, then replinst the tummies of those who weathered the wind and rain.

Ride – talk to one of the neighbors who was sweeping her deck. She said she was fine but pointed to the corner lot. The tree in the backyard had split taking out a fence and power lines. Maybe they were the ones who blocked the road?

Weaving around debris and almost being decapitated by a downed line, I see groups of neighbors doing what Richmond residents do the best, clean the leaves to keep up with the appearance of the neighborhood while complaining.

Got a cell phone call from a friend to see if I needed anything. Nice gesture, but I’m good.

The roads are filed with rubberneckers. Guess there is nothing to do until church. Of course won’t know what churches are close because there is no television.

I wonder what those guys thing staring at cameras knowing no one is watching?

Already the sound of generators and chain saws fill the air.

Trash buys will be busy tomorrow it the sticks. Today will be warm so I’ll wait for the heat and break up sticks tomorrow. Besides got to feed the critters. Power trucks are out but they got a lot to do.

Went to the store to reload and it had the audacity to be closed. Luckily everyone sells beer, so I wandered down to a CVS to see what other necessities were being purchased after a hurricane. Coffee filters, cigarettes, tampons and the usual adult beverages.

Perhaps this is a good day for food in paper? On my return I remember the critter crewe, so I gave them p-nut butter sandwiches. Also forgot batteries for the radio. The governor flew over then flew back again. Maybe he forgot his wallet. The other neighbors fill her recycling bin with spent bottles.

Without the steady hiss of air conditioners you can here people talking isnside their houses. Looks like no football tonight. No computer No CDs.

Perhaps a nap or perhaps a drawing? Perhaps some strumming on the guitar. Maybe wait for the beer to kick in to decide. Extra amount of traffic today. It is Sunday but is is a sign of cabin fever. Oh, yeah, the road is closed.

Wondered how many people ordered take out? Perhaps I should sweep up the leaves? Nah, wait till tomorrow when all those yahoos go back to work. I wonder how hot it gets in t hose high-rise buildings without air conditioning?

Maybe they won’t be able to work. Sure can’t work from home.

New dynamic of driving: Get in our car, start the engine, but before rolling, pick up your cell phone, check messages, text, call your BFF, then move forward.

A couple gets into a car parked in front of my house. The wave. I wave back. I have no idea who these people are. They drive off.

Watching a yard monkey eating the elms leaves tips haning upside down by his toes. Must be good stuff. I’m easily entertained.

Bun-bun made it safe. She stops by to say “Hi” then hops off to the backyard buffett.

Talk to the next door neighbor about surviving the wind and rain. I tell her what I saw in my bike ride through the hood She reminds me that she is still teaching yoga? Who asked? Fill a trashcan full of sticks then sit back down to cool off. My gas selling neighbor rides his huge truck by in rainbow sunglasses with a generator in the back. Another truck with a generator, then another. It seems to be tough to be unplugged

Good day to have a chain saw. Bad day to be an insurance agent.

Headphone radio confirms that most of the state is unplugged. Another delivery of what?

So what do you do when you move back to the early 20^th century? Candle lite, cooking over an open fire, traveling by foot, talking face-to-face. Entertaining yourself by whatever means are available.

The birds start to settle in for the evening. Why are all the Catholic schools closed? And William and Mary? What is with the Tribe? Oops, the Gryphon’s? Oops, the Tribe…. They don’t seem to know what to call themselves. Yawn.

Big couple walks by again with a baby carriage looking very uninterested. Blond walks down the street staring over. You got to look at something when you walk. The neighbor drives off as I find with ½ p-nut butter on multi-grand bread sandwich. Can you survive on p-nut butter and beer?

Running children followed by a ong parade of baby manufacturers.

Time to clip the nails. Every time you see a light it is a car.

The crickets welcome the silence of he darkness as the birds find their resting spots.

Started to call someone but decided to save the battery. How does ADT work when the power is out?

The rumbling generators and a barking dog are the only sounds in a dead neighborhood.

Much different evening. The lasting writing by the cell phone light. The smell of griddles. Everyone is quiet with the kaleidoscope of lives reflecting across the house form the hi-beams driving by. What do Rednecks do in the dark? Fireworks, again.

Day 3-

Awoken by the trash men. A man caring a computer bag walks down the street singing.

It is funny thinking about being away from Facebook and email.

I am truly unplugged from the world. But as everyone else goes back to work…to tell each other tales I will prepare for the morning ride.

Siren in the distance and two dogs howl across the street echoed in an empty house like the hounds of Baskerville. What will I find this morning?

See how much the city did yesterday? The roads will probably be filled with home repair trucks, and tree removal trucks, and power trucks. Time to ride. Not a city truck in sight, except for one with a guy taking pictures. The woman with him wearing the day-glo vest must be the driver. Only one tree has been cut. This is taking longer than I thought

So my second adventure was to do my usual Sunday route a day later. The fan seemed to have power with everything long pretty normal. More kids on bikes (including skirts on bikes, much appreciated) due to the school being open, but little other traffic.

Turned up Nansmond (my favorite street) to see if any grocery stores were opened.

Wow! Parking lot was full. Locked up and ventured inside the refurnished store. Beautiful wide isles and produce section. Searched for what I needed, seed, p-nuts, blueberries and beer, then stared to the thing checkout lines. Goofy conversation while bagging, but I made it out OK.

Home and headphones to classical after feeding the yard. The critters were hungry and seem to enjoy the meal. Although it is hot I calm down by watching the critter scramble. Cut up some more sticks.

Talk to the neighbor who has cut up her downed tree and happy there was no worst damage.

Pretty girl in red t-shirt runs by and waves. More sirens. Must be 5:00. Won’t save again until I have power. Cold beans for dinner. Yumm! Hot sauce, pepper and salt. One neighbor comes home while another one leaves. Maybe going to a hotel is the answer? Get excited about the sound of big trucks. Smell of a grill for dinner.

A couple walks by but she is not who you married. Watch birds enjoy the seed treat without fear. I seed the trees for the cardinals, blue and gray jays, and robins enjoying their chatter throughout the hood in the evening breeze. Bike boy goes by glowing. I applaud.

Enjoy watching the headlight beams on the darken houses etching a fast motion picture through the patterns of the leaves. Take a deep breathe through the nose (yoga tells you that and listen to jazz that my father probably played. Interesting, traffic seems to be traveling north and south on Westmoreland now? What has changed? Maybe the markers that the road is closed don’t mean anything after the darkness moves in?

Day 4-

Tree trucks rumble by and a chickadee is pecking on a tree with great velocity. When there is no power there is still movement. A feather floats down softly landing on the grass blending with the downed leaves. Watching the yard monkeys run through their highway in wild abandon like children.

People should be starting to stink now. A lone woman walks slowly down the sidewalk across the street. Contemplate the yard with its texture, shades, layers of colors. It is a peaceful place.

On the morning ride, one tree cut and moved and one that was on a house completely removed. All the others trees are the same. One half peanut butter sandwich on multi-grain bread with water for lunch. Time to restock the critter crewe and reload. This trip is an adventure avoiding fallen trees and crossing a bridge which still spooks me. Up the hill into a dodge with a car backing in the bank parking lot. Between a row of parked cars and yellow tape showing a new parking lot I weave into the bike lot I noticed yesterday. Decide to double the p-nut purchase since they were such a hit yesterday. Back home safe going into the daily feeding routine to the appreciation of hungry faces. Cut up some more sticks and move a down branch to cut up tomorrow with a handsaw. Afternoon of watching the critter crewe do what they do while hydrating. The bug spray helps. Listen to the NPR reports of food grown in test tubes and wonderful music. A power trucks rolls down the alley.

So I lock up Mansland and go inside for another can of cold beans on the porch. A toe headed boy runs down the sidewalk while a gorls yell up, “Look daddy! Look what I found!”

I look up and the porch light is on. I walked inside and it was true. Electrical power had been resumed. Good thing I checked around along the way because the hot water machine had been hit somewhere and was turned on and cooking water. Three loud booms sound off to the east. I am cautious of the permanent nature of having power again. I wonder of the surge turning on the switch to the grid brings? I never turned anything off, except the computer.

I could go in and watch television or listen to music or work on the computer and catch up on all the content of social media, but I’ve sort of appreciated this time of being unplugged. Might just turn everything off again to enjoy.

To top it off, the ice cream truck is back playing “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes.”

A Hurricane Story

2011-08-27T11:42:00.000-07:00

Since I seem to be stranded, but there is really no place to go, I decided to write a hurricane story.

It is 5 o’clock somewhere, even if it is a warm adult beverage (I don’t ask for much), I started looking for photos of hurricanes. I’ve been through many, some bad some not so much, and then I found this drawing.

The illustration was created by Dwayne Carpenter (always give credit to the artist) for a poster the Richmond Times-Dispatch did as a “Thank You” token for working through a hurricane.

I believe it was Isabel, but I could never get girls names straight. The newspaper knew a hurricane was coming and wanted to get prepared. They “asked” for volunteers to work through the night incase there were any problems.

Now newspapers have produced news in bad weather before, but for some reason they wanted to keep their usual schedule, so a team of designers volunteered to bring in sleeping bags and spend the night in their cubicles.

Remember the newspaper’s normal deadline is 10 pm and everything is digital, so it doesn’t take that long to send a newspaper 11 miles to the Hanover printing facility. With that said, we had our team at the ready.

And of course, ALL the supervisors “volunteered” to stay, except two who would relieve us in the morning. I guess it was a feather in your hat if you stayed up all night at work.

My wife wasn’t thrill about sitting at home alone in a hurricane, but she realized work-is-work and I’ve had plenty of overnight stays before, so off I went to work at 7 am.

Getting off the bus, the sky was blue and bright without any sign of bad weather coming.

A usual workday went by, but at the shift change, everyone but a few left. We were in for the evening.

The pages of the next day’s newspaper went quickly due to the newsroom wanted to leave as early as possible. The lights flickered once or twice, but we never lost power.

With the deadline met, some of the designers continued to work, clearing up all the work normally left over for the next day. About midnight, one of the supervisors told them to stop. Each found a spot to curl up and slept in the ever-increasing warm building.

Standing in one of the floor to ceiling windows, we could see the rain going sideways, but being in such a huge concrete monolith, there was very little sound of the wind.

The phone rang at the traffic desk and I assumed it was the pressroom asking for another page to be resent. To my surprise, I was some girl from the Virginia Pilot. In a panicked voice she said they might be sending up their newspaper, since their printing plant was getting the brunt of the hurricane. She said she would call back and hung up.

To my surprise, it seemed somebody had made arrangements with the Virginia Pilot that if they could not print, they would send us their pages and we would forward them to our presses to print (after our paper of course). Unfortunately this information had never trickled down to the people who would have to take the task, so when she called back, we exchanged information about our FTP sites and began the transfer.

Now this is a fast and well-practiced procedure on normal days, but the power was constantly shifting at the beach. The file format appeared to be PDF, but we had not tested any of the pages beforehand.

Once it was confirmed that all the pages had been received, we began the process to send them to Hanover. Our standard operating procedure for checking the pages is to view each color separation of every page. To our amazement, all the black was separating into full color.

So getting the best minds together, waking up some, we tried several tricks to change the outcome, with little success. The problem was in the settings making the PDF files.

Calling back, we tried to instruct the Pilot’s staff how to correct it at their in. (Now remember this is 2am and they are being blown around pretty good). They tried but could not correct the problem, so we sent all the pages in full color. It was a waste of time and materials due to poor pre-planning.

During our sending the pages, the Pilot called and said they could print, so we didn’t have to worry about it any more.

By now, it was 4 in the morning and everyone retired to their cubicles to rest. The wind continued to blow trash around outside, but little other could be witness except for a heavy rain.

Once I am up past midnight, I have problems going to sleep, so I just caught on some paperwork until dawn. I called my wife, but she didn’t answer the phone.

The morning staff came in all refreshed without any stories of the horror I would find outside. Passing the keys to the shop over, I packed up my little bag and walked out into the beautiful morning.

In a moment I realized there was no public transportation running, so I was going to have to hike it. As I walked up Broad Street, which was usually quiet, I could see very little damage. At VCU, there were a few bricks blown of a 100-year-old building. Turning into the Fan, everything seemed normal until at Strawberry Street there was an old tree down across Park Avenue. Figuring the downed tree was just a fluke I continued my journey.

Once passed the Powhite I turned into my neighborhood. Huge trees crisscrossed the streets wrapped in power lines.

Walking gingerly around and over I began to wonder what I would find when I got home. Would the 60-year-old house still be standing? Would all those trees that were hand planted be uprooted?

The house was still standing and a quick review of the yard seemed fine. One small tree in the back had fallen over and there were sticks all over the yard, but not bad looking at the surrounding neighborhood.

My wife said the whole house was shaking so she went to sleep. Not a bad plan.

Without electricity, I was summoned to go to the grocery store to get ice. So without sleep for 24 hours, I saddled up and rode over and around branches to find the store open for business. Water, ice, bread, and alcohol were in abundance.

The next few days, with the power out, we would walk up to a convenience store that did have power and get a cup of coffee. No television meant ready books in the sunlight or playing guitars or battery powered radios. Neighbors ran extension cords across the street to offer others generator power. Sandwiches and open fire grilled food seemed to get up by for the days of camping. Sleep when it gets dark, wake up when it gets light.

Of course, being the dedicated person I am, I was back at work the next day to hear the complaints from others.

So hurricanes are all how you take them. We need the rain. The lost of creature comforts make us appreciate them more when they return.

That’s the end of my hurricane story.

Remember the outdoor critters have to go through this interrupting their daily survival with unknown terror. Give them a treat tomorrow.

Blue Jay

2011-08-25T18:13:00.000-07:00

A blue jay died in my yard yesterday.

Well, I think so.

I walked up to the house and saw this blue jay standing under a bush a few feet away. I stopped and expected it to fly off, but it didn’t.

As I slowly walked past, I noticed it had its eyes closed.

Perhaps it was asleep, so I moved softly.

On the way back, it still stood still as I passed giving it enough space if panicked, but there was no fear, only stillness.

I looked around and the rest of the yard seemed normal. The usual feeding frenzy of small brown and grey creatures followed by squawking blue and red and brown variety of feathered friends.

Perhaps it was sick. Perhaps it was the Grackles. Perhaps it had been injured with all the activity in the yard. Perhaps it was just old age.

I had put out enough food and water for all to share and consume, but this one bird was on my mind. From previous experience I knew there was nothing I could do.

The day went on, but I wonder about this big blue bird that had decided to rest in Puppywoods.

I try to create an environment for all the critters to be well fed and feel safe.

I watched at the others continued in their activities. They gave the Jay space but went on with their own affairs.

Recently, a preacher friend of mine talked about giving funeral services of strangers. Trying to describe the final resting of someone you don’t know, hit a chord.

These guys who I talk to everyday as if they could understand me come and go through the yard with wild abandon like children running through a park with no supervision. They take from the abundance without a single “Thank You” but learn to return the next day at the same time.

And yet here was a beautiful blue bird, standing proudly in its last moments of life. It had decided this was a good spot to end the journey.

I locked up Mansland and proceeded slowly to the house when I noticed the blue jay had lain down. Completely still on the ground with no indications of injuries, I seemed calm.

I stopped for a moment to take in what may be its last breath, and then decided to move inside and let its body rest through the night. Tomorrow I will make it a bed under Puppywoods.

The next morning I was awoken by the squawks of blue jays. The yard was awake.

Knowing my duty, I went outside to find the body was gone.

Perhaps it had been sleeping and flew off. Perhaps the night creatures had done the funeral arrangements.

Not a feather or any sigh or struggle existed. Instead the critters embarked on their daily ventures.

Now most people are saying, “ It’s just a bird.”

These are my friends who I talk to everyday. They are my company. They are my entertainment. They are the Puppywood’s family.

So today, there was an extra treat of sunflower seeds and a family of five blue jays arrived singing sweet songs.