Love's Direction

STORY:

I find it much easier to speak about love being in a long term and very loving relationship. I also have the benefit of a very loving family and small group of friends for life. Family love may go without explanation (although sadly for some families it may not be so), but "friends for life" is worth discussing.

I think "friends for life" is the elder version of "BFF" sans the tech-no-speak. These are the people that are there for you (and you for them) during critical times. People that comfort you when you are hurt and tell you the truth or lie to you when you need it as well. People you would go to the wall for and you know they would be there if you had a need.

Just like any relationship things can be said and done that are hurtful and cruel or your lives can drift apart from the momentum of living itself. "Friends for life" is what it is though. These people you can feel good about re-connecting with at any time and voila' there you are again like nothing had been missed.

I think all this love stuff really starts with at least liking yourself and then giving a part of that when you reach out to another. Then the chemistry starts to happen!

POEM:

Love's Direction

7/30/11

Isn’t it just a funny place to go

looking for love high and low

no compass points that care to settle

drawn to every metal pot and kettle

as winds will blow we spin and twist

like frantic archaeologists

desperate users, we need a fix

of doctor love’s special mix

what tools can sift the precious lode

to find true love as we’ve been told

no true north or south

this is how love trips start out

the sun and stars no help at all

close your eyes babe and fall

Young at Any Age

STORY:

I could sit here and write about getting older. It would be somewhat predictable as conversations go.

1. Time seems to go faster the older I get.
2. If this is the golden years, well they are not so golden.
3. Would'a, could'a should'a when I was younger.
4. Let's compare medical charts.
et cetera, et cetera, on and on, ad infinitum!

Truth is, I never thought about getting older/aging, illness and/or death until it started happening around and to me. Somehow I kept myself sheltered, disconnected and distant from the thought of "an end".

I fell in deep like with all the advertising images - older men and women scaling Mt. Everest, riding bicycles effortlessly over mountain trails, eating and drinking whatever and whenever they want. There's a right medication for every little malfunction that might occur, so not to worry.

Then there are the "mind-tricks" to play - power of positive thinking - set aside 30 minutes a day to deal with your worries - self-affirmations posted as reminders - do crossword puzzles to keep your mind active and engaged, again on-and-on and on-and -on.

The clock is real. It only goes one way. It is ticking right now. It does not stop. Everything else is pretend.

Get your thoughts down while you are able.


E-MAIL:

OK - so this poem was sparked by a line from a TV show, GLEE. One that we watch every week, at least in this house. Last night was the finale for the season and aside from several choice moments, the one that struck me the most was offered by the air-head character (one of my favorites), Brittany. She was talking heart to heart with her best bud Santana and had a few lucid moments in which she says, "Family is where you love no matter what." So I thought that it was an important enough idea to toss around a bit.

Some time ago I mentioned I felt I wanted to be less selfish. One of the things I felt selfish about was being so hard on people in my family in an effort to make me feel better inside. Most of the time it comes across and is meant as humour but it is ironic humour which can be hurtful. Unfortunately I absolutely love irony and I believe I will not be able to stop. Besides there are probably so many other things I have said and done that have hurt others feelings and/or pissed people off that I can't stop the one part of me I actually entertain myself with. I guess that means I'll continue to be selfish but please know that I love you, I am generally harmless and I have no ill intent No Matter What.

Love Ya

POEM:

No Matter What

05/25/11

We don’t have much

but we have what we need

Not a perfect way to talk

but the right words to speak

Not the same shared faith

but belief in one another

We have a different place in time

but we are always sisters and brothers

Feelings may get bruised by life’s events

but we must apply the salve of forgiveness

When it comes down to the heart of it

family is where you love each other no matter what

The Heart of Charlotte Beach Park

STORY:


Charlotte Beach Park in Rochester, NY was one of my favorite places to go when I was a kid. Over the years there were many different ways we used to get there. First was a ride in the family car, followed closely by city bus down Lake Avenue, bicycle, hitchhiking (thumbing), in friends cars and eventually my own ride.

Whatever the mode of transportation to get us there the activities that followed were the same. We would change into our bathing suits in the locker room, pin locker keys to our trunks, barefoot dash through the hot hot sand to set up the blanket or towels, then a dash into the cold clear (relatively speaking) water. Play tag or catch with a ball and do hand stands underwater.

Eventually we would end up walking out the length of the pier that controlled the flow of the muddy Genesee River into Lake Ontario. There we would watch the pleasure boats come in and out, wishing we could be on one of them. The river had a different (ripe and fishier) smell than the lake for sure. We could only imagine what it was like to go so far out into the lake and get an even better view of Canada on the north side.

Usually included in the day was a few rides on the merry-go-round to try and grab the brass ring. There was only one brass ring per ride and whoever was lucky enough to grab it got a free repeat ride! Amazing enough, the ride is still there (ring grab is gone I'm guessing)!

The day would also include lunch at the Char-Pit (steak sandwich) and a chocolate almond custard cone from Abbott's Frozen Custard stand. Both places almost always had a line cued up to get service, but the wait was worth it, yummm! Just try to keep up licking the cone as it melts on a hot summer day!!


E-MAIL:

Hi,
Isn't this sick? Sorry to bother you again, but I have this continuing need to reach out to you all. I really could stop probably, maybe, but not really. I have these thoughts that are spilling out as poems and these notes.
Please know that I am sending these because I love you and value whatever connection we are able to maintain.
I also feel a sense of urgency about keeping our connections alive and maybe trying to improve them some.
I think that I have felt this need to connect much more since dad passed away. Even though I had seen him almost daily since being laid off in 2009, I still miss him and wish he was with us today (of course as his vibrant self).

This poem is about holding on to each other and to our children the best we can. Even through the times we don't see eye to eye. Even if we have to sacrifice or swallow our own pride or "principles" to do so. Someone has to make the move and keep on making the move and reaching out.
OK big bag of wind that I am.
Love ya,

POEM:

The Carousel Ride

05/21/11

How can I reach across time

and spend only a dime

to sit atop a brightly painted horse, a rabbit or unicorn

spinning to the sound of shrill Wurlitzer pipes

on the Charlotte Park Merry-Go-Round.

Close my eyes and make a wish

take my best swipe at the mechanized arm

hoping to snag the brass ring for a charm

can I reach across time and revive

the innocence that lived in your eyes

the promises I made to love you forever

as I held you in my arms my dear

and whispered an endless stream

of hopes and dreams gently in your ear

how can we possibly tarnish this prize

we have spent our lifetimes to realize

we have no room for such selfish things

there are so few turns of our carousel

and no other rings

My Ticker & The Cost of Doing Business

This is a brief recounting of a day at the cardiologist for my first ever "Stress Test". I felt so grown up (old) to be taking part in such a complex procedure. I actually ran the gambit of test, from least invasive to a half-day procedure in the hospital. This is just the middle part, the stress test segment.

After being hooked up for 24 hours or so, I turned in the Holter monitor "On Time" and asked for a receipt saying so. Nit picky? - I don't think so. Late fee would be another $50 and missing (or unreturned) unit $1,500!!

The Tech who shaved my chest hair and put on the electrode pads was a very kindly looking older lady. As she ripped off the pads it was apparent that for each one of the six there was a little floating of the placement that ended up snagging on some unshaved hairs. As I was trying to distract my mind from the pain I was wondering if it wasn't similar to the feeling a fish might have when removing a hook? Did I mention there were six electrode pads?

Stress test today - another $50 office visit co-pay, more shaving of the chest (asked him (different tech, thank goodness) to make sure he took plenty extra off and make a cool design). He smiled and said, "I already did." Funny :-/

He put 6 electrodes on me with wires hanging, a blood pressure cup thingy on my left arm dangling as I walked on the treadmill and an IV port in my right arm where the "NUCLEAR MEDIUM" was to be injected. I felt totally bionic.

Started walking at a nice pace but then -"gonna make it a little steeper - gonna make it a little faster" (repeated twice more!). "H-ow mu-ch l-on-ger?" I blurted out as I huffed and puffed. He says "15 seconds" and I immediately start counting down. Finally I reach minus five and he starts to shut it down. I am grateful. Then I sit down catch my breath - in goes the nuclear stuff. It doesn't feel nuclear, whatever that might feel like.

On to the X-ray table for 15 minutes while a rotating Death Star Mechanism looking thing-a-ma-bob slowly navigated around my sides and chest. "Mr. Decker, breathe normally but lay perfectly still."

Tech leaves the room as I close my eyes so as not to look directly at the DSM-a-ma-bob. I hear the techies talking and laughing in the other room. I'm sure they're talking about me. I think one of them is eating a sandwich and laughing with her mouth full.

"All done for now come back in 3 and a half hours." He rips off the glued on pads quickly. I still have the IV port in. Can I eat?  "Yes have lunch but no physical activity we want some pictures of your heart at rest." OK.

At 12:30 repeat of "on the X-ray table" glues fewer electrodes on, then when done rips them off and takes out the IV port. I think he got some skin this time - He smiled. "The doctor will review your charts and give you a call."

As I said it was not the beginning or the end of my days with the cardiology office, but it was an interesting time. In the end, after all the tests, the doctor said he wished he had my heart. I took that to mean that he had a very very healthy heart and mine looked even better.  However I might think twice about going to see him again because I don't want any inadvertent heart swapping going on when I least expect it. He is a good doctor though. I really really really like him.

Sunrise Street

STORY:


Our house on Sunrise Street was unique in the neighborhood. A side by side three story duplex with a full basement and attic on a corner lot. One side (my aunt, uncle and three cousins) faced Avis  St. and the other (our half) faced on Sunrise St.. Our half was the only house with a Sunrise St. address. The pitch of the roof brings to mind the look an odd "A" frame Swiss Chalet.

I didn't think of the chalet idea when I was a kid though. I just knew it was a good angle for throwing tennis balls against and catching them as they bounced back down. I did that for hours on end. I guess mom could at least tell where I was from the constant thump, thump, thump on the roof. It must have been a real treat!

My cousins, next door, had a wonderful dog for several years. His name was Shep and he was the very best friend any of us kids in the neighborhood could have. If we went off on an adventure to the woods by the railroad tracks or to snoop around the box factory, he was always there running back and forth between whoever was on the expedition, playfully panting and barking.

I can remember a few times he protected us from getting caught by a worker at the factory or other dogs in the area that were not quite welcoming. One day, when he got really old, he went off by himself, like he did sometimes, and just never came back.

Shep was the best dog ever!


E-MAIL:


Thinking about the old neighborhood today, probably because of Easter coming up and all.
I thought you might like these. Enjoy your Easter weekend.
Love Ya

POEMS:

Shep

The best dog ever was Shep

no pedigree was kept.

multi-dappled, mixed like scrapple,

quick as lightening, to others frightening

With us up and down the street,

Like a downtown cop he’d strut his beat

through the woods, between the tracks

We were his pride, his pack.

Life Was Easy (on Sunrise Street)

It was meant to be an easy task

getting there and coming back

run an errand quick and straight

no complex turns to navigate

Just down the street then up the hill

it shouldn’t be a test of will

so many times we’ve gone before

from Sunrise Street to the corner store

as kids we could ride a bike

trade penny bottles for sweets we like

walk the ledge on the corner church

jump down three feet and roll head first

thats how we learned agility

to roll on hills and climb a tree

of course we had our trips and falls

mistakes, I cannot count them all

It seemed so simple, get milk, a treat

then back up the hill on Avis Street

drop the bike out on the ground

three concrete steps and in we bound

The Rochester Season

THE STORY:

Sacred Heart Cathedral Church

I remember in grade school I played the trumpet in the band at Sacred Heart Cathedral School. Dad used to take me downtown for lessons at Levitz Music Store on South Ave. near Main St. We would walk up a steep flight of dark stairs to the row of small offices above the store.

All the office doors were painted black and had translucent glass on the top part. Inside there were a couple of chairs and a music stand in front of two of them. It was kind of scary and I really don't remember the teacher at all.

I think I was only there a few times for lessons but downstairs in the store with the instruments it was shiny brass, beautifully sculpted wood, dark oddly shaped cases and shelves full of sheet music books. Harmonicas, mouth pieces and other little accessories were stored in glass display cases. You could rent the instrument but you had to buy your own mouth piece. That was a magical place.

At some point in the early grades I was forced to make a choice between playing basketball for the school or playing in the band. I couldn't do both because there were too many scheduling conflicts. I had to make the decision all by myself.

On one hand playing music with my classmates wearing a blue button down shirt with a dark blue tie cinched around my neck. On the other hand two sets of shiny uniforms (home and away colors) with big bright numbers and a wonderful set of warm-ups to cover us in the cold gyms. Oh, and the basketball team had cheerleaders! The band, well not so much.

I did cry when I told the band leader though.


E-MAIL: 

Hi,
I don't know if its true or not but I always felt like I was hanging around with kids older than me and had to try harder to prove myself worthy of being included in their activities. I think I usually got included but still felt like I was a step behind.

Looking back, I think I had an extremely competitive edge to me on the sports/physical side and did not like being out done by anyone. Luckily there was some manner of coordination that allowed me to hang in with most challenges.

The same competitive spirit did not spill over to things academic however. In grade school at Sacred Heart I did pretty well without much effort but thats also where the idea of "not working up to my potential" started to settle in on the Conduct side of the Report Card. I don't think that was ever really explained to me but if it was I probably wasn't listening.

High school was a turning point. Aquinas was a very competitive school in academics, sports and on the social front. I had to work harder and actually apply myself to stay afloat and out of the way of the Basilian's swinging sticks and fiberglass rods. They called the corporal punishment "whacks" and detention was called "jugs". So I concentrated on the areas in which I could have success, sports and social stuff. The books well, not so much.

The social part had many layers to it but to simplify there was main stream, counter culture and hoods. There was some fluidity to participation in any of the layers and you could get caught by accident or intentionally playing in any part of it.

I found kinship in the counter-culture. Tell tale signs included listening to folk music (ala Pete Seeger, The Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul and Mary), WBBF or WSAY on the radio, playing Beach Boy LPs on the huge TV/Stereo Console in the living room and wearing tight pants to school. A short time later it morphed into mop top hair, The Beatles/English invasion music, beer blasts, dancing and being (or at least acting) generally "cool". For those of you that are younger, "The Hump" was a song by the Invictas and a dance as well. Probably one of the first US booty dances. I will demonstrate only if asked and the requester has to dance with me. Its not hard to learn ;- o Oh my.

The spirit of the poem morphs (my favorite word of the moment) through winter and summer. There is no sense of a real time sequence to it. Well, thats life I guess. BTW I think I've still got some summer in me.
Love Ya


THE POEM:

The Rochester Season

06/07/11

When I was a child I wanted to be like the older kids

and stay out after the streetlights went on

to see the light reflect off my breath in the chilled night air

I wanted to ride a two wheeler instead of a trike

and cross Dewey Avenue on my own

Kick the football over the telephone wires on Sunrise Street

hang out at Wallace’s, drink Vanilla Cokes and eat penny candy

Jump the fence for a football game at Marshall High

Take the bus downtown to the CYO for basketball, a swim

in the pool or a turn on the trampoline

Ride my bike to Charlotte Beach or Long Pond

bait my own hook and catch Sunfish and Perch

in the heat of summer

Walk all over the 10th Ward, drink beer

stay out all night, get a job

get a different job, chip in for gas to

follow “Wilmer Alexander Junior and the Dukes”,

“The Invictas” and “The Showstoppers” waiting in line

to dance my ass into a sweaty frenzy

with all the latest moves, being cool, not looking

doin’ The Hump Yea Yea

with fake IDs at Bristol Ski Lodge, Panorama and Clover Lanes, The 414 Club

getting a ride from dad to get to Tiny’s Bengal Inn

catching the last bus home smelling of soured Skip-And-Go-Naked

stopping late at Amiel’s for a fresh oily sub with sweet peppers

as the snow falls in the chill of the night air

I can see my breath

Summit Grove Park

THE STORY:

This is one part of growing up in Rochester, New York (circa. 1950-70) that seems to have a grasp on some fond memories of mine. Summit Grove Park is a narrow sliver of a neighborhood park when I see it today on Google Satellite view. It almost looks too small to do anything other than watch trees the grow.

However "back in the day" I believe it was a bit wider and the streets on both sides a bit narrower because it was the center attraction for a small army of baby-boomer kids to play tons of pre-teen games for hour upon hour. We seemed to have plenty of room and seldom broke any house windows (at least that we were caught for).

Yep, this was a time without computers, iphones/pads, x-boxes and most anything else other than a few basic "toys" and our own imaginations. We were outside running around, playing games, arguing and laughing most of our waking hours. Looking back I can say it was a glorious time to be a kid!




E-MAIL:

Yes - another poem from Jim -

I'm not sure why this boiled down to a poem about a game of marbles. I can't remember any specific game, but I do remember spending a whole lot of time in that small park playing tons of games with tons of kids. I recall capture the flag because the big tree at the east end of the park was one goal and the next big tree in the middle, down about 25 yards was the other. The center line was drawn across the park using two smaller trees almost exactly half way in between. That seemed to be a pretty hotly contested event.
I do recall risking my marble collection and sometimes coming home with a little bit lighter can from the losses. Marbles were quite beautiful and marvelous "toys" because of the colors, patterns and size variations and I hated loosing any of them.
I also remember playing "Movie Stars" on the steps in front of the McCarthy/Tracy house.

Do any of you remember special things about that park??
Love ya,


POEM:

Marbles For Keeps

for the Tracy, McCarthy and Pickworth families

05/20/11

Coffee cans rattle and click with each hurried stride

holding Aggie shooters and shiny Steelies inside,

cat’s eyes, solids and crystals colored orange, lemon and lime

all for two weeks allowance at Woolworth’s five and dime

a silent call to arms brings the neighborhood together

with similar glassy clanks and clatters.

A gang of broad ages behaving like family

at odds over game rules and results quite madly

In the dead center of Summit Grove Park

we played by street light ‘till well after dark

battlefield drawn where the grass wore away

by a thousand footsteps from kids at play

games of baseball, tag and capture the flag wars

between tall red oaks, maples and sycamores

no place for fresh brushed hair and neatly pressed clothes

just slit-knee jeans and Converse sneaks with flappy soles

The coarsely scratched circle in the most clear spot,

a hand full of treasured glass now a wagered lot,

throwing rock-paper-scissors to choose shooting order,

then down on two knees to watch the crude border

Taking turns to flick your Steelie on course

any marble bashed victims knocked out were yours

This was “Marbles For Keeps” as we used to say

Now I’ve lost my marbles but still want to play.

Ketchup On My Mind

E-MAIL:

Didn't start out that way but this turned out to be humor when I thought of our family's (especially mom's) penchant for ketchup on EVERYTHING. We really need to keep a sense of humor about life even if it needs some *ketchup on it every now and then. Our time together is too short.
* please substitute spice of choice here
Love you all


POEM:

Flavours

my mind is on full tilt

a leftover crammed refrigerator

rememberances stored in odd containers,

shapes and colors give clue to the keepsake inside

that I may rekindle a life-moment,

once again fill my senses

smell the aroma, feel the texture, taste the flavour

separate the spices on my palate,

a fine satisfaction deep inside.

Ah, what a meal

Pass the ketchup please!

Still Time

THE E-MAIL:

Hope you like this.
In the grand scheme of things we don't really have that much time together on this planet. That thought makes me more grateful for the moments we have together. It also makes me feel like I have been selfish with my time, not appreciated the connections we have as family and not invested enough effort in maintaining those connections.

(photo by Natashia Fuksman)

THE POEM:

Momentum

05/13/11

This moment is ours.

I wish it could last forever

but if not, I pray we will have tomorrow,

that tonight we will sleep with no concern and

by our embrace avoid the random sweeping grasp of time.

This moment is ours

yet I wish to awaken in the morning

as children and dreamers with no obligations to time.

Our new day, as our next breath passing over our lips,

holds all that will ever be

floating just above time itself.

Looking for Joy

Regardless of how you get there, joy, comfort and peace have to start and end in your own heart. I believe the thrill of it all is in the process itself. It is an endless process of self-discovery with every passing moment and change in circumstance. 

One point in time can never be exactly the same as any other and one's place in that moment can never be the same as anyone else. Ask and answer your own questions to find what you are looking for.

(Photo by Erin Decker)

Looking for Joy

07/10/11

“Hello, sorry to bother you right now

but maybe you could help me.

I have a question that has gone unanswered

it will only take a second of your time.

You see I am trying to find joy

and I wonder if you’ve seen it

I think it came your way

a friend told me, I believe.

He said you have been talking

about it for some time now.

He told me you were sure and

have all of the answers.

You know just where to find it

no mystery remains.

So I was wondering, if you did find it

would you share your joy with me?”

After a long pause in silence

a calm and soothing voice began to speak.

“I am sorry, I cannot do what you ask.

Its impossible to share whats mine alone.

Your friend was right, I have found joy

and I’ve been speaking of it for some time.

But don't despair, I can reassure you

The path to joy is in your own heart.

Ask your questions of yourself

and trust the answers your heart allows."

Blue Sky

Full Belly Sky View (photo by Natashia Fuksman)

Blue Sky

07/09/11

What about tomorrow will be new?

Will there be any time for me and you?

I can see today our sun does shine

and with you near me everything is fine

Our yesterday a game already played

we share this life in every single way

But what about tomorrow will be new?

Will the sky remember to be blue?

Will the sun come up for us once more

and lead us to a new day’s open door?

Who will hang the clouds high up above

to bring the rain and gently grow our love?

Will the bells in the church tower not ring?

Will music from our hearts forget to sing?

Will the sky remember to be blue

if I have to spend a moment without you?

Eat an Egg, Thank a Chicken

We take so much for granted as we go through our lives day to day. I think its nice (and sometimes fun) to stop and reflect on where our food comes from. We are so far removed from the origins of what we eat that most folks might say why bother?

I think there are few critters that are more productive and more a part of our diets than the chicken (Gallus Domesticus). So here is a shout out to all the hens out there and a big (tongue-in-beak) thank you. Your work does not go unnoticed. Oh boy, will this increase my flock of fowl-owers!

Chicken Pride

I thank the hens that on cue produce

their ovum for our dining use

Generous with their little peeps

knowing they are not for keeps

They pump them out with get up and go

every two to three days or so

Production at a break-neck pace

wing to wing, with little space

Lucky gals may have a loft

to let the egg settle soft

I hope to think they don't regret

their part to make my om-el-ette

If hens do have an emotional side

then may they feel some chicken pride

And when they settle for the night

dream of two eggs over light

These are the lucky ones!
(photo by Jansen Sterber, from his blog)

Justice For Caylee Anthony

O.K. So the state couldn't prove that Casey killed her daughter. They could only prove she lied to the authorities over and over again. I have to trust that justice was served, but I also know that Casey will never be "free" to live a normal life either (not that her life was normal to begin with).

When your own lawyer calls you a "liar and a slut" in open court and that works in your favor, where can you go from there in this world? Oh, she will probably make some big money off of this because we love a screwed up family, a good train wreck or accident scene and will pay to see it, but she is likely carrying a heavy load of shame right to her grave.

If not shame for the acts she carried out then shame for the burden of knowing the sick truths that lay at the bottom of that pit in the woods near her parent's house. A 2 year old does not get ACCIDENTALLY wrapped up with duct-tape, stuck in a garbage bag, carried to the woods and buried in a shallow hole without someone taking charge!

I have to believe there will be a reckoning for all those involved.

Some Assembly Required

So the USA did not come wrapped in a box with pretty colored paper and a long thick bow holding it together. There was no card attached with a meaningful heart-felt greeting for happy days. No booklet included with a list of packaged parts, required hand tools and step by step instructions on how to put it all together.

We the people did (and do) many of the atrocious acts that our founders spoke out and rebelled against and we speak out against today. In the name of our country, to "help" others find their way to believe what we believe in or to simply protect our interests, we have forced ourselves on other humans in ways that are at best uncomfortable for us to admit to or accept responsibility for. We are a flawed people.

We, like most any other country/government on this planet, are not perfect, but I do love being a part of this place and I am grateful for it. I am grateful for the freedoms we have and for founders that built a nation based on a voice for every person. Some assembly of the people is required and I hope we all know we are far from being done with the project.

The world is a vastly different place today than when the Declaration of Independence was created. The ability for any modern nation to be "independent" is being usurped by an ever increasing need for "interdependence" throughout the world.

I think it is time to realize and accept that peace and cooperation are necessary for the survival of all nations and all people. To do that , some assembly will be required.

This is the sound of me getting off the soap-box.

Dad's Birthday is Today

To celebrate what would have been dad's 86th birthday, (this is the first one we have reached since his passing), I offer this remembrance of him, in his honor and with all my love.

There were a few things dad did that may have bordered on excess. We are reminded by experts that almost anything in excess is probably not good for you and will catch up to you in "the end". In the end it was an early life excess that creeped in and took him from us (smoking), not the ones I write about here.

Dad loved to drink Manhattans sometimes by the hat-full. He would say, " The best Manhattan is made with cheap whisky and a splash of good vermouth." He found several kindred spirits in their retirement park and hardly a holiday, dance, pot-luck, "no reason" party and at times not even a day could go by without a serious buzz in the room by mid-afternoon.

He was a happy guy that loved to joke and laugh. The more the liquid courage flowed the jokier and laughier (and louder) he got. He was very entertaining. "The life of they party'" kind of guy.

Dad loved his family and would do anything at any time if asked. He frequently offered to help before being asked if he knew there was a need. I don't recall him ever looking for pay-back. I don't know if that constitutes an "excess" or not, but I am pretty sure it sustained him rather than hurt him. We have been blessed/lucky as a family to not have had too much tragedy. Drama we can do, on occasion, but for the most part, we have been beating the odds when it comes to deeply cutting unanticipated loss.

Moving on, dad loved to cook (particularly on the gas grill outside) but his favorite was breakfast. On any given Sunday he would make huge meals frying up a pound or more of bacon, eggs to order and toasting an entire loaf of bread, depending on the crowd (usually children and grandchildren). For himself however, he developed a morning ritual that lasted almost to his last day.

In advance he would grill up a big batch of blueberry pancakes. Each pancake was remarkably uniform in size (about the size of a teacup saucer) and in distribution of the berries. Not just a stack was grilled, but stacks and stacks. When he was done he would break them down, three to a pile, wrap them in that clear sticky wrap and pop them in the freezer. I think he liked them better out of the freezer and "nuked" rather than freshly grilled.

The breakfast meat he favored was hot Italian Sausage from Albertson's. Not the typical sweet little breakfast sausage links but the real deal you think of more in a tomato sauce over pasta. He would slice a link length-wise and slow fry it in a little butter, pressing it down in the pan to hold it's flat shape. I didn't see him do this, but I think sometimes he added a bit of crushed red pepper to ensure there was an undeniable spicy-fire inside each bite.

By the time the sausage was ready the entire house smelled of seared seasoned pork and would for at least an hour after he finished eating. He would "nuke" the pancakes for a minute, plate them with a pass or two of butter between each and lay the sausage across the top like a cherry on a sundae. Then he poured the Old Log Cabin maple syrup on, not just to coat the pancakes, but to cover the plate until the river of sweet goo almost ran over the edge. The act of pouring the syrup was usually accompanied by, "Ummm or Oooh!"

Mom would always say, "He eats like that (pointing at the plate in disgust) and I gain the weight!" That usually brought a smile to his lips, but didn't slow him down at all.

A half-teaspoon of sugar in his coffee and stir baby stir. Dad would work on the meat-topped stack like a surgeon. He made certain there was a piece of meat for every bite of pancake, no spillage of syrup over the edge and, as he made room from his progress, he would chase the dwindling lake of syrup around the plate to ensure adequate coverage per bite.

I remember at meals he used to be a very fast eater, said he learned that in the Army. This meal however, he took his time with and savored every single bite. There was never a morsel left.

I miss the smell of pan fried Italian Sausage and the sound of his spoon clanging and scraping across the inside of the cup. Ummm!

Hope you liked the story pop!

Reflection

I think taking time for yourself to just sit back and "empty the brain" for a moment is a terribly difficult thing for most of us to do. At least it is for me. I'm not referring to falling asleep at night or napping during the day. I'm talking about something like a relaxation therapy exercises or meditation.

I mean our lives are so full of things to do, places to go and people to see aren't they? So lets take a few minutes to really dig down and pull the plug. If you are really a task driven, "type A" go getter, super achiever, Energizer Bunny kind of a character, think of this as a personal challenge to enrich your psyche and make you stronger to race through everything else you do.

Yes, recharge your psyche! A reminder that your core is people too. Remember, the more you do anything the better you get at it. This is to be read slowly with a lot of pauses. Maybe even have someone read it to you as you go off. Think of this as a starting point and above all - Enjoy the trip!

Reflection

07/02/11

You are amazing, what you glean

when you hold still and breathe

It is wonderful, what you hear

when you fall silent and give ear

beautiful colors and magic unfold

as your eyes slowly close

Release your minds-eye away

from the trials of the day

Look beyond the shallows of now

past the depths of all you know

Lift up on the wings of your angels

give them full latitude, etherial trust

This is you, where you are

this is your place to be free

Embrace all you have of yourself

in these moments of splendid reprieve

Blind Butterfly

                                                                                                                   

THE E-MAIL:

All,
Prolific day trimming the bushes and palms out front. True - a beautiful yellow butterfly kept landing on our red Azalea bush as I happened to be sitting down taking a break in the shade with some cold water to drink.

I thought, "what an excuse to go in the house and write a poem!" It is a hot hot day. I did go out and do some more work but now I'm officially beat. By the way, Vicki is the blind butterfly of my life in so many ways, but I'm not letting go of her.

Mom and Donna coming over for chicken salad and/or Grilled Stuffed Salmon before I take D. to the airport.
Love Ya

THE POEM:

Blind Butterfly

06/11/11

Little butterfly do you not have eyes

beautiful yellow wings

so delicate as you fly

a purposeful route around me

What could I be to attract such attention

from one with marked time

and fine feature definition

I am not special like you

my life has no symmetry

nothing to cause a glance

for such a gem to pause

You make me think I’m a flower.

The butterfly spoke, Oh yes I have eyes

I can see where the wind takes me

and it brought me to you

I depend on the wind for my life

it finds me sweet flowers

and places to rest

and it brought me to you

You are my flower or my shelter

I do not know which

but I trust in the wind

It only matters that we have each other