The clock ticks slower than my breath as the nurses crisscross in the hallway.
Midnight streetlights glow far below our hospital room.
Drug addled and weary my bride sleeps in the bed.
My son snores his first snores in the plastic bin crib.
I stare up at the ceiling from the narrow couch.
I’m trying to recall who I was before today.
I’m having trouble.
It seems irrelevant because it is.
Everything has become useless and trivial, save what’s in this room with me now.
The people in the parking lot are but extras, and the nurses.
A new movie has begun and my part for the rest of my life is clearly defined.
So far ‘vacation’ has been just all right. It sounds weird calling it ‘vacation’ for some reason, but I’m not working so that’s what it’s going to be.
The weather isn’t cooperating. 40 degrees and raining isn’t my idea of vacation weather. I don’t know what I expected the first week of February, but my book and I will get over it together.
Not that I had any outdoor activities planned. It would just be nice if it wasn’t so cold and wet on the way to the mall or dinner.
Friday looks like it will be a nicer day in the Metroplex. I’m sure my brother Paul will want to go geocaching. I MIGHT let him drag me out. I’ll bet we go to Dave and Buster’s Friday night. That has become a tradition.
Saturday is going to be the big day. I can’t wait. Shannon and I have reservations at The Worthington Renaissance Fort Worth Hotel in downtown Fort Worth. Schakolad Chocolate Factory, Cowtown Cattlepen Maze, The Flying Saucer, and maybe a museum are all on the itinerary. Exploring Sundance Square in downtown just looks like fun.
That night however, is going to be my best friend Erik Carrillo’s birthday party. He’s turning 30. I’m sure it will be rowdy and wild and uncalled for. Last I heard though, he’s going to be made to work that day so keep your fingers crossed. He’s been going on and on about how much fun it’s going to be. I’d hate for his day to be ruined by work.
If I’m still alive and not in jail, Shannon and I will enjoy breakfast at the hotel the next day and go to a Super Bowl party with Erik. Erik is a ridiculous Colts fan. Really, I wish he’d just go ahead and marry Peyton Manning already so we can stop hearing about how awesome he is. Man crushes are just gross.
I’ve got the Saints in this one. Everyone is saying it’s going to be a high scoring game. In my experience, that usually means the opposite. Saints win 24-20
We’ll be leaving and driving back Monday morning.
I had this dream like 10 years ago. I’ve never been able to forget it.
I was in a tropical rain forest. There was more green than I had ever seen. Twinkles of light filtered through the canopy and led me to the bluest pool. Into the blue fell a picturesque waterfall 100 feet in height. All around the pool were cliffs of easily climbed volcanic rock. I climbed to an overhang about 20 feet above the deep clear water. I dove in. As I hit the surface it was clear this was no ordinary pool. My body wasn’t as buoyant as it should have been, and I sank deeper than the distance I had fallen. It was difficult to resurface from the depths. I wasn’t alarmed by this. Instead I was intrigued and climbed the black cliffs higher than before. From over 30 feet I simply swanned into the mystery pool. As I split the surface the water pulled me down with malice. A fear grabbed me. I fought back to the air and broke the surface with a gasping strain. The fear quickly subsided and was washed away by a calm confidence and serenity. The next thing I knew I was standing at the highest point over the bluest pool in the most luscious forest feeling the most joy I’d ever known. I dove never to surface again.
Thursday of last week both Shannon and I were off work. I cooked breakfast like I like to do, and we vegged out half the day. Then, late in the afternoon we ran some errands and went to the bookstore where we enjoyed some tasty coffee. Hunter was a BIG hit at the bookstore. A young, seriously pregnant lady with a t-shirt that read “Yep, I’m pregnant.” kept saying how cute he was. It was dark and time for dinner by the time we returned home. We decided to try something new for both of us - Cornish Game Hen. We bought two prepared and stuffed hens after getting some advice from the butcher on how best to bake them. Paired with some steamed veggies and mashed potatoes they were delicious.
After dinner a thought occurred to me, “I haven’t smoked a cigarette all day.” It was the urge to smoke that reminded me. However, the thought of smoking a cigarette wasn’t as interesting as the idea of NOT smoking. I checked my pack and saw there was only one cigarette left. I didn’t want to smoke it, so I broke it in half. I quit smoking . . . again.
The last time I quit had been relatively easy and lasted about 3 months. Unfortunately, the loss of my job provided an excuse for me to start up again. I was forced to return to a job I thought I had left far behind, and in turn I picked up the old habit again too.
Key to every smoker’s habit is the first cigarette of the day. Most smokers indulge their habit first thing in the morning. I’ve never done that. The first thing I do each morning is shower, brush my teeth, and all that. My first cigarette of the day was always in my car/truck on the way to work. Recently, I haven’t been working as much, and when I do I don’t go in until 1 or even 3 in the afternoon. So, some days I wouldn’t smoke until more than half of the day was gone. It seemed I was a part time smoker with a part time job. From there it was little more than a happy accident to go a whole day without smoking. To my logic, there just wasn’t anything left to keep me a smoker. So I quit and I only slightly miss it.
The city Parks officer rang our doorbell at about a quarter to 3. It was a bright August day in ‘87. I was 7 years old. My brothers and I knew why she had come. As my dad answered the door we hid in the kitchen so we could hear and not be seen.
“My name is Shirley and I’m with the City Parks and Recreation Department.” She was a big women with a crew cut on top of a great big head. ‘Butch’ my dad would later call her. Shirley explained that she had followed us from the park and needed to talk about what we’d been doing. My father listened intently it seemed, but I could sense a smirk on his face.
“Do you know what a Mississippi Kite is sir?” My dad replied that he didn’t. “It’s an endangered bird of prey. One of them is nesting in the park where I saw your sons throwing rocks at it.” This was entirely true.
Exactly how we discovered the Mississippi Kite I can’t recall, but we weren’t the first to notice her. We were the first, I think, to play with her. Throwing rocks was boring and pointless really. There was no way any of us could hit her even though she was huge. The bird had a wingspan of about four feet from what we could tell, and we had a pretty good idea since we found a way to get it to attack us. What we did was get her attention with a rock or two, and then we would ride our bikes up a man made hill some distance away. The hill was about 30 feet high and smooth all the way down which made it a perfect launching point. After the bird was sufficiently aware we were some sort of danger to her eggs, or chicks or whatever she had up there, we would tear ass down the hill and cross a clearing in the trees. Once the rider entered the clearing, the Kite would instinctively swoop down from the trees and buzz the rider. It was an incredible rush to see a falcon-like bird flapping its wings, looking straight at you, and whizzing by at a high rate of speed. The goal was to get to the other side of the clearing and remain on your bike. Most often we’d ditch just as the bird passed over. I guess we were scared it would claw our eyes out or something. We did this almost everyday for a week, until Shirley caught us. We were throwing rocks to get the bird’s attention when we saw a truck coming through the park in our direction. Instinctively we ran.
After Shirley finished explaining the situation, she revealed that no one was in any trouble as long as we left the endangered beast alone.
Dad couldn’t resist asking a couple of questions.
“How many of these ‘Mississippi Kites’ are there?” He said the name as if it were someone’s imaginary friend.
“Less than a thousand.” Butch replied.
“Well, I only have 3 boys. Who’s more endangered?” Butch walked away shaking here sizable head, and my dad shut the door with a smile.
Commercials drive me crazy, especially when one product tries to compare itself to another by using the phrase, “compared to the leading brand”. What are these people thinking? If their product is so great? Why is the other product leading? How did “the leading brand” get to be the leading brand? Advertising? I would assume so. So how are we to believe THIS commercial? It just bothers me, but not as much as the creepy Snuggle fabric softener bear who was explains it.
This tactic must have tweaked the “leading brand” guys, because they twisted the phrase in their own commercials. Now there was a great big bald man telling us how his products clean so much better than “the NEXT leading brand”. The “next leading brand” isn’t leading anything. If something isn’t in front it can’t be leading and shouldn’t be referred to as doing any such thing. It’s a nice way of saying “The losers”.
This reminds me of the time when I was in Little League and referred to myself as the second clean-up hitter, because I was batting 8th. Yeah, I was trying sell that one, and no one was buying.
Claustrophobic mirage of tangled webs,
Caustic thoughts and mangled heads,
Electronic voices call,
Broken hearts they fall and fall,
Unspoken choice is no choice at all. . .
Each way is a wrong turn,
Each word is the wrong thing to say,
Each sunny day is a burn.
I don’t know how it will end,
’till then, IF is my only friend.
Do you ever wonder why weather people describe the wind in terms of where it’s coming from rather than where it’s going? I always have. It seems contrary to everything about wind. If the wind is coming from the north, flags point south, windsocks point south, and sail boats have an easier time sailing south. So why does everyone call it a “north” wind? They should call it a “south” wind.
Okay, I haven’t used this site at all like I thought I would. I know that’s okay because I say it’s okay and if any of you have a problem with that you know what you can do and how hard you should do it. But seriously, I should really be posting more often. Not necessarily for you, but for me. I feel better after I’ve bashed something out on here.
I have to start by saying it’s getting to be my favorite time of year. The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting cooler, football has started, and the smell of October baseball is somewhere out there like the winning lotto ticket. We already have some Halloween decorations up. I love Halloween, and having a little one makes it all the more exciting! It’s hard to decide which completely ridiculous and demeaning outfit to put Hunter in. Gotta do it before he gets older and wants to be something dumb like Handy Manny or Superman. Speaking of Hunter . . .
He’s doing great.
He loves to grab the TV remote and change the channel, spill stuff, offer you something and take it back laughing, run, hug our cats, take baths, go bye bye, carry stuff around with him, blow raspberries over and over and over, take a bath, eat popsicles, be chased, and flirt with strangers.
He hates to be told “no”, sleep, see you leave, fall down, and eat prunes (the baby food).
As you can see, he doesn’t dislike much. One of his new favorite things to do is turn lights on and off. From his playpen he can reach the lamp unless you put it on the floor. He’s almost always smiling, happy, and genuinely fascinated by the world around him.
Somewhere down the line,
my vision will be mine,
like the owl in the light of the moon,
there’s nothing but invisible you.
Somewhere in the incense smoke,
your prayers, in layers, float,
like the fire burning in my eyes,
there’s invisible hope in disguise.
Somewhere I’ll be waiting,
Somewhere I’ll be holding on.
With my eyes closed and breathe baitng.
With invisible you leading on.
