Milk and Honey

Cookies and Milk.

 

I had my friend Bill,   we rode our bikes

and played together.   He had his own

friends and so did I.

 

 

On an Autumn day,  after the leaves

had fallen,  new neighbors moved in.

I watched them unpack

and I noticed a girl,  about my age.

 

My mom and her’s became friends,

and this girl came along too.

We eyed each other skeptically,

and the mothers had for us,

cookies and milk.

 

From then on,  we became fast friends too,

and our cookies and milk, as well.

Every morning with our bacon and eggs,

were fresh cookies and milk.

 

And each day,  when we walked to school,

our arms about each other’s shoulders..

In grade school even, with smiles on our faces

we walked to school and teased each other.

At home,  whenever we appeared were the

milk and cookies,  of course..

After our explaining each day,

we went outside and played, until

our mothers implored us, to come in and eat.

 

Pretty soon,  our classmates teased,

She was ‘cookies’ and myself,  ‘Milk.’

But we were best friends and we WERE

Cookies and Milk.

Never dreaming that that our

love could grow deeper and deeper.

 

Then one morning, I noticed a change.

Her boyishness figure was full of curves.

Her haired smell nice and her hands

felt warmer.

And instead of arms around each other’s

shoulders,  we walked hand in hand,

still ‘Milk’ and ‘Cookies’,  never apart.

 

We added a caveat, to our names,

for honey and baby,  entered the fray.

But still,  we were,  and forever

would be,  ‘Milk and Cookies’.

 

And as we grew, our journeys

went to different, and secret places

to discuss and wax over each other.

Milk and honey and but still

Milk and Cookies.

 

I carried her books,  hand in hand,

and our texts,  everywhere, and I meant,

everywhere!

Milk and Cookies,  Milk and Cookies.

We went on our journeys,  walking with each other,

Milk and Cookies and Cookies and Milk.

Inseparable as  wind and the rain,

dark and the setting sun,

We still were of course,

Milk and honey to us,

Cookies and milk,  to all others.

 

Cookies real name was Cheryl

and my name does not matter,

as you will soon see.

Milk and Cookies?

It started to rain overnight.

The fog held itself close.

 

In the morning,  the rain had ended.

That morning,  it was different,

and the do0r bell, went unanswered.

When my friend caught up to me,

he trembled,  with tears in his eyes.

I am sorry dear friend, truly, truly sorry.

 

I remember ‘Cookies’ and so did our

school,

Milk is all alone again,

and Cookies looking down.

but in my heart, they still.

MILK AND COOKIES.

COOKIES AND MILK…

Can we go back?

In a dream,  where are we?  Some imaginary land on a cliff or some quiet little town, in a place of bliss and solicitude?  And when  we awaken,  we are safe from fatal flaws.   Theoretical physics suggest alternative universes.   Looking from different angles,  suggests that we see things differently from different places.

But potential physics aside,  I wonder sometimes,  if these dreams are less esoteric than we think?   Let me tell you a story, that seems to encapsulate more than just randomness and fleeting imagination.  So here goes.

I had a girlfriend who was 16 and  I just turned 18.   I remember going to where she lived with her parents.  Her dad was a barber and had a small room on the front side of house, complete with a barber’s  temporal pole and the secular contradiction,  that this pole represents.   Complete with a menu, inside the business and 5 cent steaks and a complete meal for 15 cents.   Changes!

The house was replete with an upstairs bedroom,  a place I regarded with reverence.  While waiting for her one day,   I heard the song,  ‘Sundown’  by Gordon Lightfoot.  I wondered about her dressing (the hormone thing).  She looked like angel coming down the stairs,  her long hair flowing and like a muse, in her habitat

She was breathtakingly beautiful,  with a pretty dress, but at the same time,  an allstar highschool basketball player.   Kind of a tomboy.  She was enamored of my athletic prowess and me,  showing off and wanting the attention that that br0ught.   And I got it.   We hung out,  like statues in motion, riding a flying carpet,  delving into Christ and happy.   It was fun and more fun than the old hymns.

One Christmas,  we cuddled in the living room,  her parents in their bedroom and we were watching the Christmas log on WWOR in NYC. We caressed each other,  mixed with kisses and mistle toe.    We were largely quiet,  knowing her parents were not far off anyhow.   But that was a seminal moment in my life.

Later in the following year,   I signed up for the Air Force and things began to change.   We were okay until the Senior Prom and that went off pretty well and this time,  she looked better than any other ,  I  often was reminded of the song,   ‘We may never pass this way again’ and I began to feel a creeping solitude and like the  snow on the TV, a lacrymose curtain signaling an ultimate,  and unhappy ending.

Ultimately,  we parted,  as my first real love,  we could not sustain this love,  over such a long distance.   Bit by bit,  like colored leaves falling and the misty mornings,  she was no longer there.   I remember the song, ‘Sorry little boy in love’.    “And every tree that I passed by, seemed to whisper, sorry little boy in love”.  The parting was an ephermal end,  but there were little teases,  where I just missed, like the Mighty Casey striking out,  with a flourish.  So close and yet so far.

But the last page,  was different.   Lately, in my dreams,  she reappears.  Like a magic wand that was waved and the tragedy that seemed to get a reprieve.     One time,  I am riding a bike,  I think,  and I see her house in a requiem and her waving at me.   I was puzzled but moved past.

And last night,  intially she resented me then, as we were stuck in a large flood in a high building, and when we could go out,  her furtive glances suggested the acrimony and hope ,  that she seemed to harbor.   Mixed messages came,  and when I came up from behind,  asked her to give me a ride on her back,  she ended on my back and the warmth of her breath and the melting ice.  We were both young again,  her with her long hair and me with a love that was unrestrained hope, and a chance to fulfill destiny.

The implied reality is couched by a seeming resentment of the changes that have ocurred to her.   Her hair now short and her body somewhat frumpy.   I don’t see her as 0ld, or ugly,  frumpy or whatever.  Regardless,  there is a pining,  that will never subside,  like a one-way  high tide.

Her pulchritude has not diminished.  Her outward self-concept has crippled her, both in dream and in reality,  I am not sure of what that reality really is.    But I know,   under the antic rug,  lies a golden chalice or bronze ring.   I will never-the-less continue in my own reality and if this comes,  all the better.

 

Life of Illusion.

What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
Oscar Wilde

Why are we so mean?  Why do we need to rain on each other’s parades?    I was looking at youtube and observing some beautiful young women playing drums and they were very talented.     But invariably we have guys ripping the girls.  Talking about their lack of skill and so forth.     What is it with people?

One of the worst things are those ads,  the ones who talk about celebrities and their ‘ugly spouses”!     Really?  Or child stars who are now ugly according to those ads.    I for one,  think we need to take the logs out of our eyes before we diminish another person.    Case-in-point,  the Duggars!   Leave those young girls alone because in a few weeks this will pass over and I have to wonder,  what was the objective?

What’s next?  I remember Tiger Woods peccadilloes and the sense of shame and dishonor perpetrated on Wood’s wife. Not our lives,  not in the least.   I find it sad that people spend so much time piling on the misery of others.   I might respect those same people if they helped the indigent every day and sacrificed but no.  the evening news frames discussions whether they have any factual information to back it up. or not and the Cardinals debacle is yet another scandal that drives the politics of personal destruction.

Instead of finishing people off,  how about making things better.    You know you can go to a retirement community and sit with a forgotten elderly person.     Saw a news clip about a Rescue worker who dumped a terminally ill patient from a gurney at a hospice facility?   Is that who we are?   Hastening the demise of a terminally ill patient.

In the movie,  ‘The Doctor’.  William Hurt is shocked by the callousness of the medical profession and how dying people are degraded and dehumanized.   Diagnosed with Throat Cancer he sees firsthand the cold.  impersonal manner of healthcare professionals.    They sing ‘Why don’t we get drunk and screw’,  in front of the patients and the Doctor stated that he would wish his doctor cared less and cut straighter.    Until that is,  it is him who feels like yesterday,  today and tomorrow is the same and sitting in comfortable chairs with the future darkly lit before them.

The other day I was at Walmart and had a major seizure and the police were called in and I was put in restraints and according to medical people I was being combative.   I had wounds on my wrists from struggling and I just wonder how much is the stigma of being a veteran while in actuality I am a Meteorologist.   My brother told the officers and medical personnel that I am the quietest least combative person he knows.

Take a look around any day.    The British police run over an older man and they could have avoided that.   Where is the rule that consideration of human life matters.    The individual who taped the mouth of a dog with duck tape and caused so much suffering    Pit bulls running amok and terrorising the elderly and children.

Society is getting more hostile and resolutely mean to ‘those others’.    We are so worried about our own perception of ourselves that other people fade unless they commit a crime or offend us in some way.

Let’s start helping each other..   today,  please.

,

What a girl wants! What a girl needs!

I was watching a show called ‘Parks and Recreation‘.  I have fallen in love with the cast.   The girls are pretty, talented and on the same page.    The lead actress Amy Poehler hangs out with the other the regular ladies of the cast including Rashida Jones who likes the young girl played by Aubrey Plaza.      Rashida is one of the cutest/most beautiful ladies in Hollywood or anywhere else for that matter and her father is the famous Quincy Jones.  She appears to be as sincere in real life as she is on the show.   She made a comment that resonated with me by basically saying society has  hypersexualized today’s  young women and she is kind of a mentor to the uber cute Plaza.  A kind of big sister to the young Plaza who is really not really so far apart in age.    Women looking out for women especially the younger ladies who are trying to fit into the landscape of adulthood and they do not deserve the craven desires and sexist comments that diminish all women.

Aubrey has the most vexing eyes and her stares coverup the fact that she is a sweet young woman.   She started off playing a 17 year old and she looked the part. Her deadpan humor is well-suited to the likes of The old ‘Bob Newhart Show‘ but she puts off the vibe of a more cagey young woman.   If looks could kill,  she is a comedic serial killer of a kind.   Once acclimated to her style it is not hard to fall in love with the character.    But here is where it turns ugly.   And it is not her so much,  as the Paparazzi types who are nothing more than pedophiles seeking to deflower the innocent daughters and sisters of this world.

I am not sure when the sex video of her masturbating graphically on cam happened but this is precisely the thing that media needs to stop!  Now!    The hypersexualization of this young woman is evil, for lack of a better word.   At one moment she is an attractive teen and the next a 20-something molested by the  prying eyes of buttholes with no sense of respect.

The same could be said for the Olsen twins.   Both have medical problems but worse than that is that when they turned 18,  it was like Shark Week.   Every perverted guy and a few gals spewed all kinds of negative and salacious gossip,  pictures and DVDs of the young starlets.    The comments are so vile and trashy,  that if they were my kids I would be out to kick some perv ass.   

The girl from Harry Potter Hermione in the raw is the delight of many a grown man and the younger versions as well as the coming of age girl.    But really?    The Philippines are known for their beautiful young women,  who in one magazine are called,   ‘Little Brown Fuck Machines’.    That makes my blood boil!   I love the group from that country called “MYMP” (Make Your Mothers Proud) because it is in direct contrast to the meat market mentality of men and women who exploit young ladies and even girls and many guys too.

The media and gossip rags have a field day with the 20-something starlets whose parents prey upon their paychecks and disregard the grown up young lady who has to sort this all out.   Lindsay Lohann is the cause du jour for those stupid gossip columns.    Her mom and dad are both totally worthless.   Disney girls are no longer having their periods before the lecherous predators are picking away their nubile bodies.   No wonder Hannah Montana traded in her preteen audience for the lude and lascivious trappings of a virtual porn princess.   Making it worse is that tongue action and again with the parents.      The pretty young lady from American Horror Story,  Taissa  Farmiga is but another example. The gorgeous young starlet in the last season,  ‘The Coven‘  was having sex with a guy in the hospital and her sex caused the guy to bleed out.

Amanda Bynes,   Jennifer Love Hewitt (a name that just puts a target on the young lady).    Selena Gomez and the list goes on and on and on.   I can only think of two to three young girls who have essentially survived in tact and that being Melissa Joan Hart,   Annette Funicello and to some extent Shakira.   At least she has controlled her own sexuality but it seems there is a different mindset in other countries or at least some of them.    Working in a pharmaceutical with Cubans in Tampa,  the father of the owner had hassled his son at 13 to get laid.   To be a real man and to hell with the girl who then not good enough to marry. Huh?

So we have lowlifes like the members of NAMBLA,  a group’s motto which is,   If they are eight,  it’s too late!   We have sex trade workers and slasher movies whose young teens are running around in cut-off shorts,  big boobs and then are butchered like the fatted calf in a Jewish Ceremony in old Jerusalem.    In Conan the Barbarian,   Conan is given a porcelain,  perfectly complected young white girl and the narrator describing her ‘from the finest stock‘.    Women as property!  Chatel like Hershey kisses for the privileged Caligula-like characters.   In Conan,  James Earl Jones the nefarious leader has a young virgin jump from a cliff to her death.   His commentary:  “That is power.  The power of flesh.

But what are the answers,  the solutions to a problem that many could care less about.  It is safe to say that the punitive route gets us no farther along than revenge and prevention beats a headstone or the casualties of sexual assault any day.   To an extent,  Aileen Wuornos was punished for her PTSD and while no one can be certain that should would have done these things anyway,   I wonder at the callousness of a society whose morals are conditional and feeds their sense of entitlement.   If anything some of these middle class people are lying to themselves,  in that their relative good fortune was set out by providence or the collusion of dark matter and extra dimensional planes and not their intrinsic goodness.   For if they say that,  then the innocent girl may have had it coming.      We have had that happening forever now,  so that is nothing new.

Hollywood,  stop!  Lawmakers,  make laws that benefit all people and that more importantly are prophylactic measures against the abused who often turn out to be abusers as well.   The black teenage girl who here in NC was raped several times and had anxiety issues,  anger and a sense of hopelessness.   You bureaucrats may know the rules but often these same rules are passive-aggressive ways of making the hungry,  the homeless and the forgotten,  feel even worse about themselves as they did before.

Conservatives,  obviously the system is there to make money and by denying foot stamps to drug abusers make them more dangerous as now they are hungry and angry too.   Do not stigmatize those with mental problems because they won’t get treatment.   I would rather sexual predators to be safely housed and getting treatment in contrast to being on the streets or in the prison systems.   Gangsters killing gangsters.   That is a no win situation.

We know what the right thing to do is.   Jesse Jackson,  Al Sharpton and many others are indeed poverty pimps and for the price of  10, F-35s we can do a lot of good.   Stop applying for public service jobs like Food Stamp personnel and section eight housing recipients and then having an attitude against your clients,  the people you should be helping.

One lady at a VA Hospital was making fun of suicidal veterans.   She thought it funny to minimize their pain and hanging them in effigy.    Her job,  to help these same veterans.   Isn’t that special?

At-risk kids make for at-risk parents so we need to be generous,   Before long we will have our first trillionaires and already over 1,000 billionaires.   You would think they could do more since God or the cosmos placed you in your place.  You didn’t apply for your lot.

Wake up people before things get too far out of hand.   And you American-haters,  bite me.   No society has a premium on wisdom,  even amongst the wise we have fools who just happen to have a large safety net that they got by all forms of slavery and theft.

The last song hits home for me.   I remember watching this movie only two weeks before my daughter and I met after 15 years of being missing.   Essentially kidnapped by her Mom.   Dreams do come true and when I called and told her,  “Rachel this is your dad”.   I heard crying.   This is what a girl needs!.   Not bullying and the pressure to grow up too fast because we are too lazy or too preoccupied and do not give a crap by the pain we inflict on her.

Humpty Dumpty fell on a pillow. My daughter’s rebirth.

Her loss was my story and collective guilt,  though I doubt it could have been written any other way.   The threads of our lives were  caught in a whirlwind spinning outward. With so many pages left unturned.

 

 

Her life once existed as a mere thread, hinging upon other stories and other outcomes.    Fortunately grace was rendered in a quick thaw as the gathering cold was about to re-enter our lives.

The days now hung before us, as upon an icy fog;  it weighed us down and closed around us.   Shrouding secrets unknown and unbearable.  Now only memories challenged our dreams,  and painful new beginnings.    It was hard to know where we stood.

No time to consider,  less time to love

Where did it go, these feelings and these thoughts.

The smell of a baby and the touch of compassion.

 

My daughter came and went into a smoldering sadness and by an act of Providence or natural destiny flowered into something special once again.   I remember her tears as much as her words and the knowledge that some things cannot be undone.

Regardless,  the convergence of our lives were manifest destiny and the whims of a mother could not permanently divide.

 

She grew to realize that the lies were silly and I didn’t need to infer,  rather Rachel was blessed both in name and in spirit.     Her experiences gave her light in the darkness and I doted upon her.   We filled in as many blanks as we could and the answers met expectations as seamlessly as possible.

And about that time,  was a movie that I had watched.  A father and daughter separated by adversity and reunited in love.   A father’s love is priceless.   This I know now but I also know that a gentle hand brings favor.

 

The few moments I had in ‘88,   was like the black and white memories of an old show.  And at the moment of pitched blackness,  came the heralding of fulfillment.

 

Those few moments were like tiny seeds that fell deep into rich  soil and their maturity assured their health and their closure.  Both hers and then mine.

 

Life is sooooo good….

She Fell in Love. Can’t be help responsible!

Back in 1974,  I was a kid,   only 18 years and probably was witness in some way to a date rape.   It sure felt like it because as I was leaving out the dorm that night,  guys were pulling a train on a teen girl and some guy asked me if I wanted to have ‘some.’   I said, “no.”   And besides,  the choice of words haunts me too as well as the whimpering that went along with her disorientation.

I was so naive but a part of my soul has been tortured to this very day.   If I knew then what I know now,   I might have gone postal because I cannot imagine a crime worse than that.     You see,   she was drunk and whimpering.   Damnit.   That really pisses me off.  No girl asks for ‘it.’   Not for that.

 

But date rape characterizations are nothing new and for the longest time just generally accepted.   In the movie ‘Animal House’  the guy was contemplating having sex with a passed out underage girl.    Did she ask for it?  NO! Does it happen?   Hell ya!   Is it any wonder so many women want to spread the pain around.

Going a few years into my adult life,   I had a girl friend and she was given a roofie.    The net effect according to her,  was she never felt the same about anything!    Date-raped by her boss at the mall.   She and I went through hell afterwards and my anger @ jerkoffs intensifies.    My girlfriend was only pieces of ceramic,   like Humpty-Dumpty,  those pieces can’t always be fixed.

I suffer too,  knowing that seedy men with seditious desires lay in wait,   like Jack The Ripper or the Boston Strangler.   In these instances the pain is far worse than death.    It is a slow blood-letting of one’s spirit and sense of control.    We had great times and every once in awhile we would talk.

From her bosses abuse of her,  of us really,   she went on a self-destructive binge with an older guy who was a criminal.   Arrested for a crack ball and spending time in prison,   he seemed to like finding young victims.   Her sister said he liked to read magazines like ‘Barely Legal’ and ’18’.      Yeah one of those!    One day her sister gave me a journal she had written and she had talked to her sister about the parasite she was with and how she missed me and my steady decisions and what would I do in a particular situation.   She said I am the guy that returns the shopping cart.    For awhile I was miffed by that but then got the gist of what she was trying to express.     She also got a disease from this miscreant,   Herpes!

(She fell in love in the first place)))

For some reason these words tick me off.    An otherwise innocent girl and not perfect by any  means,   paid the price for both of you and you both should be ashamed.     And I harbor guilt for not being able to protect her from the smarmy underbelly of the beast that lurks with a touch of wind and a wiff of illicit drugs.

If her mom had not been a prostitute and subjected her to so much,   she might have been able to cry on her shoulders.    She could have  told her Mom what he said and did  and your Mom would turn away.   Flushed with anger and disappointment,  words she heard once upon a time. Now reverberating like a song that plays over and over on a music box.   The ballerina fell suddenly and her porcelain dreams laid like a million shards of what ifs.

So let’s examine some of the dubious comments made by men and boys and mostly they are one and the same.     Your high school heroes and high society icons flickered as capriciously as the stories of high school football players and date rapes.   The bottom-line being the reputation of the boys and a girl who was allegedly asking for it.    She was collateral damage in the game of cat and mouse.

He gave you wine or drugs and told you it was okay.    He promised you everything to dance in the sheets and tomorrow he denies that he even knew you or the things you said,  you couldn’t have meant,  if you did say them….

Their friends and influences probably had mixed emotions about the destruction,   from the boss to the drug abusing narcissist whose real romance is a synthetic cesspool of misery.   Both now share in a common malady with excuses and no care for the damage they were doing.

What once was a fairy tale happiness transmogrified into a hellish world of missed chances.   Where lightning does strike over and over again(in the same place) and the pain still flows,  if even now to more or less a trickle.     In the video above  Boy Meets Girl they dance and sing with a love that we all want and yet finally,  even they play a requiem to a love gone strange.     To me,   as I worked in the media in Tampa,   the song was a fresh time.   A promise.   Together with Paula Abdul’s ‘Straight up’,  it seemed life had spectacular promise,  even after a lost preemie and the mother who ran off for a decade and a half with our daughter.

But life has second chances even if those chances require some modifications to retrofit them to make them work.    I do remember what my daughter said about her 16th birthday and how much she loved me.   That that was her best birthday ever.   This after being lost to me from her early post natal days to about fifteen years later.    Still,   I would NOT change things too much because what if we never rediscovered that and that is why the blog about ‘Ten Years a Single Mother’  and her kids love for her touches my heart.   Kids get the connections and their love is pure if they are loved.

The theme of this entire post is what are we going to do.    Rather than just complain about the pain,  how can we fix a thing?   You,   I and many others have lived on both sides of the track and nothing……  nothing gets fixed by complaining.    We need to put people first because a warm place and a hot dinner matters.

To the abuse of women,  children and the vulnerable,   you and I can change the world.    I have a few things going now.    One is to get Emotional Support Animals and Service Pets for people who need them.    Let’s teach men and society in general how to treat a lady and your kids.    We need to focus on identifying potential abuse and treat the family not a case number but take care of it as a village.  With compassion.    No tolerance policies does not heal a family.    Making rules is what politicians do.   Why do we punish people like Aileen Wuornos the way we do?   Why not find out where at-risk people are and help?   That gives us all a better chance of surviving the obstacles in life.

From murderers to offenders of all kinds,   punishment is the easy part,   preventing tragedies can happen and should happen.    That takes  more than a Breathalyzer and seeing if you can walk a straight line.    How much better will this world be with solutions and not grandstanding politicians and other nabobs using the moment for  personal gain.

Education is the key to everything.   Not just laws but helping people be better people.    Not projecting how good we are,  but how good we can all be,  if we just try.   Ghettos are going nowhere and neither are the homeless,  the drug users and other kinds of abusers.   Let’s get this done and stop maligning others.    The old speck and the log thing.

 

 

What we are, is who we are or what?

Sometimes the strange is truly stranger than fiction.   Like a Stephen King movie with it’s twists and turns or the drama in a Hitchcock movie.   No need for pointless choreography because the musings of the mind are incredible.

Below is hilarious and I am uncertain if management did this for effect or because he was talented.  Aye!

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/satan-be-gone–miroslav-satan-calls-it-a-career-after-iihf-worlds-190438069.html

And of course no story would be complete and especially in this case,  because he played for:  The New Jersey Devils of the NHL.

And then the guy above teaches respect,  an attribute sorely lacking in a loud society but again,   who would have predicted that?

I hate the shows where dumb semi-celebrity slobs make asinine comments about silly souls who had no choice to be born so non-mainstream.    But these commentaries need no explanations as to moral character.

Our society has a field day bashing people who for one reason or another finds themselves the object of ridicule or even akin to modern day lepers.   Providence or whatever has placed us here and we didn’t have a heavenly dream sheet to pick our destination,  cognitive abilities or our own DNA.    It seems that nature and the inexplicable are invisible paradigms which compensate for injustice,  in many cases.

Let’s make the world a better place and I pray that we see that we can make a difference.   We are but a few but we can change a part of the world.   I remember seeing a semi-documentary about Los Angeles where minorities had a garden and the millionaire took that Oasis from them.

One morning the place was leveled by bulldozers and in spite of raising the money necessary to purchase,  the owner lied.   Several years later it is still untouched.  Probably a racial issue,  I am not sure but we can make a difference, if we want to.

Larry’s Angels! Just Catting Around!

Man’s best friend has a bit of the stray cat strut.   And Live Science (the blog site) says the book is out.  In the end however,  cats do not work well with people and that dogs (as wonderful as they are) let humans figure it out while a cat is more persistent.    Maybe stubborn is the right word.   LOL.    Be that as it may,  cats have a smaller pct of brains to body mass but 300,000 to 160,000 million neurons.  So what?  Right?  Maybe, but cats have my fancy and here is why in my mind.

Baby to the left and Lacey to the right.   Lacey is a crazy sweet SnowShoe Siamese and I hear she speaks about 20 languages,  begging for food that is.

Stormy Heart Serenade – Damages

My dream –  25 January 2015

The day was one of those humid but unremarkable days with the exception of a forecast that included inclement weather.

I was standing outside a warehouse with three friends and we were discussing the forecast with the sunny blue skies and a light wind.  I gave my take on the situation being a Meteorologist.   In effect saying,  You cannot tell by the clear skies what’s going to happen during the afternoon and early evening”.

Sure to form by late morning the first little towers of cotton seemed to gather as the heat poured energy from below.  Like a pot of boiling water the change became more noticeable as the air liquefied into mad rivulets of upward vertical motion.

Marci told me that she needed to get out of the bamy skies as the humidity hung like a soggy blanket,  making the hot more miserable.

We found our way into an empty warehouse,  where we found a fairly sturdy set of walls and a heavy steel door.   Apparently,  we weren’t the only ones with that idea.   The fact it was ventilated made it a prime place to hide.

The room was not really that spacious so one got the feeling of being like an animal caught in a snare.  Claustrophobia seemed to seize us both at the same time and we left the relative safety for the open air and a less confined place.

The wind began to swirl with a passion as the heat climbed up towards the fast growing clouds.  In the distance were lines of Cumulonimbus Clouds.   Like a gathering army of angry and mischievous Gremlins. By late afternoon,  the ominous looking clouds fattened with sharp spikes of light shooting out in all directions with the accompanying claps of thunder and their reverberations.  The party was getting into full swing.

From an office you could see lines of storms systems.  These Mesoscale systems snarled and marched onward with high winds and low pressure that popped your ears and engendered a primal fear.  Soon sirens blared as the culmination of physics manifested in an eerie calm.     Bluish black clouds ragged with pent up rage acquiesced to nothing.

Buildings shook as they do when heavy ordnance releases it’s fury.   With the rise in air currents came the chattering of old roof tops that graced structures with uncertainty,  threatened to be peeled back or just collapsing with fatigue.  We saw a woman on a phone as the curtain of night started to drape itself about and the luminous light and sound show intensified bringing an increased sense of dread.

We wandered about and around the phone lady and soon she feel self aware and struck out to find another place. Marci and I,  decided to hole up in this semi-private space,  waiting for the current round of chaos to abate.         The last round of storms left us shaking.   To the left of us was a window which was heavily armored and I assured my consort that we were safe.   Suddenly like a bomb exploding,  a wash of red covered the window,  a human stain with no doubt,  all was not well.

As we found another spot that seemed safe,  a room that looked like a classroom and filled with people, I had some bad feelings here,  even more than any that I had spent time in and my suspicions were born out.   With another lull in this never-ending parade of severe weather and the threatening sounds of crashing glass and gales of wind unseating rooftops we found an office across the street.

 

This one office struck my fancy as I saw a bay window front to a store and office warehouse.   Me and my friend sat in two of the chairs practically inert and watch debris flash by in an instant.   Only slightly more safe was this place and keeping that in mind,  I went into the warehouse with Marci in toe.  There were a lot of beautiful furnishings all handmade with the middle of the room sporting a table with chesire-acting cat sitting quietly in a chair next to that table.   She knowingly acknowledged me in this strange sanctuary conspicuously absent of people.

Walking back outside the carnage was obvious.   The scenery changes were not limited to buildings as dumpsters of debris,  seemingly human powdered the landscape and the aftermath of solitary suffering.