Feeling Like a Rock!

I am feeling like an avalanche coming.    The smallest tremor to set me off.  Don’t get me wrong,  I am not considering any self-harm, to me or to others.  The shadows are coming again,  slowly,  but steadily.  One or two  of these are in ‘living color’.  Shadows of doubt,  panic attacks, like a Tsunami.   I hear the roar,  waters that creep and fill me,  with pains of high and Low Tides.

I have thought of my new name.  Do you like it? It was pretty racist to behold.  I have shanks of poetry,  misplaced grammar and enough hubris to weigh me down.  But rather I wish to find a copper coin.  I wish to elucidate,  on a lily pad called destiny.  I want to pick away the burrs.  To the Longfellow chaps.   I want to find a nuance and let it work for all of us.  Not a twenty and definitely not a line for ghouls.  I want to make mince meat into pies.  Not lines of craters nor lines of white.  I wish to find… and destroy it.  I wish for them to grow.  Not in some rusty hole.  I pray that these come to pass.

It is the dawn of anxiety,  I see my head floating downstream.  Portable Sinkholes,  elaborating,  roiling downward,  and making life ‘like a buoy’, a respite from the darkest downs.

A song, a note,   reveries with plumb lines,  like spider webs twisted.  Sometimes the emotions are overwrought, with their own insanity, glossed over but not forgotten.  Let us play harpsichords and twing a violin.  Let’s stop the wrong kind of thing.  Planting history with falling leaves.

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Dream within a dream 3

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Approaching 60, The big 6-0.

One person’s take.  Mine!!!!

You know, life gets interesting past 60.

When a date’s underwear covers their belly, and you tell your friends, she’s a “keeper”!

And a breathalyzer, you welcome it.

What about when shuffleboard is a considered a contact sport?

You go to the DMV and consider yourself lucky, when your golf cart, doesn’t need a learner’s permit.

Another psyche job, is when you go out to eat with your young ones and hand out

Your phone number to a 22 year old Hooter’s girl and can’t remember why.

They kids don’t know, that you are serious.

You knew all the Golden Girls, when they were 12 and you had a date with Betsy Ross, before she sewn the flag.  A flag?

You call a computer, “that fandangled thing”.

Your first date was named Gertrude and her hair was already grey.   You were so proud of her and knew her SSN,  when there was only two numbers.

You think that TV Evangelists, really care about people and you send them all your money.

You look at the clock and get in your car at 4:00, go 20mph, during rush hour and then go to KFC and flirt with that Asian girl,  God bless you heart!

You know are getting old, when you kick the tires on your walker.

You and your wife, comment, what’s a remote? (TV)

When using an escalator is an extreme sporting event.

You go a sock-hop and wonder what ‘rap music is?

You think that, the music on an elevator is hard rock.

You remember when no one smiled in a picture!

When a pup tent, was a 5-star hotel!

Mighty Mouse....Saturday mornings:

When you think sooner than later, are the same.

When Ronald Reagan considered becoming a Communist.

When you confuse Benny Hinn with Benny Hill.

The crank on your car broke.

When you commented about Two-live crew, “I should hope so”.

When Bad Grandpa was good.

 

Wile E. Coyote (also known simply as "The Coyote") and The Road Runner are a duo of cartoon characters from a series of Looney Tunes.  In each episode, instead of animal senses and cunning, Wile E. Coyote uses absurdly complex contraptions (sometimes in the manner of Rube Goldberg) and elaborate plans to pursue his quarry. The Road Runner vocalizes only with a signature sound, "Beep, Beep".:

 

The Cat and the bag.

Kind of ironic,  I think.  A pet,  finds happiness in a plastic bag.  She finds intrigue there.  Simple,  safe and happy.   This cat is younger than  the other cat.   Baby is everywhere I go,  she rests at the door until,  I come in.

I am not sure of who the pet really is.  She sleeps in the day,  and treats the room as a kind of ‘Disney World’.   I am sure has broken the sound barrier, as she glides across the room and making a lot of noise.   My first inclination is to tell her, to behave.  But when I ponder this,  I am happy in her noise.

She is like a light house,  esconsed on a hill,  a guidepost of what lies ahead and unconditionally  watches our for us.   She has a responsibililty to her sub,  a quiet recollection of harmony,  and I like marmalade,  adding flavor and robust reminders, through her play.  At times,  she uses her to paw,  to get my attention.  And she wants me to rest,  while she nestles next to me.  I felt her paw on my elbow,  many times,  reminding me,  of what matters most in this world.

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My other cat,  already 15,  is a bit more sedate in that regard, but man is she a sweetheart.  I swear,  she has two purr motors.  She purrs and then she seems to add a purr and loves to cuddle in my arms.  As she looks around,  I mention her name (Lacey) and her heads move over to my head, as if hugging me.  Really cute in that way.  A real lover,  happy in her affair. And this, after the redolent balm of friendship.

Two types 0f anchors,  equally good,  each with their own plastic bags, a place like a harbor, the boats and bags, coming in and out.

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Silly Love Songs

The moment of awareness of sexuality comes with vistas not before imagined.    Kind of like in the Wonder Years and I was about to find my own Winnie Cooper.

.   But this process was painful and at times I felt like I was watching a show from behind a sound-proof glass.  I was in love with a few girls and a few could see behind the two-way mirrors.    Music was a way to escape and so naturally certain songs were buoyant,  light-hearted and romantic in a way that fit with my own personality.

So I cringe at terms like one-hit wonders, bubble-gum music and silly love longs.   Paul McCartney nailed it and even John Lenin and Yoko Ono proved that commercialized music may not be all that bad.    For me it was Day After Day by Bad Finger and  I pined for a cute little idealistic blond teen.  I remember that we went on a date to the Paddock Room and I stammered and stumbled and was probably incoherent but it was a date and it became news around the school.    One of her friends found out we went out on a date and said that I had the hots for her!  And I did.   I fumbled that ball a few times but years later the ball was back in my hands and I fumbled it yet again.

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

She basically told me one day long after High School  that I already found what I was looking for.   Her!   I was confused and botched that badly but she still really liked me,  just a bit concerned that I missed the obvious clues.   It was like I found the pot of gold but just stared at it and then walked away.

The old High School was a special place where we would play basketball on a court that had a shallow ceiling so you had to shoot a somewhat flat shot.  Oddly enough they used to play Varsity Basketball games on that cozy little court.  The place had the old building scent which wafted through it’s halls and hinted at love and life and where in the gutters floated love notes and old trees cried out.

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“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

One night Mom drove me to the old school and there she was in the crowd still yet coming into focus.  She was pretty as a Blue Jay and wobbly as a colt,  I saw her skating across the ice when she suddenly saw me and smiled.   It was a soft invitation and I took advantage of that opportunity to say “Hi” to her.   I was a terrible skater and was very skilled at falling down.   Noticing that she grabbed my hands and steadied me.   I was in heaven.    The warmth of her body and the prospects of something more filled my mind with curious and yet predictable emotions.

As a side note,  I did have a first love.    The kind where you smile at each other meant you were going steady…LOL

I did have a sixth grade girlfriend named Cheryl and during the fall festival and play I was a paper-machete pumpkin with a green hat that looked like a stem.    Sitting inert on the stage until my cue,  I was rather inspicuous.  Afterwards I dressed in a suit and tie we danced and for some reason it seemed that all the parents with little girls was smitten by me and I had serious game in spite of my shyness.    I had ton of pictures taken by parents and this was more fun than square dancing in gym class.

Next year I was in upstate NY in a very strange place,   where the community was named after our family Ellistown in Barton, NY outside of Waverly and on Ellistown Road.    We moved to the old Brink’s Greenhouse and their fading history replete with a caretaker’s house that become home to hundreds of wasps and other incendiary insects.   My parents found Rhubarb though I had never heard of that before.

Maj Russell Kline Trees

On my first day in homeroom class the teacher accosted poor Ann R. with a comment about the contraband in her mouth. (gum).    I think we were more perplexed about the word (contraband) and I was pondering Ann’s abject humiliation and embarrassment…..

Even at that point were the Freudian connection with her plight and my trying to remain as anonymous as possible.   Things were a bit discomfiting as I was elected to the Student Council for our homeroom.    An honor that I was both proud of and embarrassed by.    I got the feeling the election was more of a joke than an honor.

So the music does play a role in the development of our higher needs.    Merely dismissing out of hand any song because of what some people consider to be corny or not deep is ridiculous.    These songs do get overplayed but that isn’t the artist fault and sometimes the DJ’s either.    From Seasons In The Sun to Sugar Sugar by the Archies,  these iconic pops songs transcended the Rock N Roll critics scorn and embedded themselves in the psyche of our frontal lobes.   These radio voices were our muses and they live forever and a day.

I think it is funny when the rock jocks,  those middle-aged men dressed in black whine about superficial pop songs while wailing on a Fender Stratocaster as their own aging bodies and receding hairlines and pony tails are stuck in a past to be forgotten like an old Class Yearbook and High Times Magazine.     Between have Lava Lamps,  Mood Rings and Chia Pets there are far worse diversions than a Bobby Goldsboro song like Honey.    It is too sappy but Two Live Crew exploits carnal depravity.    Dude,  where’s My Viagra and remote.

or this…..

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A dream-like world. Basic Training!

On a springlike evening just as the sun was beginning to fall,    I was on what seemed to be an old base,  replete with World War II barracks that were both offices and dorm rooms for the college students.    In the military you were privacy to some antiquated housing and furnishings but comparatively,   the Air Force was light years ahead of other branches.

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In any regard this is a reasonable facsimile of dorm life back in the 60s and 70s and some back as far as the 1950s.   It is hard to imagine that our new dorms in Basic Training were the new dorms then (1974) and are the old dorms of yesteryear.  Confused?  Me too!

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The Dorms above were those new-old dorms and the new ones today are very nice.  Almost too nice.   The second floor overhang is where we did PE and was also close to the Chow Hall (We called it the dining halls because we were more sophicated, lol).   Anyhow,  our first day was about 11PM and like in the movie ‘Stripes’  the old stodgy Sergeants had the most pleasant things to say.

While we were waiting to go into the chow hall the TIs went in for awhile,  ostensibly to find good things to say to us when they got back.   But all of a sudden we had two black guys in line who were dancing and clapping and changing rows.   I snickered and marveled at their nerve or stupidity.  I can’t believe they didn’t get caught!   It was kind of like ‘Soul Train’.

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And like in ‘Full Metal Jacket’,   we had such great give and take with the Drill Instructors, or we called them  TIs or Training Instructors in the Chair Force.    The banter was light and convivial as we drank tea and did bird-watching.    It was almost like we were bestest friends and most TIs wanted to adopt us because we were the finest bunch of recruits they ever saw.

Then I woke-up,  and yes they (The TIs) took out their wrath on the aluminum trash cans and told us how much we stunk.   I even had the pleasure of discussing facial hair and the need to shave.   I had a face like a baby’s behind.   I looked like the smaller end of the height scale amongst 7th or 8th graders than a new recruit.   Even the foot lockers stood taller and menacing.

There were no private Jokers in our flight,  instead we were all Private Pyle.  With our shorn and shaved domes,   we looked like Vin Diesel without the muscles.  And while they were strongly encouraged not to kill us, they found other ways of making us feel like spineless-soft-bodied flesh-eating larvae in the noon day sun (maggots).    I think they took a class on how to jam their cute little TI hats into our face.  I still have entrance and exit wounds from those hats and dreams of reveille or the girl I used to have in upstate NY.

I never knew I had biological family and friends in basic because our Instructor told us he was family! Literally!   He was our parents, our friends,  family and girl friends.   No wonder they were cranky at 4A.M.!    After breakfast we swam along the Euphrates with 300 lbs of gear,  against the flow!    Okay,  that might be a little stretch or maybe a war story.  The war in Vietnam was coming to a conclusion and not ending well for people in the south part of that country.

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As Adrian Cronauer said,  “It was hot,  damn hot”.   With our canteens full of Perrier Water and Fig Newtons hidden in our lids (hats) even SEALS didn’t mess with us.   I had a lot of freckles then and was what you youngins refer to as Gingers.   So basically we were hardcore,  like a bunch of newborn fetuses dressed in green,  we marched or tried to, to the strains of Mozart and Tiny Tim.

One of the more fun ventures were the shots (vaccinations) that were delivered by a kind of air gun loaded with testosterone and Viagra.   No wonder that trees were not safe and off-limits to us.  Now I know why we had to stay off the grass.

And at night we had girls and partied late into the night.  Okay,  more accurately we had letters from our hot chicks (if you were lucky) and got to shine our shoes and the GI Parties were not co-ed!   We learned how to wax floors and fold our underwear.   Those beds were made with hospital corners and if they were not done right,  the hospital was a very real possibility.

When we started molting and changing from maggots to gadflys,  we were getting salty and irascible.  To give us a pass meant to go watch a movie on base or go and frolick with the natives in San Antonio and watch a movie..   We took pictures and discovered four-lettered words but couldn’t use them on base or against our family (The TIs).

But all good things must end and just when we were having fun.  Remember back then too many civilians hated our troops so while our facilities are better now,  so is the frame of mind and the acceptance of our communities.

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I am 59 and it is the best year of my life.

In a matter of moments the countdown to 60 begins in earnest.   So,  59, huh?  I try to think of something about my age,  like maybe a race car number of my favorite car or a date that I find cool.

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Hurtling towards obscurity I notice new things or more accurately slowing down to see what is there.    More stopping and actually feeling and sensing what is around me.   WordPress is opening my mind more and considering I am from a different generation,  that is something.

But I embrace the photos and the poetry and notice the common threads.   I find that I am not so different and for every misstep,   I am not the only one.

I remember the first thoughts about something different from childhood.  The inexorable flood of emotions and the subsequent stray thoughts into feelings I could not comprehend.  Like the classic nerd I am embraced my nerdiness and found solace in dreams.

One thing that is absolutely true,  is that as we age certain things will never be as they were.  Alliances meant to get us through the torturous teen years become all for about self.   The world becomes dog eat dog and the wisest have a star over them.

Getting aged is hilarious.   Especially anatomically.   Hair grows in new place and trees know your name.   That and your underwear keeps growing and velcro is an alternative to tying shoes.   But do not fear there is always next year as the tide rolls in.   Confused yet?  Me too.

I think too many of us climb the stairs too late,  that radiance becomes transposed and the mortality can wait.    We buy a new car with wide wheels and a pair of rose-colored glasses.  Myself,  I drink Viagra and breathe Cialis.   I wear a bald-headed toupee and do my little strut.     I also realize in those commercials the two in separate bath tubs and I think I know what the problem is.    It is elementary my dear Funk and Wagnalls.   You youngins may go and want to look that up.

I am just waiting for stem cells to make me less ugly.    I already have enough legs but a few active brain cells and a subscription to Sports Illustrated.   (The Swimsuit thingie) and I will be in business.    I do not want to be a Hugh Heffner.   Partly because I do not want to be a caricature of myself or an embarrassment to my daughter.

Imagine the resentment of the girls who sleep with a zombie with a shrinking member.   They may get a credit card but the interest due is beyond reconciling.   I could have liposuction on my brain and that way maybe get rid of some accumulated caloric content.

In my next life I am going to live in a Petri Dish.   However that doesn’t include being a virus or an infection.

Well I got to go to Punxsutawney and upstage my name sake in the critical decision of whether there will be six weeks more of winter or an Indian Spring.