Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Into the darkness of despair,
Dark hands reach out to grasp me
And pull me farther into the pit.
I struggle, crawl, scrabble and dig with all I have in me
Yet I slide deeper still.
I cry for help but none comes.
Those things that were once my salvation
Now become weights to hold me down.
My efforts in vain are expended.
Loneliness my companion
I sink into the gloom.
Unending night descends upon me
No sunlight permeates my tomb.
Creatures of darkness cry for me.
I can not surrender to their sirens call.
I fight my battle.
No relief comes to my plight,
Yet I fight on.
I sink farther,
I fall deeper,
I grow weaker.
Yet I struggle
Unwilling to allow the darkness to win.
There is no hope of escape,
No light to run to
Only the fear of living on the bottom pushes me upward.
The fear of remaining always alone.
I pull myself upward.
I wear a happy face.
I remove my mask and sit in sorrow.
I sink deeper into the nothingness.
Alone I reach for the surface
Alone I fight for life.
No help to climb out.
No rope of expectation is tossed into the blackness.
My fingers seek a handle
My toes grasp for holds.
Sliding farther down with each motion,
And yet I struggle,
Still alone but unwilling to give in.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Once, when I was in High School, my little sister was home sick. She called the school and told the principal that someone was going through our tool shed. He called me to the phone. She told me about the guy. The principal said that he heard my tires light up in the parking lot before the phone hit the floor. It normally took about ten minutes to drive home. It only took about two minutes that day. I have no idea how fast she was going, but I used up almost a full tank of gas. When I walked in the back door my sister said, “how did you get here so fast I just hung up the phone.” I just smiled. And for the record – there was no evidence that any one had ever been there. The drive back to school was made at a more sedate pace.
She regularly ate Fieros and Mustangs for breakfast, with an occasional side dish of Mopar. A guy I went to college with had a 1967 Ford Mustang with a built 289 and a four speed. I walked off and left him many times. Another friend had a 1972 Plymouth Valiant with a 318, a 4-barrel Holley carb, and a 3-speed auto tranny, couldn’t get close. I drove her for about 4 years back and forth across the mountains between North Carolina and Tennessee. She never gave me the slightest problem and got a respectable 18-mpg, and used very little oil. People still comment on her when they see me even though she has been gone for over 10 years now. I cannot believe that I let her get away, but she was broken down (bad timing chain after nearly 20 years imagine that) and I was moving and didn’t have the time or money to fix her, or any place to store her so I sold her. I keep looking on Ebay and other Internet sites to see if I can locate another one. Perhaps one of these days I will find her or one like her, and rebuild her. Will I let my son drive her? Probably not.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I can’t stand to see someone that I care about in pain. There is something inside of me that wants to take them and hold them and tell them it will be all right. I suppose I may be too empathetic at times but it bothers me to see someone hurting. Tonight I saw a friend of mine and she was not happy about something. All I know is that it is about a guy. Not surprising most women have men problems and most men have women problems. I know that there is no way I solve her problems but deep inside me I wanted to. There is a comfort in being able to give comfort. There is love in being able to give love. There is joy in being able to bring joy. When I left her tonight I had a feeling of failure because she still wasn’t happy. I almost turned around and went back but I didn’t. I hope that whatever, or whoever, made her unhappy is resolved soon. I don’t like to see her sad. I don’t really like to see anyone sad. I know how terrible that feels. I wish that there were some way to eradicate pain and sadness from out lives, but unfortunately there is no way to do it. I hope that for her joy comes back soon. I hope to see her smile. I only wish I had some way to insure that the smile would remain.
But then another thought hits me. If it were not for the sorrow we know in our lives, we would never know what real joy is. Without the rain we would never know the beauty of the sunshine. There was a song many years ago that said, "It takes a little rain to make love grow." And I suppose that is so true. We must know sadness to really know the meaning of happiness. Without one the other has no foundation. Without war we would never truly know the meaning of peace. Time doesn’t heal all things it simply puts them in better perspective. It allows us to have a better understanding of our sorrows and deeper enjoyment of out joys. I suppose that in some way my friends sorrow will enable her to know greater joy. I hope that is true in any case. And just maybe I can in some way help to make her happy again.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
(spinning around in his desk chair)
(running wildly about the room waving his hands in the air)
AAAAAAAAAAA thud ow AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH thud AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR THUD
THUD THUD ow ow ow ow
(whacking his knee on the desk while he spins )
JGHIUYdasdfRTSFH HHHHHHHHHHHHH NMKNKM
JNBJHBH AAAAAAFLKUSGUOGELWYFGTA AAAA KHN
(beating his head on the keyboard)
(running around the wall like a headless chicken) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
(spitting in the air)
(dodging the guys with the butterfly nets) AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
(Jumping up and down on one of the guys with the butterfly nets) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOO
(swinging his arms madly like a Baboon) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAEIOUandsometimesy
(laying in the floor kicking and screaming like a two year old in need of a spanking and a nap)
EEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH HHHHHHGGG GGGGHHHH
HHHHHHHH slurp AAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEe slurp AAAAAAAAAAAEEEEE slurp AAAAAaaaaaa slurp aaaaaa slurp
slurp aaa slurp slurp slurp zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
(sucking his thumb and finally falling asleep curled up in a fetal position in the floor)
This has been a special report. Please stay tuned for further developments. Now back to your regularly scheduled insanity.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Later last night I went to the grocery store to get cat food for a stray cat that had adopted me. I went in the store, got a buggy, picked up a case of bottled water, a loaf of bread, and some mustard (all of which I needed), but I didn’t get cat food. Not that the cat minded because I gave him a can of tuna. And while I was at the store I bumped into a gal who I recognized. I couldn’t remember who she was, but we talked for a few minutes. I racked my brain for hours and finally realized where I know her from. She works at the CVS by my house. The CVS is the closest store to me and I am in there a couple of times a week.
A while back I ran into a librarian at a store. For the life of me I couldn’t think of who she was. I am in the library almost every day checking my email. Been going there for about five years. But I couldn’t remember who she was. Oh I recognized the face but I had no context to put it in.
I am worried that one day I will wake up and head to the bathroom and not know who the guy I am shaving is. Maybe I should grow my beard back, and then I won’t have to shave. Sometimes I am surprised I can remember where I live. Or at least I think I live here. The key fit the door.
I won’t even begin to tell about all the times I go into the kitchen and have no idea what I went in there for. Maybe I should write myself a note before I get out of my chair so I can remember. Maybe that is why my dad never gets up, he asks my mom to get him stuff. He is afraid he won’t remember what he was after. Today I went in the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I poured in the water, dropped in a filter, scooped in the coffee grounds, and went in the living room to wait. Thirty minutes later I realized that I hadn’t turned the coffee maker on.
It is the gremlins I am telling you. They have escaped from my computer, crawled up my fingers and invaded my brain. That has to be it. I wonder if I can have my head reformatted. Maybe add some virus protection. Of course maybe they could upgrade my memory while they are in there.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
When I go for a late walk I always carry two things with me. Both are an old habit and I rarely leave the house without them, but especially not at night. The first is a good bright flashlight. I carry a small one. It is good for letting drivers know where I am since I prefer dark clothes, and it makes a handy weapon if I ever need it. The second is a lighter. The reasons for that are varied. It is a light source if the flashlight is dead and if I need to get warm it is handy to have a source of heat. Better to have both and not need them than need them and not have them. Once while I was out walking a cop stopped me and asked me if I had a light. A few days later the same cop pulled me over for a busted taillight. He remembered the light and let me off.
I always walk past this beautiful old house close to town. It is a huge thing that looks like it belongs in a horror movie. I always expect to see lightning striking it. If it weren’t yellow I would look for the wolfman to crawl out of the window. I read somewhere that it is called the Bankers House. I don’t know why but I always like to stop in front if it and wonder what kind of people lived there. I suppose that they were bankers.
I walked past a parts house where I found the slug of a bullet next to a set of tire tracks from a car that peeled out in a hurry. I never heard of anything happening there, but I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that it wasn’t good. I still have the bullet somewhere. It was in a change jar for a long time, but the last few times I emptied it the bullet wasn’t there.
On the way back I turned down a street that isn’t so lovely. I don’t mind walking down it I am capable of taking care of myself, even with a busted ankle. I wasn’t looking for trouble I just don’t see any reason to walk back down the same street I just came up. There are some old houses back there too. I like to look at them even though most of them are run down. When I turn down that street I can feel the sixth sense that I have developed over time wake up and kick in. I don’t get paranoid I just notice things more than I do at other times. For instance I noticed the white Pontiac Bonneville that passed me three times. After the second pass I found a shadow to crawl into the next time it came by. I don’t think anyone has cause to follow me but I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t see it again.
Down the main street on town I heard a patrol car come by with the siren blaring. As he got close he shut the siren off and I could hear the engine as it sped through the darkness. I never did see the car but the sound was unmistakable.
I came to a dark place and stopped and looked up at the stars. There aren’t near as many here as there are out of town - the streetlights block them. The clear sky was dotted with silvery stars that looked down to where I stood. There was no moon, just the stars. I stood there for a minute looking out from under the brim of my hat. I shivered in the cold and then walked back to my apartment. The great thing about taking a walk is that it will all be there next time waiting for me.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Friday, March 03, 2006
People with broken heart and lives. We pass them every day and never know what small things in their lives will lead them to destroy the things they love. Few people wake up in the morning and decide to murder, rape, take illegal drugs, and wound others. There are small things at first. A lost love, a lost job, a shortage of money, or the death of a dream starts a chain of events that leads to a headline on the front page or a column in the obituaries. Could maintenance have prevented this? Could just one little act of kindness done at the appropriate time have staved off the pain that leads to sorrow.
I realize that sorrow and loss are a part of living in our world. No one gets through life in a rosy bed of fragrant pedals. Each person will come to a point of loss and need. And for each person it will be different. Grief is like snowflakes – no two are the same. And like snowflakes it can be a light coating or an avalanche. Some are unable to work through the light covering and some cannot bear the avalanche. However, some people have the unique talent for taking the snow and making beautiful sculptures from it. I am always amazed at a person who can brave a blizzard of troubles and then slip and fall in a flurry.
There are those who are uniquely qualified to run into the storm and rescue the ones who have fallen or been buried. These brave individuals are those who are willing to risk injury to help us when we cannot help ourselves. It may be the person who stops and changes your tire in a downpour. It may be someone who brings you soup when you are sick. It may be the brave men in uniform who run into the gunfire to end a conflict and save lives. It might be the men who enter a burning building to extinguish the blaze. It may be the one who binds a wound and takes you to a place to be cared for. Or possibly the volunteers who come to rebuild after the wrath of a storm ravage a community. Without these people our world would be unlivable.
But every one of us is capable of doing something for someone. It may be a smile at the homeless man who staggers past your house each day. It may be a kind word to a stranger who is in agony. Often it is that friend who puts their arms around you and tells you every thing will be all right. We may know that it will not be all right but having someone care enough to try to bear the burden is a comfort. Sometimes just being present during turmoil and sitting silently with a parent, wife, or child in the emergency room.
We are not all equipped to be mechanics, carpenters, firemen, police officers, EMTs and doctors, but we can all offer love and support. We can send a flower, make a phone call, or visit a lonely soul and by so doing comfort those grieving. Anyone can offer a pat on the back, a hug, or a kiss to someone who is hurting. Most of us can write letters, not necessarily long epistles, but just a short “I am thinking of you” or “Just wanted you to know I care” and lift the spirits of some lonely soul longing for contact from another human. Every one can offer someone a shoulder to cry on.
We are all capable of listening. Not judging and giving advice, but simply lending an ear to someone who needs to talk. Some of my most cherished friends are those who listened to my tales of conflict and woe. Someone said that God gave us two ears and one mouth so we can listen twice as much as we talk. Often I am afflicted with a tongue that fans the winds too long and too often, but sometimes I can just sit and hear what another needs to verbalize. Many times when I am listening I have to hold my tongue in check to refrain from giving advice. I am a fixer. I fix cars, houses, machines and I sometimes have to force my instinct to repair to stay when it wants to run loose.
We live in a world of broken things and broken people. We cannot repair everything. But just maybe we can fix a few things and make our world a happier more comfortable place to live.