Keep The Country, I'll Take New York

Looking west up 7th avenue at 25th.

Everything about Manhattan appeals to me. The insane traffic that seems to careen without regard to traffic laws (or human life), the overwhelming, near-constant din (a symphony of car horns, jack hammers, police sirens, traffic whistles and yelling - or is that just the normal volume New Yorkers use for street conversations?), the insistent stream of power walking pedestrians, the mountains of rubbish on garbage pick-up day, the striped-down-yet-still-locked-to-the-bike-rack bicycles, and the pizza. Especially the pizza.

It's a damn good thing I don't live in New York. The pizza is...fanfreakintabulous, and I would not be able to resist the mass consumption of it. I would be a whale. I know, I'm already a whale - but I'd be even whalier.

 

Something Odd I Wrote In 2001

            A splendid way to spend a Sunday afternoon - Saint-Tropez, France, 2000

Rain, like in drip
         Such a day, what a trip
Some attitudes just go with bowling
                     My face like a stone no longer rolling
             Maybe this
           Like a kiss
       On a train barreling through a tunnel
Or icing oozing from a funnel
                                  Cake and ice cream on the carpet
Once in awhile trying to mask it
       A day and a night
    Could make all right
                Possible repercussions for the true disbelievers
Howling at the moon like empty handed retrievers
                                        Or passing a plate like
                                 A utility looking for a rate hike
Maybe a double chocolate sundae
             Could alleviate this Monday
For a moment
                 Respite from the torrent
Of everything and everyone tumbling towards the cooling sun
And nothing and nobody giving up on having fun
                             Sorta

A Watercolor Sketch from 1997

                                      Watercolor sketch of Jill, Glasgow 1997

A Fourth Consecutive Gold Medal

                                                            Mountaineer in training

It is 3:30am, Sunday morning

Time once again for the cat Olympics

This morning's main event is the Catathalon

That most demanding of cat Olympic events

Combining speed, strength, skill, and of course grace

The cat begins his approach

Over the tricky cold tile floor on the lower level

To the short but treacherous run up

The small flight of stairs leading to the kitchen

A daring, powerful leap onto the counter

The compulsory walk along the counter top

Requisite stalking of items in the fruit bowl

Followed by a spectacular jump onto

Imaginary prey between the oven and the trashcan

Almost loses a full point for a sloppy landing

A quick recovery puts the cat in the living room

Without hesitation he is between the blinds and the window

Walks along the sill as if he was born to it

A collective gasp as he negotiates the leap from the sofa

Onto the console table a full five feet away

Without disturbing a single picture frame

He weaves his way through the nick-knacks

Carefully timing his dismount

He launches himself into space

Alighting perfectly onto the third stair tread!

Like a rocket blasting off from Canaveral

He is up the stairs in less than 2.003 seconds

With an impressive combination of scampering 
And exquisitely controlled slide

He successfully traverses the length of the hall

Losing 1/10 of a point for failure to dislodge the runner

A moment of difficulty pushing the bedroom door open

That could cost him with the judges

Doesn't slow him down for long 

Within moments he is leaping onto the dresser

Then, with an impressive burst of power, onto the armoire

With a confidence born from years of practice

He walks to the far edge of the towering armoire

A full 77 inches from the ground

He hunches down...hind legs tense...and lift off!

He nails it! A flawless four point landing!

Right in the middle of the stomach of the sleeping human....

Inevitably, He Started To Think Of Himself As A Brahmin

Where was he when it all came down
Where was he when the shite hit the fan
Where was he when the bill came due
Where was he when it was time to take a stand

Like little Stevie Forbert it was a hit and run
Begging for Southern kisses behind the 7-11
Turned tail and ran away after his moment in the sun
Came back 6 years later to tell us about Mexico
Played the part of a suicidal Romeo
As if we had nothing better to watch on video
Not a lot of wear on those tennis shoes
Can't scuff a soul from inside a locked bedroom

Where was he when they made the false accusations
Where was he when they called for a parade
Where was he when the door was slammed shut
Where was he when the heroes were betrayed

Maybe Nancy Cartonio got a hold of him by the short hairs
Made him listen to a strange soliloquy
Caused him to get on his knees and say his prayers
Like a lapsed Hindu becoming ascetic
Crying out in words waxing pathetic
To ears that shut down unsympathetic
Truly moved by a sight that was beautiful
While taking a path curiously devotional

Dearest Abigail Always Said You Need To Get Up To Get Over

                                                          Petrified Forest, Arizona

Everybody praying for a promised land 

This is it

Everybody hoping things will go as planned

Never quit

Everybody ready to take an unyielding stand 

Back off a bit

Now is the time, now is the chance

Promises aren't made by the future

There are no payments in advance

Everybody thinking of writing a letter
Sit down with a pen

Everybody wanting to make the world better

Start pitching in

Everybody looking for adventure

If not now, when?

Now is the time, now is the chance

Promises aren't made by the future

There are no payments in advance

Everybody trying to make a difference
Be somebody's friend

Everybody certain nothing makes sense

Try to comprehend

Everybody preparing a line of defense

Find a little Zen

Now is the time, now is the chance

Promises aren't made by the future

There are no payments in advance

The Mother Of All Bargain Hunters

                                                             Near Durango, Colorado

My Mother was the bargain queen. Raising 6 children by herself on infrequently received child support and tightly regulated government assistance, I am still amazed to this minute that she was able to pull it off - keep all 6 of us fed, clothed and sheltered and, for the most part, out of trouble.

We were easily the poorest family in a neighborhood of poor families. Until my oldest sister got her hands on a '70 Pontiac Catalina, there was no car - we took the bus everywhere. To this day I hate having to take a bus anywhere, for any reason - some kind of psychosomatic thing, I'm sure.

Having to keep 6 kids fed (well, it was 6 kids from when I was 2 until I was 8, then my oldest brother went off to the Army, so after that she only had to keep 5 kids fed - heh, easy breezy) is a task I cannot imagine. I can barely keep myself clothed and fed.

My Mom was a coupon queen before it was fashionable. Not once in the entire time I lived under my Mom's roof did I ever eat a meal, or anything at all for that matter, that wasn't bought with a coupon, and usually on double-coupon day. 

She would diligently shop the Big Bear market in Lomita Village, though it was a bit of a hassle to get to. The only bus that went to Lomita Village was the #4, and we had to either walk clear down to the Skyline & Meadowbrook bus stop to catch it, or take the #11 down to that intersection and get a transfer to the #4.

Being white did not make any of those choices a pleasant experience. 

But my Mom insisted on shopping there at the Big Bear market, as they gave out S&H Green Stamps with every purchase, and after every shopping trip us kids would fight to be the one to affix the stamps we got in the little booklet that was provided for collecting the stamps. Once we got enough stamps, Mom would go down to Walker Scott or some such store and trade the stamps for something we needed - like pots and pans, or cereal bowls.

Mom also collected Blue Chip stamps at the DeFalco's grocery store in the Spring Valley shopping center- she actually preferred that market, as the bus stop for the #11 bus to Spring Valley was nearly right outside our door, and she could take the laundry with us as there was a laundromat a couple of doors down from the DeFalco's (when DeFalco's closed, the space they had occupied was filled by Von's). 

Mom played all sides of the the fence. Whoever and whatever was going to get her that new flatware set the fastest.

My Mom was raised in Northeastern Pennsylvania, during the depression, and it was as hardscrabble an existence as one can imagine. Aside from her parents not being fluent in English, she also had to deal with being a coal miner's daughter - literally. Not the highest strata of society, esp. in a small coal mining community where you definitely stayed on your side of the tracks.

However, enduring such a challenging childhood taught her serious real world survival skills. We used to joke that Mom could go into the DeFalco's and come out with a cart of groceries, a few of the plastic DeFalco "cash coins" they gave to loyal customers, and more money than she went in with - she was that shrewd of a shopper.

A story my Mom liked to tell was of the time she had to shop for a tie I had to wear for my first holy communion. Now, of course it was going to be a clip-on tie, as nobody in my family knew how to actually tie a tie ( I learned how to when I enlisted in the USAF after High School), and of course it was going to have to be cheap.

My Mom relates it was impossible to find a coupon for a clip-on tie, which means she was going to have to walk into the only store in our area that she knew sold clip-on ties essentially unarmed, meaning she would have to pay full price.

My Mom hated the thought of paying full price.

As my Mom tells it, she walked into the store and was greeted by a salesman she had dealt with before. He was a tough negotiator, and Mom said she never left that store feeling like she got a bargain.

But that day, she says that the only thing she told the man was that she needed a clip-on tie for her son's first holy communion, and it had to be black. The salesman replied that they had the perfect tie for the occasion,  walked to a counter to retrieve it, brought it back to her for presentation, and then, after a brief pause, told her it was $2.50.

My Mom said that she looked at him and could tell he was expecting her to try to bargain. She actually swears he was beginning to perspire as he held out the tie. All Mom did was say "That'll be fine," and then told him to ring it up. She paid him for the purchase and left.

When my Mom first told me that story I immediately asked her why she didn't counter-offer as she always did. She told me that it was because of a couple of things: 

1) She thought it would be almost profane to haggle over the price of such a special tie.

2) She could tell by the way the salesman was sweating that he was opening with a lower price than he actually wanted to sell the tie for.

And 3) She knew when she left with the tie that the salesman would spend the rest of the day kicking himself for not asking for the $3.50 the tie was marked at.   

The first time I heard my Mom tell that story I realized that she had a sense of humor - and that she also wasn't above trying to pull a fast one. The first time I heard someone else tell a similar story I realized that all survivors of the great depression like to have at least one tall tale in their repertoire in which they get the better of the big guy.