and another year one and done in this instance nineteen but what do numbers mean there is no actual count as time wraps over and between time stops not to pause a line constant drawn
and so another year’s end approaches, one and done in this case nineteen, but what do those numbers even mean, we are not on the actual count, or the actual clock, some four billion and nineteen certainly would be hard to print on a credit card, or a calendar, I suppose we would find shortcuts, clever humans that we are, something like happy 4 BILL and TWENTY, and so drops the ball, over and over, just a different crowd, changing eyes, funny how the phrase “dropping the ball” is a negative connotation unless you are packed in like sardines in some square at the proper times, and then it is celebration (one I have never subjected myself to even though I am in the neighborhood), but anyway, back to my distracted point, the chinese calendar will be 4718, the hebrew calendar is 5778, wouldn’t logic dictate we go with the oldest? do we even question the year, 2020, a fraud by any count, or a real count, or should we determine the birth date of lucy and start from there? just an example of the subjectivity which becomes bedrock in our everyday lives, sunrise, sunset, when neither of these are actually happening, how soon we forget, how soon we learn but are we really aware, as dawn cracks yolk along the horizon, that we are spinning toward that light, feet tethered to the ground by an invisible force, just our normal course, there seems to be magic inhabiting science after all, or maybe physics is just the definition of magic, something like that, either way, as the world turns, a certain number of times, quite precise, with one leap of an exception, various degrees of tilt, we arrive, 365, one year later, and so here it is… happy new year one and all (and you).
Thanks to all and any who have read my words in my little space here in the cosmos of context in this online multiverse…
does looking at this image cause you some disorientation ? In fact, this most famous of photographs is shown here the way it was meant to be seen, or more accurately the way it was actually shot, Bill Anders (Apollo 8) was not thinking about the horizon (which pretty much orients our visual field), he was just a space explorer taking a photo as one celestial body comes into view from right to left (from the capsule orbiting another body). Amazing how that screws us up but yet is a great reminder on how much we take for granted in our daily experience (how limited we are to this sphere and maybe we should think outside of things sometimes, being stuck to the ground with gravity). More remarkable, to me, is also the Apollo missions themselves. Imagine, during the course of just a few years, continued space launches to reach the moon (and walk on it) with the technology of 50 years ago. There were no cell phones, no flat screens, no home PCs, no GPS, no finger spinners… OK, that last one seems inconsequential, I admit, but just chew on that whole for a minute… in the space of three years 12 people walked on another world, hard to even get my head around let alone yours. Just something to think about in the coming year, shoot for the moon they say…
(a nice outline of the entire Apollo project) and since I am being nerdy, here is a loaded poem, I will unpack it at some later date, lots of footnotes to date and take… can you catch them all? (hint: the one link I supplied in the name)
dear Miranda, but just a glimpse a fading pass for you hide and dance forever show the same face within a tempest born the scars of stars upon your form all about craters worn from drunken horde, magicians wand father Prospero’s hand, Stephano’s yard Trinculo’s joke read out on your garb your scarps take breath Verona Rupes in all the moons of this solar system our bed your light touch would save twelve minute fall and might I discover the patterns the sulci in which your lines are read, may we see you again not just a glimpse but a visit then.
as is the x-mas tradition I grew up with, the family gets together, and we order from the only place that is open, the local chinese place, it is not even a particularly good one, we always say we are going to do something else, but never do, we settle on the familiar, of course options are limited, there are only so many things you can do on x-mas, I have sampled the few other goods, there is always the movies, for some reason, they are always open, I suppose it takes minimal staff to press play and shower some popcorn with golden delicious butter, been there done that, and nothing in the cinema is pulling me toward the theater so… there is always Atlantic City, throw away some dough at the mere chance of making piles more, AC (as we jersey folk slang it out) is a desolate town on x-mas, just fellow jews and chinese mostly, this makes sense of course, all up and down casino row you can go, any slot machine you care to, any table for any action, like having the town to yourself, nah, done that before, so here we are, ordering the inevitable chinese take out (delivery was going to take an hour, and seriously, the place is 5 minutes away), so we huddle to determine the order…
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com
like a fool, I don’t go with a staple, something I know will be mediocre but expected, I choose something off the grid, on the back fold, thinking that in all my experiences with this particular restaurant I was going to encounter some x-mas miracle with my order, “singapore chicken” – on the menu as: ‘diced chicken with fresh garlic and mushrooms’, sounds good to me, no dishwater wanton or undersized egg-roll this year, I am actually looking forward to the dish, I depart out…
they said 25 minutes, which in the chinese take out world screams “we’re really busy”, which makes sense, being the only game in town, I arrive, the parking lot is mysteriously… not empty, but not busy either, a smattering of cars just under a dozen, “bonus!” I think, I park, away from the other cars, it’s something I do, I approach on foot, better news, there is not a person in the vestibule, again, a sign they are not as busy as times in the past packed in like sardines, the outer door breaks some sort of security vacuum and makes the other door slam a bit announcing my arrival of sorts, I glance toward the take out table, but no, there are no gleaming packages waiting for me there, no matter, I approach the counter and give my name, sure, my stuff is not ready yet, although I am past the prescribed 25 by a few, I sink back into a corner next to the soda fridge, of course there are cans of soda, I don’t think I have ever seen a chinese place with fountain drinks, the place is near capacity, but no one else is waiting, I’m comfortable, for the time being, I do a little people watching, half expecting a familiar face, the only one is the girl, well, woman now who runs the place, she was in my high school class, she’s aged well, in walks another patron, table for two, accommodated but they are running out of space to sit the in house patrons, another fellow take out-er comes in, the take out table is still bare, so +1 is no waiting there, then a family of four to seat, and two more ordering take out, suddenly I feel penned in, up against the wall, almost quite literally, sure, it has been only 10 minutes but now seconds bleed minutes in my darting mind, there are now people waiting in the vestibule, blocking my escape route, how anxiety ratchets up the mind, the clock hits 45 minutes since my initial order, part of me wants to bail, but others are counting on my return, so I have no choice to bear out this quest, I try to distract myself, look around at all the silly baubles and trinkets you would expect, that cat waving a hand, the tacky toothpick dispenser, a ceramic junk ship replica, I find a little amusement in the Merry Xmas balloons all about, clearly these are not revelers in house tonight, and then another take out client walks in, he does not look too happy, I think he notices the table of take out is quite absent of orders, every time the kitchen doors swing open I am ready to pounce, certainly a great set up for disappointment, I try to play it cool of course, but I am anything but, I feel blocked in, everyone is in bulky jackets, and then one final creaky swing, a form emerges bag in each hand, could this possibly be… for me? finally? and my name rings out like cool splash quench on a scorching day, the masses part (all five of them) and I depart, meal in hand, ready to return for the x-mas feast, it all gets unpacked, the condiments bag gets dumped out, the dry noodle packages get distributed to those with soup, the green tea bags? eh… no one ever uses them, I unlock my plastic lid, eager to see this newfangled thing, then I see it, imagine strips of chicken the size of half a band aid fried (and resembling same), with some quartered button mushrooms thrown in that almost assume the same color, yes, this does not look so appetizing, but maybe I am wrong, so I try some, and maybe I was right, how can fried be… bland ? and somewhat moist, not even crunchy, I decide to just pile on the red pepper flakes to get through, even then the taste is sparse, not even a bamboo shoot or water chestnut to add some texture to the bunch, everyone (who ordered normal things) seems intrigued with my dish, so, heck, I let them pitch in… this is x-mas after-all…
been awhile, my mortar friend, mostly used you as just steps lately, tonight teeters on forty degrees, so I can stop and catch up, I won’t be able to stay long, I already sense the temperature drop, as important as I remind myself to be observant, to take a moment and breathe the world in, and see what I see, that is a lot easier thought and easier to accomplish in warmer weather, but catch a window when you can like a ray of light, so here I am, contemplating life, I covered the late shift at work, I’m not religious and someone else, someone with people to go home to wanted off, so, to me it seemed like the right thing to do, winds up this way most years anyway, my prize was an easy drive for once, no traffic, just the occasional left lane interloper that requires passing on the right, which I hate to do, technically illegal to, but no malice tonight, no glare, no rage, everything is notched down a bit, I picked up some chinese and the only other busy place in the strip mall (or open one) was the ATM kiosk next door, got some gas, I don’t actually pay for gas, company car, fifteen years now, I tipped the guy thirty bucks, he is always nice enough, and cleans my back window from time to time, he was generally appreciative I think, so I drive on home with no major streaks, my street is lined with cars, both sides, but yet… so quiet, everyone is inside, usually such parked traffic has a bit of an audible buzz, but this is more cozy, or maybe I am, I sense something in the air, almost like someone is burning those cinnamon brooms you see outside store doors this time of year, no, that’s not it, pipe tobacco, definitely, I imagine my neighbors are sitting in their backyard, out of my sight, probably a few who broke off from the main party, to shoot the bull on this moonless night, the smell is intoxicating I must say, funny how I am surrounded by buildings, cars, people in their homes, and I am isolated, as many are this time of year, alone on the holidays, even if it is not your holiday really, the whole world seems caught up in it, like a wave you can not stop from washing over you even though you are not near the beach, “just another day” but everything else around you tells a different tale entirely, but I already received my gift, whether I be the amalgamation of scientific randomness, or the very touch of divine spark to my forehead in utero, the universe, in all these billions of years, whether by accident or design, has aligned in such a way, that I am here, alive, right now, as are you, regardless of belief, this is the gift, a gift so great that everything follows the unwrapping, need not be delivered by st nick, or some other myth, this is the truest fable one can… live.
a prayer for those at home alone tonight for know you well the universe and all time that tell you were chosen the greatest gift you have been given
going through my mother’s kitchen cabinets, I am astounded by the collection of things, various vessels, plates, platters, some I have seen, some seem like they are on loan from museums of era, glassware that screams 70s disco, ornate sterling silver plates that seem fit for a castle service in england, every matter of serving platter and gravy train saucer container, some glassware is clearly 80s, some screams post modern, others are timeless classics, others covered in dust as if stored in the attic, tacky freeware from tropical destination locations, hand made donations from school projects, mostly bad ceramics, even the firing is showing some cracks, all with a maker’s mark on them, mine or my brother’s, from our childhood exploits, a time where you don’t see your father and mother as people going through life, they’re the guides at that time, the law, the rules, not real people until you learn that is the real truth when you are later with age, every shelf has something else, blenders that look like a 60s caddy, an ice caddy that could have been from the copa back in the day, I’m tempted to flip it over and play it like a bongo, that special electric knife set for special occasions, the big ones for carving like thanksgiving, I can hear the specific song of that thing, the rhythmic stop and start, almost like a chainsaw indoors that activates your appetite, for carving is the last wait before serving, other plates speak country store, some are reminders of other holidays and gatherings, when the house was packed with relatives, casserole dishes laid out for buffet on temporary fold up tables, loud mostly meaningless conversation, children weaving in and out, there is salad dressing containers when you never made your own, an original thermos, iconic cup still secure on top, a fondue set, a fondue set ? that someone else bought, cocktail forks, nutcrackers, can openers, all manner of spoon from baby size to cartoon huge, tongs, a complete world of their own, all the same purpose but so many forms, an egg timer, and egg slicer, a mandolin, sounds instrumental but isn’t, a whisker, a masher, a smasher, a tenderizing mallet, all sounds violent but isn’t, all manner of knife, some have teeth, some not, some on both sides, some on top, all have had a role current or past but here they remain as a testament…
There are many way we count time, clocks, watches, wall calendars, all those now carried even closer on our phones, but what else is there when we look closer enough, books, bookshelves, baubles, random art, gifts that have no use except the important use of reminding those who gave us them, photos, clothes in closets, and so much more.
I see a whole life here, a story, laid out in dishes…
notes… freeform tonight one shot write, looking around my folks home, poking around, they are older now, elderly but that seems like an insult, especially since I feel like I will be there in their place in no time, even though that is decades out on the horizon, a horizon that ever approaches, just the weird little things of life have been catching my eye… this is one of those. And thanks to all for the looks, likes, and other such things, if I can entertain or enlighten one person my job is done (hey, a thousand or so wouldn’t be bad either, eh)
just driving, picked up korean for lunch, warm soup on a cold day, spicy hot soup really fits the bill, even if the bulgogi is quite tempting (and damn they know how to make fries), but anyway, on my way back to the office, the sun is kind of obscured, just a diffused globe hanging there lost against the wash of gray, I see some birds off in the distance, as I am sitting at a light, wondering why the guy in the tesla a) does not pull up all the way b) is way too close to my lane for my liking, but back to the sky, birds, we just accept they are as they are, I wish to imagine a time when I didn’t know them, or perhaps if I was blind and this is the first time I laid eyes on them, these little darting black triangles dashing all over the sky just far enough out where they are more like outlines, some gliding majestically as if by magic or string, forgetting my knowledge of thermodynamics, I have a hard time trying to imagine, or grasp, what I might think these little devils were without the context of the knowledge that traps me, we watch dragons and zombies on screens but here, in the sky are creatures just as unlikely, just familiar, just known, so we forget the experience, the first time, I try to think back, when did I first see or recognize birds, I would have to say my earliest memories, which do not even seem like mine anymore as they age and fade like old photographs in a box tucked in the corner of my closet somewhere, my earliest time had to be the shore, the beach, the memories seem like a legend now or a bedtime story I am telling myself, I feel out of my body, looking at myself in the past, molding wet sand with art deco neon color plastic buckets, the blazing sun turning my blonde locks near white and making my neck resemble a lobster cooked with freckles, looking up, watching the seagulls hover, standing still in the wind almost like my kite, the pipers playing tag with the surf, back and forth, scampering toward them with my child legs, they do not know I mean no harm but they stay just out of length, probably for the best, but I love to watch them pace back and forth, to this day, the constant tide, the ride, back at my office I arrive, trying to retain a child’s eye, trying to remember what it was like… those first times, for every piece of worldly fabric we may take for granted…
“for I am“ in the dawn of my dying days awaiting my birth to be reborn for I am truly and forever yours sustenance brought unto your shores may heavenly vision shun your eyes so I may pass and grant refuge, for you sacrifice to the bearer so you may go, along that river for I am truly and forever yours for divine light shall strip my flesh bare strip by strip and cook my bones so I might spare you a moment of death I will gladly suffer the tolerance the toll no burden shall fail to fall for I am truly and forever yours dare I face the gauntlet of god inside the crucible of a dying star collapsing pressure beyond all humanity before and gone all so you may walk upon a golden gossamer waking dawn may all your suffering be laid upon my door for, I am, my love, yours truly and forever more
notes… part of my lost love letters collection where I contemplate her, the one, my only true ex whom I will hold some love at some level forever, the LLL works are compiled on my collections and series page (scroll down a touch), so if you like this one check out the others, I try to keep everything current, however this is a hobby, an outlet, a needed one, I admit, but sometimes life butts in, you know, how it has a tendency to do…
music…. (something about the guitar sound just sounds like pain to me, the vocals for “what’s inside says” just rules, it begins to rock and then subdues)
I had the, ahem, pleasure of driving down to a corner of my state I certainly do not visit often, but Monday night I was tasked with a software upgrade in these forsaken lands, normally you would not think (I did not) of parts of New Jersey being south of parts of Delaware, well, now I am aware as this locality is due south of Wilmington, funny how perception is, we (new jersey types) always think of Delaware as due south of here (well, it mostly is), but that does go to show how off the main heartbeat and arteries this joint is, it is not barren by any means, they have their share of Targets and Walmarts, just a whole hell of a lot of land in between them, you hear a name like “Millville” and do not associate it with much, but it is funny how things have origins, this was literally a Mill Town (seems obvious, I know), founded somewhere around 1720, and next door to this town is Glassboro, you know, where they blow glass, seems simple enough, if you look around your own state such simple names pop out all over the place, and they tell you about the history (or lost history) of the area, there is Marlboro, no not a cigarette thing, the history goes back to the 1600s and the area became famous for… wait for it… “marl“, never heard of it ? me neither, but apparently it was the goods back in the day before commercial fertilizers came about, in fact there are other towns with the moniker, like Marlton, then you get into more obscure named things like “Furnace”, this was a designation of a foundry or iron works, mostly in the pine barrens (you know, where the Jersey Devil is rumored to live), there is Weymouth Furnace, Hanover Furnace, Gloucester Furnace (eh, you get the idea), …and then there is the colorful or animal themed ones like Red Lion and Hog Wallow, to the strange and mysterious like Ong’s Hat, even on to the ominous Double Trouble (seriously) …anyway, my trip down south was quite uneventful, full of traffic, enraging traffic, did I mention traffic (where rte 42 meets 55 is mind-numbing), bleak black rain, cold rain but not cold enough for snow or ice, just the type that drips on your neck from some building corner or tree and chills your spine with a flinch, or smacks your ear on the dime, the town is quite barren but I was not in the town center to be fair… but the name of the town got me thinking, and writing, so many simple things in a name, all around us, especially in this area of the states, the original colonies, there is a lot of history here, and probably wherever you are, whether it be 100 years ago or 50, there is something hiding in the corners and cubbyholes of your state I bet, check them out when you get a chance… you might find something unexpected.
thanks for the look, the like, the time, if you like what I do or have any suggestions comments are always respected….
Shades of My Garden 