I did not even notice a light go out, sometimes whole lives are lived in the smallest of details, you expect things to happen, you know they will happen, but just the same they do not feel right when they do, beyond your control, maybe not even anything residing in your little orbit of daily life, but right there on the perimeter all the time, this is one of those nights, oddly, the temperature is much cooler tonight than it has been, coincidence? I don’t believe in them, a long time neighbor of mine, has passed away, he was not young, it was not sudden, perhaps expected, but neighbors can be a strange relationship at times, someone you see almost every day and almost always at certain times, I remember the ritual so well, rolling the garbage can to the street every sunday night, there are other assigned garbage nights, but sunday is more singular as most of us are not working, and certainly not my neighbor who was retired for years now, but seemingly we had the same routine, on sundays at least, roughly the same time to deploy the garbage to the route, as the years went by I noticed he was hunched over more, perhaps a bit more labored up and down his driveway, there was always the knowing nod, like “howdy neighbor”, how odd to be two houses away and yet know so little, but be totally comfortable with someone, such is the nature of familiarity and ritual, and a neighborhood such as this, I would see his kids visit with their kids, almost every sunday, I would rarely see his wife, on occasion he would get the mail for other neighbors directly across, well, at least before they moved, that is years ago now, the cars of his children are staying later this evening, later than most, at some point they will go home, and then all that will be left, a silent house, haunted by the one remnant left, a widowed spouse.
the script is flip’t, the tide has turned, cliches rue the day as the day is long, or actually not, anymore, the summer is losing some heat, quite literally, this was the first night that the driveway was actually cool on my bare feet, that magic number, like when the thermometer is clawing out of the doldrums of winter, that sweet seventy degrees mark, has been met, tonight, and now after not seeing that number for a spell, it has returned as if to say “so, you had your fun, time to get back to things”, everything in the world seems just a bit cooled off, the sun was not as punishing, and did not deliver as much heat to disperse after dark, no more lingering simmering in the dark hours, everything has a mild comfortable chill to it, right in the bulls-eye of comfortable, like all things inevitable and subject to the yoke of time, the season marches on hardly looking for my approval or nod, even the bugs seem to be taking it easy tonight, I can sit outside and wiggle my toes in all delight without the constant swat of my horse tail hands chasing mosquitoes about, maybe they are tired of the game as well, resting somewhere to enjoy the night, even the usual summer din is dialed back… just a touch, does heat magnify sound or just a biological hitch, I suppose, but either way I am swept away into this lull, nothing changed in my life today, no circumstance worsened or lightened, but yet somehow life seems a bit lighter this night, I can close my eyes, take a more abnormally deep breath than I might, to capture as much of this moment internally I think, as I breathe it all in, capture it, harness it, even in just the moments, pen it into memory, store it away for that proverbial rainy day or better yet on one of those brutally cold january nights when I need a fire from an internal source… to remind of this day, to remember late august, the calm, the just warm… enough, that line of seventy degrees, a breeze flowing about the trees in good nature, the last of a day’s light transitioning into a pillow to lay down, on a cloud, now illuminated by moonlight, and let the gentle wind wash, bend, send, blend you unto the night, into the night, into the sleep of content dreams…
compassion the better half as decreed maps the path from wounded knee, is sin a birth mark not removed in forgiveness wash still imbued
notes… as usual sometimes I poke through my unpublished stuff and see if anything hits me, I sort of always liked this in the back of my mind, but time passes and you forget about things (I wrote this back in dec 2018), I thought it very lyrical at the time, and now… one minor tweak (the first line was one line with the second line but the cadence in my head read it as two after I wrote it).. so, there you have it… and there it is…
music: let’s rock, it’s the summer man, roll down the windows and get…
and don’t forget I also write Media reviews (TV, film and the like… and I would like to think I am good… or at least decent, come on now people I do work 6 days a week…)
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so here I am broken and old I left you so long ago but never could untether my soul I will tell my grand children about you should I have them like a fairy tale like a fable I hardly believe myself, anymore “for I was once in love with the most beautiful girl in all the world” for she was and so you are, still age and time has not stolen that vision in my eyes blind your such simple perfection gifted unto me a brilliant burning helium core of the brightest star and now you are, just that up in my sky distant but always there to guide my heart upward to the north, a path to one day I might depart upon and reunite, with you my love my heart, my love, I await our reunion even if, I know this will never come.
notes… as I fall into routine, this has been my thursday night thing lately, no guaranty it will stay, but it seems ok to reflect on her once a week even if she is on my mind more than that.
I was perusing the fish section of my local Wegman’s supermarket today, and they had Fluke, now Fluke is often referred to as “summer flounder” and is a very east coast thing, especially this time of year as they migrate close to shore abandoning their deep ocean homes, because like everything in jersey, it flocks to the shore in the summer, even the damn fish… I haven’t seen Fluke in a while, maybe I wasn’t quite looking, or maybe happening upon it today was just a fluke… they remind me of summer, day boating, or as we more common in these parts referred to them as “party boats”, you can do the math, but suffice it to say they were quite lax on allowing libations as stowaways, hell, you could not even spell “fishing charter” without ‘beer’, I must say the night boat trips were rather interesting, so yeah, I used to fish for Fluke as a kid, one of those very summer memories even though you can fish for them year round surely, I recall the party boats were with friends, but I remember the times with my dad more vividly, on my uncle’s boat, I don’t even recall how old I was, but the whole routine, getting on the boat not falling in, untying the ropes and such, the shiny white surfaces, chugging out slowly out of the marina, stopping at the gas station dock for fuel, food and bait-fish, eventually picking up a little speed out of the harbor, passing sandy hook, then skipping along the water until whatever destination was chosen was met, casting out our lines, catching mostly sea robins, and the occasional fluke, large enough to keep and then consume, that feeling when as the smallest person on board and you catch the catch of the day, the biggest fish, not often but sometimes, following the seagulls around as they spot schools, casting out to catch some blues among the frenzy, spending the whole day on the water, hours not mattering, starting at sunrise and finishing near sunset, all in a blink, I so romanticize it now, forgetting the work, getting up before dawn (ahem, not my specialty, ever), scrubbing everything down on the boat, the slime of the fish on your hands, the gunk on your shirt and shorts, that time my brother was unloading the catch and picked up my fish (the champ, the trophy of the day) and dropped it… back into the water, right by the dock, my heart swam away with the fish I lost, the rank old dead fish odor of the fillet station on the dock, the errant old scales all about like shiny little plates on a tangled fishing line wind chime, gutting the fish, evisceration of organs, the seagulls and shore birds in a veritable orgy of gore that they found so tasty as we threw the scraps and bits into the water next to the moored boat, and then becoming the bearer of a proud ziploc of perfect triangles of fish, to be had later as a reward or frozen – never seen from again… but my immediate recollection was all the positive things, and maybe just maybe that should be my focus when experiencing life, as it seems that is what we most remember anyway, there must be a reason for this, some biological thing I suppose, I doubt that it is just… a fluke…
Being at a family gathering can give you interesting perspectives, maybe it is lost on some, perhaps on the young, on those who don’t step back and look at the whole, but I suppose that is what makes me who I am, an observer, sometimes on the outside, the carousel of life, but the more I thought, the more I observed, “carousel” is a terrible word, and an even worse analogy, it sounds lofty and poetic but is not true, a carousel, well, by it’s very nature people hop on and off, riding fake fabled beasts, everything is decoration and pomp, lighting and circumstance, you always arrive from where you came, that is not life indeed, as un-glorious as it may seem, life is more like a conveyor belt powered by unrelenting time, not quite unlike that famous lucille ball clip, but perhaps more subtle, just in one glance I am looking at the end of the belt and near to the beginning, those starting their lives off, moving into family mode, those watching their grandchildren blossom into adulthood, those nearing the end and faculties fade and old tried stories remain and remind of days long gone by, the passage of time, the belt just moves along, never stopping, always forward, there is no fight to be won, just enjoy the ride…
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I wonder about my place on the belt as well, somewhere in the middle of all this, but my experience is vastly different, I suppose I am on a different route, same belt, more doubt, wondering if I could have or should have done things differently, of course this is feeble distraction and not worth my time, but I can not say I do not indulge in the delusion of that particular rabbit hole, the ‘what ifs’ bear intoxication, as dreams mainline into my veins, here, at a summer night, one block off the ocean, the breeze coming in, a cover band of covers I don’t recognize, probably bon jovi and springsteen as is the custom here in my native rock, I notice the air has condensed on the banisters of the deck, I look around and realize I am reading a book, a story, an amstel in my hand, drips condensation down on to my leg, I wonder if they can read what I am thinking, or what they think of me, families are a strange thing, people you know your whole life but at times more mysterious than friends, years pass and things seem the same, the only gauge is hair, lack thereof, and kids, who are no longer kids, I must admit I passed a grin, even if none of this is for me, at least for now, probably never, but there is joy in others, even if we are on a factory floor, riding a conveyor belt to an inevitable end… maybe the best if this is a carousel, if I choose to look at the draw, the charm, the joy, the smiles, on a summer night, by the beach, hearing stories of childhood from eighty year olds, why not… circle around again and enjoy it all… again…
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prologue, a travel story of phobias and foibles…
I was off last weekend so trying to snag two saturdays in a row would not be feasible with work (or fair to my fellow workers, I have this strange work ethic thing happening), but I did manage to leave the office @ 3:30 pm which seemed reasonable to get somewhere by 5:00 pm in a state where you can pretty much drive anywhere in 2 hours (give or take), and this was not (well should not have been) a 2 hour drive, certainly a sparkling day, not too humid, and I am travelling to the shore… so expectations are a damn nice ride, if I can get there, ah, the garden state parkway, in summer, living up to the “park” portion that is for sure, I was colored surprised figuring if you want to get to the shore, you leave friday, or early saturday, why oh why would saturday later afternoon be a traffic magnet, but I suppose the universe was conspiring against me, although I should really just relax a bit, this is a family gathering, not a court appearance, so, I tried to convince myself of that, although I don’t like to be late, I nod to myself to accept my fate (well, OK I think I went about 82% and held onto the rest anxiousness, c’mon that is progress), so, I slog through some traffic, mainly just frustrating, as there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the flow, or lack thereof, stopping, starting, darting, speeding up for four miles to come to a complete stop, the relentless tease of release which does not come until I am well south of edison, around the arts center, at least there was no concert tonight, time is ticking, the hour of the party is approaching, I have to stop myself from thinking, just accept being late, just a margin of how late, half an hour, seems reasonable, but 42 minutes? for some reason that makes me feel like a scoundrel, ah, turn up the tunes, you live in a world with thousands of choices within reach, jam out for a bit, for some reason, and I do not know why, “monmouth beach” sounds so much closer in my mind than it actually is, am I conflating “monmouth” as an area, or the college? this is almost a foreign area to me, I have been every place in and around it, all the roads, 35, 36, all of it so well traveled in my travels, but never right HERE, strange, how could I miss out on something as great as “seven bridges road” as you crest and fall like slow waves up and over gorgeous views, water is more of a power broker here than land, it shapes everything in your eye, surrounding, people hiking with fishing poles, I’m jealous, but I have somewhere to be, even if late, my GPS glares at me screaming 5:42 arrival – no matter how fast I seem to go, I think I earned back a minute, damn these things for being so damn accurate, as the miles dwindle, the sky in the coming not so distant distance is beginning to resemble smoke, so of course your mind starts to wander to wonder? is that smoke ? or is that fog? well, I am travelling right in that direction so I suppose I will find out, and the closer I get to my destination (always a bit of trepidation to new locations is creeping in), the closer I get the sun is more obscured, it is not cloudy for sure, just this amorphous fog that seems to have dark streaks, one thing about the shore, you know you are there when every street seems to have a purposeful name… “seaview avenue”, “ocean avenue”, “atlantic avenue”, “dave don’t turn here blvd”, ok, I made the last one up… so here I am tooling about this town I know nothing about, a strange mix of old style beach houses, huge porches, decks, those awnings that remind me of the beach as a kid in deal and yet also italian restaurants, and then there is some other gaudy mansions, roman columns, some other homes that look like an architect could not resist bucking what a beach house should look like, I am probably rubber necking, I try and keep my eye on the prize and be aware of cars behind me, but this is a nice town, it is all new and yet familiar to my jersey DNA, I make a turn, I think I’m here, on the street at least, frantically looking for the number 10, making sure I am not causing a traffic dust up, that must be it, over there, on my left, catering truck check, OK, first mission accomplished, time to park, oh, there’s my brother’s car, definitely got the right place, damn, was that a space in front of him? hard to tell, there is yellow curbs and some curbs kind of colored with rust that in a flash throw me off, so I go to the next block… can I fit there? I have a perception problem, I always over estimate the size of my car, which makes parking a loving endeavor or I drive around needlessly for too ling, so I begin to parallel park, damn, awful angle, and I knew it pulling in, a quick look, eh, no one saw me as I now micro correct my parking job back, turn, forward, back, curb, forward, turn, turn, back, no curb, whew, back, back, park and I’m in, so I grab my offering and saunter over to the house, up the driveway, “hey dave”, it’s my brother, in the garage, I assume up to no good, but no, he was helping his beau prepare a cake in the form of a truck, like one of those cakes you see on TV that looks more like a toy than chow, but it was apparently a rice krispies cake, pretty neat I must say, although I hate sweets, looking more forward to the clams and such, I’m a mollusk freak in that way, so all my fears now allayed, I stroll to the back of the place, noting all the house features, the smell of the ocean is faint at the moment, and the fog? yes, I almost forgot about the fog, since I smell no smoke, this must be fog that decided to join us from over the water, no matter, no matter at all…
notes… I wrote this all in one form, my hybrid of prose and poetry or just what I do…. writing is cathartic, not always, but sometimes, it allows me to question everything, mostly me… I hope you agree, and I suppose if you got this far, you got something out of it, only one person other than myself, that is always my goal, two is a win, four is more, but one is just as good… all thoughts, comments, likes, re-posts and whatever… are all appreciated, thanks. I do this to throw myself out into the world, maybe there are simpaticos out there…. maybe not, but I have to do what I am made to do….
Sometimes I see something and it is just a trigger for some lines, this would be one of those times, a simple thought, just spilled out of my gut, onto this page, how um, romantic, if not gross… but seriously this was just inspiration from a frame, some old wooden power lines stretched across the vast salt marshes of southern new jersey… which made me write this…
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wooden power lines make me think of the plains and open spaces stretching prairies golden rolling fields wide winding roads that inevitably lead to the feet of mountains and the gateway of the west
notes… tonight I was at my cousin’s house, one block from the beach in Monmouth Beach NJ… seemingly I was watching a life I left, or was supposed to have, it isn’t that I am unhappy, but it is strange to observe the changing of generations, the “kids” I knew are now all young 20 something party animals, my cool cousins are now almost the older generation, my uncles and aunts are all 80 plus… life is strange, I am glad to observe it, I must have looked like a weirdo to them, just kind of kicking back and taking it all in, a watcher, no need to fit in, comfortable in my own skin but content to stand by myself, I must admit that I thought about her… how she would have been right next to me and I would have brought the bell to the ball in my mind and heart, I would gladly have had the most beautiful girl in the room, because she always was, to me, but I am happy for the others, my brother who is on wife three, my cousin from philly who has gotten back with a great guy (as far as I could always tell, and I am a good judge of character), a cousin with a new beau, her older sister with the same old who seems a new man when wall street leads to ocean views, and my uncle who’s birthday this was all for, let me be that when I am 80 and I will claim victory, but to look out, and see three generations of your family…. that must be something, I saw it, but I am not of it… but somehow I do embrace it even if I feel outside it at times…
in this sub/urban domain, there are many parts of my little state, that are, amazing places tucked away in plain sight, you just have to know where to look… and take the time to do so… seek out the beauty, treasure map not needed.
just something I wrote that I felt pertains to this post…
“a prayer for the living so they might know to fully embrace the miracle of being”
notes… find that space, or many of them, your space, wherever you may be, let the earth cleanse you of all the bad crap in your day, in your life, watch the ripples on a lake, one by one, watch a dragonfly hop from reed to reed and try to read it’s intentions, sit still for a moment and let the world wash over you, there is no better reality TV than nature, unscripted, and let it return you to when we were just travelers in this land, for we are.
I have been blogging (writing) about ‘unremarkable days’, how there is something to be found in them regardless of how ordinary they may seem, and surely those days outnumber the rest by a large margin, but today was one of those other days, the one where you can remove the “un” entirely, picture book clouds on perfect hand-picked blue print, the sun just quite hot enough as you teeter on the brink of sweat but the damn never breaks, and again, the clouds, not a one with ill intent or a portent to rain (not even a hint), just fluffy white dreams that steal your imagination with their shapes, the kind of day where just looking at the sky makes you smile and drift… I was even mired in hours of Sunday-to-home traffic from the shore, but it felt different, it felt OK and perhaps better, this is the type of day, the type of day that releases you from your daily lease, relief from the daily grind, your personal slate is wiped clean and you can just… be, in the moment, this moment, like experiencing a long slow deep breath from sunrise to sunset… Is this because I took a couple of days off to commune with nature? sure, could be, I believe in re-charging your batteries, I should just learn to take my advice more often… there is this strange exhaustion you feel when you vacation right, you aren’t quite tired or quite refreshed, but are, in both respects, you feel like you can take on the world or not have a care in it, a false premise of course, but I’ll take it in these moments, again, one of those things I wish I could bottle, or prescribe to myself and the world to ingest on a daily basis, but I suppose if it was all that easy, everything would be that easy, so I say to you (and me, by extension, as this is my voice here) go find ‘it’, try to find that thing that at once flushes your system out from the daily weight, sheds the chains, let’s you take flight, find out that which both exhausts you and in the same action re-energizes you, for this life, that is where I am at tonight, my dog, she does not seem impressed… but I can bribe her with peanut butter, so her vote doesn’t count…
for I am witness to cleopatra’s tear to the mighty sword of genghis khan raindrops a map to the stars the night provides a canvas to the past of lives that are now ours and let the hours pass and eons slide from up upon plymouth rock and armstrong’s stride from the very emergence of humanity come forth african savanna a culmination a cauldron for we are all these children of the mother divine interpretation the mark of the father
notes… sometimes I ponder if the air I am breathing is the same air breathed by someone else, so long ago, we all have shared this space, this earth, our only home, as far as we know, so a single raindrop hit my windshield the other day, and as I like to say…. the words wrote themselves…
Shades of My Garden 