‘Why is traffic not moving?’ sipping my coffee, nearly on gulps, a swig of spring water, the minutes turn to fifteen, fifteen feet maybe moved, on the turnpike, no exit within sight, I fiddle with my radio, adjust the tunes, tap the wheel, pretend to be happy with the distraction, and I am, for at least an instant, then I realize, coffee gone and downed, halfway through the spring water… I look up and focus for once time in an hour…
I am stuck in traffic behind a truck, carrying porta-pottys, the irony- not being able to go and not being able to go.
I guess I will have to hold it… (and my frustration).
Tag: observation
musings from the window… (dreaming of gingerbread houses)
I might see the allure now, everything capped and framed in blankets of pure white, the tempest has gone out to sea, the world has settled teetering towards normalcy, the grit and dirt of the pace has not had a chance to corrupt the scene, the cold freezes the world or slows this down as much at least, enough to breathe and watch like chimneys slowly blowing smoke into the sky ceiling, there is a palpable silence to grip when the landscape has been dressed like this, when the local habitat endures the blunt instrument of winter, even the plowed remains, piled up against the curb seem like majestic sculpted berms, foot prints are deep and mark the paths, a distinct record of those who have passed just before you, you size up your shoe against theirs, like a game, filling the gaps with your own gate as you go, gingerbread houses, just make sense to me now, in this moment, covering flaws, making uniform the houses on the street regardless of style and year, I suppose I am dreaming, streaming in the land of rockwell, of sleds and mittens, of hot cocoa, piles of boots scattered in the front hall, sure, the world bounces back swift and the race is back on, shortly, but for a moment, transformed, a neighborhood of warm gingerbread houses is mine to adore…
notes… hey, we got 18 inches of snow here give or take, Edison NJ proper, well, at least to me, north Edison, just outside the donut that is Metuchen, just left of Iselin the Asian Indian capital of the region (damn I am spoiled food wise you can’t imagine, pizza and vindaloo to die for within 10 blocks)
‘proof of life’ an exposition… or just observance, or, ah screw it…
awash in the whirlpool of life, the little details that spin your head and move your focus round about, this morning, such the chore, taking the car to the dealership for a required check up, they open at 8am and I am no friend of the early morning, well, at least until I grab a hold of a large cup of joe, coffee, that is, to the uninitiated, I must have been feeling fancy this morning and went to my keurig with a starbucks hazelnut blend, I usually just bust out the bustello, my usual friend, but I do love a little hazelnut now and again, the dealership is nice enough, tucked up in a corner of jersey (denville), there are all these little negotiations we make in the daily dance, do I put my mask on … now? do I go inside? or just follow the sign that says ‘enter on green arrow’ by the garage, I’m second in line, so I think the pressure is defaulted to the person in front, but they are not stirring, 7:57am, so close now, everything looks closed, the website says 9am open but my info told me otherwise, 7:58am now and not a creature is stirring, my mind races for no real concrete reason at all, but tell that to my mind, 7:59, I think I see someone, a shadow at least milling around inside, 8am, as if on cue, as if by magic, or just an utterly mundane tuesday morning, the garage opens and in rolls candidate number one in front, do I pull up? do I wait? what, am I negotiating a multinational trade deal here, get a grip, so I do, on the radio dial, but the top of the hour is all news, yawn, no thanks, time for tunes, the blessing and curse of the modern, hundreds of albums to choose from, maybe I am better off turning the radio off, maybe the coffee has had more of an effect on me than I would like to admit (I have to say during this whole pandemic thing I have not been hitting my fix of caffeine as often as I used to), so, perhaps that is what is on my edge this morning, a catalyst for neurotic notions, so I need to… relax, I admonish myself that this sure beats being at work, doesn’t it? and then the clouds part, I’m waved in, no doubt about it, I pull up to the appointed place, company car, company appointment, I pretty much don’t have to do squat… but squat out in the waiting area outside for awhile apparently, socially distant rules apply, a younger guy sits at the table next to mine, he brought his laptop, damn, I should have thought of that, they surely have decent WiFi, there is only so much I can do on my phone, so time to wait it out, the threat of rain looms, I play some games, watch the car carrier unload, time seems slow, I am not sure if that is my car, I mean I am at the dealership, there are tons of ‘my car’ there by default, and there, in the corner of my eye, something moves, fluttering on by, a meandering pattern, well, not a pattern then, a meandering flight, up-down and mostly right to left, a moth, stark perfect white, I do not know why, nor could I tell you what, but I felt surprisingly alive, a moment of confirmation, all wrapped up in this mundane everyday situation, snapped back into the realization of life, life! just a simple thought, from a simple moth, a little nudge from the outside… or above… I’m alive, I am ALIVE…
humidity… (the day that would not burst)
the day that would not burst, humidity, so damn thick today, I can actually taste the hanging moisture in the air or feel the weight of said heavy moisture that has tricked my senses to believe so, maybe it has just been that long between seasons, or the spell cast by this strangest of springs, milling about the house like a tethered on a leash garden gnome, and just as useful (or not), and sans the cool pointy hat or costume, I would have sworn on a dotted line and counted all pins down strike that rain would come today, sure, I could use that fancy internet thing and look things up, but I was busy with work, remotely helping customers with errors, bad luck, and just dumb stuff, such is the IT world of support, one day cleaning dust bunnies from lowly printer sensors, the next finding out what compromised a ten thousand dollar enterprise server, but if I delve into those details, I risk boring you further, and that would seem counter productive , back on the road the GPS says, in my head… all the signs were there, no sun, it took the day off (I get it, shining every day for 4 billion years must be tiring), there was a wind that would stop and start with fury, whizzing by a little stronger than it’s ordinary day cousins as of late, the leaves, the leaves – usually the tell of a coming storm, for some reason they flip upside down, belly up, so once bright green trees appear pale, as if the leaves are supplicating to the sky for some proof of life, I witnessed all those signs, and then even a drizzle teased my face when I went to grab the mail, another excuse to leave the house and wander outside for a bit, maybe I’ll walk the dog again, even she is losing her enthusiasm for it, I was so sure, sure as can be, just waiting for the burst of rain, anticipating a nice afternoon nap with the ran lapping at my window, the wind stirring my bamboo rack back and forth like a sweeping pendulum, just typing that now makes me want to crawl into bed like a toddler exhausted from daily play without care, but still, night now, I look outside, damn, still no rain, I guess I built myself up for this disappointment, maybe just take things as they are and find the good in that, I suppose there is a lesson in there somewhere… maybe…
notes.. hey, you, yeah you, thanks for reading, I appreciate it, I am a very acquired taste as I am a very unique mix of ingredients, my blog is just me throwing art and words into the world, you dig ? cool….
thoughts from the porch… (random)
in just a few days time the limbs of trees have grown fat with seed pods, dipping down ever so slightly, and I thought I might never utter, how beautiful the reflection in my car hood of one particular overhanging, the reflection reminds me of a japanese painting, maybe the resemblance to cherry blossoms is a trigger, I filled one particular bird feeder for the first time in quite some time, packed with actual seed, I usually just throw my old stale bread bits in there, ‘bird feeder’ is certainly a misnomer, for the squirrels certainly think the buffet presented is for their benefit, I do not mind, I know there is whole industries at war with the squirrels and bird feeders, not here, not for my time though, I try to figure out the sign language of their tails flailing instead, a man is walking with his son, across the street, playing a game where he counts his steps trying to step as far as his much taller father, the kid is laughing it up and having a blast, truly the simple things, the world has fallen away, how fast to shed the human skin, so might I just concentrate on the warming sun of coming days as so I hope they are…
thoughts from the porch… (a storm hence)
the blind man and the technological dream coat
I imagine this is the sound of mining, of the pounding chatter of a quarry at peak, for here we are ensconced in the throes of an information age, wrapped quite tightly in our digital holy blanket, and yet, along comes a spider of a plague, or just today (literally today), the sweep of a stronger than most storm system, rolling through these parts with purpose, an agenda, like a horizon long bullet train, tearing at trees, throwing undulating wave-walls of rain, trees, inevitably, bear the brunt of the break, groaning and retching tossed in the gale’s wake, rarely do storms rally for an entire day such as this, consuming hours like candy, tossing tinder like trinkets…
oddly, though, I do not fear the roaring of this early spring lion, I fear consequences, but the wind itself is somehow comforting, as all else noise is cancelled thoroughly, no cars, no traffic, no horns or radios thumping, nor animal sign or sound, just the wailing pendulum thrush of the wind testing the mettle of every item in bounds, the purposeful fury of nature, is calming, as the hours pass, then…
and there is the thumping, the pounding into the ground, now that all the weather drama has subsided, I always like to take a walk along the lawn after a storm has passed, to see what did and did not last the lash, nothing of sort to note this day, the usual litter of elder limbs that were on their way anyway, nothing too big, nothing threatening certainly my life or limbs, this hardly seems like the same day now, the sun is daring to breakthrough now, bathing the backs of the remnant cruising clouds, the backlit clouds flowing by like milky orange blossom tea blooming, as I continue to listen to the metered pounding, rhythmic sound –
my neighbor’s mailbox was a casualty of the day, well, not mortally wounded, but down for a spell, and his was, well is, a so much nicer mailbox than mine ever was, so as I write, letting the cleansing wind surround (as the tempest is quite tame now), he pounds, to open the ground, for a new post, a stronger root, digging a hole, digging a hole has not changed much these thousands of years, of that I can be quite sure, and before I realize the time gone, he is done, the mailbox is back up.
oddly, though, I do not fear the roaring of this early spring lion, I fear consequences, but the wind itself is somehow comforting, as all else noise is cancelled thoroughly, no cars, no traffic, no horns or radios thumping, nor animal sign or sound, just the wailing pendulum thrush of the wind testing the mettle of every item in bounds, the purposeful fury of nature, is calming, as the hours pass, then…
and there is the thumping, the pounding into the ground, now that all the weather drama has subsided, I always like to take a walk along the lawn after a storm has passed, to see what did and did not last the lash, nothing of sort to note this day, the usual litter of elder limbs that were on their way anyway, nothing too big, nothing threatening certainly my life or limbs, this hardly seems like the same day now, the sun is daring to breakthrough now, bathing the backs of the remnant cruising clouds, the backlit clouds flowing by like milky orange blossom tea blooming, as I continue to listen to the metered pounding, rhythmic sound –
my neighbor’s mailbox was a casualty of the day, well, not mortally wounded, but down for a spell, and his was, well is, a so much nicer mailbox than mine ever was, so as I write, letting the cleansing wind surround (as the tempest is quite tame now), he pounds, to open the ground, for a new post, a stronger root, digging a hole, digging a hole has not changed much these thousands of years, of that I can be quite sure, and before I realize the time gone, he is done, the mailbox is back up.
things you notice…
“the moonlight frozen
written, on the wall
filtered, through the bathroom window
on an angle
noticeable now
when someone is gone”
notes… we get used to things, we surely do, the routine, I am the same, I frame things in the familiar, perhaps our minds work that way, they probably do, we compare and contrast constantly, we size things up, and when things change the change can manifest in so many ways, some we notice, some are subtle
what the flock ?
a flock of seagulls, no not the band (and was that hair a viable option… ever?), a flock of seagulls, hmm, ‘flock’ seems a bit fancy for seagulls, maybe a ‘collection’ ? no… that sounds a bit too much like a bunch of stuffed taxiderm-ical feathered statues staring at you with those creepy dead hollow eyes, a ‘gang’ of seagulls ? hmm, they can be rather aggressive in these parts but that does not seem to fit the ticket either, a ‘gaggle’ of seagulls ? that seems to fit, even if the name is owned by their cousins the geese (I am allowed creative license with species just so you know), so a gaggle of seagulls it is, not on the sea, quite more inland, choosing to be, in the parking lot of my local strip mall, a pizza place (very good local joint), of course a chinese spot as well, a laundromat, a supermarket, a nail place and then a hair place with predictably in the middle of them cuddled a spa that seems sketchy (aka massage parlor), a bangin’ bagel place, a liquor store, jeez, this really is New Jersey to the core, I think that covers all the major food groups of Jersey: Taylor Ham, Egg and Cheese; Bagels; Pizza; Eggrolls and Wonton Soup; and the adult beverage of your choice to wash it all down, and somehow this is the domain of said gaggle of gulls formerly of beachfront property realm ? I suppose the scavenging is superb to attract such a far off crowd, especially lured away from the beach and shore which I consider so much more (fresh seafood buffet galore), than this, some so random new jersey parking lot bore, but they did not leave their hierarchy behind, there is constant shuffling for the best of the parking lot lamp perches, to scoop up the scraps of those passing through their new inland shore as tides of people come and go, then there is the bench, the on deck circle, those waiting in line on top of the buildings, all in line, waiting to be called up to the scavenging front line when one of the larger more established gulls is caught not looking or is sleeping it off some where quite satisfied, it all seems so darwinian and yet wholly unnatural all in the same breath of thought and observation, most travelers through do not pay them (the gaggle) any mind, I like to take at least a little time to observe their idiosyncrasies and evolving society, I wonder, would I leave the beach… for this ? this concrete wash with no roaring ocean, a beach all to yourselves, for the most part, only that pesky invasion of summer bodies which bring sacrificial food anyway, the waves, the surf, the sun, the ocean smell, swapped, for this? belching cars and urban smells, I wonder again, could I do that? leave that behind ? how high and mighty I must be, at least they started on the beach, I have never gotten there to begin, except to visit for a spell, I surely have never set up shop for more than a week on said beach, touche gaggle of gulls, at least you have at once or past called the ocean shore your home where I have found most of my life on pavement and concrete stone…
music… had to be obvious, except I remember when it came out before GTA made it popular again, I was more of a Duran Duran kid I have to say… yeah, me the uber metal head into all sorts of craziness musically, my first musical love was Simon Le Bon, don’t tell anyone, don’t want to lose my cred…
thoughts from the porch… (surprising labor day edition)
labor day, the traditional death of summer, everyone rushes in like an orgy of decadence to have the last hurrah, the last dance, on the last day, school begins next week, so seemingly the season of play is gasping for breath, the last stand of the ph warriors who battled chemical balance in their pools all summer long, for this payoff, as the door is closing, I know, in my mind, or in my rational side, that time has a singular pace but I will still swear on my grave there are times when time speeds up or down, always the contrast of what we feel is true up against what we ‘know’ as truth, there are already early casualties of the seasonal war, leaves already yellowed, scattered about my lawn, how quickly the summer is gone, like the rest of everything else around me I will cling to every bit of the warm sun, and absorb every last of molecule of heat, from which I can…
this is not a quiet night, in fact my immediate neighbors, to my right, are throwing quite the party, like they should need a permit loud party, the street is lined with parked cars I do not recognize, my neighbors have white balloons tied to their mailbox, to mark the spot even though everyone has GPS today, on their phones, or otherwise devices, I think to myself, such is the cycle, the cycle of life, a celebration of life just next door, and yet literally three houses down they continue in mourning of passing, and me here, dwelling, veritably in the middle of both, I suppose that is a midlife crisis? being between birth and death equally, seeing so clearly both wherever I may roam? I do not know… and I suppose no one does.
I am not certain what type of party this is, somewhat formal, guests dressed in sunday best as far as I can tell, bottles of wine and platters of food in tow, they have a live band, so I imagine it is an occasion of some importance, the band seems to be playing the standards, I am guessing, it is all in vietnamese, but I thought I heard a rendition of “daddy’s little girl” in there, maybe it’s a wedding, white balloons and all… there is a little cadre of the neighbor’s friends or relatives on the front porch, away from the party, grabbing a smoke, some drinks, probably talking shit about the ones in the main gathering out back, I know this group well, I’m usually one of those self righteous rebellious comrades, too cool for the main room, or backyard, in this instance, but I must realize and admit, it is my own inadequacies and lack of comfortable self that makes me break off, as I do, into the smaller group, where I can exert more control, avoid my own failures and flaws instead of accepting them whole cloth, and wearing them proudly back into the fold, proclaiming me, but maybe sometimes I also think, I do not truly belong, both truths can be true, a married couple of ineptitude in my soul…
as more guest arrive, their long shadows almost stretch and touch me from the sidewalk, these last lights of the day, bending into a celebration, I notice myself in the moment, I am uplifted, I do not know any of the words to any of these songs, not even the language, but somehow, there is translation in the sentiment, perhaps this is latent memory taking the wheel, I have been to many affairs and parties over the years, just not my own, so maybe this is why I know the feelings so well, I guess that is why I feel so relaxed and comfortable now, sitting here alone, on my porch, enjoying a celebration of life, quite outside my own, knowing this is all life, the cycle of loved ones and dear friends, come and gone, celebrations, gatherings, moments, come and gone, these we hold on to, we need to hold on to, each other while we are still here because even within my block, all the reminders of life’s start and end, stay very near.
Notes… this is endemic of my Porch series, I was out there tonight, observing, and writing, and enjoying the world…
thoughts… from my porch tonight…
the sounds of a summer night offer a certain melody maybe mistaken for cacophony, school is out, a holiday looms in a few, the sun has warmed the all and now it is beginning to cool, my neighbors to my left are having a pool party, loudly, but not obnoxiously, I used to want a pool myself, too much trouble now, to few days to use it properly in this climate zone, I would much rather prefer a jacuzzi to soak away the troubles of the day, the daily aches and pains of age, besides, I have no children, just a dog, and she seems fine with a water hose and the occasional ride to the beach, have you heard squirrel-speak? kind of a high pitch squeal, something you might imagine a little pig in the trees to make but more shrill, at first you surely would not think of a squirrel, but mostly the younger ones make this sound, the breeze is on double time tonight, lulling me as it creates a tangible rustle as it touches down through the branches and leaves, rising and falling in intensity, not quite as timely as a tide but much the same calling, much the same effect, at times it climbs higher in pitch and fierce force – for just a moment, ready, as if to crash down upon me like a giant wave, and then it relents returning back again to subtle flow, my neighbors are of vietnamese descent, well, they happen to be very american, but many of their relatives speak the native tongue, completely foreign to me only in the fact that I can recognize it is foreign, obviously, but some how… familiar, I mean it is a pool party after all, not a debate about world politics, more or less the same things that go on under the sun, by the grill, silly floating animals, splashing, dont do thats doing thats, the whole family component of people you only see on such occasions, the mourning doves are cooing, a very persistent dog is barking in the close distance, may be a street away, might as well be 100 miles, I look out into all the plants I have planted, great and small, how they come back every year, until they don’t, and how permanent it all seems, in this moment, but of course the only thing that is permanent is change, so I gladly admire my little space in suburbia, and continue to paint it with these words as it was, because was is all that ever is, was, I was sitting here tonight, listening, that dog is still barking, the party is settling out, an airliner rumbles out of view somewhere in the sky, the world is getting quieter, softer, as the day wears thin, so to does my mind, trying to ingest this as nourishment to fuel my being, this feeling, this now, this was.
oh by the way, listen to this…. Eric Johnson – Stratagem….
Shades of My Garden 