the clouds are like a perfectly aligned photograph of a still fire bloom set upon the dazzling supreme aqua of a pristine tropical ocean, maybe a cliche, maybe not, I’ll take it any day of the week, and three times today or tonight as the sun is slipping under the horizon, even though this is really just the earth’s rotation, such a large but understood concept, but do we stand here and admire that fact? or feel the spin, feel the ground whipping around at dizzying speeds, all with our terra firma feet planted well on this ground, the dirt, the thin skin layer of the molten apple we call earth, a seething ocean of fire just a few miles, under where we feel so safe, a thin layer of air all that separates us from space, how precarious we are, but do we perceive it, we worry more about the local buzzing about, unaware of some outer calamity that could end our little love affair with ourselves, the action of every breath of every being, an orchestra of the absurd chances of just being, being here, writing this, or reading these words, I am truly amazed in moments like this, I think nature is sneaky, or wise, or both quite combined, to show us glimpses, here and there, drops of reminders, breath taking visions, thundering falls, tiny bugs of imaginable stripe and scope, unimaginable combinations of dna in humans alone, the colors, of eyes, of hair, heights, and smiles, the buffet of laughter shared across global realms, all revealed in an evening sky, the signs are all there, they describe locations, the mile markers, more subtle than neon flashing colors but no less informative, all around, so train the mind, use your eyes, take in that precious breath, hold a loved one for just a moment to feel that warmth, that is the miracle of life, this is bounty, this is our corner of the universe, the only one we can possibly know but we are here in the face of impossibility, that rare bloom of existence, for a short while, stars have formed your very core, for once twilight is now your veins, once heavenly bodies are your precious thoughts, take a moment, absorb the world’s wonder, feel the universe in your bones as we are one, we all come from the most basic of elements, a recipe of those touched by a spark, and here you are.
sitting at a light, a familiar one, a common one, route one and nine, or maybe just route one at this point, a typical late summer afternoon, the sky bragging and flashing an amazing spectrum of colors, if you care to stop by, and I do, for a moment, collect up my consciousness off the floor, and look up to that sky, something I hope I never tire of, or at least remind myself to remember the sky by, on days that are more or mere gray, or perhaps when my outlook is under the weather, to remember, days such as this, windows down, sounds of my choosing caressing my ears, staring out into that sky, getting lost but not enough to piss off, those in traffic with me, waiting to make a left, and then – a burst across that sky, a flock of geese, candian probably, some other type, your guess, immediately I think to myself, for who else am I going to think to, that I enjoy geese more than other flocks, the lines, the patterns, the organization, the ultimate arrow point, perhaps this says more about me, on a psychological level, than I might care to admit, but in flight, the precision, the dynamic of coordination, the collaboration of individuals, appeals to me, at some base level, my base level, rather than the flocks that look like schools of fish darting in swirls back and forth like a whirlwind, no, I much prefer the geese, and there is a honk, not from them, for the light has turned green…
Photo by Download a pic Donate a buck! ^ on Pexels.com
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…
Photo by Ervick on Pexels.com
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…
Photo by Ben Baker on Pexels.com
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….
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…
back to my regularly scheduled programming… Thursdays are for the lachrymose, those moments when I reflect on her…
Photo by Vincent Albos on Pexels.com
“a slow pour, in a bar in paradise islamorada, florida sitting on a stool of course, by myself top shelf surprised they have basil’s, a slow pour some would describe this exquisite a perfect sunset light slides along the gulf like all those postcards I suppose I could just buy a bottle and some pills and end this right now as there is something missing in the midst of all this glory, a slow pour – the rattle of melting cubes the sharp sting of bourbon punctures my tongue the view, massages like a familiar tune the hum of gentle conversation I am not involved in, a. slow. pour. … the deck overlooks overlaps the water lapping the pylons sips count the minutes here in locked distant beauty in a bar, in paradise on the water I contemplate life – without you”
notes… this is totally a mental picture for me, and my link to Islamorada above shows… even in the midst of what most would consider paradise…. I remain, on those warm nights, ocean breeze, wishing you were there next to me, I still have hope, down there, somewhere, for new love or the kindling of old (for her, I love you)…
and in the interest of being honest, I was disappointed that my last post got no love… maybe the way I tagged it ? not sure.. but either way I stand by it with pride….
family…
for some reason, I must admit to myself a certain underlying apprehension, as a family gathering is happening out on the horizon, nothing formal like a wedding mind you, just a get together, a party for an uncle eclipsing the 80 year mark (who looks great for his age), but anyway, I got to thinking about this underlying apprehension as to how I would be judged or looked at, is it my expectations, theirs? both? driving to work can provide mind maddening traffic nightmares but also a chanee to reflect, so I guess this is what that is, I suppose there will be idle talk about what David is or was supposed to be, and what or who I am now, speculation, derision, is family strangers… you just happen to know better ? just not better than your friends ? these are my findings, not all families get along (we are not fighting mind you,), I suppose we do alright these days, better than most, although the distance between all of us has grown and is quite palpable, an interesting phenomena in the days of digital communication, things are actually less personal, get togethers are more rare, real communication is even rarer, is it regret? a generational thing? I’m not sure, I suppose we all bear some responsibility, so easy to melt into our various devices as devices of convenience and distraction (the evolution of bread and circus?), in many ways I seem to know more about what my relatives think, on social media at least, but is that just a face… or reality? or a mixture? I try to be as honest as possible in all phases but in reality, this reality we all play roles, whether we admit that to ourselves or not, we have differing faces, not mendacity, not lies, just different sides for different suns, can we escape that paradigm? I suppose that is what I try… at least… so I think there will be those that judge me against their children or some other quite temporal measuring stick, what is success anyway, and is temporary “success” in this world worth anything anyway? Are having kids… success ? if those kids “fail”… does that lessen your ‘success’ based on so many factors you can not possibly control… or do you just roll with it, life that is, the more I think about it the more I tend to let go when I catch myself acting by the hand of outside forces, like these thoughts that have invaded my little space but I caught them sneaking in (they should have removed their shoes… amateurs…)
Photo by Rodolpho Zanardo on Pexels.com
lest you be judged…
“let people judge you” because in the end what does it matter, you can never, or will never be able to control the thoughts or will of others, there is no super secret power or device to such end, your options are very obvious if you distill them down, forever chase the end of the rainbow to no end… or just accept things (and yourself) as they are, I am not saying throw out the baby with the bathwater and eschew personal growth and goals, but as far as other people’s thoughts? consider them, but let that not be your guiding principal in this life, it is easy to judge anything and everything, it is our absolute nature to compare things, but take into consideration that we all have limited experience in these comparisons regardless of how long we have been riding on this planet, we are very tied down to our own experiences which in the scope of things is quite limited (think about the variables, when you were born, your parents, your country, your state, your gender, your religion etc etc), so trust in that deficiency, sounds strange to trust in your lack of something, but that lack of experience is exactly the lens you are filtering the world through, admitting real limitation is the keystone to the bridge of accomplishment (I should author fortune cookie messages… or hallmark cards… I’m available for parties, no balloon animals (just can’t do that) and no ponies (I’m allergic) )…
Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com
eclipse…
maybe my problem is over stimulated blindness, looking at the sun can be overwhelming, at times an eclipse might be most useful, something between you and everything, blocking enough so you can see the periphery and the outline, not all the light at once so you can appreciate the whole that much more when it is revealed again, there is a lesson in there somewhere, the patience of it all, as the curtain is slowly drawn and then reversed until full dawn, so maybe I will think of an eclipse if I am ever overwhelmed, and remember not to take in the whole ball of sun at once (as I tend to do, becoming a localized Atlas with not the shoulders he had), realize my limitations and take in what I can instead of swallowing whole, surely though I will falter and draw to close, fall like Icarus into the sea, and hopefully not drown this time, or the next, like all things practice in this, and practice becomes habit and habit becomes your work clothing, and then you forget the change ever happened at all, because you are comparing things as you go…
Photo by Stijn Dijkstra on Pexels.com
so I suppose my fear (or discomfort) is un-grounded, I should not have apprehension for a family gathering, if I cause rumors or a stir, it matters about as much as a car spider scuttling across my window at night, or a leaf slowly swaying back and forth as it inevitably lands on the ground, have I cleared myself of the fear completely? some part of me still clings, but somehow, after examination, I feel some relief… and I suppose that is progress, besides the sky is very blue today, there is a cloud that looks like a mile fern leaf, the wind is gently turning the purple leaves of the cherry blossom outside this concrete box where I work, it all seems right… it all seems OK… at least for now, and that is all you can hope for sometimes…
finger-style electric, mellow but exciting, and if you play the technical level is mind blowing, they are playing the TLA in Philly in September, hell yell I will be there… (I couldn’t make the Brooklyn show on the 16th this month.. grrrr)
I could sense a palpable sigh as the rain began to fall, as if the ground was tired of holding up the heat and wished to heave the warmth back into the sky, I watched the lightning coming in, the breeze as an emissary picking up, I am in no hurry to run for cover, this is a welcome rain, I have seen days that hit three digits, I have seen heat waves, so this was not some panic toxic today, just a nod to not be working out in the yard, better to dip your feet in the water and sip on a frozen pina colada by the neighbor’s pool, some would say my mother raised a fool, but at least not this day, so anyway, back to the rain, I am not sure if it is perception, reaction, or imagination, the change seems swift, the temperature drops like a bullet, plummets, not very scientific of me, just the feel, the hair on my arms as the weather stations reporting the local condition, my dog rolling around on her back, in the grass, getting all wet, she does not like to be clean, she’s over ten years old now, so she has earned the privilege of her particular needs, so I let her roll around until her dog heart is content…
Photo by Rodrigo Souza on Pexels.com
why is lightning so fascinating ? the largeness of it? the semi magical seeming nature of it? the perceived and real danger? Even though we mostly know technically what lightning is… does that remove the wonder? not for me, maybe not for you. the rain is coming now, the breeze with subtle trumpets has announced, and you can hear the sheets creeping, falling, advancing, feet from me now, an errant drop scout here and there in my hair, I was facing the wrong direction, somehow, the rain snuck up on the rear while the light show distracted the front of house, nature, she has been at this a good deal longer than I, she will always have the upper hand no matter how smart I might project to be, the only question now is, how wet do I care to be? no soak tonight, I casually stroll back to my door as it now really cracks the sky to pour, I hear the symphony of downward water pounding on the leaves, increasing, I call out to sam to “come inside”, she obliges, her little happy bouncing gate in stride, and back I go, the weight of the heat of the day lifted, I look forward to open skies in the morning.
another long standard (read: stressful) day @ the office, I wanted to sit out on the old porch tonight and muse to transport my mind off-world or on-world just somewhere else, the weather, on the other back hand slap, had other ideas, and decided to mess heavily with my commute with continuous walls of rain, so I was burned out by the time I arrived @ home night, much later than hoped, and drained, so I decided what the hell… remember the scene from Shawshank where Andy crawls out from the tunnel? yeah, something like that, I happen to love thunderstorms, the pageantry, the power, the light-show, so… I stepped outside, barefoot as I am known to do these days, and frolicked in the rain like a silly spun child, pouring rain that began to pour more so as I go, so what if I get soaked to the bone, what does it matter, why did I ever care about rain on my shoulders, or hair, or else, I found myself splashing about the puddles on my driveway, still quite warm from a 90 degree blazing sun day, and on the lawn, much cooler, grass reaching up and flooding the gaps in my toes, somehow being barefoot and about outside in the world is a taste of free range, I have been doing it quite often as of late, just not in a torrent of near blinding rain, I twirled around a bit under the street light like a top, hands out, palms up, forgot about any dirt or grit that might be about, pacing slowly pacing on my lawn, flexing my toes like talons to pick up all the sensations, so this is Barry? I thought to myself, how do you do sir, heard a good deal about you, long way to travel just to see New Jersey from the Gulf, but he won’t be in town but for the night, so I say adieu and goodnight, soaked to the skin, I feel refreshed, renewed, relaxed, a localized baptism, experience, why did I ever run from the rain in the past? and why did it take me so long to reconnect to such simple pleasures, kicking around in a puddle without a care of consequence, letting go of all my adult trappings, washed down to the curb, next time I think, however, I should throw on a bathing suit… my knickers are sticking…
Flash update (2AM), just walked the dog, Barry is just clouds now, the sidewalk is still cold, the driveway is still warm (oddly), and the lawn…. damn I just paced back and forth 50 times… it does not get old…. the spinning in the non rain though… eh, not as cool…
Shades of My Garden 