Pleasure in a box

When I was a child I can remember my brother and I always waiting with the greatest anticipation to open Uncle Bob's christmas presents every year. I guess my sister did as well but it seemed as if we would get the most extraordinary toys you could imagine; toys that no other child we knew had, toys that appeared as if they were manufactured just for us.

Of course we got other toys, boatloads actually, along with all of the other gifts, you know, clothes, essentials, things that we held up to show everyone and smiled at. See, we were the only three children in a family of 9 adults so I guess we were somewhat spoiled. But let me get back to Uncle Bob's toys. They were amazing! I remember one year he gave us a Ferris Wheel that had to be four feet tall and actually worked! Lights flashed, music played, it rotated with people in the cars, it made you feel as if you were at a carnival! It wasn't so much that it was a very stimulating toy but it was something we had never seen, never imagined as a toy. When I look back at it now, if it were given to me today, it would probably be very boring, but not then, then it was really special and it made us feel that way too!

Through the years he gave us many different things similar to the Ferris Wheel meaning that they were all unique. They either flew or we could drive them or play them as in instruments; they were all great. It always seemed odd though that Uncle Bob's toys seemed to disappear a short time after christmas was over. When I say disappear I mean that they were "put away"; whether for safekeeping or because they were bothersome I'm not sure. It's funny though, when we got older and helped in cleaning out the house they were nowhere to be found. Maybe he returned them??? I doubt it but it would have been nice to come across them as adults.

Since that time all of those nine people are gone, the toys are gone, chances are even the stores where they were bought are gone but the memories that they imparted on us will be with us forever. It's funny how one small word, "toys", can open a floodgate of memories no matter where the toys now reside!

...connected

This weeks topic is something more than just a blog topic for me. I'm sure people are getting tired of my moaning and groaning about the same thing over and over but for some reason while I'm doing the moaning I somehow feel a little better; so, either read what I have to write or not because I have a feeling that I am going to be writing about very similar topics for some time. This particular one "Soul Mate" is very dear to me right now.
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I've heard that term used many times over many years and never really understood what the meaning was other than it was a pair of people who belonged together. That was my definition.

Quite recently I have spoken to 3 different psychics looking for answers and was told by one of them that I in fact had a soul mate although we were not physically together at the moment. The way that it was described to me was that every soul has a mate somewhere and it is indeed rare when those two souls meet in the physical, and know it, which should be cherished if in fact it happens. The "soul" mates never part and no matter if one of them is inhabiting a live person and the other is not they are still together. One of the two waits for the other to pass over and then the two of them are again somehow joined in life. It may not be the same relationship you once had, it could be mother and child, friends, spouses, but more than mere acquaintances. In my current situation I chose to like and accept that definition in hopes of one day being with my soul mate again.
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Think of that one person who loves or loved you more than life itself, probably even more than you love yourself and it could be very possible that person is your soul mate. Chances are there is or was a very strong bond that is almost unexplainable, you know or knew each other better than anyone else could even imagine to, again this is probably your soul mate. All of our lives we search for that perfect person, the one that fits like a glove, and whether or not we have yet to find them they are there somewhere. One theory is that there are many dimensions and we all live within each of them simultaneously with varying things occurring also at the same time. So this particular dimension may not be the one where you are currently with your soul mate but somewhere in some dimension you are. Wouldn't that be nice to know as fact? The following link is attached to a similar theory of sorts and is very long http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x65e9f_the-reality-as-you-know-it-does-not_tech but if you get the time to listen to it there may be additional insight.
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Bottom line is yes, I do believe in soul mates and hope to one day be with mine again. Perhaps, I will get to meet my soul mate again here on earth...who knows...theories are just that, theories, and until (if and when) they are proven they can differ slightly or immensely so adding your own special spin on it isn't going to hurt anyone or thing. As crazy as this may all sound to some of you, this is what I now choose to believe.

Heal me!

Ahhhh healing, what a sweet ring that has to it. They say the body begins to heal when it becomes strong enough to overcome the power of the injury and regeneration or growth begins once again. In most cases, this process can be accomplished with the help of some outside influence whether it be from a doctor or just the application of some over the counter salve or remedy. At times the body heals by itself, like that annoying canker sore that mysteriously disappears when you least expect it or when you wake up and suddenly realize that the muscle ache you've had for a week is simply no longer there.

You can research and find many venues that give you approximate time frames in which various ailments are projected to heal; it's good to be able to track your progress based on these time lines. Knowing that a scab has formed tells you that you are well on the way to recovery and that in and of itself makes you somehow feel better. In this instance we are usually cautious to be sure that we don't inadvertently re-injure the site and sort of allow it to heal thereby making us one, once again.

Then of course there is the wound that we can try to assist in its healing, try to keep from starting anew but nonetheless no matter how hard we try to medicate and protect it we have no control over it. I'm finding that the hardest thing to heal is the mind. We supposedly have more control over our own minds than anyone or thing combined and yet there are certain times when no matter how desperate we are to heal our minds they seem to run amok tossing salt into gaping wounds causing continued pain and anguish. Wouldn't it be nice if there was something on the lines of Neosporin or some type of antiseptic that we could either ingest or apply that would assist in healing our heads?

What's even odder than not being able to heal our minds is the reaction our bodies have when our mind is in pain. Physical pain can also accompany pain in the brain and it seems when the physical pain is in fact caused by our minds pain there too is no way to heal that either. I guess there must be soothing techniques which can be used to ease the minds pain but until now, at least for me, they don't seem to be too reliable. So, as I first said, ahhh healing, it has such a sweet ring to it and right now I could use lots of sweet rings.

Imagine

If all it would take was to imagine each day
the time that I wanted as mine
I know where and when, I know I would stay
so jocular and oh so sublime

The emotions I felt when first in love I fell
could never be matched I am sure
As hard as I try that minute to excel
at best I can hope it to endure

So, it's easy for me to know where to be
where I want to live out my days
No, not me, I need no potpourri
I simply want to keep my heart ablaze.

Ring, Ring, go away...........

Phones, phones, phones, everywhere you turn today there are phones and personally, I believe they are misused. At the risk of sounding like my dead grandfathers grandfather, a decrepit dead fart, I will gladly voice my opinion, even on a phone if need be. As you all know, no revelation, in today's society everyone carries their phone on their person; whether it be on their hip, in their pocket or purse, or plugged into their ear looking like a huge blue palmetto bug about to dig in and make a nest. There was a time when two people were in a room alone and a voice was heard that the other would naturally turn to listen and offer a response. Today however, in the same situation, it is rare that the conversation is aimed at anyone other than a mouthpiece, a portal if you will, not the person you may be with.

You see people on line in the bank, standing at a grocery counter, driving vehicles, landing at an airport, in the backs of churches, I've even been in public restrooms and have heard people speaking from behind doors on the bowl! I don't know about you but I'd rather not have to hear someones blow by blow description of what last nights dinner has done to their stomach; especially as it's occurring! You know how those rooms can echo. Don't get me wrong, I know the importance of a cell phone, I carry one, my wife carries one, everyone I know carries one and it is very helpful and useful at times but there are many times when they are used as a mere distraction; not a need to convey information. Anyone that works or has worked with the public knows that due to a cell phone they have been interrupted in the middle of conversations or transactions while their customer has answered their phone; and it very rarely involves the matter at hand.

How many vehicular accidents have occurred due to these wretched little monsters and their availability? I'm all for the progression of civilization, I would never stand in the way of the evolution of anything, the leaps and bounds that man has achieved since my conception have been utterly amazing but sorry guys, I detest these little ringing nuisances. Again, no doubt, they have their place, everything does, but I feel that these things are not bringing us closer but actually pulling us farther apart on an individual level. We no longer recognize people by their voices or faces, we now know people by their numbers, by their ring tones. I'd be willing to bet that I could pick up someone else's cell phone, dial one of it's contacts, and have a conversation with a complete stranger and they wouldn't even know it was me; instead their brain would somehow make them believe that I was 851-5698, since I'm sure they would answer, "Hi (whatever 851-5698's name is)".

As much as I claim to hate these things and gripe about their misuse, unfortunately I myself am also guilty of the same as I complain about. I've never gotten to the point where I had to talk to someone while on the john, I can draw lines, but yes, I too have used it as a distraction at times. I do however try to curb it's usage to what I feel a conveyance of necessary information. Perhaps since so much of what I do involves using the phone that I try to limit using it as much as I do. Who knows? What I do know however is, if you feel like rebutting this or helping me to understand why I might feel this way about a wonderful addition to our technological lives, tell me face to face or write me, please don't phone me since I probably won't answer anyway.

No green card needed

I know that we can't be alone
to think this we'd be ever so pompous
West of the moon, South of Cancun
I"ll bet they travel without a compass
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What makes them all so gosh darn choosy
must I be driving a pick up truck
Perhaps I need a wife named Pearl
or maybe it's just plain 'ole luck
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I'd gladly take them to my leader
all they'd have to do is ask
I'd even undergo some testing
don't they think I'm up for the task?
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I could make millions selling my story
if they would let me snap some pics
All they'd have to do is pose
not perform strange farout tricks
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Aside from the money and front page press
I think that this would be so rad
To end up with a martian penpal
would as they say it, be oh so "bad"
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So if you know an alien or two
you just might want to steer them my way
because I know I'd love to meet them
and also sure I'd make their day!

Smorgasbord

Who else I might have been

It was about 1920, I think, when I last
had an appetite for doing the Charleston
with my favorite flapper, Flo; she knew how
to make my nights last forever and was
responsible for the good times, but then

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I vaguely remember a hanging post
with gallows creaking beneath;
a rope of pinching hemp surrounds
my bristly neck in anticipation of the drop
which ends with a sharp twisting crack, and
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As I stood waiting for the crowd to finish
the deed they had begun I recalled
a queen, a beautiful dame who was
deeply in love with her stable boy,
but at the time I thought I was dreaming, yet

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Being a horses attendant, a queens "boy" was OK;
as I lay in a mound of hay I wondered why
all that my memory saw was that trip across
the ocean to that far off, unknown land that
was supposedly the place to be that day, however
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Someday I might remember being me, today,
and perhaps question who else I might have been
if just one day, one hour, one second was different;
Or if I'm lucky I'll not remember at all and
the comparisons, the regrets, will never exist

Life outside the Beaker

I often question if there is more than just

the obvious
outcome to the parade I've
marched in for so many years;
not headlined, not starred,

steadily marched
.
I ponder where it is headed, where I myself

am headed
if in any direction at all;
would it matter if I knew beforehand
and if so would I really, truly,

be happy I knew?
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Might being aware of the truth, of the results, change

the way
that the days are spent;
would the droning still tire me
or would this sacred knowledge offer healing powers

otherwise unavailable?
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Onlookers wave as I pass; a bevy of casual smiles become

less and less
meaningful as I continue to trod
past others who must wonder as well;
I think I sense the fear in many of them much like my own;

perhaps I hope
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They should, they have to, mustn't they? I cannot be alone

in my thoughts
yet knowing so provides no answers
to where and when "cut" will be called,
when the curtain will drop and the show abruptly ends;

no encore
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I could experiment a bit, sure just a bit, cutting ahead of the line

and taking
a peek at the beyond but what if it
is not what I'm hoping for; what if it's as I think,
what if the parade ends at a dead end and there are

no former participants?
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Perhaps it's better to leave the laboratory to the rats,

let the proverbial chips
fall where they may and hope for the best but be willing to just sleep,
still knowing that acceptance doesn't really matter.
So can you tell me why the hell I'm wondering

about this?

Fridge Space

Lately I have been a bit on the maudlin side due to the current happenings in my life - the prompt "fridge space", especially to a funeral director, might take on a different meaning than to most - so here is my attempt at:

Fridge Space
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Chrome plated doors
of glinting steel
welcome the sleeping
who can no longer
repeal
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Shelving with rollers
that spin with ease
No, not the place
where you'd store sliced
cheese
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Labels and toe tags
varied in size
a red flag, an ID source
not once a
disguise
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Freon and motors
working in place
offer purpling people their own
"fridge space"

Foul, foul, foul

Fouled lungs,
Options given
Unkind decisions,
Late discovery

Fouled liver,
Options few,
Unwanted cells,
Looks bad

Fouled bowel,
Options chosen,
Unneeded biopsy,
Last rights

F is for Foul!

Foul. What a sweet word in comparison to the expletives I could use when it comes to the foulest stench I have ever encountered. As you could probably imagine, in the time I have been a funeral director I have come across some indescribable assaults on my nasal senses. I'm not going to list each of them for you because today we are looking for the foulest not just the foul. What a word.

Have any of you ever had the pleasure of waking up one day to the smell of a dead animal either in a wall, attic or crawlspace underneath your house? Perhaps a mouse that has gotten trapped somewhere and began decomposing before it was discovered? Well my friends, multiply that horrendous smell by a couple of hundred, maybe even one thousand and you might begin to get the gist of the aroma I am trying to describe.

When the human body decomposes, and I dont mean the beginning phases, I mean full blown decomposition; when that occurs and is left unchecked the ensuing smell can literally knock you over, heaving is not uncommon. It is an odor that remains with you for days. It gets into your clothes, in your hair, and seems to remain hovering in your nostrils no matter how hard you try to cover it. This is gross, it's not something I really care to discuss or even remember but for me, this fits the topic.

All attempts at masking this are worthless. I have discarded many clothing items because they have been soiled by this "foul" scent and no matter how they're cleaned it still somehow remains. Replacing soles on shoes won't work, even if the cobbler will accept them they've become trash. When I hear the words "discovered in the woods", "found at home after 10 days", "pulled from the river after rising to the surface" or other similar explanations I cringe imagining the newest assault I am about to encounter.

A Cow, a pig and a lamb

It was that special time of year for Thump but the rest of the family hated it despite the full bellies it would provide later throughout the year. Each fall, it was time to slaughter a couple of animals which would be either frozen, canned or smoked for the coming winter and following year. Without this chore, there would definitely be a lack of meat on the Carson's dinner table yet there was never a time when anyone other than Thump enjoyed the fall, for this reason alone.

This was always turned into a family affair with each member helping in their own way. Molly the oldest of the children was given the charge of helping mom with the preparation of the meats, JD, the middle child was the son Thump was training to one day take over the farm. It was his responsibility, along with Thump to select which animals they were going to slaughter and actually do the deed of pulling the trigger. Thump thought that this was an honor for the boy yet JD felt like he was killing his pets; the kids had always become fond of the animals that they tended.

Terry, little Terry, had the responsibility of cleaning all of the miscellaneous "cutlery" that was used to do the butchering and a year never went by when this chore didn't make her sick to her stomach but like a good girl, she complied. All of the kids used to complain to both of their parents that they didn't want to partake in this family event but it didn't matter; after all they were children of a farmer, what did they expect. "They weren't no city kids, they had to know the importance of it!"

As each of them grew old enough to leave, they did just that in the hopes of never having to do anything but buy their food again. When momma and paw eventually died the farm was sold and now if you drive down past Thompson's Creek where the farm was at one time you can spy a sea of houses in all miscellaneous shapes, sizes and colors. The funniest part though is that all three kids now miss the lives they led on the farm. Since moving to the big city, they sometimes feel like the livestock they once owned, seemingly moving in herds and always looking over their shoulders waiting for the slaughter.

Now & Later, Now & Then

As a child I grew up in a neighborhood that for the most part was considered Industrial. Right out the front door was the highway; it was an elevated highway that hugged the coastline from the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel all the way into Bay Ridge. Across the street was a metal foundry where they molded metal into various objects for various uses. Then up the block were the offices for the factory that was a "junk mail" clearing house which was a few blocks away.

We had the business that made propellers, there were a lot of shipping companies, the factory that made all sorts of doll parts, and how could I forget the company just near the corner that used to make Christmas decorations. I can remember going there on Halloween and getting boxes of glass balls for the tree in lieu of candy. I didn't know too many kids who went home with Christmas ornaments that night...but when in Rome.

Every evening you could look out the back window and see the pink glow of the "Goya" sign atop the factory that produced Spanish condiments. I always looked forward to passing the Surplus Sales Warehouse because you never knew when they would be having a sale right out of their garage. Unlike the air in the country, it smelled different where I lived; it smelled sort of sooty and plastic, except....when the wind was just right you could smell the dyes from the towel factory.

The best smell that I remember however was from the candy factory. You didn't always smell it but there were times when there was nothing else you could possibly smell at all. I'm talking close to forty years ago and I've since moved away and the area is nothing like it used to be. Many of the factories have been converted into housing and a lot of the immigrants from lower Manhattan have moved into the area after 911. The funny part was that the candy factory I speak of made little chewy candies called "Now & Later", you may have eaten them; they were very popular in my neighborhood and I know they're still made somewhere but haven't had one in many years.

Life in those days was good, aside from being childishly carefree, those days left a lot of good memories which I still carry with me today. Thanks for helping me remember the memories I love to think of every "now and then."

The last Christmas Eve,

That eve she came, it was her last

still visible inside her shell

Disheveled, wrinkled, not the past

still loving and dear you could tell

.

Bearing the gifts she'd leave behind

wrapped in white tissue and ready

Her once taut skin was now all lined

her hands held out were unsteady

.

The gifts she gave, were once her cache

of glitter that she had been given

Back to us came, her treasured stash

that she would not need in heaven

.

She feared that she must soon take leave

of her life we all loved so dear

Days that took her so long to weave

would be gone in less than a year

.

We did not want to take her things

this could not be hap'ning today

How could we care about her rings

this time when we just craved her stay

.

No matter what, we dreamt or felt

her course was already plotted

The time it took, for her to melt

was less than had been allotted

.

This time each year, I always feel

despair for what no one could change

The days that did then, lose their zeal

remain and are no longer strange

..

..

Merry Christmas Mom

The Birth of a Prophecy

Most people rationalize it as a nine month wait but for Don and Elly it had been more like fourteen years before that day. They had gotten married at the young ages of nineteen and twenty one and knew that they had plenty of time to begin a family. There was so much to do right now that the thought of a child was the furthest thing from either of their minds and they were enjoying the new union of their lives.

Don worked down at the Pfizer plant and eventually became supervisor over the crew who bottled Dilantin Tabs for mass marketing. This was supposed to be some sort of anti-epileptic drug which had been used since the 70's but was of late being replaced by newly formulated drugs as well as those damned generics. Elly was a secretary to one of the head honchos upstairs and it wasn't until after the Christmas party of '93 that they started to see one another regularly. It hadn't taken them six months to realize that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and when they married three years ago both sets of parents thought they were too young. This was the year however that they were going to get pregnant, it was time to start their family.

God knows they screwed like rabbits and every month they waited for her cycle to end hoping that her period wouldn't show it's ugly presence but every twenty sixth or twenty seventh of the month it appeared as if by clockwork. During the next seven years she had several possible miscarriages one in which the bleeding was so bad that she wound up in the hospital for a week. The tests results that week told them that she would never be pregnant again; they were heartbroken. It wasn't until they were into their eleventh year of marriage that they decided if they couldn't have a child of their own they would adopt and so they began a new mission.

Almost fourteen years to the day they were finally able to say they were parents; they finally had a child to call their own. The child they received was from Indonesian descent and was named Merpati, she was absolutely beautiful, she was a doll. During those first months with Merpati a strange and completely unexpected thing occurred. The twenty sixth, twenty seventh, twenty eighth, twenty ninth and thirtieth rolled by and no period. That next morning Elly used the early pregnancy monitor she had purchased the night before and discovered that the impossible was indeed possible and this time almost fifteen years to the day of their marriage their son was born. They named him Ramelan in honor of his big sister Merpati.