Friday, December 31, 2004

New Year's Appreciation

A big thank you to the two doctor's JG and JU without who's caring support that went beyond the call of the HMO bylaw's, 2004 would have been difficult beyond all reason.

Thank you to an old friend LL who facilitated my reunion with my son RB. Without her assistance this reunion may have been postponed for quite some time.

Thank you to RB for providing me with a second chance. In my heart I had given up hope and yet when contacted, without hesitation you gave me the opportunity to regain what I had lost. Having you back in my life was the greatest gift that I received in 2004 or any recent year for that matter.

Thank you to my mom for always being there with support and concer regardless of what hurdles she was facing in her own life. Despite being diagnosed with bone cancer she continued to put her family first offering whatever support she could to myself, my brother and my sister. I could not ask for a better mother or a better example for how one should face life and ones responsabilities.

Finally, thank you to who have stopped by Murmur's for visit. In January 2004 I began this blog with a simple goal a tool that would motivate me to write more. Murmur's accomplished this and so much more. Never did I expect that so many visitor, nor did I expect to make so many new friends.

A special thanks to the following blogger's who through their writings have inspired stories or poetry that I have written. Who through their comments have helped to keep me honest in my writing and kept me from impersonating other styles and remaining true to myserf.

  • Grumpy Bunny
  • Life or Something Like It
  • Phantasmemoria
  • Rachelland
  • TLJ's Thoughts of the Day

    If you have yet to visit these sites please do. They have much entertainment and wisdom to offer.
  • Thursday, December 30, 2004

    Solace

    Friday night
    Four friends on a beach
    Sitting, talking
    Dreams out of reach
    Facing life’s problems
    In their own separate way
    Wishing to run
    Having to stay
    One spent the night
    A drink in hand
    Fighting to forget
    What fate had planned
    One is laughing
    No serious words
    Always escaping
    Portraying the absurd
    One a flirt
    No commitment in mind
    Afraid of love
    In a world unkind
    Finally one
    A romantic at heart
    Though fate has torn
    The romance apart
    All thrown together
    By a toss of the dice
    Seeking solace
    Each other’s advice
    Though the words are confused
    Thoughts lie unspoken
    Not enough time
    The mood is broken

    Off in the distance
    The rising moon
    The drinks are gone
    The mood is blue

    Four friends on the beach
    Brush off the sand
    Rise to leave
    Offer a hand
    A smile here, a whisper there
    Nothing transpired
    Though they learned to care
    It’s easier to talk
    Of trivial things
    When the mind is full
    …..of pain

    Wednesday, December 29, 2004

    Tsunami Murmur's

    Anyone who has visited Murmurs on a regular basis know that I do not usually spend much time on current events. However as the events around the Indian Ocean have unfolded it has become difficult for me to write about anything else.

    Over 77,000 dead at last count with almost half of the fatalities children. I for one cannot even comprehend a number of that magnitude. 77,000 of anything is a lot but 77,000 deaths is beyond comprehension.

    The future of the surviviors is by no means guarenteed. No water, no food and bodies everywhere. Disease is going to run rampant in those areas for several months which in the long run will kill more than the tsunami did.

    Finally here in Los Angeles we have had two days of rain with almost six inches falling yesterday. True this is a lot of water for this area but a disaster I do not think so. However today on the local news they were leading with the rain and with a straight face the anchors were discussing the rain as if this was an earthshattering event.

    Storm watch.

    A tree fell in someones yard.

    Traffic was backed up on the freeways.

    Someone lost a roof.

    A parking structure was flooded.

    Please. I was not a big fan of local news before today but after today they are off my list for good. 77,000 people dead and we are supposed to panic because LA got wet.

    Monday, December 27, 2004

    Compassion

    In discussing the disaster in and around Indonesia with several people today I was appalled by their reaction and their comments. These are people that I thought I knew well when in reality I did not know them at all.

    “It was only the poor people that died. It was their own fault they should have been educated and making enough money to allow them to live in a better neighborhood unaffected by killer waves.”

    How does one respond to an ignorant comment like that, for one not all of the people who were killed were poor. Many tourists were killed as well. Besides it is not as if the people in a lot of these countries chose to be poor. They live in areas with repressed economies and education systems that allow the rich and powerful to succeed at the expense of the less fortunate.

    “Not enough Christians live in that part of the world. This disaster was God’s way of warning them to find Jesus or face the consequences.”

    Forgive me but if you actually believe that God would punish millions of people with death, destruction and pestilence because they chose a different path to salvation than either you or I need to rethink our concept of God. I for one could not believe in nor follow a God who would punish someone for expressing the free will that he gave them. What about the innocent babies and children who had no choice when they were born? New lives who by the roll of the dice where born into faiths other than Christianity were there deaths punishment also?

    “Keep your balance. Do not be concerned about events that happen half way around the world. It is none of your business. Do not even give it a second thought. Do not allow that which you cannot control affect your daily life.”

    In discussing the ongoing disaster I happened to mention that if nothing else hearing about events over there made me appreciate those I have around me even more. Having said that the person I was talking to gave me the above comment almost verbatim. They truly believe that what happens in one part of the world should not affect anyone here at all.

    I could go on but you get the general idea. Some of the people I know have become to comfortable in the American lifestyle and are in serious need of a wake up call. Most especially since they all live in my general area and we are but a few miles as the crow flies from the San Andres fault. A fault that is a ticking time bomb that could go off at any time, when that happens it will be us and everyone we know who will be on television with that stunned how did I survive look. When that day comes I can only hope that the rest of the world shows them more compassion than they showed the disaster victims today.

    Sunday, December 26, 2004

    Reality Check

    10,000 dead and counting should remind us all how precious life is and how quickly anyone of us can be taken from this mortal coil.

    So take a minute to step away from the computer. Hug your kids. Give your spouse a kiss. Thank mom and dad for all they do.

    Be kinder. Be gentler. Be the best that you can be.

    There are no warranties and no guarantees. Yesterday is over, tomorrow is an illusion all any of us has is this moment in which we are living.

    Embrace it and live it as if it were your last.

    As today’s events have reminded us it just might be.


    Friday, December 24, 2004

    Christmas Greetings

    Merry Christmas to all who pull up a piece of digital space and sit for awhile. There are no strangers here only friends and friends to be. So to all of my friends, what ever your tradition, I hope the season brings you peace of mind, peace of heart and peace of soul. And as Tiny Tim has been known to say "God Bless us everyone."

    Thursday, December 23, 2004

    Christmas Day in the Workhouse

    The following is one of my favorite Christmas poems. Enjoy.

    Christmas Day in the Workhouse

    George R. Sims

    It is Christmas Day in the workhouse,
    And the cold, bare walls are bright
    With garlands of green and holly,
    Ad the place is a pleasant sight;
    For with clean-washed hands and faces,
    In a long and hungry line
    The paupers sit at the table,
    For this is the hour they dine.
    And the guardians and their ladies,
    Although the wind is east,
    Have come in their furs and wrappers,
    To watch their charges feast;
    To smile and be condescending,
    Put pudding on pauper plates.
    To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
    They've paid for — with the rates.
    Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
    With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'"
    So long as they fill their stomachs,
    What matter it whence it comes!
    But one of the old men mutters,
    And pushes his plate aside:
    "Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me!
    For this is the day she died!"
    The guardians gazed in horror,
    The master's face went white;
    "Did a pauper refuse the pudding?"
    "Could their ears believe aright?"
    Then the ladies clutched their husbands,
    Thinking the man would die,
    Struck by a bolt, or something,
    By the outraged One on high.
    But the pauper sat for a moment,
    Then rose 'mid silence grim,
    For the others had ceased to chatter
    And trembled in every limb.
    He looked at the guardians' ladies,
    Then, eyeing their lords, he said,
    "I eat not the food of villains
    Whose hands are foul and red:
    "Whose victims cry for vengeance
    From their dark, unhallowed graves."
    "He's drunk!" said the workhouse master,
    "Or else he's mad and raves."
    "Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper,
    "But only a haunted beast,
    Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,
    Declines the vulture's feast.
    "I care not a curse for the guardians,
    And I won't be dragged away;
    Just let me have the fit out,
    It's only on Christmas Day
    That the black past comes to goad me,
    And prey on my burning brain;
    I'll tell you the rest in a whisper —
    I swear I won't shout again.
    "Keep your hands off me, curse you!
    Hear me right out to the end.
    You come here to see how paupers
    The season of Christmas spend;.
    You come here to watch us feeding,
    As they watched the captured beast.
    Here's why a penniless pauper
    Spits on your paltry feast.
    "Do you think I will take your bounty,
    And let you smile and think
    You're doing a noble action
    With the parish's meat and drink?
    Where is my wife, you traitors —
    The poor old wife you slew?
    Yes, by the God above me,
    My Nance was killed by you!
    'Last winter my wife lay dying,
    Starved in a filthy den;
    I had never been to the parish —
    I came to the parish then.
    I swallowed my pride in coming,
    For ere the ruin came,
    I held up my head as a trader,
    And I bore a spotless name.
    "I came to the parish, craving
    Bread for a starving wife,
    Bread for the woman who'd loved me
    Through fifty years of life;
    And what do you think they told me,
    Mocking my awful grief,
    That 'the House' was open to us,
    But they wouldn't give 'out relief'.
    "I slunk to the filthy alley —
    'Twas a cold, raw Christmas Eve —
    And the bakers' shops were open,
    Tempting a man to thieve;
    But I clenched my fists together,
    Holding my head awry,
    So I came to her empty-handed
    And mournfully told her why.
    "Then I told her the house was open;
    She had heard of the ways of that,
    For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
    and up in her rags she sat,
    Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,
    We've never had one apart;
    I think I can bear the hunger —
    The other would break my heart.'
    "All through that eve I watched her,
    Holding her hand in mine,
    Praying the Lord and weeping,
    Till my lips were salt as brine;
    I asked her once if she hungered,
    And as she answered 'No' ,
    T'he moon shone in at the window,
    Set in a wreath of snow.
    "Then the room was bathed in glory,
    And I saw in my darling's eyes
    The faraway look of wonder
    That comes when the spirit flies;
    And her lips were parched and parted,
    And her reason came and went.
    For she raved of our home in Devon,
    Where our happiest years were spent.
    "And the accents, long forgotten,
    Came back to the tongue once more.
    For she talked like the country lassie
    I woo'd by the Devon shore;
    Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
    And fell on the rags and moaned,
    And, 'Give me a crust — I'm famished —
    For the love of God!' she groaned.
    "I rushed from the room like a madman
    And flew to the workhouse gate,
    Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!'
    And the answer came, 'Too late.'
    They drove me away with curses;
    Then I fought with a dog in the street
    And tore from the mongrel's clutches
    A crust he was trying to eat.
    "Back through the filthy byways!
    Back through the trampled slush!
    Up to the crazy garret,
    Wrapped in an awful hush;
    My heart sank down at the threshold,
    And I paused with a sudden thrill.
    For there, in the silv'ry moonlight,
    My Nance lay, cold and still.
    "Up to the blackened ceiling,
    The sunken eyes were cast —
    I knew on those lips, all bloodless,
    My name had been the last;
    She called for her absent husband —
    O God! had I but known! —
    Had called in vain, and, in anguish,
    Had died in that den — alone.
    "Yes, there, in a land of plenty,
    Lay a loving woman dead,
    Cruelly starved and murdered
    for a loaf of the parish bread;
    At yonder gate, last Christmas,
    I craved for a human life,
    You, who would feed us paupers,
    What of my murdered wife!"
    'There, get ye gone to your dinners,
    Don't mind me in the least,
    Think of the happy paupers
    Eating your Christmas feast;
    And when you recount their blessings
    In your smug parochial way,
    Say what you did for me, too,
    Only last Christmas Day."


    Wednesday, December 22, 2004

    Trophy Heart

    she would never understand
    how the pain could be so great
    why those who claim to love
    end up spreading hate
    she opened her heart
    to someone new
    they took a sword
    and ran her through
    she laid it all on the line
    found the words to be wrong
    she found the key
    to an unfinished song
    where there was a hero
    with the voice of a bird
    permanent press lines
    she had already heard
    promises were empty
    no wrinkles no substance
    honest intentions
    no more than an instant
    the damsels in distress
    she had it all wrong
    she practiced the vocals
    forgot the words to the song
    she pleaded she begged
    falling to her knees
    he only laughed
    gave her arm a squeeze
    walking away with a smile
    pleased with himself
    another shiny trophy
    placed on his shelf
    he never cared
    another one track mind
    good cheap sex
    is all he hoped to find
    leaving her
    without hope
    wanting to understand
    unable to cope
    with modern romance
    its various parts
    acting her way
    to a broken heart

    Tuesday, December 21, 2004

    Lifes a B****

    seventh heaven
    no more dreams
    one more day
    no more screams
    the reaper observes
    your waking hours
    his breath is cold
    yours is sour
    you seek help
    your voice is gone
    love faded fast
    leaving you alone
    your mountain crumbled
    beneath rain filled clouds
    three lonely mourners
    grasp the funeral shroud
    death has arrived
    no questions asked
    lost in the season
    no Halloween mask
    you crawled into bed
    clutching your pride
    she ridiculed your love
    convincing your heart to hide
    wandering the darkness
    lost in the fog
    with a rusted hook
    no strength to jog
    you stopped the dance
    in front of a car
    fell to your knees
    you have gone to far
    there is no room for mercy
    no room for prayer
    no chance for forgiveness
    life isn’t fair
    it’s just a bitch

    Monday, December 20, 2004

    December 12, 1977

    While cleaning out several boxes in my garage I stumbled across a dream diary that I once kept. It was the fall of 1977 and I was at the beginning of my short and rather mundane college career. The class I enjoyed the most was Beginning Psychology. Especially the study of dreams, which required the keeping of the above mentioned diary.

    I became rather adept at waking from a dream, scribbling some notes in the dark and re-entering REM sleep without missing a beat. (How I wish I could fall asleep that easily now.) In the morning I was able to flesh out the details using my almost unreadable notes.

    I had the following dream on December 12, 1977. Of all the dreams in my diary this one seemed to have the most detail and was rather strange even for me.

    My parents were preparing for a trip to Las Vegas. The Cadillac was packed, the gas tank full and the engine had been serviced.

    My parents were in the living room talking with me. My sister was staying with her friend Diane and my brother was staying with Nana. I was going to be staying home alone.

    What was showing on the TV came across as being rather bizarre. It was the channel seven news with commentary only no news story. The first person to speak was Regis Philbin (yes that Regis he began his career on ABC in Los Angeles). He did an in depth editorial on the dangers of pinball and its effect on the mental health of young Americans.

    Then Leo McKelroy, Anne Martin and Christine Lund were on the stage. They were discussing the importance of fire prevention. The strange thing was that they were all wearing clothes that appeared to be burned..

    Once they finished their piece they stood as if they were going to leave. They then sat back down and explained that the reason they were wearing burnt clothes was to impress on the viewers the importance of the subject.

    May dad than explained that he kept a rented room at the Aztec Motel in case there was a fire so that we would have somewhere to go.

    I told him that he was wasting his money and that we should let God provide.

    He informed me that God was a fairy tale and that if he existed how come everyone did not believe in him.

    I explained that God gave us free will and that my dad had taken a wrong turn someplace rather than follow the highway to heaven.

    Than my mother gave me one hundred dollars for food and she told my dad she was ready to leave. My dad was rummaging through a drawer and in a panicked voice explained that he had to find something before they could leave.
    Finally he pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer and proclaimed that he was ready to leave. As they walked out the door he handed me the scissors and he requested that I take good care of them.

    As they were getting in the car a moving truck pulled up behind them and delivered a Captain Fantastic pinball machine.

    When I woke up I was on my third ball with a score of 65,250.

    Sunday, December 19, 2004

    Sunday 1968

    Sunday morning 1968, awakening in
    a wine colored antique bed. Grandpa
    up early could be heard in
    the bathroom, razor scratching like sandpaper
    against his leathery skin.
    Sheets pulled up
    under my chin I can smell
    the orange tree growing near
    the clothes line
    where Nana hangs the wash.
    In the living room
    the Grandfather clock
    strikes the hour of nine.
    Time to get up and
    put on my Sunday best.
    Ready I find Nana and Grandpa
    waiting patiently
    in the kitchen. No coffee
    before mass they fuss and fidget
    craving caffeine fasting is
    required though
    their fix will have to wait.
    Nana wearing a blue
    knee length dress
    matching hat and veil.
    Grandpa in a
    black suit, white shirt
    and black tie. We
    climb into the old
    gray Studebaker driving
    the five blocks to mass. At
    Annunciation we separate
    Nana to find her favorite pew,
    Grandpa to join the ushers and
    I to join the other alter boys. Service
    passes quickly, three guitars joined with voice
    singing Alleluias and Hosannas praising
    Christ and God the Father. My arm grows tired
    serving communion to the faithful. Amen’s
    and God Blesses follows
    the priestly procession leaving
    the sanctuary. Nana and Grandpa
    wait at the car
    stomachs grumbling anxious
    for breakfast and the Sunday Times.

    Saturday, December 18, 2004

    Light Displays

    I spent the evening roaming the streets San Bernardino and Riverside counties. In my annual quest finding fantastic Christmas decorations and displays to enjoy.

    My first stop did not disappoint. I visited the Mission Inn located in Riverside, California. Building began around 1876 and continued for many years. The goal of the owner was to build a hotel that reflected the early California mission look. His task went so well that in the 1950’s his Inn was recognized as an historical landmark.

    The outside walls of the Mission Inn have quite a few balconies and each side of the building has its own theme. The front has mariachis, the west side has panda bears, and the back and east side has musical instruments. The entrance to the Inn is lined by displays of Santa’s elves working hard to finish their toy making by Christmas. The entire building is covered by millions of colorful lights.

    Carolers strolled the streets and horse drawn wagons offered tours of nearby neighborhoods dominated by decorated Victorian mansions. All in all it was well worth the thirty-minute drive to see.

    The second part of my drive was a big fat belly flop. Ever since I was a child I have visited Hastings Ranch in Arcadia during Christmas. Each neighborhood there has its own theme and the streets are filled with cars, Christmas carols and kids as everyone enjoys the beautiful displays.

    This year however someone advised me that there was an area not far from my house that matched Hasting Ranch in its holiday finery. Foolish me I believed them and headed there for the second part of my journey.

    All I can say is that either their directions were wrong or they do not know a Christmas decoration from Rudolph’s red nose. I cruised entire neighborhoods searching for the grand displays that were promised but alas I came up empty handed.

    Next year I return to Hastings Ranch and traditions that I can count on.

    Friday, December 17, 2004

    Santa's Kiss

    Another holiday season
    Another Christmas party
    A hearts promise unfulfilled
    A soul travels a solitary path

    Mistletoe glistens in the firelight
    Another mirage promising love
    In a room filled with joyous pairs
    Where slacking her thirst proved impossible
    Christmas was always difficult
    When you slept in an empty bed
    All the romance of Valentines Day
    Without the Hallmark phoniness
    Each year she expected salvation
    Finding only sympathy
    Someday your prince will come
    Stiff upper lip and all that
    She found herself before a window
    Overlooking new fallen snow
    Remembering childhood innocence
    Whispered wishes in Santa’s ear
    Sipping champagne, what the hell
    Santa can you hear me now
    I have but one simple wish
    One only you can grant
    A warm embrace
    A passion filled kiss
    Beneath the mistletoe
    This Christmas
    Catching her reflection in the window
    She was surprised to find a tear
    Imagine me wishing for Santa
    To send me a kiss tonight
    Around the room whispers and laughter
    Proved the party a success
    Happy couples bound together
    Members of an exclusive club
    Bitterness filled her heart
    I knew I shouldn’t have come
    On the outside looking in
    With no credit at the deli of love
    One more glass
    One more bitter pill
    A few smiles a few handshakes
    And back to solitaire lane

    Looking up she found the mistletoe
    With all of its broken promises
    A curse was trapped deep inside
    When warm hands covered her eyes
    Good evening beautiful
    Whispered in her ear
    My apologies for the late arrival
    Traffic was a mess

    His breath caressed her cheek
    Her heart forgot to beat
    Her hands shook with intrigue and fear
    His voice left her weak

    Santa rang me up tonight
    He said you topped the good list
    He sent me buy to grant your wish
    So here from me is Santa’s Kiss

    Without thought she turned
    Into his gentle embrace
    Eyes closed, she felt his lips
    Gently kiss the nape of her neck
    Her breath caught in her throat
    When finally his lips met hers
    Warm soft and gentle
    Tentatively they said hello
    His arms held her close
    His mouth pressed firmly to hers
    He explored her lips with kisses
    Eager with restraint

    The party, people, music and sound
    Faded from existence
    Her world was reduced to this man
    And his kiss more insistent
    Passion flowed from the touch of his lips
    Opening her shuttered heart
    Curling her toes
    Freeing her shackled soul
    A thousand lifetimes
    Lived in a moment
    A thousand loves
    Remembered and lost

    Passion retreats
    Gentle kisses of goodbye
    Merry Christmas beautiful
    One last kiss
    He was gone before she opened her eyes

    The party flowed around her
    Of her benefactor there was no sign
    She searched the room in desperation
    He was here then he was gone
    What do you expect
    She thought to herself
    You wished for a kiss
    Not the whole package

    A tiny smile captured her face
    As she collected her coat said good night
    He may not have been my prince charming
    It was a perfect kiss though

    She stopped when she reached her car
    An envelope found clinging to the window
    Torn open she found a photo of Santa
    With a short note on the back

    If you enjoyed the kiss I sent
    If you want to meet the man
    New Years midnight at the Empire State
    He will bring the glasses you bring the wine

    Humming Auld Lang Sine
    She climbed behind the wheel
    If nothing else she was sure
    New Years Eve she had a date

    Thursday, December 16, 2004

    Insomnia

    My head hit the pillow while sleep fled my brain
    Another night of this I am sure I will go insane
    Tossing and turning embracing the fear
    The echo of my racing heart is all I seem to hear
    I search the darkened corners for a lost good luck token
    I am afraid the world would laugh if my fears were spoken
    I cannot comprehend the dread lurking deep inside
    From this new phobia there is no place to hide
    If I close my eyes tonight they will never again see the light of day
    Somehow death will find me in his cold embrace take me away
    He will lock me in a long forgotten room
    He will hide the key seal my doom
    I will scream and I will cry no one near will hear
    Sorrow will build until I drown in my tears
    Demons will laugh sinners rejoice
    You had one chance you failed in your choice
    Pleading I will cry point out the signpost where I went wrong
    How could I fail when I believed in the song
    They point and they laugh it is not enough to believe
    Many have tried many were deceived
    Live with in your faith embrace the words
    Even when you find them to be quite absurd
    I fall to my knees the meaning was diluted
    Words passed along were never secluded
    Each man mixed in a piece of himself
    Chose what they wanted left the rest on a shelf
    You may speak truth that was not meant to be
    For reality is stronger than fantasy
    You cling to half-truths deep hidden meanings
    You forgot about souls and tender human feelings
    You must discard the luggage attached to your heart
    Toss it aside line up for another start
    Forget the past unrepairable mistakes
    Build new bridges across your private lake
    Continue to grow distribute your love
    Soon your soul will join the sky above

    The alarm sounded 6:00 AM I opened my eyes cleared my head
    My soul felt light no longer burdened with dread
    Maybe the vision in my dream was right
    Start afresh in the new mornings light
    Abandon the darkness collected in error
    Open my heart new feelings to share
    Then maybe sleep will begin anew
    Calm peaceful as sweet evening dew

    Wednesday, December 15, 2004

    Pushing Buttons

    You find yourself on the freeway moving along with traffic when some yahoo swerves around your car while flipping you off because in his eyes you were not traveling fast enough. Do you ignore him and shrug off his rudeness?

    You are spending time with your parents for the holidays everyone is sitting around the fire enjoying the season. Out of the blue as she quite often does your mother suddenly turns to you and asks “When did you gain so much weight?” Do you carry on as if nothing was said while your stomach becomes a pit of seething anger?

    You are sitting in your jail cell I mean your cubicle, at the office when you overhear some coworkers gossiping as they stroll by. Your name comes up along with in conjunction with a sarcastic comment concerning the date you brought to the company Christmas party. Do you begin suffer from internal embarrassment when your eyes involuntarily stray to the picture of your current flame resting on your desk?

    You are spending time with a friend or family member who knows you inside and out. For whatever reason they are in a bad mood to compensate for how they feel they make a rather rude comment that they just know will set you off. Do you fall into their trap and begin a verbal war with them?

    Buttons.

    We all have them and we all allow them to be pushed.

    We can wake up in the morning with a blue sky, singing birds and in a perfectly wonderful mood. Until something like one of the above scenarios takes place and suddenly the sky is cloudy the birds are vultures and our mood is one overflowing with anger.

    Why?

    Why do we allow others to have this power over us?

    Why do we let mere words or gestures ruin our day?

    Why do we fret and worry about someone else’s opinion of us?

    When we surrender the ability to control our moods we surrender the ability to create our own happiness. We allow ourselves to become puppets and we willingly present the strings to anyone who crosses our path.

    The checker at the grocery store is having a bad day we give her our strings so she can share her bad mood with us.

    The customer we deal with had a fight with his wife we give him our strings so we can wallow in misery along with him.
    Ironically while allowing others to control our moods and our reactions we are only inflicting misery on ourselves.

    When we give someone the power to ruin our day does our sudden change in moods affect them?

    Do they develop a sense of guilt for taking their mood out on us?

    In most case the answer is no. Like the destructive path of a tornado, they obliviously walk through life leaving shattered moods in their wake. The damaged are left to wallow in the mud of misery while the tornado moves on to the next cubicle.

    Next time someone flips you off smile and wave.

    Next time your mother makes a snide comment let it pass after all words cannot cause any real damage.

    Next time you here someone gossiping about you or anyone else ignore the shallowness of the individual talking and take the high road.

    Next time someone close to you pushes your buttons resist the impulse to push back. Instead ask them if everything is OK, you might be surprised by their answer.

    Tuesday, December 14, 2004

    Frozen Fantasy

    Lost in a grocery store
    Frozen food attacks me
    Giving me frost bite
    Destroying dreams that had set me free
    Sudden bursts of energy
    Penetrate swirling clouds of mist
    Creating a surreal fantasy
    One the hallucinations in my mind cannot resist
    Battered by ears of corn
    Death is dealt by a steak possessed
    No one can prevent the coming darkness
    Even those who claim to be blessed
    Shopping carts deliver the battered corpse
    Zero mourners at the butcher’s block
    Axes sharpened deadly steel
    You can buy me tomorrow at the super mart

    Monday, December 13, 2004

    Remembrance

    She lies in the dark
    Watching him sleep
    Trying so hard
    Not to weep
    She prays for a moment
    One more chance
    Another song
    One more dance
    She closes her eyes
    Slipping away
    To happier times
    Long lost yesterdays
    They were young
    So in love
    Losing themselves
    In the stars above
    Thanking the gods
    For a second chance
    To capture the prize
    In this game of romance
    Finding peace
    In each others arms
    Where they were warm
    Safe from harm
    He was older
    Somewhat secure
    She was younger
    A touch immature
    Thought all that mattered
    Was their love
    Losing themselves
    In the stars above
    Growing together
    Their love proved strong
    Not always perfect
    Never ever wrong
    Seasons passed
    Comfort grew
    Dreams of a future
    A love eternally new
    Growing old
    In the others arms
    Growing old
    Safe and warm

    She sits in the dark
    Watching him sleep
    Trying so hard
    Not to weep
    Hiding the pain
    Deep in her eyes
    As she watches
    He slowly dies

    Sunday, December 12, 2004

    Christmas was.....

    Christmas was different when my mom was a child. My grandfather would put up the tree on Christmas Eve after the kids were asleep. Late into the evening he decorated the tree and wrapped presents. In the morning the kids would awaken to a beautiful tree, which to them had magically appeared along with the presents from Santa.

    Christmas was watching my grandfather decorate the house when I was a child. He would save the tin tops from all of the cans he opened through out the year. After cleaning them he would punch a hole in each one. In the front yard were several trees, after hanging lights in them he would hang all of the can lids. The lids would than reflect all of the color creating a beautiful glowing display for the neighborhood to enjoy.

    Grandpa would never put the tree up immediately after purchasing it. He would place it in water and study it for a day or two. He would than remove branches from areas that were overcrowded. Not one to waste anything he would than drill holes in the trunk and replace the branches filling in what was once a bare area.

    Once the tree was perfect he placed it in its stand and spent two days decorating. Ensuring that each light was perfectly placed, each ornament was correctly hung and tinsel was strategically place on all of the branches.

    His final touch would be an old Lionel Electric Train Set that circled his tree for many years. I used to lie on the carpet and watch that locomotive circle the tree for hours. Sadly when I was nine years old the transformer gave up the ghost and the train was put away forever.

    Christmas was a sock monkey, Lincoln Logs, Hardy Boy mysteries, a robot with flashing eyes that shot rockets out of its right arm, itchy sweaters and stockings full of nuts, oranges, candy and various toys.

    Christmas was preparing for the big day by helping my Nana make cookie cutouts and eating enough raw dough to make me sick.

    Christmas was having to sing for all my relatives before dinner when I was in the first grade.

    Christmas was attending midnight mass with Nana. In a darkened church lit only by the candles carried in by the choir while they sang Silent Night. The air thick with the smell of incense, cologne and perfume blending into wonderful new scents. Everyone paying close attention, transfixed by the priests reading about the birth of the Christ Child. Upon leaving the church the air cold and crisp one could almost believe that the world was a peaceful place.

    Christmas was my mothers home made cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven and served with hot chocolate. It was the smell of her turkey with all of the trimmings. Dessert was always Applesauce Cake and Pumpkin Pie both homemade and to die for.

    Christmas was all of the above and so much more.

    Saturday, December 11, 2004

    Lost Keys

    Like a cadaver he lay motionless on the cracked and broken sidewalk
    Barely clinging to the fragile thread of life
    His one true love long forgotten
    His remaining dreams lost or stolen
    Once a man who strode the earth tall and proud
    Now a man with barely the strength to stand
    Struggling through the nightmare that has become his daily existence
    Begging for coins unable to lift his, “will work for food” sign
    Finding only pennies and the hollow echo of empty cans
    He searched for love
    Found only hate and despair
    In this cold city where no one has the time
    For a broken old man
    Who smelled like a litter box
    Who crawled like a dog
    With a bottle of ripple
    Clutched in his shaking hands
    And a wasted life
    Hidden within his empty soul

    Friday, December 10, 2004

    Choices

    Mike wearily pulled himself together and gingerly climbed from the bed
    Another day of chemo, another day of nausea
    Another day of insurance companies
    Another day of financial slight of hand
    Paying some bills, begging for extensions on others
    Every moment a fight for peace, a fight for life
    Walking the hospital corridors
    Patients and doctors alike call out to him
    “Hey Mike!”
    “How’s it going Mike?”
    “Looking good Mike!”
    Mike greets each one by name
    Shaking hands and pats on backs
    In his wake he leaves behind a trail of smiles
    After chemo he visits the children’s ward
    He reads them stories
    He makes them laugh
    He dries their tears and he soothes their fears
    When he grows tired he leaves them with a joke and a smile

    Mikes life is not easy
    He is losing his hair
    He is in quite a bit of pain
    He can barely eat
    Some days he can barely walk
    Mike, however never leaves his smile at home
    He faces his daily struggle
    With a shrug of a shoulder
    Embracing the joy of being alive

    Tim overslept for the third time in four days climbing from bed already late for work
    Another week of nine to five
    Another week of paperwork and ringing phones
    Another week of muddling along
    Until Friday comes and sets him free
    Every weekend another party another girl
    Trudging to his hated cubical
    Coworkers seem to avoid him
    There are no “Hey Tim’s!”
    “How’s it going Tim?”
    “Looking good Tim!”
    Tim rarely looks them in the eye
    Never shakes a hand or pats a back
    In his wake there is not a sign of his passing
    In the cafeteria he sits alone, never offering a chair
    He never joins a conversation
    He never laughs at a coworkers joke
    He quietly eats and goes outside for a smoke
    When the day ends he shuffles home
    Having never left his mark on the day

    Tim could have a happy life
    He has a good job
    He has his health
    He can dine at four-star restaurants
    The weekend comes
    And he drowns his sorrow in a bottle of Kentucky bourbon
    Tim however never leaves his home with a smile
    He lives his life with a permanent frown
    With a shrug of his shoulder
    Embracing his self-inflicted misery

    Two men living life
    On the edge of the very same town
    No one would blame Mike
    If he shuffled through life with tear filled eyes
    Pounding the pavement and blaming God
    For the unfortunate hand he was dealt
    No one can understand Tim
    Shuffling through life with a permanent frown
    Pounding the pavement and blaming God
    For the self-pity he is constantly wallowing in

    Two men different lives
    Sharing but one common thread
    The same thread shared by all of humanity
    Choices
    Each of them and each of us
    Faces life with the very same choice
    We can choose to smile and embrace life
    Despite whatever burdens we maybe bearing
    Or we can choose to frown and complain
    Neglecting to embrace the gift of life
    We all have problems
    We all have worries
    We all have aches and pains
    We can choose to be like Mike
    Look beyond our own ego and embrace the world
    Or we can choose to be like Tim
    Trapped in self-pity and ignoring the world
    The choice is ours

    Choices was inspired by Random Thoughts Thursday posted on December 9, 2004 at
  • TLJ's Thoughts of the Day
    Thanks for the inspiration Tara.


  • Thursday, December 09, 2004

    Belief

    Outside the air is tense and cold
    The atmosphere chaotic
    There seems to be no time for love
    No one seems to care
    Humanity has lost its place
    No longer sure where we belong
    God has been put aside
    And blamed for all that’s wrong today

    People wonder:

    How can I believe in God
    When the world is filled with pain and sorrow
    How can I believe in God
    When children are born addicted to drugs
    How can I believe in God
    When babies are born with birth defects
    How can I believe in God
    When children are dying from cancer and AIDs
    How can I believe in God
    When mothers kill their unborn children
    How can I believe in God
    When the innocent die in senseless wars
    How can I believe in God
    When paradise is but a dream

    On and on they go
    Endless lists
    Filled with endless reasons
    To justify forgotten beliefs
    Blaming God for what ails the world
    To afraid to look in the mirror
    To delve beyond surface impressions
    Unwilling to search their collective souls
    Afraid of what has been forgotten
    Afraid of a truth long ignored
    That the state of the world today
    Cannot be laid before the foot of God
    But must be laid at the foot of man

    Humanity was given Gods greatest gift
    He gave man the planet on which he lives
    He gave man the universe in which he exists
    Most importantly God gave man life
    And God gave man free will
    He does not force us to love him
    He does not force us to worship
    He gives us life
    No strings attached
    Do with it what you will
    The only true commandment
    Is to love
    That’s it in a nutshell
    Love everyone and everything
    If that request were followed
    The world would be a better place
    If man could set aside the rules and regulations
    Of each and every religion
    If man could evolve beyond the petty bickering
    Over race, creed and color
    If man could accept that God gave him the power
    The power to create or to destroy
    The power to evolve or to de-evolve
    Maybe than humanity would stop blaming God
    And accept that only man can control mans destiny
    That only man is responsible for mans actions
    Or humanity can crawl to the grave crying to heaven
    Begging God to forgive man his trespasses
    All the while doomed to an insignificant existence
    Petty beings on a backward planet
    Passed over and ignored by the great races of Gods creation
    Who used Gods gift to grow
    Who used Gods gift to evolve
    Who used Gods gift
    To finally return to their Fathers embrace

    Wednesday, December 08, 2004

    Homeless Veterans

    While not a big supporter of the war in Iraq I have been and continue to be a supporter of our troops. Which is why I found an article I read today so disturbing.

    According to a to the report homeless shelters around the nation have already begun seeing an influx of homeless veterans of the current war in Iraq.

    How disturbing is this. The war continues, tours of duty have been extended, yet when the soldiers return home if they do not have their own support system in place they are out in the street with hardly a pat on the back.

    Statistically on any given night close to 300,000 veterans are in search of shelter from the elements. Half of them being veterans of the Vietnam War. In Los Angeles alone the estimate is near 27,000 homeless veterans. Many of them suffering from various mental ailments such as post-traumatic stress disorder, panic attacks and substance abuse.

    I for one am embarrassed to live in a country where the citizens who have chosen to put their lives on the line for our freedoms are being treated so shabbily.

    Read the entire article at:

    http://washingtontimes.com/upi-breaking/20041207-121848-6449r.htm

    Tuesday, December 07, 2004

    Love's Empty Promise

    Her words echoed within his ears
    Tap dancing their way across his heart
    “You are like the best guy ever.”
    “I can always be myself around your.”
    “You are like the brother I never had.”
    “Becoming more than friends might destroy everything we have.”
    Once again being right
    Meant being wrong
    He could never win
    They had met on New Years Eve
    Part of a larger group waiting for the big parade
    Her dancing eyes had captured his imagination
    Her love of life had been infectious
    3:00 AM found them several miles from the parade route
    On a hillside whispered life stories hung in the air between them
    Awaiting the first sunrise of the New Year
    They never heard the marching bands
    Or experienced the beauty of the flora pageant
    Together they discovered that their paths were intertwined
    Destiny had brought them together
    Now friendship was keeping them apart
    Bitter tears splashed angrily upon the ground
    A softball sized lump inside his throat
    Made swallowing all but impossible
    Whoever had coined the phrase
    “Nice guys finish last.”
    Must have been unlucky in love
    Because from where he stood
    Nice guys were never, ever lucky in love
    Nice guys were brotherly
    Nice guys made good friends
    Nice guy were dependable
    Apparently nice guys were dull and their lives mundane
    Scoundrels found women in every nook and cranny
    Scoundrels never wanted for dates or spent Fridays alone
    Scoundrels got away with cold and indifferent
    No matter, the women always came back for more
    On the other hand
    He was polite
    He listened
    He comforted broken hearts not created them
    He dried tear stained cheeks never created tears
    He always opened the door and picked up the tab
    He never, ever expected candles and satin sheets on a first date
    Yet here he stood once again
    Kicked to the curb, heart in his hand
    Repeating his mantra over and over again
    Thank you ma’am may I have another
    Once, for a brief moment in time
    He had changed the lyrics to his song
    He had crossed the street in a vain attempt
    To join the leather jacketed scoundrels
    He studied his role, he knew all the lines
    But, he was unbelievable in the part
    All knew him for the poser that he was
    He had the wardrobe but not the act
    For better or worse
    He was a man who loved sunsets
    Not tequila sunrises
    He loved barefoot walks in warm summer sand
    Not the wham bam of one night stands
    He did not require a radio or movie screen
    To prevent an awkward moment or two
    He loved the quiet comfort shared with one who understands
    He did not require a princess or a prima donna
    He understood all to well that beauty was only skin deep
    And that it was the quality of the soul that mattered

    Yet here he was
    Alone, once again
    Another man might become a cynic
    Another man might surrender
    Another man, actually most men that he knew
    Would laugh it all away
    Running off in search of the shallow
    No he knew, had always known
    His life could never be that simple
    Nor that empty

    Drying his eyes
    He walked home alone
    Embraced by the darkness
    Reaffirmed in his belief
    That his patience would be rewarded
    If he remained true to himself
    He would in the end
    Find the spiritual love
    He so desperately desired

    Monday, December 06, 2004

    Late Night Phone Calls

    Late night phone calls are not for the faint of heart.

    Ever since my mom was diagnosed with bone cancer I have come to dread the harsh ringing of the telephone. During the day her illness may cross my mind briefly when I hear the phone ring, however it is the ringing of the phone at night that really sets my teeth on edge.

    Recently I have been receiving a rash of phone calls after 10:00 PM. Each time the phone rings my heart starts racing, my hands begin to shake and mind begins to manufacture various scenarios all involving my mother. When I finally manage to answer the phone I find that I have been holding my breath in anticipation of the worst.

    Of course as soon as I greet the caller I find that nothing is wrong.

    It is a friend just wanting to shoot the breeze.

    It is a wrong number, usually dialed by someone to incoherent to be dialing a phone in the first place. Someone should start begin educating the populace on the dangers of drunk dialing.

    It is some idiotic company who has not realized that in the past two months not a single fax they have attempted to my phone number has been successful, because there is no fax machine at this number. I have attempted to contact the moron who keeps faxing here but I have not been successful. One would think after thirty or so failed attempts that someone might think to verify the number they are calling but I guess that is to simple of a solution.

    Unless I have made previous arrangements with you please do not call my house after 10:00 PM. The human heart is fragile and I want to keep mine beating as long as possible but sooner rather than later the shock of the ringing phone is going to send me into cardiac arrest.

    Sunday, December 05, 2004

    God...

    When humanity was in its infancy
    miracles were a common occurrence
    Mankind found God
    In all that surrounded him
    A rainbow
    was a heavenly promise
    and celestial objects
    bore angelic messages.
    When the bounty was great
    God was a happy God
    various grains were set aside
    For gods alter
    When there was drought and pestilence
    God was an angry God
    So animals were sacrificed
    At Gods alter
    Every change in the weather
    From storms of anger
    To rainbows of promise
    Reflected the mood of God
    Medicine men and prophets
    Found signs everywhere
    From the entrails of animals
    To the birth of a child
    Without observations
    Messages could be missed
    God was given
    Praise and thanks
    For the world and all
    Mankind beheld
    The first flowers of spring
    The first fruits of the harvest
    A successful hunt
    Marriages and deaths
    The human race
    Knelt in humility
    Before the abundance of God

    Today it seems that humanity
    Has become
    Nothing more than teenagers
    Living in the house of their Father
    In mankind’s eyes
    Miracles no longer exist
    Childish beliefs have been put aside
    The magical has become the mundane
    Existence is nothing but random DNA
    Clinging together
    In fear of the unknown
    Turn to the high priest of science
    All will be explained
    Rainbows
    Just part of the spectrum
    Thunderstorms
    A collision of hot and cold
    Childbirth
    The random result of sexual encounters
    God is dead
    Consumerism has become
    Our new religion
    Worship at the alter of Visa
    If the payment is late
    Further cash must be sacrificed
    To appease the credit gods
    Religion is the root of all evil
    Money is our savior
    We have replaced the hymns
    With ringtones and rap
    We have replaced the scriptures
    With Playboy and Rolling Stone
    Our cathedrals are shopping malls
    Our savior is Wal-Mart
    Like teenagers we hide what shames us
    Assuming our Creator will remain in the dark
    But like parents everywhere
    He is wiser than given credit for
    We claim God is dead
    Yet we are no happier
    We claim faith is for fools
    Yet our souls remain empty
    We claim Religion is for the weak
    Yet our hearts remain cold
    For No matter how much mankind spends
    No matter how far humanity runs
    An empty life
    Pales before the reflection of God

    Saturday, December 04, 2004

    Christmas Beginnings

    Everyone has a key moment when for them the Christmas season has officially begun.

    For some it is the day after Thanksgiving when 3:00 AM finds them in line outside of Target waiting for what the stores claim are the best prices of the year. Others find their moment in the first Christmas carol sung on the radio.

    Families may welcome the arrival of the season on the day they purchase and decorate the tree. Individuals who are religious may rely on the appearance of the nativity scene in their church of choice.

    For me the season officially begins when I witness the first heated debate concerning the list of invitees for Christmas dinner.

    Call me old fashioned or naïve but it has always been my belief that Christmas dinner should be the most inclusive of meals. Thanksgiving for me is a day of reflection and celebration within the bonds of the extended family.

    Christmas however is a feast. A celebration of God’s family. I cannot remember a Christmas from my childhood where there was not a place set for someone who might otherwise have been alone. For me the very spirit of Christmas is reflected in the eyes of someone who has been included in the feast.

    Apparently a percentage of my family and friends do not agree. In recent years the holiday has become more exclusive than inclusive.

    “We just cannot invite X and her husband this year. Remember how drunk she was last year.”

    “Invite Y but tell her that only her biological children are invited not her step children. She can be so selfish. Her children have to put up with their step brother and sister all year the least she could do is send off to their relations for one night.”

    “L can come but only if he leaves that floozy of a girlfriend at home.”

    “I know that last year we had T and the kids here but after the argument we had I just do not want to be around them.”

    The list goes on and on.

    I find it to be disingenuous of those I call my extended family to greet the holidays with anger and spite but dress up in their finest to exclaim Merry Christmas to those who pass muster.

    For me Christmas will always be a time of great joy but my smile may be tinged with a touch of sadness for those ego left behind.

    Friday, December 03, 2004

    Life Changes

    Midnight. With no moon, the night sky black and filled with millions of twinkling lights. Galaxies flicker in the solar wind.

    Mystic Park glowed with light reflected from the first winters snow. Empty now, the park was peaceful however, sled tracks, snowmen and snow forts provided the story for the day just finished.

    From the street passerbys couldnot see the shivering figure seated on a bench near the rocket slide that glistened with the evenings frost.

    Upon taking a closer look one would see a woman of indeterminate age, head buried in her hands, body racked by a series of sobs. Silently she cried alone.

    What brought her to this point in her life?

    Why was she alone, in the park crying tears of despair?

    Invisible to human eyes an angel sat beside her. Angelic hands tried in vain to calm her inner turmoil. Angelic eyes reflected pain long buried in the woman’s soul. Angelic thoughts turned to the woman’s memories in hopes of find an answer to her prayer.

    She was depressed but not suicidal. She was stressed beyond belief.

    Events from her past seemed to be on fast-forward as they passed before her angel’s eyes.

    There was a birthday party, probably her fifth when she received a bicycle and her first scar when she fell off said bike.

    Years came and went brief moments in the eyes of God. Her tenth year or was it her eleventh when her grandmother left this mortal coil. A hard lesson about the fragility of life was learned.

    An angelic smile tainted with concern passed briefly across the angels face as the life review showed her becoming a young woman. Tutoring younger students in reading was never a chore. She loved the smell of books and the look of astonishment in a child’s eyes after soloing through their first book.

    A frown as the years of her brother’s illness were reviewed recalling the pain and helplessness she felt as he bravely endured one treatment after another. He never quit. He never surrendered. She used to watch movies with him late into the night. Laughing at old forgotten comedies or secretly drying her eyes when something in a film touched her soul. She held him on the night he drew his final breath and she gasped as his spirit passed through her on the road to another adventure.

    A look of angelic pride appeared as she moved out into the world. Eyes open to all that was around her. Not perfect but always attempting what was right. Work was second nature to her and she thrived. She climbed the corporate ladder smiling and offering assistance as her skills developed.

    A bit of angelic sadness could be seen as the first hiccup of her career reared its hideous head. Innocent and trusting she gave her best and expected the same from her co-workers. So focused on doing the job she never saw the proverbial knife in the back coming, one minute she was on the fast track the next there were some questions that needed to be considered before she ascended to the next level. If that was not enough she found herself knee deep in concontraversy due to some Neanderthals idea of office footsy. He grabbed she complained. The classic he said, she said followed and to her dismay she found out how many friends she really had when cold shoulders were received from so many faulting her for lodging a complaint.

    Angelic tears formed when the stress began to take an ever-greater toll on her health. Panic attacks, medication and counseling followed. Aches and pains appeared with no medical cause. As her condition became more debilitating her frustration grew in leaps and bounds. No cause could be determined and her so-called doctors were dispensing pills like candy from a Pez dispenser. Her condition worsened to the point that she had to give up her position and accept disability. Finally one doctor was able to provide a glimmer of sanity with a diagnosis, allowing her to at least investigate treatments.

    Angelic eyes filled with pride, as this young woman dealt with illness in the only way she knew, by refusing to surrender. Work was now out of the question, however she could help her family and friends. Therapy became her support. Dealing with illness, stress and trauma were not necessarily new to her but learning how to deal with them was.

    Review ended and an angelic mind pondered the pieces of the puzzle.

    As always though the woman was one step ahead as the angel could clearly see her sobbing slowed and her thought process cleared.

    She had the tools. She had the skills. What she lacked was a tiny bit of selfishness.

    Her therapist had been trying to convince her of a need for a bit of healthy selfishness. He was constantly telling her that to properly care for others one must take care of ones self.

    Neglecting her needs had become second nature. Her mother needed her. Her father needed her. They lived on opposite sides of town, which meant a lot of back and forth. Friends were always seeking help and/or advice. Her heart filled with warmth when she gave but something was missing.

    The giving back.

    For all the help and care she offered little was reflected back her way. People were busy. Her mother was not well. Her father did not seem to have the time. She gave till it literally hurt but so few gave back to her.

    She was reminded of an old “Charlie Brown” comic strip in which Snoopy is having a bad dream and Charlie Brown goes out to comfort him. The last panel found Charlie Brown back in bed unable to sleep with a caption that read “who comforts the comforter”.

    With angelic arms, unbeknownst to her, providing shelter and warmth she began to pull herself together. Her comforting without comfort days were going to be left behind not unlike the toys of her childhood.

    Life changes and it was about time for her to change she thought. Easy it will not be. She could hear her mother already. Complaining about her selfishness if she took some time for her self. Her father would give her the cold shoulder. Her friend’s well she guessed now she would find out who her real friends were.

    As she walked home an angelic presence proudly hovered above her offering comfort and glowing with angelic pride.

    Thursday, December 02, 2004

    Trust

    Trust is hard to find
    But so easily broken
    By thoughtless action
    Or words unspoken

    Trust is shallow
    At the start
    In matters concerning
    The love of a heart
    She wants to love
    To trust that man
    His actions she
    Cannot understand
    Trust she finds
    Is growing thin
    With her not knowing
    Where he’s been
    She wants to
    Walk away
    Though something deep
    Makes her stay
    She saw a spark
    In sorrowful eyes
    A bit of emotion
    He couldn’t disguise
    She thinks maybe
    There is a chance
    To open her heart
    To find romance
    Though the trust is week
    And she just doesn’t know
    How much risk
    In letting feelings grow
    Lost and undecided
    Nowhere to turn
    Her mind is confused
    Her soul still burns
    Maybe now is the time
    To take a chance
    To hear the music
    And dance, dance, dance

    Wednesday, December 01, 2004

    Oasis

    Lost in a desert
    No hope in sight
    Dying to live
    To weak to fight
    A vain search for hope
    A moment’s peace
    Praying for rain
    A cool sea breeze
    But the sun beats down
    And the heart grows hard
    The journeys long
    And I have traveled far
    In search of a dream
    A forgotten soul
    A wandering spirit
    I used to know
    At each oasis
    A day of rest
    Taste the waters
    Hope for the best
    But the spring is poisoned
    Bitter and hot
    I forgot the lessons
    The prophet taught
    I lingered to long
    My soul was burned
    The lesson was hard
    But the lesson was learned
    I want an oasis
    With a soft quiet breeze
    A world that will accept
    All that is me

    Tuesday, November 30, 2004

    Burial Rituals

    Archeologists have discovered the remains of Neanderthals that were buried in such a way as to suggest that even in 60,000 BC ceremony and ritual were associated with death.

    Many early tribes burned the bodies of the dead in order to destroy evil spirits. Other tribes had such a great fear of death that the dead were left where they fell while the living fled in fear.

    Zoroastrians allowed the dead to be eaten by vultures. They believed that fire was too sacred to be used in the burning of corpses. Ground burial was prohibited because it was believed that the earth would be defiled by the internment of corpses.

    Bodies have been left in jungles to be eaten. While in Tibet and amongst some Indian tribes the dead were fed to dogs; in the belief that they would be better off in the next world. Certain tribes in Africa would grind the bones of the dead and sprinkle the powder on their food to honor their ancestors. The Zulus burned the belongings of the newly dead to ward off evil spirits.

    Modern mourning evolved from the custom of hiding ones identity to confuse the spirits. Covering the face of the corpse was handed down from pagan tribes who believed that the spirit escaped the body via the mouth.

    Post funeral gatherings and feasting developed from primitive funerals where food was used as an offering to honor the newly dead. Wakes evolved from the custom of keeping watch over the dead in the hope that the corpse would return to life.

    Candles are lit at funerals because it was once believed that fire would protect the living from the dead. Bell ringing came about in medieval times where it was believed that spirits could be kept away by the ringing of a consecrated bell.

    Holy water is used during funerals because it was believed that it would protect the body from demons. Flowers were used to cover the body in hopes that the mourner would gain favor with the spirit of the deceased. Funeral music evolved from the use of chants that were believed to placate the spirits.

    Which brings us to our modern world and some of the strange customs or rituals people follow.

    You can now be customized caskets with the logo and colors of your favorite sports team People have been buried in their cars, trucks and even in their piano. They have been buried with their favorite beer, whiskey or other adult beverage.

    Those who have chosen cremation have had their remains stored in every conceivable container and their ashes scattered from the top of North Americas highest mountain to the surface of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

    However, knowing all of the above failed to prepare me for the newest ceremonial trend appearing on the horizon. A company located in the Midwest will take eight ounces from the dearly departed (after cremation) and use the carbon to form a diamond. Instead of leaving Aunt Martha in a jar on the mantle she can now be part of the ring you where on your finger. Uncle Bill can now contribute his ashes to those diamond earrings you always wanted. Grandma can become a diamond broach and grandpa can be part of a matching necklace. The two of them a matched set forever.

    In my humble opinion creating jewelry from the remains of our relatives is a little to crass even for our society. Hopefully this trend will go the way of the pet rock and disappear in a few years. If not I am afraid of what will come along next. A leather jacket made from the skin or bone china made from what else the bones of the dearly departed.

    All I know is that I am going to make sure that my will is very specific when it comes to the disposal of my remains.

    Monday, November 29, 2004

    Perils of Plumbing

    Friday night past, I found that my bathroom shower was beginning to drip, drip, drip, drip, and drip. I removed the handle, the stem and finally the seat, which is what was damaged.

    Unfortunately my ability to complete the repair myself ended at this point. The copper pipe that the seat was attached to was cracked and repairing the problem called for a professional. To complicate matters it was necessary to turn the water off for the entire house because the cracked pipe was now leaking into the wall.

    In an attempt to be proactive and realizing that the Saturday of a holiday weekend would be busy I called the plumbing company to schedule an appointment for Saturday. The gentleman I spoke to said that he could have someone at my house between 8:30 and 10:30 in the morning.

    RIGHT!!!!

    By 11:00 the plumber had yet to arrive and no one from the company had called to let me know that he would be late. I called the office and was informed that they were running behind but that someone should be at my location by 1:30.

    RIGHT!!!!

    By 2:00 the repairs had yet to begin due to the absence of a trained plumber. I still had not received a phone call from the main office so once again I called them. I was informed that they were still running behind schedule and that they hope to have someone at my house no later than 3:30.

    RIGHT!!!!

    4:00 PM and the plumbing company continued to live down to my expectations. No plumber and no phone call. Once again I called their office (at this point I began to feel like I was owed a frequent dialer bonus) and was informed without apology that they were still running behind and that they hoped to arrive in my neighborhood at or about 5:30.

    RIGHT!!!!

    This is when I reached the end of my proverbial rope. There was no way that I was going to wait any longer. My fingers took a walk through the yellow pages and I called a plumbing company that I had used previously. They informed me it would take about an hour for a plumber to get to my location and they promised to call when he was in route.

    I called the first plumbing company “AGAIN” and informed them that I was canceling my appointment. And to my utter amazement, NOT, they informed me that suddenly a plumber was free and they were just about to dispatch him to my location. I told them not to bother and moved on with my life.

    One hour to the minute from when I had called the second plumbing company they called me back and let me know their plumber was about fifteen minutes behind schedule and that they would call me when he was in route.

    Fifteen minutes later they called back and informed me that he was on the way and within five minutes he was knocking on the door.

    Getting the plumber to my house was half the battle. The other half was actually completing the repairs. As it turns out it was so late in the day that he was only able to complete the prep work on Saturday. He was able to cap the leaky pipe so I could turn back on the water and finally take a shower.

    He scheduled his return for today and after a short delay arrived to finish the job.

    Now $385.00 later my shower is working perfectly without a drip in sight. Of course I am sure that with Christmas just around the corner I could have found a more enjoyable use for my money. However, the plumbing fails to check the calendar when scheduling a breakdown leaving the homeowner with no choice but to fix problems at the least opportune moments.

    Sunday, November 28, 2004

    Delusions of Grandeur

    I look to the sea
    Searching for a forgotten dream
    Digging amongst ancient ruins
    Never building
    Upon solid ground
    For the time of rebirth
    Is upon me
    A new master is to take my place
    Can he improve
    On what I have begun
    Or will he destroy
    And begin again
    The choice is not mine
    I may only observe
    No advice can be given
    I am only a servant

    Once a god
    Never again
    Banished from
    This dimension
    Left with the memory
    Of another time and place

    Saturday, November 27, 2004

    Buried to Die

    Buried
    Six feet under
    Why
    No one knows
    Minutes to live
    Maybe seconds
    No hope
    No one cares
    Buried here
    Alone to die
    Why
    No reason
    Just because
    Panic
    Tear at the lid
    Wasting air
    Saying prayers
    Death comes
    Not without
    Pain
    Buried to die

    Friday, November 26, 2004

    Mother

    In the darkness, on a cold and lonely bed
    A young woman cries great tears of sorrow
    Face buried in her pillow she sobs long into the night
    Her heart torn and broken lies still beating on the dusty floor
    Her breath comes in ragged gasps
    Her body trembles with the power of her despair
    The room echoes with the sound of her father gently knocking on the door
    How can she explain that at a time like this a girl needs her mothers touch
    And than can never be
    A new wave of tears sends spasms through her body
    She remembers her mothers soothing touch
    Her gentle words
    Her world-weary eyes that grew dimmer from moment to moment
    As the darkness of cancer sucked the energy from her soul
    Leaving her but a shell of the woman she once was
    Before taking her away from her little family
    Leaving them to fumble through the darkness without the light she had provided
    Sobbing she clutches at the memory of her mother
    Desperately searching for salvation
    Her soul cries out, mother what would you say to me
    Dad tries but he cannot understand how difficult it is
    To be a young woman in search of a spiritual love
    He broke my heart mommy
    He looked me in the eye and while my heart was expecting a whispered I love you
    He turned and walked away
    Leaving me standing there, alone in the darkness
    His words echoing in my mind without meaning or comprehension
    What just happened she asked herself
    As the tears began at first to gently fall upon the dusty ground
    How could she have misread his intentions
    She gave him her heart, She offered her soul
    He looked at her with cold contempt
    He offered her no warmth
    A one-night stand in a filthy flat
    Was the best he that could do
    In a different time and place
    She might have said yes
    And followed him into the night
    But mother without you here
    She have learned her lessons the hard way
    She used to mistake lust for love
    And a warm embrace for commitment
    Now she sees they were just using her
    As they have a thousand girls before
    A toy, a plaything, another notch on their headboard
    Her love had no meaning
    Her soul was hollow and cold
    Until tonight
    Where in the darkness, on a cold and lonely bed
    She cried great tears of sorrow
    Until she felt the soothing touch of a mother
    Long forgotten
    Who wrapped her in arms of love
    And rocked her pain away
    She does not know if it was a dream
    And to be frank she doesn’t really care
    Because in her heart of hearts
    She knows her mother was truly there

    Thursday, November 25, 2004

    Thanks for the Turkey

    What do turkeys have to be thankful for
    First considered for national bird
    They became the national feast
    They are ugly as sin
    Though they taste like heaven
    God forgot to give them smarts
    This becomes obvious when they are caught in the rain
    Mouth open, staring at the sky
    Not knowing enough to come in from the storm
    There they stand until they drown

    Wednesday, November 24, 2004

    Thoughts of Heaven

    People with religious words
    Sitting on mighty thrones
    Clutching a bible to their hearts
    Shuffling like seasoned drones
    Teaching the world all about heaven
    With its big fluffy clouds
    Its angelic choir
    A place where happiness has no bounds
    Where everybody’s equal
    Not a soul is different
    A place without age
    Where there is no social security
    Where you can cross the universe
    In the blink of an eye
    They promise St. Peter
    Watching the gate
    But I wonder though if that’s what I will find
    I have never been there
    Neither have they
    So what gives them the right
    To teach heaven today
    No prophet has returned
    To show us what is there
    No one has bothered to write down
    What we will see or what we will share
    Will we remember who we are
    Will we remember our closest friends
    Will we remember our earthly spouse
    Or will singleness be the trend
    Is there a place for the Dodgers to play
    Will Kate have her lines to say
    Will Lennon have his own guitar
    Will Gleason be tending bar
    Will there be sunsets and clouds
    Rainstorms and rainbows
    Will there be stars in the midnight sky
    Will there be wheat to grow
    Will there be animals all around
    Will there be fishing holes
    Still waiting to be found
    Can I go for a moonlit walk
    Through deserted fields and parking lots
    Can I sleep in the four-leaf clover
    Can I walk with a girl
    Shoulder to shoulder
    Will I retain my memories
    Of childish pranks, grown up tears
    Or will my memories
    Simply disappear

    I do not know what heaven will be
    I do not pretend to understand
    I just try to live my life
    Embracing each and every day
    Praying for a winning hand

    Though if God left it up to me
    Heaven would be made up
    Of those special moments
    That passed so quickly
    While we were on earth
    Leaving us wishing
    For one more minute
    To sit back, relax
    And embrace the moment

    Like a beautiful sunrise
    A baby’s first step
    A summer rainstorm
    How soon we forget
    The beauty of a rainbow
    A child’s first words
    Watching the snowfall
    Or the flight of a bird
    The way or hearts melt
    When we first fall in love
    The faith we felt
    For God above
    Or finally a sunset
    A beautiful ending
    To our favorite day

    If heaven is anything
    It is made up of these
    Our warmest moments
    And our favorite people
    Who passed through our lives
    Like leaves on a breeze

    Tuesday, November 23, 2004

    Momdate November 23

    After pulling the rug out from under her last week, my mom’s oncologist made a return visit today with far better results.

    According to the quack he triple checked the test results before contacting her not wanting to repeat the error filled report she had received previously.

    If he can be believed her counts were reduced by two thirds, which is a huge improvement over what mom expected to hear. Knowing that she has shown some progress has aided in tremendously improving her demeanor. Rather than having to undergo radiation over the holidays she can continue with her current treatments, which should allow her to enjoy the season to a greater degree.

    When I spoke to her on the phone today I could hear the difference in her voice. She is spending the holiday with my sister and she was up and prepping food and baking which is a good sign considering how she has felt of late.

    Hopefully, this will be the beginning of some stability for her so she can enjoy the new year in high spirits and spend more quality time with her grandchildren.

    Monday, November 22, 2004

    April Fools

    Everyday
    Brings more change
    Nothing seems
    To remain the same
    No matter your hopes
    No matter your dreams
    We are all part
    Of Mother Nature’s game
    The foolish try
    To break the rules
    But the outcome
    Never changes
    Who’s to judge
    The foolish ones
    Are they not doing
    What we wished we had done
    Ripping their masks off
    Running free
    Being all
    They want to be
    So yesterday I laughed
    Today you cried
    Who can say
    What tomorrow will bring
    Who you will meet
    Who you will know
    It is our choice
    What seeds we sow
    It does not matter
    If the moments lasts
    If time passes slow
    Or much to fast
    It is how you use it
    Not what you say
    It is how you act
    Not the role you play
    It is how you feel
    Not what others say
    Leave the games to fools
    The lies to thieves
    Leave the gossip to losers
    The tears to those you have yet to meet
    Because, as I said
    It does not matter
    If the leaves turn brown
    Or the days grow sadder
    For you can always recall
    The April fools
    The games they played
    The words they said
    The way they felt
    When the cards were dealt
    How they stood
    But did not fall
    Just remember
    Just recall
    Maybe you will laugh
    Maybe you will cry
    But just for a while
    Because April fools
    Are only that
    Just fools

    Sunday, November 21, 2004

    NOTOLOVE

    Two doves
    Collide
    Broken
    They fall
    No hope
    For tomorrow
    It’s over
    Some say
    It did not matter
    Just another war
    Collisions though
    Affect everyone
    Innocent residents
    Stop and stare
    Do they really care
    Unless their space
    Is violated
    But destruction
    Just another phase
    A bit of evolution
    No tears will fall
    Peace is the price
    You pay for death

    Saturday, November 20, 2004

    Memory Banks

    Through outer glass
    An inner world is seen
    Gleaming and sparkling
    In the morning light
    Hiding the beauty
    Covering the gloom
    A sudden thought
    Drifts away
    A bit of love
    Passes unnoticed
    A thread appears
    And disappears
    Hand in hand
    Walking together
    Time making promises
    No one can hear
    Looking for a friend
    Outer glass is shattered
    Falling upon the ground
    Dying without a sound
    As time walks away
    Laughing to himself

    Friday, November 19, 2004

    Are Two Quacks Better Than One?.

    Today my faith in medicine took a big hit. Not that I was ever a blind follower but I expect more from practitioners than what I saw today.

    Not to long ago I mentioned that my mom’s latest results showed marked improvement from her baseline. Zometa appeared to be a wonder drug and a big weight appeared to have been lifted from my mother’s shoulders. Or so I thought.

    Thursday found her making another trek to the land of Sinatra and Hope in order to visit the oncologist that was touted to her as the best the desert has to offer. If he is the best I shudder to think what kind of care the patients of lesser physicians must be receiving.

    Expecting more good news my mother was informed without ceremony that the doctor had mistakenly passed on bad information when his office informed her of the marked improvement she had experienced.

    The jackass did not bother to check the dates on her test results. Meaning he read off her most recent results as if they were her baseline and her baseline as if it was the most recent test results. Bottom line is that all of her counts continued to rise despite the treatment. She is actually doing worse than she was before beginning treatment.

    Now she is back at square one. Increasing pain, lack of pain control and not a hell of a lot of options as far as treatment goes. She is supposed to see a radiologist on Tuesday to discuss localized radiation treatments in an attempt to reduce the level of her pain.

    As for mom she is very frustrated, depressed and angry. She has already ruled out chemo and a bone marrow transplant because her heart is probably not strong enough to survive them and she believes that all those options would do is reduce her quality of life.

    While my mom was riding the merry-go-round of misdiagnosis I was visiting with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. After reviewing my case a few weeks ago he felt that he needed to take a look at my upper respiratory system despite having already undergoing a bronchoscopy with my pulmonologist.

    Nothing could have prepared me for the excitement of having someone insert a long wire into my nose and taking an intimate look at my innermost nasal secrets.

    He did not find any lost pirate treasure but he did find polyps in my left nasal cavity. I have always been somewhat of a mouth breather and the blockage explains why. Of course it does not explain away my cough and respiration problems.

    He also found that my larynx was red and inflamed. His diagnosis: my cough is caused by acid reflux.

    What?

    He is an ENT not a gastrointestinal specialist. I already saw one was tested and informed that I do not have acid reflux. Who to trust the ENT or the UGI?

    I asked the ENT how acid could be irritating my larynx while I remain a symptomatic; he looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that not everyone with acid reflux has any symptoms.

    What, no heartburn, no sour stomach, nothing. I am absolutely symptom free. So how could acid reflux be my problem?

    That may be true but how could acid reach high enough and be strong enough to irritate my larynx without me feeling a thing. My step dad had that problem and he would throw up blood when the acid rose that high.

    All in all he was a waste of time. He wants me to take prescription strength antacids for six weeks and repeat the test. He believes that by than I will be cured. I attempted to explain that I had already tried that with the stomach specialist for a month. His answer: the stomach guy does not know his stuff a month is not long enough.

    He also wants me to take steroids for the polyps in my nose. I vainly attempted to explain that steroids and my panic disorder do not play well together. He blew that off to. So I gave up talking and let him listen to himself speak because I sure was not listening.

    I may not be a doctor but I am an informed patient and I expect my doctors to meet me halfway. Listen to my concerns and work with me in planning treatments not dictate to me and ignore my concerns.

    All in all a rather poor ending to a rather poor week. And when I look in the mirror I cannot even rationalize that at least I have my health.

    Thursday, November 18, 2004

    Louise Tracy

    Spencer Tracy has always been one of my favorite actors. He had that unique ability to immerse himself so completely in a role that it became difficult to separate the role from the actor. He often played a man who while accepting the existence of gray in the world followed a black and white moral compass. On the screen he was a man amongst men.

    Off the screen life was much more complicated. He was married for forty-four years but most people consider Katherine Hepburn to be the love of his life. Most of the materials I have read concerning Tracy’s life focus on his acting skill and his love affair with Kate as he called her.

    His wife, Louise always seems to be hidden by the great actors shadow. I always wondered how she stood by him all those years knowing he was in love with another woman. Having been raised Catholic Tracy never would divorce his wife and marry Kate, that kind of thing was not allowed by the church. Though apparently keeping a mistress for thirty years did not seem to bother the church. Through it all Louise stood by his side never publicly complaining.

    I always wondered, what kept her going.

    What kept her sane?

    Appearances can be deceiving and after reading an article about Louise Tracy I have come to believe that it was Spencer who lived in her shadow not the other way around.

    In 1924 they became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy whom they named John Tracy. Everything went as expected until John was ten months old and Louise quite by accident discovered that her boy was deaf. Before informing Spencer she consulted with quite a few doctors and received the same answer from each. John’s ears had suffered nerve damage for reasons unknown and their son would never hear again.

    In the 1920’s deafness was still associated with stupidity. Spencer was sure that his son was dumb, which brought tears to his eyes. Doctors told them that in a few years their son would be old enough for a state run special education school. The Tracy’s would not accept that and refused to give up. They continued to talk to John as if he could hear them.

    Louise dedicated her days to teaching John how to talk and how to read lips. Sometimes it would take upwards of two or three thousand repetitions of a word before John could repeat the sound correctly but Louise was nothing if not dedicated.

    When the Tracy’s moved to Hollywood Louise found herself giving talks about deafness to soldiers who had lost their hearing during the war. One of the talks she gave was attended a dozen or so mothers whose children were deaf. She befriended them and invited them to her home. There she discussed how she had taught John, who was now eighteen.

    Along with the original group of mothers and Dr. Victor Goodhill, Louise formed the John Tracy clinic on the USC campus. The clinic offered free hearing screenings and a sense of community that was new to those who were deaf.

    During the early years Spencer was the sole source of funding for the clinic. Than one of Gloria Swanson’s ex-husbands left a substantial sum to the clinic and Hollywood soon became the clinics main source of funding.

    Louise spent the next four decades of her life turning the John Tracy clinic into one of the top research and education facilities in the world.

    In 1952 at the dedication of the clinics new headquarters Spenser said it best, “You honor me because I am a movie actor, a star in Hollywood terms. Well, there’s nothing I have ever done that can match what Louise has done for deaf children and their parents.”

    Her husband may have one several Oscars for his performances. However, if there were an Oscar for a life well lived Louise would have had a mantle full.

    Source - LA Then and Now: “Actors Wife a Star in Aiding Deaf Children and Their Families”. Written by Cecilia Rasmussen
    Sunday November 14, 2004

    Wednesday, November 17, 2004

    I Am

    I am
    A minstrel
    Following in
    The footsteps of prophets
    Pen in hand
    Writing verse
    The world will never read

    I am
    An autumn leaf
    Caught in a thunderstorm
    Clinging to hope
    Expecting salvation
    Torn from a branch
    Thrown to the ground
    Left in the mud
    Me, to drown

    I am
    A book
    Written for
    The world to read
    With a torn cover
    And dog eared pages
    Some find meaning
    Some find hate
    Some find hope
    But most read it once
    And toss it away

    I am
    A moment
    Of uncontrolled lust
    To much passion
    Heart left to rust
    Like the litter
    Left after the parade
    I am
    A loser
    In life’s grand charade

    I am
    A heart broken
    From carrying
    The weight of bitterness
    Around
    No where to turn
    Crying alone
    The feelings burn
    Like fire and paper
    Like acid and skin
    Nothing left over
    To begin again

    I am
    A light
    Left alone in the dark
    Burned out from chasing
    The shadows away
    With no hope left
    Tossed to the ground
    Broken and shattered
    Trod underfoot
    Like my light never mattered

    I do matter
    I am
    A person
    In need of love and affection
    In need of acceptance
    For who and what I am

    I am
    A person
    With an empty heart
    And feelings to share
    If only someone
    Bothered to care

    I am
    Alone
    Against the world
    Fighting a battle
    I was destined to lose
    An outcome
    I cannot accept
    Because in the end
    I will win
    My only weapon is hope
    And no one
    May take that away from me

    I am love

    Only love


    Tuesday, November 16, 2004

    Vacant Throne

    The throne has been, through no fault of my own, vacant for the past week.

    I wish I had some exciting tale of espionage and intrigue to share.

    Like how I was on a secret mission in Budapest preventing the plans for a new super weapon from falling in to the hands of an enemy agent.

    Or how Santa called me up to the North Pole to assist in diagnosing and correcting a major glitch in the new naughty/nice monitoring system.

    Or how I was camped out in the great northwest waiting for a wild turkey that was perfect for my holiday repast to happen by.

    Or how while camped I took the only verifiably honest to goodness picture of a living bigfoot.

    Alas, none of the above is even close to the truth.

    In reality I was the lucky recipient of the latest stomach virus that is at this very moment eating its way through stomachs all over Southern California.

    The less details the better but suffice it to say I am close to fighting, I mean writing shape and my regular posts should begin appearing tomorrow.

    Wednesday, November 10, 2004

    Review: Jacob Marley's Christmas Carol

    With the holiday season peeking around the corner I thought I would share a quick review of my favorite non-traditional Christmas novel.

    “Jacob Marley’s Christmas Carol” written by Tom Mula based on his one-man play.

    The story is not so much a sequel has it is the same story told from the perspective of the ghost of Jacob Marley.

    Beginning with Jacob Marley’s death the story follows Jacob to the other side. While he does find that his just completed life was not exemplary he comes to understand that he has not condemned himself to eternal damnation either.

    In dealing with post life bureaucracy Jacob finds that he has the opportunity for redemption if he can complete the mission that he has been offered. The mission fittingly enough is the redemption of Ebenezer Scrooge himself.

    The remainder of this excellent book deals with Jacob’s attempts to make Ebenezer aware of his possible fate.

    Mr. Mula finally answers the question that had been bothering me for years. Was Jacob himself beyond redemption?

    The familiar characters of Dickens London are brought back to life without missing a beat. The scene development and the dialogue are both exceptional. Anyone who loves the Christmas season will find the Spirit of Christmas alive and well in the pages of this wonderful book.

    Tuesday, November 09, 2004

    The Face

    Once the face was firm and unblemished, no marks or wrinkles to mar the skin. A strong nose, well defined eyes and a mouth upon which could be found a perfect smile.

    Passerby’s would stop and ponder the Mona Lisa like perfection of the face. Talking amongst themselves they would comment on various features seemingly happy just to stop and share the moment.

    However, perfection in any state never seems to last.

    Change happened gradually, so gradually that at first no one seemed to notice.

    Eyes beginning to appear a bit sunken nose sagging just a bit and a smile that was becoming more grimace than grin.

    Once noticed age began to ravage the face beyond all recognition. The once beautiful features seemed to sink in upon themselves. Collapse of the facial structure appeared to be eminent.

    Those who passed no longer stopped, no longer commented, they appeared to have forgotten the beauty they had once beheld.

    Finally, to the dismay of its creator the time had come to say goodbye to his creation. Lovingly the young boy picked the jack-o-lantern up off the porch, he carefully wrapped the expired gourd in old newspaper and placed it on top of the trashcan.

    Wistfully he turns his back on his old friend already making plans for next years Halloween.

    Monday, November 08, 2004

    Hot Chocolate Days

    Rain again today. October set a record for rainfall in Southern California and it is beginning to look like November may continue the trend.

    I found myself walking through the Home Depot parking lot as a band of heavy showers passed overhead. The torrential rain acted as a catalyst and swept be back in time, to a more innocent time.

    I am in the 6th grade and I am in the living room of my Nana’s house. A fire pops and hisses in the fireplace while my grandfather pops corn the old fashioned way. His hands grip a long black metal handle connected to a round black pan sealed with a lid. He always said that the secret to perfectly popped corn was in keeping the pan moving over the flames, rhythmically shaking the kernels back and forth ensuring an even pop.

    In the kitchen Nana is making hot cocoa following the time-honored recipe passed on to her by her mother. She slowly melts chocolate over a double boiler while whisking in fresh cream, milk and a bit of sugar.

    Having walked home from school in the rain I managed to enter the house soaked to the skin despite the presence of an umbrella. Being eleven I just had to step and/or jump into every puddle on my way home.

    After toweling off I find myself spread out on the floor before the fire. A large mug of hot chocolate with marshmallow islands floating upon the surface along with a bowl of fresh popped corn covered by a glistening layer of melted butter are within reach of my right hand.

    As my bones warm I lose myself in the world of Frank and Joe Hardy tagging along as they solve their latest mystery.

    Fast forward to the present. With no fireplace I make do with microwave popcorn and instant hot cocoa. I curl up beneath my Los Angeles Dodger fleece blanket and once again lose myself in the world of the Hardy Boys.