Imagination?

Carved into the old maple tree were the words Michael loves Catherine. The letters had faded into the bark over time but if one looked close enough a roughly etched heart could be seen encircling the names and the year 1949.

I had hiked past this tree many times in my youth as I explored the trails of this old canyon. I guess I had always been moving to fast because until today I had never noticed the names carved into the tree.

My fertile imagination took me on a trip back in time and I began to explore the trail left by lives led my Michael and Catherine.

In 1949 Michael was sixteen and Catherine was fifteen. They had been neighbors and best friends for ten years. Until recently that was the extent of their relationship. However, in the summer of '49 they discovered the feelings they shared ran deeper than mere friendship and their love began to bloom.

They were married in 1952 just before Michael shipped off to basic training. He was shipped off to the Korean peninsula and returned a decorated veteran before they took an honest to goodness honeymoon.

Michael went into construction during the building boom of the fifties. He and some war buddies built a small but successful business specializing in more customized houses than the cookie cutter models the industry began turning out.

On the home front Catherine gave birth to three girls. One in 1954, followed by one in 1956, and finally one in 1958. The girls grew up happy and well loved. Every summer the family rented the same cottage on the lake along with several other couples.

The men would spend the days fishing and the evenings around a bon fire drinking Coors and swapping war stories. The children swam through out the day and chased each other through the woods long into the evening. The wives played Hearts and gossiped through out the warm afternoons.

Michael and Catherine married their three daughters off to wonderful husbands. One who took over the families' share of the construction business when Michael retired.

Now in their seventies Michael and Catherine were retired and enjoying the good life. Bouncing grandbabies on their knees and visiting parts of the world that they had only dreamed about seeing.

I shook my head and though to myself how off base my invented fantasy probably was from reality. They probably broke up that very same summer and never saw each other again.

I turned to go and something on the ground in front of the tree caught my eye. The weeds had been pulled and a various flowers had been planted and tended to. A small sign sat in amongst the various blooms.

I knelt down and saw that the sign read: To my beloved Catherine. Thank you for 55 years of more happiness than any man deserved. I miss you more each and every day. I love you.

Maybe my imagination was not so wild after all.

The Song Remains The Same Or Does It

I spent the past week walking a musical road through my past. Most of the trip was spent in the 70's. Listening to the singers and the songs that were the soundtrack of my life through high school and into college.

Like most journeys that involve a great deal of reminiscing there were surprises and there were disappointments. Songs that I remembered as being great did not stand the test of time, while songs that seemed to have passed me by were pleasant discoveries.

The following songs or artists stood out for various reasons: good and bad.

10CC: For most people including me 10CC is remembered for "The Things We Do For Love". However I was surprised to discover that they had several other songs that were very good including: "Dreadlock Holiday" and "The Wall Street Shuffle".

Barry Manilow: I was never a big Manilow fan but relistening to "Mandy" reminded me that while he may have been to mellow for my taste he was a very good lyricist.

Bee Gees: For a lot of music lovers the older work of the Bee Gees has been overlooked since the big hits of from "Saturday Night Fever". Songs such as "I Started a Joke" and "Massachusetts" have held up surprisingly well.

Blue Magic: I did not remember this band but they have a song "Sideshow" that is very good. It was on a best of the era compilation so I do not know if they have any other good songs but this is one I enjoyed discovering.

Bobby Sherman: When "Julie Do You Love Me" was a hit I like a million other boys just happened to have a crush on someone named Julie. This song has not held up as well in reality as it did in my memory. The lyric is repetitious and the melody is dull I guess when you are ten or eleven with a crush on someone the quality is not quite as important as the emotion the song generates.

Carly Simon & James Taylor: This former couple performed a duet of a song called "Mockingbird". Every once in awhile the melody of this song would become stuck in my head repeating endlessly, I have been looking for this song so I could rehear it since it seemed to have made such an impression. I should not have bothered. In reality this song grated on my nerves when I reheard it. I am not sure why it stuck with me all of these years but I have gotten the urge to hear it out of my system.

Coven/Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods: Both of these groups were basically one hit wonders. Coven with "One Tin Soldier" from The Legend of Billy Jack and Bo Donaldson with "Billy Don't Be a Hero". Neither song has stood the test of time. I was especially disappointed with "One Tin Soldier" I remember watching Billy Jack back than and having that song stuck in replay mode for weeks. Now as I relisten to it I find it trite and ineffectual.

Dave Loggins/Dave Mason: Dave Loggins performed "Please Come to Boston" and Dave Mason sang "We Just Disagree". Both were songs that have faded into memory but upon rediscovery I found that I remembered the lyrics and enjoyed singing along with both songs. By myself of course I would not make anyone listen to my singing voice on purpose.

Harry Chapin: In my mind he is one of the most underrated songwriters of the seventies. Each song that he wrote and recorded had a story to tell. From "Cats Cradle" to "Taxi" his lyrics could grab the listener and take them by their imagination into somebody else's life. Leaving them with a sense of awe when the journey was complete.

This list could go on forever but these are the songs or artists that stood out for some reason today.

Only Time Would Tell

Shadows of a dream haunt his waking moments. He remembers bits and pieces but fog obscures the details.

A twisted tree guards the gates of an abandoned sanitarium bits of broken glass reflect the lights of a distant city. Ragweed, ivy and overgrown rose bushes cling to the harden soil with the determination of an old time prairie farmer.

Inside hallways seem to twist and turn with a life of their own. Walls covered with artwork created by inhabitants long forgotten. Stairs climb into the darkness each step groaning like the bones of an old broke down mule.

A room from his past, out of place in these haunted halls. Childhood memories cling like spiders to the walls and ceiling. Dust from years past forms miniature mountains and canyons obscuring the carpet and burying the grape juice stain he had left behind so many years ago.

In the corner a bed abandoned stacks of Hardy Boy mysteries scattered upon the pillows and blankets. Yesterday's fingerprints formed from the remnants of ten cent Hershey bars. A flashlight working still after all these years points towards the closet of his nightmares.

However, as he draws closer the closet appears to fade into the distance.

Each and every evening the outcome was the same. The props and the scenery may change but in the end he would always find himself confronting this closet significance lost in the sands of time.

Why?

What was he repressing? Had he hid in the closet for some long forgotten reason? Had he been locked or trapped in the closet somehow?

The more he attempted to retrieve the memory the more the mists of time confused his sense of place.

Somehow, someday he would recapture the moment and attempt to open the door. His fear lay in the remembering. Would he be able to accept and face the contents of this abandoned closet? Or would the long repressed memories destroy the last threads of his sanity?

Only time would tell.

Paths

Standing on the edge of tomorrow. Lost in the mist of yesterday. Angered echoes dance across the mountaintops. Raging against memories embedded in the mind of a generation.

Stretched behind her lost in the distance of time are the signposts marking the genealogical trail created by her ancestors. More markers than she can count mark the repetition of mistakes from one decade to the next.

One alcoholic followed by another.

One drug addict begotten by another.

Drifters and con artists share their burden with ministers and priests.

No presidents.

No saints.

No kings.

No peasants.

As she searches the archives of her past she finds nothing remarkable surprised only by the commonness of her family tree and the utter lack of creativity.

Here a suicide there an accidental overdose. Down south was a dirt farmer and up north a handful of teamsters.

No doctors.

No lawyers.

No politicians.

No captains of industry.

She found frustration building on her horizon. Were her and her brothers doomed to repeat the utter ordinariness of their unremarkable past? Was dullness genetic or did they have what it took to break the bonds of centuries and build anew.

She cried and she prayed. She vowed that this would be the generation that built a new foundation for her futures selves to gaze upon with pride and with hope for their own future.

Why?

Standing on the brink of insanity. Walking the fine line between the padded room and the penthouse. The path is wrought with pitfalls and hazards. Safety is but a light at the end of a long and twisted tunnel.

Silent screams fill the mind chasing thoughts of hope away. Where is the freedom that was promised? Why is the house filled conflict and despair?

The air is silent. No answers are forthcoming, neither real nor imagined. Fingernails dig into the scars of madness left behind by a thousand demons on a thousand sleepless nights. Blankets and pillows have been twisted and torn beyond recognition.

Darkness with its chilly embrace has come to claim its prize. Medication has been forsaken and the clowns of despair laugh maniacally chasing bits of protoplasm across the ceiling.

In the corner the shredded remains of a straight jacket have been fashioned into a noose, a homemade doorway to the great beyond.

Creaking with the weight of its load the showerhead bends and turns casting shadows of the once alive upon the walls in the early morning light.

An echo of the passing soul can still be heard through out the dark corners of the galaxy:

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Lungs in Crisis VI

Day 214 – November 20, 2003: Before this onslaught on my lungs began I was fortunate enough never to have gone through an illness of any seriousness. The mental state necessary to deal with the debilitation of any illness over a long period of time is draining. To the best of my knowledge what I am dealing with is not even life threatening but at times it seems like I have reached the end of my last nerve.

My admiration for people who have spent their entire lives dealing with illness has grown in leaps and bounds over the past seven months. I cannot begin to imagine what that would be like even as I walk a small bit of the same path. If and when I get my own health back I will never ever take it for granted again.

Day 227 – December 3, 2003: Once again I spent the afternoon with my fish friend while waiting for my pulmonologist to see me. It appears that my most recent infection has cleared up and we will attempt to do the broncoscopy on December 17th. Hopefully I will remain in good health between now and than.

Day 234 – December 10, 2003: As my illness as progressed my panic attacks have continued to increase in frequency. Seldom does a day pass without a sudden and paralyzing onslaught of fear and disorientation. Xanex and now Lexapro have helped but nothing has allowed me to go more than a day panic free.

If something good can come out of all this though it was my doctor pushing me to begin seeing a psychologist. I was always resistant in the past. I assumed I would have nothing to talk about. That the time would drag and nothing what so ever would be accomplished. I could not have been more wrong.

My psychologist made me feel right at home from our first visit. She is warm, caring and compassionate. She has aided me in my understanding of panic disorder and its root causes. While in my case we have not been able to identify the initial trigger she has guided me into acceptance of my current state while providing me with hope for the future.

The biggest problem I face in treating my panic disorder is my breathing. One of the best ways to deal with a panic attack is deep breathing, which is near to impossible for me. So we have worked to develop other tools that help work through the attacks as they happen.

Most importantly though talking to her has opened a door into myself that I had never before investigated. I have learned so much about who I am and what makes me tick that I wish I had begun therapy years ago.

Day 239 – December 15, 2003: Cancellation of the procedure has become necessary once again. I woke up this morning with a fever and chest congestion. After visiting my doctor she saw that my throat was red and that I was already developing yellow mucus. I called the pulmonologist and he felt that with the holidays coming up we would need to wait until January. Not much I can do about it they cannot put me under with an infection and a fever so I will just have to wait and see what the new year brings.

Digital Desire

Somewhere on the east coast of America he sat in front of his computer. Music from the soundtrack of his life played in the background, classics and one hit wonders all songs that like a time machine recaptured his youth.

He was waiting for her, hoping she would be online tonight. He had not chatted with her in several days and he missed her something fierce.

She was on the west coast somewhere. Exactly where he was not sure, they both had agreed to keep their actual location secret, you never knew whom you were really talking to when you were on the web.

He knew that her home was near the ocean and that she often would talk about the reflection of the full moon dancing with the waves and dolphins. He did not know though if she was in California, Oregon or Washington.

She was married with three kids, all teenagers testing their wings in preparation for leaving the nest. Her husband spent, if she was to be believed, more time with his several mistresses than with her. She stayed for the children but planned on leaving when the last one sailed away.

He lived in the New England area and often told her how beautiful fall was there. Multi colored leaves dancing on the breeze.

He to was married but the passion the two of them had once shared had become cold as any New England winter on record. They often went days without talking passing each other like ghosts in the hallway.

For three years now they had chatted while playing dominoes in one of the many game rooms. They were evenly matched and played more to keep busy while chatting than out of a sense of competition.

They discussed their dreams, their hopes and their fears. They laughed and they sometimes cried.

Once she had offered to call him so they could talk live but he had cold feet. A year later he returned the offer but then it was, her with cold feet.

He often found his inbox filled with cards and notes from her, ranging from the serious to the silly. The notes usually contained a smiley face and a quick hello. He was not quite as prolific as her keeping up with her though proved difficult. He was just not as witty as she was.

He missed the nights when she was unavailable. With three teenagers she was often out late which put a crimp in their communication with the time difference and all. Many nights when she was ready to chat he was already in bed snoring away.

What surprised the both of them was how strong their feelings for each other had become. Based solely on words read on a monitor screen. Even with three thousand miles between them they had difficulty checking their nerves at the door. Each keystroke carried meaning intended and unintended.

Would they ever meet? Neither knew the answer to that question. They dreamt about it. They joked about it. But reality always brought them crashing down to earth. Many miles, three children and two spouses separated them. A distance that even the internet might be unable to bridge.