I sat at the window waiting for the rain. It did not come for 39 days. I watched the sun come and go always followed by the moon. If I stay in this chair I can imagine the moon is simply chasing the sun and will never catch up. I am waiting for the rain because I need an excuse to stay inside and write. Otherwise I just stay inside. If it is not raining and I have no excuse for staying inside then I feel horrible that I am wasting the beautiful weather. It is raining this morning. So I am returning to my blog. I was gone from the computer for a long time. My lap top got a virus. It was obviously contagious in someway and gave me a bad case of writers block (is there a science fiction novel in there somewhere?) I had to take my LapTop to the Computer Doctor. It was in the “computer infirmary” for about 3 or 4 days. So my countdown was interrupted by forces beyond my control. Yet, since it is so easy to lie on the computer, and I am suppose to be using my imagination, I will simply pretend that I never missed a day and place entries as if they were typed in chronological order.
So, technically (as my 10 year old daughter would say) my countdown will stay intact. Truth be told (a rarity in our present culture) I did write in my journal. Those spiral notebooks were my first true love. That is how I got started. I have gone so far as to actually take a couple of them and type them into my computer. Each one is a mixture of Diary, Fantasy, Fiction, Personal Essays, Rants, Venting., all done for no apparent reason other than I could. “What are you writing?” People would ask me, and I would always say “I don’t know.” And I didn’t. And I don’t.
I guess I am trying to figure it out myself and hope the more I do it that suddenly a purpose will present itself magically. It will be as if I had been using invisible ink which materialized in the form of a Map showing me the way to a Hidden Treasure. What is the hidden treasure? I often feel as if I have lived for 49 years without knowing a purpose. And, there is nothing I want more than some golden singular purpose of my existence to justify or explain what this life has been all about. I guess I am hoping my writing will reveal this purpose and I will have some sense of satisfaction and feel justified for having used so much oxygen, ink, paper, food, natural resources, time, money etc. etc. Do other people need to feel their lives are “justified”?.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
341 Days until the Big Five-0
Okay, Bruce Sprinsteen is on the cover of AARP magazine. Is he the only person to ever be on the cover of Time, Newsweek, Rolling Stone AND AARP? I bet he is. I will be turning Fifty and he will be turning Sixty. What does this say about us?? Me and Bruce. I think we both still seem pretty young. Will his next album be Tramps Like Us Baby we were born to use Walkers?? Electric Scooters? I can hear the songs now.
Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the track, no really, it is. It is a lot closer than we realize. We may really get there before the song ends, but I hope not. I think Bruce and I still have a few good songs and concerts left in us. If he can do it, I can do it. Luckily I no longer need to sleep in parking lots all night in order to score a ticket to a Bruce Concert. I will simply enter the AARP Contest and win them!
Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the track, no really, it is. It is a lot closer than we realize. We may really get there before the song ends, but I hope not. I think Bruce and I still have a few good songs and concerts left in us. If he can do it, I can do it. Luckily I no longer need to sleep in parking lots all night in order to score a ticket to a Bruce Concert. I will simply enter the AARP Contest and win them!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
342 Days Until the Big Five-0
Is it Kaluki or Kalookie? It is the card game my mother raised me on and it has become the gift of distraction in her old age, a way for her to forget about her constant physical pain. But most of all, it is fun. For decades my mother was left alone in the kitchen playing solitaire as a way to pass time. Perhaps she was on the cutting edge. Now people spend endless hours playing all sorts of games on their computers including Solitaire. My mom played Kaluki with her best friend Bernice. They spent hours and hours with those cards and cups of coffee creating a friendship that would become standard by which I would learn to measure all other friendships in the world. Then my mother took Kaluki to her upstairs neighbors Bess and Sol, and their friends Hershel and Sarah. The five of them made every Saturday night a picture perfect evening.
Now, my mother has trained her two care givers, Jinky and Bonnie in the art of Kaluki. She has also taught the game to my daughter, her granddaughter, who absolutely loves it. I imagine one day I will be playing with my granddaughter and I will remember my mother just like she remembers her mother while we are playing. My mother has given me many gifts over the years, and learnng how the play Kaluki maybe the best one of all!
Now, my mother has trained her two care givers, Jinky and Bonnie in the art of Kaluki. She has also taught the game to my daughter, her granddaughter, who absolutely loves it. I imagine one day I will be playing with my granddaughter and I will remember my mother just like she remembers her mother while we are playing. My mother has given me many gifts over the years, and learnng how the play Kaluki maybe the best one of all!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
343 Days until the big Five-0
Go to sleep. That is how I avoid things. It is so easy. I just shut my eyes and everything disappears, problems, doubts, disappointments. I love sleep. It is the best medicine in the world. It is better than any drug. I can sleep for days. I can sleep on crowded L Trains. I can sleep standing up, sitting down, and unfortunately while I am driving. I have never been able to do a pull up, push up, or sit up. And I cannot keep my eyes open when my mind wants to shut off. I am the opposite of an insomniac. I must be a Maniac or some other kind of ac.
I knew I would get stuck at Fifth Grade. I should have known better than to include a recollection of the progression of my school years in the Blog O Sfear as I now think of it. What am I afraid of? The usual:
Failure
Water
Poverty
Looking Stupid
Sounding Stupid
Mediocrity
Becoming My Mother
Becoming My Father
Becoming My Self
Finding My Self
Losing My Self
Oh well, I could stay up and write all night but who knows where that would lead. So I guess I will go to sleep so I will never have to find out what words I have been hiding deep in the recesses of my mind. Ha and I always said Recess was my favorite subject in school.
I do not go to sleep per chance to dream, no I chase sleep per chance to forget my dreams, the ones that I have not been able to make come true.
I knew I would get stuck at Fifth Grade. I should have known better than to include a recollection of the progression of my school years in the Blog O Sfear as I now think of it. What am I afraid of? The usual:
Failure
Water
Poverty
Looking Stupid
Sounding Stupid
Mediocrity
Becoming My Mother
Becoming My Father
Becoming My Self
Finding My Self
Losing My Self
Oh well, I could stay up and write all night but who knows where that would lead. So I guess I will go to sleep so I will never have to find out what words I have been hiding deep in the recesses of my mind. Ha and I always said Recess was my favorite subject in school.
I do not go to sleep per chance to dream, no I chase sleep per chance to forget my dreams, the ones that I have not been able to make come true.
Monday, August 3, 2009
344 Days until the Big Five-0
Sarcasm, who cares???
Electronic prose is not the place for sarcasm. You cannot hear the intonation, or see the sly grin. You cannot add a gesture with your hands to help keep the sting out of the words. So, when on Face Book or typing in emails, remember they can’t “hear” and simply read your words without realizing how they are intended.
I have always liked the fact that I am sarcastic. Actually I have been down right proud of my sarcastic nature. But over the years it has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that too much of a good thing can be bad, and so it must be with my sarcasm. I must tone it down. Therefore, I am going on a sarcasm diet. I will limit myself to being sarcastic when in person and only 43 times a day (this is a DRAMATIC reduction).
However, I reserve the right to be endlessly sarcastic on MY Blog, besides we all know no one but you and I are ever going to read this. Hello D, my lone ranger reader. Hi-O Silver Kimasabe.
Electronic prose is not the place for sarcasm. You cannot hear the intonation, or see the sly grin. You cannot add a gesture with your hands to help keep the sting out of the words. So, when on Face Book or typing in emails, remember they can’t “hear” and simply read your words without realizing how they are intended.
I have always liked the fact that I am sarcastic. Actually I have been down right proud of my sarcastic nature. But over the years it has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that too much of a good thing can be bad, and so it must be with my sarcasm. I must tone it down. Therefore, I am going on a sarcasm diet. I will limit myself to being sarcastic when in person and only 43 times a day (this is a DRAMATIC reduction).
However, I reserve the right to be endlessly sarcastic on MY Blog, besides we all know no one but you and I are ever going to read this. Hello D, my lone ranger reader. Hi-O Silver Kimasabe.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
346 Days Until the Big Five-O
I am so embarrassed! Even though only one person may be reading this, I hope some day 2 or 3 people may actually come upon it, and think of it as the lost archives of some strange, yet fascinating civilization.
I confused the names of my second and fifth grade teachers. Originally I had Mrs. McCracken described as my Second Grade Teacher, but that was the name of my Fifth Grade Teacher. I think Kornacker was the Second Grade Teacher. Could my memory finally be failing me. I have so much in common with my 90 year old mother. We are unable to remember the names of the people we meet 10 minutes after we meet them. Yet, we had excellent recall for anything that occurred in the distant past, until now. These days we both seem to be struggling to remember the names of the tenants that lived in our building 40 years ago, the stores along Devon Avenue, the names of the children of the once large family which has dwindled to my mother and a couple of cousins. This is not good.
Also, I fell into an old bad habit this past week. I did something I have managed to avoid doing for a very long time. I totally offended someone I barely knew. I did this by saying something completely inappropriate. Even my writing is beginning to show signs of deterioration: Totally, Completely, Like Wow Man, I think I do need to go read that Stink and Write Book.
Why did I do it? I don't know but it has me so upset I can barely write. I did it on FaceBook. I poked my beautifully fixed nose where it did not belong and thought it was okay to say outrageously presumptive things to a someone I met briefly in a bar last week. I would like to explain myself (the dead dad, the mid-life crisis, the stress of raising children and taking care of retarded cousins and an elderly mother), but the truth is there is no Excuse. I apologized. My stomach hurts when I think about it, and maybe I really am back at DeWitt Clinton Grammar school where beginning in 6th Grade my Big Mouth became what I was known for.
I am not sure I am ready to write about Fifth Grade. It was the real turning point in my life. I went from a smart shy skinny 9 year old to a fat failing 10 year old in what seemed like a blink of the eye. Perhaps life was a roller coaster way before that but my ability to interpret the crazy house I was growing up in had not yet developed. Our age determines how we interpret our lives and how that interpretation is manifested in behaviors that we cannot understand. It is a complicated turn of events in our brain. This is WHY hindsight is 20/20. The older we get, the more layers we are able to lift and look under to see the real sleeping monsters beneath the covers.
I confused the names of my second and fifth grade teachers. Originally I had Mrs. McCracken described as my Second Grade Teacher, but that was the name of my Fifth Grade Teacher. I think Kornacker was the Second Grade Teacher. Could my memory finally be failing me. I have so much in common with my 90 year old mother. We are unable to remember the names of the people we meet 10 minutes after we meet them. Yet, we had excellent recall for anything that occurred in the distant past, until now. These days we both seem to be struggling to remember the names of the tenants that lived in our building 40 years ago, the stores along Devon Avenue, the names of the children of the once large family which has dwindled to my mother and a couple of cousins. This is not good.
Also, I fell into an old bad habit this past week. I did something I have managed to avoid doing for a very long time. I totally offended someone I barely knew. I did this by saying something completely inappropriate. Even my writing is beginning to show signs of deterioration: Totally, Completely, Like Wow Man, I think I do need to go read that Stink and Write Book.
Why did I do it? I don't know but it has me so upset I can barely write. I did it on FaceBook. I poked my beautifully fixed nose where it did not belong and thought it was okay to say outrageously presumptive things to a someone I met briefly in a bar last week. I would like to explain myself (the dead dad, the mid-life crisis, the stress of raising children and taking care of retarded cousins and an elderly mother), but the truth is there is no Excuse. I apologized. My stomach hurts when I think about it, and maybe I really am back at DeWitt Clinton Grammar school where beginning in 6th Grade my Big Mouth became what I was known for.
I am not sure I am ready to write about Fifth Grade. It was the real turning point in my life. I went from a smart shy skinny 9 year old to a fat failing 10 year old in what seemed like a blink of the eye. Perhaps life was a roller coaster way before that but my ability to interpret the crazy house I was growing up in had not yet developed. Our age determines how we interpret our lives and how that interpretation is manifested in behaviors that we cannot understand. It is a complicated turn of events in our brain. This is WHY hindsight is 20/20. The older we get, the more layers we are able to lift and look under to see the real sleeping monsters beneath the covers.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
34Five Days until the big Five-0
Fourth Grade was going to be very challenging. The teacher I was to get had a reputation that made Mrs. Masters look like the nice lady from Romper Room. Her name was Mrs. English. She had soft white hair, steel blue eyes and a nose that looked like it had been pinched to almost complete closure. Her long thin nostrils protruded like two dark alleys from the bony crooked road that was her nose. Everyone knew she was THE MEANEST teacher. It did not help that she was also very tall giving us the feeling of someone with enormous power and a wide open view of every thing in the classroom. Shrinking down in your chair would not help.
She would slap a ruler on her desk when she needed to jerk all our heads up and directly at her. She new none of us would ever misbehave in her classroom because we were so afraid of her reputation finding out if there was any truth to it was one test none of us was willing to take. So we sat. We read. We added and subtracted. We looked at books and did art projects and we sang when we were told to sing. And just when I thought I had almost made it out of fourth grade unscathed, a ball flies out of left field and hits me square in the forehead.
On March 8, 1970 my father died in a car accident. I had to miss one week of school to sit shiva. Mrs. English had the class make condolence cards for me which were hand delivered by one of my class mates and her mother. I still have them. I am not sure if everything I learned in fourth grade was instantly erased from my mind while I sat shiva, but I do know Mrs. English was particularly nice to me when I returned to school. She use to smile at me. It was the first time a teacher ever smiled at me. It makes me sad to think it took my losing a parent to see some kindness come out of one of my teachers. But back then I took what I could get in order to get through 4th Grade.
She would slap a ruler on her desk when she needed to jerk all our heads up and directly at her. She new none of us would ever misbehave in her classroom because we were so afraid of her reputation finding out if there was any truth to it was one test none of us was willing to take. So we sat. We read. We added and subtracted. We looked at books and did art projects and we sang when we were told to sing. And just when I thought I had almost made it out of fourth grade unscathed, a ball flies out of left field and hits me square in the forehead.
On March 8, 1970 my father died in a car accident. I had to miss one week of school to sit shiva. Mrs. English had the class make condolence cards for me which were hand delivered by one of my class mates and her mother. I still have them. I am not sure if everything I learned in fourth grade was instantly erased from my mind while I sat shiva, but I do know Mrs. English was particularly nice to me when I returned to school. She use to smile at me. It was the first time a teacher ever smiled at me. It makes me sad to think it took my losing a parent to see some kindness come out of one of my teachers. But back then I took what I could get in order to get through 4th Grade.
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