Dreamers on the Rise

We drove in silence for a few minutes.  She leaned over and turned on the radio.  We picked up the Indians game.  I looked over at her.  Amber was staring straight ahead.  Sara had given her the Uvarovite drop earrings I had given her for Christmas a few years back.  The headlights of the passing cars illuminated her face, the earrings sparkling in the dark.   I noticed a bubble of a tear welling up in her eye closest to me.  She turned to me and I saw it slide down her high cheekbone.

     “I love you so much,” she said.  She bussed the side of my face and wiped the tear out of her eye.

     “I love you, too.”  I rubbed her ear, feeling the earring, remembering doing the same thing to Sara.

“She said every time you saw them on me, you would remember

her.”  Amber stared at me and then snuggled up next to me, drawing her legs up onto the seat, her face looking out.   I stroked the top of her head.  She stared out of the side window.  I looked down in a few minutes and she was sleeping beside me.  The moon was pouring through the side window, bouncing off her bare legs.  Goosebumps were rising on her thighs.  I reached in the back and pulled a blanket up from the back seat and covered her.  She nuzzled into my neck.  I listened to the game all the way home.  Charles Nagy was throwing a shutout against the Yankees, his elbow shot to hell, bone-on-bone every pitch, pitching on nothing but guts and grit.  Bone-on-bone.  My emotional equivalent.   Tom Hamilton was at the mike, top of the ninth evening, as we ran the ridges of Central Ohio finding our way home.  As Bernie Williams helplessly flailed at Charles’s last pitch, Tom Hamilton screamed his lungs out in response.  Amber stirred next to me.

     “Charles win?” she asked, half asleep.

     “That he did.”  I stroked her hair silently.  “And so did I.”

     “How so?”

     “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

     “You call that winning?”  She kissed my cheek.  “You poor, poor witless idiot.”

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Dreamers on the Rise

“Rule number one.  You have to stay in a position for one minute and you can’t move.  Next time, it’s your turn to pick the position.”  Next time?  I opened my eyes.  She was looking down at me.  “Who’s always been your best buddy?”  I figured now wasn’t the time to say Eddie Leftkowisz in the third grade.  Even I was smarter than that.  Hell, even David would be smarter than that.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Our Prayer. . .The Beach Boys. . .tomorrow. . .

. . .and tomorrow. . .to get us through November. . .there will be Smile. . .

Dreamers on the Rise

We continued the walk home.  I was starting to drag.  I looked down and saw Charly’s hand.   I cautiously took hold of it.  I was amazed at the feel of it.  It seemed to fit into my hand perfectly.  She clutched my hand tightly and looked at me.   At that moment, there was no blueprint for my emotions to follow.

     “If you think you’re going to scare me away with your pain, you’re wrong,” Charly said. She stopped in the middle of the road.  “We do the best we can with what we’ve been given, Ben.  My needle’s moving on to the next track.  I wouldn’t mind singing with somebody for a change.”  I brought my hand up to her face.  My finger traced her lips.  She closed her eyes as I traced her eyelids.  I took my finger and went down the slope of her nose, past her lips, over her chin and down her neck.  I stopped where her tank top met with the swell at the top of her breasts.  I let my finger linger there and her eyes fluttered open.    A car honked coming down the road toward us.  We moved off to the side.

     “How ‘bout breakfast?”  Charly asked.   It was then I noticed we had both started shaking.  I didn’t think it had anything to do with the pain in my legs and thighs.   She turned around and started walking backwards.  She looked absolutely radiant.  Those red satin shorts were starting to make me tremble.  I had never asked her how old she was, although I knew there was quite a gap in our ages.  I did know this: I was pretty much utterly powerless at this point.  As Sara would have said, in the Monopoly game of life, I had advanced to Pathetic Avenue and bought the biggest hotel on the street.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Joy Williams from The Civil Wars

Make sure you visit the tumblr here: The Civil Wars

Civil War Sunday--The Civil Wars - Poison & Wine

The Civil Wars - Poison & Wine: Barton Hollow

Dreamers on the Rise

“How’s the salad, David?  When you told me you were a strict vegetarian, I just couldn’t resist asking you over for dinner tonight.”  I looked at David in horror.  Caught.  Trapped.  He was the grand embellisher and this time it cost him.  David fancied himself a vegetarian, although he hated vegetables.  Strict vegetarian indeed.  This from the man who regularly met me at The Criminal for breakfast and ordered cheeseburgers smothered in chili.

     “Oh yes.  David is quite the vegetarian,” I said, looking down at my plate trying not to explode into laughter.  I glanced up at him and took the offensive.

     “David, why don’t you tell them about some of the delicious vegetarian delights that you’ve concocted.”  All eating stopped.  Attention was riveted on David.  He squirmed in his seat and then proceeded to choke on his last gulp of water.  He coughed uncontrollably again.  Rejoyce repeatedly hammered him on the back with her six-year-old fist.  David, looking around in a panic, finally knocked over his chair, backed up against the hutch, dishes rattling, and managed a feeble “excuse me” and made it out the front door where he hacked away. Rejoyce ran after him. Charly and Hanna went to get up and I motioned them to stay seated.

     “He’ll be fine.  I’ll check on him.” I got up and looked out the door in time to see David deposit a microscopic bit of green goo on the front lawn.

     “Bleeeech,” I heard Rejoyce say.  I went back to the table.  David and Rejoyce came back in and sat down.  David’s face was chalk white but he acted as if nothing happened.

     “David threw up!” Rejoyce announced.

     “Did not!”  David said.  “It was just the result of the coughing.”  He patted his mouth with his napkin.

     “Did to,” Rejoyce said, under her breath.

     “Okay, enough, you two,” Hanna said.  Chastised like a mere two-year-old.  “Are you okay, David?”

     “I’m fine, really.” All respect gone, the lad might as well pick up an accordion and start playing Frankie Yankovic’s greatest polka hits.

How Life Imitates the World Series--Thomas Boswell

The story is now old. . .in this day of twitter. . .instant messaging. . .the internet. . .The St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series about thirty minutes ago. . .already old news. . .

Last night, twice they were down to their last strike. . .how many times have you felt like you were down to your last strike?

Don't tell David Freese:

He knows all about last strikes. . .He's was drafted in the 9th round in 2006. . .272 players were taken before him. . .eight rounds after the Cardinals took

Adam Ottavino.  .  .who is no longer on the Cardinals 40-man roster. . .

. . .but, Freese, last night, did this:

No. . .you're probably not going to hit a walk-off home run. . .you may not even have the privilege of seeing 272 people picked ahead of you for a chance to wallow in obscurity for the Fort Wayne Wizards, the Lake Elsinore Storm, or the Memphis Redbirds before being given a chance in The Show. . .

But, your life could imitate the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series for 2011. . .They were a Wild Card Team, winning a chance to face the dominating and favored Phillies on the last day of the regular season. . .in late August they were 10 1/2 games out of the running for a wild card berth. . .that's like finishing second at a chance to dance with the lonely hirsute girl sitting on the bleachers in high school who has rings under her armpits. . .so that maybe the runner-up to the homecoming queen might notice you for being such a good sport. . .but, they beat the Phillies and then beat the Brewers to take them to the Series. . .and they won. . .

Don't tell them anything about luck. . .don't tell them they don't deserve it. . .

Because, to quote Boswell. . ."the best players, the best teams, usually digest the game and then dream about it, at a different level."  Sort of like a life extraordinary. . .you have to be a dreamer. . .and you have to do it at a different level. . .

. . .or Boswell's reference to Toby Harrah.  .  .he had just been traded to the Cleveland Indians. . .former Indian Dick Bosman said. . ."I pity Toby. . .that town will beat you down.". . .

Harrah's response:  "I'll make it. . .I've learned that you can never stop believing in yourself in this game.  .because you're the only one that does.". . .Colbert Dale Harrah went on and played five years with the Tribe, making the all-star team in 1982.  He last played twenty-five years ago (tell me that can't be true!). . .

For all of us die-hard baseball fans we only have this for the next four months. . .until pitchers and catchers once again report. . .

We don't really care about basketball. . .we don't really care about football.  .we only care that people like David Freese can be a hero. . .There won't be much sleep tonight in St. Louis. . .and once again, in seven glorious evenings of entertainment, baseball has proved itself to be mystical, reliable, and effortlessly beautiful.  . .for us in Cleveland, time begins on April 5th. . .in sunshiny Cleveland. . .bring the blankets. . .have a hot dog. . .settle in . . .because, who knows, next October, it could be Tribe Time.  .

Teenage Symphony to God. . .November 1. . .

Fab Four Friday--Lady Madonna

I worked at the old Ridge Record Shop at Parmatown in Parma, Ohio when this came out in March of 1968. . . .it would be my last month working at the store. . .my dad got transferred to a small town in Pennsylvania soon afterward. . .but, I still remember the day we got this in the store. . .

Two minutes and sixteen seconds of perfection. . .

McCartney's piano a tip of the hat to:

See how they RAWWWWWN!

Indeed!

I will spare you the Gary Puckett and the Union Gap version. . .there will be no Gary Puckett Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, or Thursdays. . .

Dreamers on the Rise

In closing the front door, I inadvertently shut the back half of the cat between the door and the jamb.  She screamed in protest.  Her tail puffed out to resemble a bristle brush (a foreign object to me, but I had heard rumors of their existence for the purpose of toilet cleaning). I went back inside.  Amber didn’t even look up.   I remembered I hadn’t fed Chuckles in three days.  The cat looked around sullenly, first at her empty food dish, then to her dry water bowl.  She started licking her bruised tail. Amber looked up.  “I’ll feed her.” She slid her chair back and went to the cupboard.  She shook the bag.  “Maybe another three days.” 

     Or, a week, by my measurement.  The cat was on a diet.  The I Haven’t Made it to Pet/Smart yet Diet.  I went to the cupboard above my filthy sink and opened a fresh can of tuna while Amber doled out the dry.  We placed the bowls in front of her royal highness.  The cat scarfed down the tuna in the time it took me to look back up at Amber.

     Amber looked at the filthy sink and then back at me.  I nodded.

     “It’ll cost you.”  She smiled at me.

     “The Snickers are in their usual place.”

     “Venerable!”

     I fished in my pocket once again for my keys.  “I’m locking you in.” I headed for the door.  She waved, not looking up from her paper, deep in concentration, pen stuck in her mouth in anticipation of a viable thought, followed by the motion of writing.  

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise

Poison and Wine--The Civil Wars--Letterman--Last night. . .

I hope they never get tired of singing it. . .

"Information is cheap, but meaning is expensive."

"We now live in a world where information is potentially unlimited. Information is cheap, but meaning is expensive. Where is the meaning? Only human beings can tell you where it is. We’re extracting meaning from our minds and our own lives." George Dyson


You may or may not want to read the entire piece here: The European

As usual in an article like this, the comments are priceless. . .the comments section of almost any online newspaper article, magazine article, etc. never fails to bring out wisdom, hilarity, and cruelty, all within six inches of each other. . .

The above all courtesy of Alfred A. Knopf Books

Dreamers on the Rise

“Listen to me.  You’ve got plenty of time.  Love and romance are akin to gegenschein on the distant horizon.”  I stopped while Amber took out her little notebook and carefully wrote gegenschein in her book, tallying up a point for me.  “It’s faint light.  You can’t touch it.  It’s love undefined.  Diffuse light in the evening sky that’s there one minute and vanishes with the stars. It’s dust particles shimmering out like fireworks on the fourth.”   I left her with that and went back out to the counter.

. . .from the forthcoming novel. . .Dreamers on the Rise. ..

Some times. . .

it's all about showing up and being patient. . .

Many, many pictures to process. . .a very good night with out "new" next door neighbor, Amy. . .I am awash with good looking women on both sides of me. . .it's a tough life, folks. . .there was some wine. . .and we finished with some port. . .life is good. . .

The Band is Still playing Waltzing Matilda, the beauty of Neal Pollack, and how Charlie Chaplin nailed what life is about in a poem instead of a 450-page self-help book with charts and graphs and implements of destruction. . .

I wanted to start off by talking about why we still need Peter, Paul and Mary.  But, alas, Mary is forever gone from us.

But, unfortunately, the need lives on.  Because this still goes on today:

. . .this song was written in 1971 by Eric Bogle.  There are many, many versions of the song. . .and although the song was written about Gallipoli, like all "good" anti-war songs, it is transferable.  .  .unfortunately. . .because. . .

.  .  .the war drags on. . .

Wars drag on. . .

. . .all this madness needs to end. . .

so that this little guy. . .

. . .I found so innocently running through the woods yesterday with abandon. . .

and most certainly this little guy. . .

.  .  .my youngest grandson, The Fabulous Baby J. . .

. . .never have to experience the horrors of war. . .

. . .but, that's really not what I came to talk about today. . .although, probably the most important. . .

I wanted to talk about the beauty, the charm, the wit of Neal Pollack and why we need writers like Neal. . .

My love affair with Neal dates back to 2000 with the publication of The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature.  Neal, at the time, was one of the hot young writers. . .and one of the things I loved about him and the book is that he made fun of himself constantly. . .I liked the fact that on the cover of the book he had:

FUTURE WINNER OF THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD


There are so many priceless moments in that book. . .in the chapter INTERLUDE: THE PARIS REVIEW INTERVIEW JUNE 27, 1976:

INTERVIEWER

What is the best advice about writing anyone ever gave you and who gave it?

POLLACK

When I was a boy of 12, Papa Hemingway sat me on his meaty haunch and said, "Fella, you are going to overtake me faster than a jeep on an elephant hunt."  When I saw him 10 years later, he was sleeping off a drunk and I didn't want to bother him, but I wanted to say thank you, because he had been perfectly correct.".  .

I bring up Pollack because, today, he is self-publishing.  After many books with mainstream publishers.  He's self-publishing.  And so what?!  He is still brilliant.  

Neal says this:

"If you'd download a copy, I'd be extremely grateful. If you'd tweet and Facebook about it, I'd be even more grateful. This isn't a book that's going to move via traditional channels. Its success won't and can't be easily quantified. But if the Internet does what it does best--spread the word about things that are awesome--then Jewball stands a chance in the glutted digital marketplace.

So enjoy the book, and, if you feel like it, help a brother out. Thanks so much. See you on the court, and hopefully not in court."

So, Neal, I'm attempting, in my small way, to help a brother out. . .

I also bring him up because all of us writers, whether we are published, not published, get Dan-Brown-like-advance-money, go with a small independent press, or self-publish. . .have to write. . .it's in the blood and there is no choice in the matter.  .  .and we can care or not care. . .but, most likely, 99% still dream of having the little circle on the front of the book that says something. . .even if it's future winner of the National Book Award. . .

. . .which is why when I post little bits of my novel Dreamers on the Rise. . .I put . . .from the forthcoming novel. . .when I can remember to do it. . .because, even though it's not published yet. . .you gotta have. . . .

. . .but, that's not really what I came to talk about. . .

I wanted to get to this:

As I Begin to Love Myself

At the age of seventy. . .Charlie Chaplin had a few things to say about his discoveries in life.  .  .if you don't take something away from this poem. . .please check your pulse. . .

I was going to close by picking out just one stanza from the poem. . .I was unable to do so. . .because it was all precious wisdom. . .

Go. . .do. . .be. . .

. . .and if you get a chance. . .maybe sit. . .and love yourself. . .

What are you doing TODAY. . .

As I went through Erie Street Cemetery yesterday in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. . .I couldn't help but note on the fact that one.  .   . It's a shame that the city--or whomever is responsible for the upkeep of this hallowed ground has let this place just go to crap. . .two. . .that all of these people resting quietly here once had people that cared about them--cared about them enough to erect some type of stone memorial--big or small because they mattered to somebody. . .and three. . .as in the case of Daisy Conley, who graced this planet for inside of one year, 126 years ago, you don't even end up a footnote. . .most of us don't.

We may end up as somebody's memory for a while.  .  .

But, eventually. . .the flame flickers out. . .

Folks, it will only be for a short time. . .which doesn't mean you can't be somebody's inspiration. . .

It's good to have dreams. . .while you carry out your dreams . . .your goals . . .your aspirations.  .  .you may be somebody's inspiration.  .  .that's all we're given. . .really.  .  .sure, we have to cut the grass, get the house ready for winter, look forward to or dread that tomorrow is a Monday and it, as if life somehow starts on Mondays, all starts over again. . .

So as you go about your business today. . .what are you doing?

Are you even conscious?  Are you looking back at the past with regret?  The what-might-have-been?  Are you doing, being, living NOW?  If you are around younger people, you are being watched. . .I'm not saying you have to be a mentor--but, we are all mentors in some way. . .and when you get to be a certain age (and, I must admit, I probably AM no longer on the wall here. . .you tip over that wall eventually, but it doesn't mean you wallow in Jello and listen to Rush. . .and I don't mean the music group). . .people may just pay attention to what you are saying.  .   .

Our twelve-year-old grandson lives with us. . .we are being observed. . .this is how you carve out a life. . .this is how you treat people. . .this is what it means to be responsible. . .this is what it means to be active. . .LIFE IS NOT A VIDEO GAME. . .


We have two sets of great neighbors on either side of us. . .one couple is around forty-five. . .the other couple is in their late thirties.  .  .we are the old folks. . .but, we serve a purpose. . .our house is in the middle. . .it is the gathering place. . .and while we share wine and food.  .  .we talk. . .we are observed. . .and in some small way, maybe we make a difference. . .we all speak from our hearts. . .and then everybody goes home. . .


But, one day, it all comes down to this:

But, you have today. . .you have this hour. . .you have this minute. . .you can make a difference in somebody's life. . .if you're extremely talented and lucky. . .you may end up a footnote. . .most likely, not.  .  .99.9% of us are not Mozart.  .  .we are not Melville.  .  .we are just Mary, Joe, Alice, John, Jane. . .in the end, we all end up less than footnotes. . .but, you can never know the difference you can make in one person's life. . .


In the year 2137, somebody will look down on you. . .

. . .and maybe somebody will take a photo (or mind-meld the image immediately into their digital storage unit in their brain). . .and probably KNOW everything about you. . .so, just maybe. . .we are thinking too small.  . . . .maybe there are no footnotes. . .maybe what we do today will be known in some metaphysical sense 126 years from now. . .please.  .   .do something that makes a difference. . today. . .don't have that person look down on you and shake their head and say.  .  .on Sunday, October 23, 2011. . .this person actually spent an hour of their time watching Desperate Housewives. . .


And so it goes. . .


For better or worse. . .

Somebody is watching you. . .somebody is paying attention

Pushed Out of the Nest

Whether you believe in a God, a higher power, spirit, or a bag of rocks. . .I found great truth in these words below. . .I personally am going through a ton of things right now that I find challenging--and, I'm not sure if I have been pushed into something new or pushed out of the situation I was in at work.  No matter what, there will be change.  And when we cease to grapple with changes--with sanity. . .we might as well not exist.


Today, although it's still dark out, I'm about to head out with my camera. . .probably to go visit, as my friend Paul would say. . .Graveyards. . .where I find I can capture, in the fall, the essence of the season best. . .colors. . .and that natural cycle of the season of life. . .in contrast. . .


Today--Erie Street Cemetery--opened in 1826. . .among all the usual markers and statues I like to photograph, I'll be looking for a few specifics--the markers for Joc-O-Sot--he was an Native American who fought in the Blackhawk War and is rumored to haunt both the cemetery and Progressive Field across the street where the Cleveland Indians play ball.  I'll also be scouting for Chief Thunderwater--reportedly the model for Chief Wahoo.  .  .


uh, rambled a bit too much up there. . .if you have time, read below . . .photos, some music, and maybe a book review to follow sometime today. . .possibly.


Pushed Out of the Nest

Thomas Keating

God's training of people is compared to an eagle training an eaglet to fly. In ancient times it was believed that eaglets learned to fly by being pushed out of the nest, which was usually perched on the edge of a cliff.

This is a marvelous image of what we feel is happening to us. God seems to push us into something that we feel totally incapable of doing. Or, God pushes us out of whatever nest we are in. We wonder if God still loves us.

Like the eaglet desperately flapping its wings, we seem to be heading straight for the abyss. But like the mother eagle, God swoops down and catches us just before we hit the rocks. This happens again and again until the eaglet learns to fly.

After we have been treated in this fashion a number of times, we too may realize that it is not as dangerous as we first believed. We begin to be content with these hair-raising escapes. We learn to trust God beyond our psychological experiences. And we become more courageous in facing and letting go of the dark corners of ourselves.


A shoutout to The Church of the Savior in Washington D.C.--maybe the coolest church in the country for sharing the above Keating lines this morning in their daily sharing Inward/Outword.

To learn more about The Church of the Savior--and how they evolved over the years--because it was never a "church" in the conventional sense--this gets you to some interesting information. . .about how they always perceived a "church" to be:

Church of the Savior

What I always like best about them--and I was fortunate enough to go on a retreat at Wellspring, one of their missions, many, many years ago is the general "mission statement" summed up in the above article:

"A commitment to serious, inward contemplation as well as ambitious social justice work. No spectators. Action over institution."


Time for me to roll. . .have a great day everybody. . .

Matraca Berg--You and Tequila--Coming to the Kent Stage

Matraca Berg will be at the Kent Stage on Saturday, November 19, 2011.  Also appearing will be local favorite Alex Bevan.  I haven't seen Alex since he opened for The Kingston Trio about thirty years ago at The Tangier.  Looking forward to this show!

If you live near the area, please go to the show and help support two great artists!

We all end up somewhere. . .Lakeview Cemetery--2011

.  .  .these people ended up in style. . .this is today's quick post as it's been a busy day.  Maybe more later. . .

This should be the Theme song for Occupy Wall Street

Survivors by John Stewart

Occupy Writers. . .Lemony Snicket

OccupyWriters--Lemony Snicket

Seems to me Daniel Handler nails it again. . .

I especially liked this:

"Nobody wants to fall into a safety net, because it means the structure in which they’ve been living is in a state of collapse and they have no choice but to tumble downwards. However, it beats the alternative."


The revolution will not be televised. . .

National Novel Writing Month. . .but. . .

. . .can I convince bad-hip Ben to join me on this?. . .tear yourself away from the tofu burgers and petting the cat (no double entendre intended.  .  .). . .stop watching Star Trek and Dr. Who. . .and sharpen the pencil. . .or squeeze the mouse. . .if that woman you live with lets you. . .we're due.  ..


National Novel Writing Month.

Occupy George

Occupy George

Matraca Berg--Back When We Were Beautiful. . .

A pure gift, my friends. . .a pure gift. . .thanks, Matraca for writing one of the best songs of all time. . .and we're glad you're back. . .fourteen years. . .a bit too long between fixes for the followers of such talent. . .

Freedom to Change

I think you all pretty much know who I like and who I follow. . .you can just go to my profile and find out the people I follow. . .but, every once in a while, I'd like to draw attention to those people who have inspired me. . .

Shout out goes here:  Freedom to Change

I love Sheila's posts.  .  .she is an inspiration. . .just get over there and check her out!

One of her quotes. . I hope she doesn't mind. . .

"One thing I know for sure is this: Happiness is not something that rest in the opinions of others, always remember that.You always have the freedom to change, but you have to find what makes YOU happy. When you find that, chase after it with all of your heart. Capture it, embrace it, remember it, and what ever you do, never let go. ~

This is who I am, and I am never letting go."