Almost 2 Months Now

No, I haven't forgotten about my blog, nor has the fluid inspirations of my psyche been diminished.  Like the other great writers of the literary field, we all sometimes get mental anemia.  For those of you that seriously know me, you understand that I make such a ludicrous comment with great levity!!  In this case it's been more of a physical anemia....basically adhering my gluteus maximus to the couch.  Sometimes I think it got hermetically sealed there.  But then again there's been another reason which is more in tune with my mental state.  As I looked back at my last posting (Aug. 23rd), it brings a  stark reminder of why I made my last post and rekindles some sadness that I languished in.  And as much as I tried to avoid that event, the harsh reality of it still lingers.  But, I've been down that road before, will go down that road again, and the circle of life will continue.  But my grief lessens and the day to day mechanisms move forward.  I've had many "inspirations" over the last two months to plunk finger to key board and dust off the grey matter and write.  It doesn't take a provocative inclination to encourage me.  It can be the simple laugh of a child, the unwitting glance of a person in the market, the haunting aroma of a rain storm, or more simply, the wet kiss from my dogs.  I can't pinpoint what has struck me now, but I grasp the sense to resume.
And while I'm not quite sure I'm going to have anything quite profound to write, (and it really doesn't matter at all) the sheer joy in occupying my space on my blog is enough.  Besides, the real estate is cheap.  Where else can I put down my thoughts and not get charged for it?  Blogger is free, for the time being.
I could put down that I've got some new electronic toys to my arsenal, which have added to the ease of everyday living.  But I'd also have to clarify that by stating quite unequivocally that I could just write stuff down (like I did years ago) rather than put them on my calendar on my iPhone, or continue to use my older camera, and listen more to the radio rather than affixing my pre cataract eyes to the big screen tv that adorns me living room, and instead of relying on the ease of powering up my iPad, just go to the library!!  But, alas, all of these modern conveniences have woefully restricted my efforts at creativity.  I wonder what Grandpa would have said?

I also could visit the abrupt and rather languid mentality of Reality television; something that I have thought several times of doing before and most probably will, but not in this post.  As I detest them, and feel they are the scourge of mental decency for anyone who watches t.v.  But, I will save that for another time.

I've met and spoke with several "new" acquaintances in my absence and this is always (and will continue to be) a truly irreproachable activity for me.  I love meeting and acquiring new friends.  Some say that the eyes are the window to the soul.  I believe it's meeting and establishing new friendships that are the mirror of oneself.

See you soon.

The Lord Giveth

I must confess that I really don't understand life and all it's wondrous hesitations.  And even more so with death and the sublime interruption that it flails on us at the most inopportune times.  Just when I think I may have an inkling to the schedule that has seemingly been ordained, the rug is pulled from me and I'm left gathering my emotions at another bend in the road and an abrupt hesitation at a very inopportune time.  And as my heading implies, it really is a decree that has been determined by God for truly He does giveth and must taketh away.  And that He did one week ago without warning, without preparation, without hesitation.  He called my beloved little "Piper" home.  The loan He had so graciously given me 15 yrs. ago was up and her final place was with Him.  She will now follow Dancer and I know he was waiting for her at the gate to show her around.  He'll introduce her to some friends of ours that have gone before and were waiting for her.  And the Lord Taketh Away
And Dad, if you're reading, take care of my little girl.

101

I ask myself where did 18 yrs. go?  What has transpired in that time.  I could break it down into minutes which would be 9,460,800, or hrs. which would be 157,680, and days-6570.   18 years in itself sounds like an eternity and if we were to calculate our lives in compartments of hours, it would resonate with the veracity of an almost immortal perpetuation.  I imagine if we were to sit in our BarcaLounger staring aimlessly at the Timex counting those 9 million minutes, one would either suffer an incurable sense of boredom or risk a delusional sense of immortality.  But, we neither have the inclination to subject ourselves to such boredom nor would we entertain the idea of delusion, albeit at some times during our lives, risking delusion over reality can be, how shall I put it, somewhat jocular.  We could also debate the essence of psychological time vs. physical time and really get into something the philosophers referred to as phenomenological time.  If I've lost you by now...sorry.  You're probably wondering where in the hell is he going with this Aristotelian metaphysical discussion?  And certainly what does it have to do with the title of this post-101?  Quite simply today would have been her 101st. birthday.  And it's been 18 yrs. since we last celebrated one.  I didn't post anything on the 9th, several days ago as that was the day she died.  And looking back at those 18 yrs., 6570 days, 157,680 hrs. and 9,460,800 minutes, I can honestly tell you I've missed her presence each one of those increments.  So, withstanding all that philosophical jargon, and I think of what we would be doing with her today if she were still alive.  Hopefully, she would be living with one of her children, but realistically taking care of a centenarian would have it's own set of trials.  But humoring me for a moment, one of us would have taken her to lunch, and then to dinner at one of her established restaurants, and if she was up to it...a round of Bingo.  As I was driving home this evening, I passed one of her Bingo Halls that she frequented.  This being Wednesday, I know she would have wanted to go.  And with any luck, she would have come out of the hall, smelling like a tobacco farm, but smiling like a Cheshire cat as she had won the grand prize-$400.

There's so much I want to tell her and let her know what a wonderful mom she was.  I want her to know what I've been doing in those 18 years.  I want to take her to Bingo one more time.  I want her to hear her voice just one more time and feel my arms around her.  But, somehow, I know she's been watching and listening the entire 18 years, 6570 days, 157,680 hrs. and 9, 460, 800 minutes.

Happy 101st  Birthday Mom,

Quote for the Day

“So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.”


This little quote comes from a lady who wasn't handed the easiest of lives.  In fact, one could say that from the moment she was born, it was going to be a struggle against all odds-Helen Keller.  It's one that I cherish quite profoundly and very deeply in my heart.  In spite of setbacks, hardships, sufferings, the memory of a beloved friend remains in my heart stronger than ever....even after 135 days.  We ventured to one of our favorite haunts tonight.  It was the first time our new arrival came with us.  I had to remind him it is a special place, almost hallowed ground.  We were all there tonight, sharing it's peace, reminiscing of days gone by.  "I shall say that life is good".

FATHER HOOD

I remember him well as a young boy looking up to him as sons do their fathers.  I remember as a young boy of 3 devilishly playing in our coal bin only to imagine some cosmic escape on the wings of Flash Gordon as I sullied myself from the soot.  For some reason or other, I miraculously escaped his hand being hermetically sealed against my bottom.  It was against his nature to use his hand for disciplinary correction.  I only remember once when I was about 6 that his wrath was tested that I received a spanking; and even then it wasn't of any noteworthy proportion and unlike the cartoon characters depicted in those days, I was able to sit down after the experience.  I can remember even trying to put the proverbial pillow on my backside as to lessen the blow.

I remember him buying my first bicycle-a 3 speed Italian Road bike made by Bianchi.  I know we didn't have Consumer Reports back then but that bike outclassed the Schwinn by a hundredfold.  Being of Italian heritage, it was going to be THE only bike for his son.  I even remember what the cost of it was-$69.  In 1958, that very well could have been a fourth of his paycheck.  Being the only son had it's ranking privileges though and while mom's child bearing days were over, I was the last of the Bello clan to carry on the family name.  Nothing was going to be too good for me, plus being the baby of the family didn't hurt either.  In addition, I had two older sisters.  Why....it was like the second coming of Christ.....well....not really, but you get the picture.

What happens to young sons as they get older and the bond or faint whisper of separation from their roots begins to flourish, that innocence begins to deteriorate.  Or was it his inner demons that began to surface and the perils of raising a family became rooted in the bottle? Was the embarrassment of marrying a divorced woman with a child too much for him to muster?  His lack or inability to relinquish those demons became paramount and his frustration exacerbated the problem. Gone were those childlike games of catch, strolls hand in hand at the zoo, and the surprise gifts on paydays.  They were regrettably replaced by suspicion and contempt and a ridiculously feral attack on his family.  As this behavior escalated, the admonishments became more directed at me.  Now being the only son, had it's drawbacks.   The years sped by and conciliatory acts of redemption were lethargic.  Fleeting successes refused to penetrate my anger.  And then, almost miraculously, almost ordained by heaven, he quit.  No longer relying on the crutch of the bottle, his demeanor and attitude changed.  Those wasted years of separation seemed too distant and that father-son loss began to fade, only to replaced cruelly by another invader; one that would eventually claim him.  It was one that had sequestered itself and overlooked by others.  All to late in the end to really intervene, his last 26 days of life were spent in the hospital.  We became closer than ever as I felt his life slipping through my hands.  Whatever previous efforts at atonement had failed, it was his love and presence that I knew were always there.  The haunting words, "if you build it, he will come", encompassed my mind.  I sat there with my sister that night, in the dark, as he lapsed in and out of consciousness, not really knowing if I was there.  I hope in some small way, he knew that I was there to "ease his pain".  "Hey Dad, you wanna have catch?"  Happy Father's Day,

TWELVE

I spoke with him today like I do each day as if nothing has transpired from 122 days ago.  I know he's listening, keeping watch echoing my thoughts deep in the caverns of my mind.  Today would have been HIS special day as each of them have and come to celebrate.  I know at this time last year, it was my fervent prayer that he would have been with me to mark this occasion.  I attempted to "bargain" shamelessly with God to give me another year.  But the words, "the Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away hauntingly ring in my ears.
We would have arisen early as that robin in my back yard searching for the proverbial worm.  He would have searched aimlessly about the house for something totally ridiculous for what do you give an 84 yr. old but maybe a new lease on life.  As is customary, just he and I would have piled into the "bellomobile" and headed off to the nearest store.  This being his lucky day, he would have been able to saunter in and sashay about the aisles meandering about eyeing what suited his fancy.  If he was lucky, some unsuspecting babe would have felt a wet nose on her backside or better yet, the infamous sniff at her crotch.  Embarrassingly, I would have had to excuse his manners, harboring some totally farcical explanation, that for a senior citizen, he can't really see or smell that well anymore. Knowing full well it was a totally inept and nonsensical description only to be chuckling ridiculously under my breath.
I would have guided him to the shelf with some semblance of a reinforcer that garnered some sort of preposterous sound that faintly approximated a duck.  Only to be amused by the cocking of his head and the excitement of his body would I continue the taunting till he feverishly jumped and slobbered on it.  Then we were committed and the words, "lovely to look at, once it's wet, consider it bought for your pet" rang through my head. So, we would continue our journey in this target rich environment and venture down another aisle as I told him we couldn't go home empty handed without something for his friends.  I knew full well that once he arrived home, his excitement for his $12.99 toy would diminish faster than a block of ice on a hot asphalt pavement, only to be "stolen" from his grasp by the "Remster".  But I have to admit that watching the teasing and interplay of the three of them only brought smiles to my face.
I told him about the "new kid on the block", but again, he knows the little bugger is here certainly not as a replacement for him, but to bring some joy and happiness back.  I know he would approve and I'm eager to speak to him again and get his response.  I know he would tell me that I did a good thing and the little pooper needed a good home and he won't find a better one.  I know he'll be telling him what a softy I am, and that all he'll need to do is look at me with those "baby browns" and I'll melt.  I'll tell him that I'd like to believe that I adopted Kody but he rescued me.  Dancer, meet Kody.  Give him a tour and don't teach him to jump on the counter to get the cat morsels!!
Happy 12th Birthday Dancer, till we meet again.

Is it Real or is it Memorex?

I have to admit that I don't have many pet peeves at this stage of my life.  One of the tranquilities of life's experiences that has surreptitiously crept up on me almost without me being aware.  But the one pet peeve I steadfastly cling to almost like hot asphalt to my shoe on a blistering St. Louis summer day is reality tv shows.  I just don't get the appeal of them and the morbid and almost aberrant fixation people, not just Americans, because this is a global issue that people in general have for them.  But in saying this, I have to confess to being a bonafide regular viewer of one of the first "reality" shows back in the 50's when CANDID CAMERA first aired.  I can remember sitting with my parents watching as Alan Funt concocted story after story of people just being themselves, as he used to close the show with that classic line.  And I have to admit to busting a gut a time or two as Art Linkletter quizzed the ever precocious 5 yr. old on seeing her pregnant mother take a shower and asking her, "mommy, are you getting fat", and the mother replied, "Yes, honey, remember Mommy has a baby growing in her tummy", and her daughter replies, "Yeah, I know, but what's growing in your butt"?  But there was a sense of innocence and childlike benevolence in these shows.  Today we have Snooki enticing Pauly D to start a fight at a local bar in New Jersey, or Paris Hilton and Nicole Richey (The Simple Life) trying to figure out how to get the cap off a bottle of cleaning solution.  Is it any better when Barbara Wa-Wa listed the cast of Jersey Shore as one of the top 10 most fascinating people of 2010.

But as we give these people/shows more attention and continue to "idolize" them in some morose and dismal manner, these shows will continue to propagate.  Have our lives become so boring that the misgivings and failings of a Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston, and God forbid-"the Donald" are the flak juice we need to jump start our lives?  Do we get that much of a serotonin hit when The Bachelor gives that final rose to some unsuspecting tart only to be mesmerized by him calling her the "most amazing woman he's ever met"?  I have to accept the fact that there are minimal "reality" shows that have substance-"The Deadliest Catch", or "Survivor Man" do share somewhat of a National Geographic mentality.  How a North Atlantic crab fisherman or Les Stroud teaching me how to survive should I become stranded while hiking in Colorado will certainly benefit me if not save my life.  But watching Joe Dumb Fuck trying to elude his wife Sara I'm So Stupid while he bangs Martha Big Tits only to be caught by the discriminating eye of Joey Greco and his merry band of cameramen from Cheaters only brings the ad nauseum to my palate.  But the one thing about these shows that continues to allow them to gain momentum is money.  As long as John Q continues to watch and drive the Nielsons, we're (or at least I am) stuck with them.

So, what I propose to my millions of faithful followers, when the new season of Jersey Shore starts.....CHANGE THE CHANNEL and watch something more substantial...wholesome, entertaining, and educational.....THE 3 STOOGES!!!

96

96….where did the time go and soon to be 25.  Time is pervasive, extensive, and it never stops.  In the moment, we often wonder, “gosh, I wish time would hurry up”, or “won’t this day ever end”?  And yet, now as the golden years seem to rise faster than the morning sun, time becomes inescapable.  Several months ago, I wrote of wishing time would stop…..now….not move on so that death would not overtake him.  I thought this also 25 yrs. ago as he lay in his bed, overcome by a hideous and unavoidable outcome.  But, as my own humanity was severely tested, then and a few months ago, I realize how truly transient I am.  We’re like the proverbial incandescent light bulb.  When we’re born, it may say on the crib-1200hrs.  Whether we “last” those 1200 hrs. is anyone’s guess.  Certainly when he was born, his package read: “621,960 hrs.”, or 71 yrs.  Not an extended lifeline for him.  I would have wished he would have purchased the extended warranty.  But as he abused his body, the extended warranty probably would have been a futile and wasteful investment.  But that’s neither here nor there and as much as I miss him, I know he’s with me each day.  We had a “communique” of sorts several weeks ago with the help of another.  I often believed he was listening to me and looking out for me.  I had asked him last year at this time to look after my boy and to use whatever influence he had to give him more time.  I’m not sure exactly how that played out, but as he told me, he’s taking care of the entire brood now and that for me is golden.  His message to me is a symphony of thoughts.  I think we communicate more now than we did when he was alive.  And as his messages come through mentally, I miss the sound of his voice.  I miss him telling me he loves me and as his son, how proud he is of me.  Here me tonight, Paul, I’m proud you’re my Dad.  Happy Birthday and for old times sake will you sing it for me one more time?

IN MEMORIAM

I don't consider myself a patriotic kind of guy but I do know that I love my country immeasurably and wouldn't want to live anywhere else.  I also know that the blokes who purport to dictate policy and say they're only out to make our lives better would all be better off on a very slow boat to China and it wouldn't hurt much if there was a slow leak in the hull.  We Americans have an inimitable spirit that is daunting to those that don't know us very well.  This has been evidenced by the recent tragedies that have befallen the town of Joplin, (in my own state) and also Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  In Joplin, you see flags standing tall amongst what truly looks like a bomb was dropped there.  You see neighbor helping neighbor, people who don't even know these people coming from all over to assist them rebuild, search for their loved ones, and provide that ever radiant and sweet lullaby of hope.

And so it goes with our American Soldier on this Memorial Day weekend.  We often forget about this lonely 19 yr. old kid (and he truly is a kid) half way across the globe, striding surreptitiously down some God forsaken street, packing his HK416, hoping to God that he doesn't come across an IED.  And it's that IED that has sent so many of his buds home either in a box or without their arms or legs.  Let's face it, he shouldn't be there or we shouldn't be there.  Whether you're in agreement or not with government policy and the assault of the Taliban is our main objective, we often forget about that 19 yr. old hunkered down in some rat infested hole, eating MRE's and trying to clear sand and dust out of his face.  The only place he should be hunkered down is in the backseat of his Mustang trying to get inside the pants of his girlfriend, wondering if he's going to score tonight or not.

So, as I "hunker" down in my BarcaLounger tonight, sipping on a Coors munching on some ribs from Bandana's, I'll think of Private Lopez, praying for his safe return.  God Bless You for keeping me safe!

No "KIT" Tastraphe!! (Hopefully)

My previous post spoke of a mother rabbit and her baby "kits" that had taken up refuge in my back yard for the last several weeks.  And as many young animals they are subject to the perils of ending up as delicacies for wayfaring predators, especially feral cats or red tailed hawks.  I've kept a watchful eye for them and did see them (3) two days ago.  They were actually enjoying a romp through what was much needed to be cut grass with their mother.  She was quite playful with them as they darted about a mixture of rose of sharon bushes, star cherry tree, and ornamental grasses that decorate my yard.  And while I haven't seen any of the local predators, I've not seen the kits since then.  So, I'm hoping that they've moved on maybe to more fervent territories, or are just being quite coy and selfish about showing their furry little faces to me.  I did check out their previous bungalow this evening and while there were remnants of their fur, it appears that they haven't been back for several days.  I will continue to hope that they are around here and will again tell me they're on their way to being just plain "cwazy wabbits".

Since I don't have a pic of the bunnies, their mom will have to do.