Sunday drive to God knows where

Between Williamsburg and Conway through the burnished red and orange hills, steep green slopes, old cow barns, along the Mill River, he practiced his driving today with burgeoning confidence.

Sturdy

An afternoon of pampering for my higher than high mileage car. An oil change, head light bulb replacement, new wiper blades, an interior vacuum, and a hot water wash and wax. The man at the garage says he's never seen a Hyundai go this far. Half-a-million miles is the goal. Stay with me, Darlin'. 

Better

It's been a week alright. You wanted full engagement. You wanted to lose that permanent feeling of drowsiness. And so it seems you have. For now. Now, you're standing in there at home plate while 100 pitchers throw their favorite stingers all at the same time. It's a job and then some. So be it. Cuts are still being made. People whose names I finally learned yesterday are gone today. The ground is shaky and the ceiling seems to be sagging and I'm afraid to lean against the walls, but that's the work. Do with what you have. They keep coming in. During the week, sleep's become a problem because my brain is trying to solve it. Last night, Friday night, I walked around Alston and Brighton after work. All the restaurants jammed with brilliant Chinese kids from Harvard, MIT, Boston University, Boston College, far from home and finding their way. I did that ghost thing I do and was content with that. On the drive back to Worcester, I was tempted to go out again, but instead I yawned all the way home and was in bed by 9:30. I slept for at least ten hours. This morning the trees are just about bare. The last phase of Autumn begins. I'm drinking coffee and listening to a crow. Not bad at all. 

Salt fish fried rice

Hey. Salt fish fried rice. And then, I was walking the streets at night. I'd been dabbling in magic. Sidewalks of wet leaves in many colors. The city's brook ran clear with real water, not that summertime grey stuff laced with motor oil and garnished by shopping carts, as the trees along its bank held on for as long as they as they could to their thinning golden leaves. I would sit with you here on my lap on the bench at the bus stop, both of us not crying, not speaking, all the time knowing that your bus will come very soon and then it will go away again (with you on it). It's that kind of night. Girls playing night soccer through illuminated fog arranged in a straight spirited row along the sideline shouting encouragements in ponytails and braids. Maybe you thought I was going somewhere dirty with that, but I wasn't. It was humid and pleasant and dark and foggy and Fall. I'd been dabbling in magic. The leaves were wet and ablaze with color. The Amazon drivers were gassing up their trucks before parking them for the night. The display rack in the convenience store featured Mexican snack cakes and made me remember West Texas with feeling. When I walk like this, I usually stop muttering curses and mumbling complaints after awhile. I start to feel better about things. I said goodbye to her there not in her place and creaked and groaned my oars which in turn rowed my boat out into the deeper fog and left behind any sense of direction at all. Finally. I was out there walking the streets at night. I'd been dabbling in magic. 

Seventeen

If you lose a parent when you are very young, but old enough to know loss, and you later find yourself with children of your own, you may experience the weight of a nearly constant and not-entirely-irrational fear that you will die while they are still young. My youngest child turns 17 tomorrow. It's as though the finish line just appeared in the middle distance. I think I can make it. 

First North American Hot Dog

Staying out til 4 A.M. with a carload of sudden friends when you're in your mid-fifties is no easy feat and will demand of you significant recovery time. But what the hell, do it anyway.

One conundrum among many

There are three thousand acute psychiatric treatment beds in the state. Demand for these beds is frequently higher than the supply. The overage end up stuck in Emergency Departments for days or even weeks. What's worse is that something like one third of those three thousand beds can't be filled due to a lack of staff. 

Hustle

When you're living in a house of cards, you can fear the wind every day or you can curse yourself for having taken up residence so hastily or you can just take it a day at a time and see what the hell happens next. 

Christ, American-Style

A god that gets credit for your touchdown or your home sale or your vanity-plated Audi but won't own up to the rest of this shit is no god of mine, friendo.

Week

A week of regulators, early mornings, hurrying up and waiting, falling into bed as soon as I get home, and anxiety that did nothing at all to influence the outcome. Now, onto the next. 

October afternoons

Yes, I think I am feeling some life today. 

We drove North into Vermont yesterday. His palms still sweat when he gets out on the highway but his driving skills and confidence are growing. We drove through colored leaves and mountains, dairy farms and apple orchards. We bought leaf-shaped maple sugar candy, garlic pickles, chocolate cake and mulled cider. 

Today, I took a short walk down and up the hill along the power lines wearing a pack. I did my laundry. I sat outside in my overgrown yard and watched the white clouds sail by overhead. Tried to read Ferlinghetti's travel journals but couldn't focus for more than a single entry. Sounds of chickadees, a distant woodchuck, shaded crickets. They've always been friends of mine, those crickets. Fall, as it always does, is moving too fast. More than half gone already.

I don't remember ever sitting in a chair out there before today. Not once in twenty years.

Throughout the dark months...

 

Mix Tapes

October, as it gets colder. Memories stirring. Colored leaves and wind. You said the room I rented was a monk's cell. I thought I'd probably die there. I played my sad music for you and you played yours for me. Listening for your scratching. We kissed in the harsh wind, my hands inside your black winter coat for the first time. Staggered by holiness, expecting to be taken up, but allowed/condemned to stay. We drank iced tea from the carton, ate chocolate and ice cream, upon my mattress on the floor. So rich, without money. Because I was parched and starving, I soaked you in through every pore, devoured you entirely. My Spirit's eyes fluttered - a bird having crashed into a window - and took flight again. Glorious soaring heights and then, of course, the fall that should, but doesn't quite, ever kill you. Not completely.

Only for a moment

I got out of the car just in time to see the full moon emerge from the clouds running across her silver face just having heard about a friend's misfortune. You tell yourself again that you are only falling through this place and that nothing is fixed. Keep going. Get comfortable with the uncomfortable

Earlier, I walked across a set of railroad tracks. Looking up, I saw a beautiful woman in a tiny glass office look up from her computer at exactly the same time. Our eyes met. I was stunned. We waved to each other. I touched my heart, where I felt her, and then I looked away. 

Self control was the plan

One perceived crisis after another today. Maybe not the best day to take on 22 hours of not eating as part of an intermittent fast, but what the hell. I made it to the cafeteria before it closed and grabbed a pre-made sandwich, chips and a slice of lemon merengue pie. The girl at the register only charged me for the sandwich. 

"I love sweets," she said. "Go ahead and get you some more lemon merengue. I have to throw it all away tonight."

She directed me to take it all - four slices - and even provided me a paper grocery bag to cover my gluttony. I went back to my office and inhaled it all except the fourth piece of that good, good lemon merengue pie. Self-control.

Fall

An October day and an October sunset. The day never made it out of the 40's and I spent a few hours walking 8 miles in the woods. I've been up that same trail so many times now, but each one is different. It's been a while. I've forgotten how poetry starts to roll in your mind as your body tunes into your surroundings.

Friday night I crashed your party

You could probably hear her three states away. Saw us all as serpents. We were flat-footed, walked right into it, giving her something to fight against. There's still a lot we don't do well. So much more to learn. Still pretty barbaric if you look at it (or find yourself on the other end of the relationship).

Talked Boston bands with a couple of younger guys at a bar where I ate for the first time today. The bar tender was a good one and she soothed me with medicinal beverages. 

Later, back in Worcester, I sang a song and then danced with a drunk lady and then some young smart ass made a comment to her about dancing with her Dad. I told him I was probably his Dad too and then the two of us playfully bumped flanks to Uptown Funk for a minute.