Peace in the country

Mother’s Day 2010

As yet another day starts in the Hill Country I sat on the porch watching the mist start to come over the trees to the east. The smells of coffee and cholesterol wafted in from the kitchen.

“You want any,” my wife asked?

“Nah, I’m plenty good enough just watching the dogs run chasing the shadows in the forest.”

“I’m starting to burn the bacon,” she said as she closed the window to keep the burning smell inside.

(Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppp) sounded the smoke alarm as I walked into the house into a smoke filled kitchen.

“You need help dear?”

“Nah, just trying to make it crispy.”

“There’s a shock. You think the smoke alarm is going to wake the neighbors?”

“Nah, they are along the banks fishing this morning.”

“Happy Mother’s Day darling”

“Yup, it’s Mother’s Day”

The door started to get scratched up and I wandered over, taking a sip of my coffee as I opened the door to let the two most ferocious dauschounds who barked and whined until I reached down and petted them.

“Don’t be given them any treats,” my wife said as I was reaching them down to hand them both a piece of bacon.

“I’ve got no idea what you are talking about,” as one of the dogs trotted by with a piece of meat in his mouth.

Her glare spoke volumes and I just reached down to open the paper trying to find people I didn’t like in the obituaries. Seeing none and not caring about the sports scores, I closed it and headed outside to enjoy yet another peaceful day before it got hot.

Nothing worse, than heat and humidity in the Hill Country.

I should call mom and tell her Happy Mother’s Day.

I think she knows…

Happy Mother’s Day Mom I thought as I relax on the porch until the sun goes down.

This is the beginning of a long geeky story. Deal with it!

Now to tell you this now it seems almost foreshadowing my career but just sit back and enjoy this tale anyways…

In a Strat-O-Matic game, each athlete is represented by a player card, on which are printed various ratings and result tables for dice rolls. A player, who may play solitaire or against another player, is in charge of making strategic and personnel decisions for his/her team, while determining the results of his/her decisions by cross-referencing dice rolls with a system of printed charts and tables.

The year was 1987 and I was a seventeen year old boy struggling in Fairview Park, Ohio.  My best friend Shawn McCormick and I would go to the comic shop over the summer and try to read as many comics as we could before the owner Jack would force us to “get a drawer” or in my case a folder of new comics that we would intend to buy.

I wouldn’t spend as much as Shawn would as my money went to my college fund. (Okay, stop laughing, but that first year at Adelphi was a pain in the butt).

Well, one summer a Strat-O-Matic league was started and we both played in it.  We paid for a chance to win money and somehow I ended up with the WORST two teams in the league, the New York Mets and either the Toronto Blue Jays or the Texas Rangers, I can’t remember.

I lost consistently over the year and would try and psych my opponents out by popping up a tape deck and introducing the players with musical backup for each player.

Yes, I know that I was such a geek, just shut up and listen.

So all during this time Jack would always refer to me with a Yiddish term. Not knowing this term , wanting to be accepted I just let it go on.

It wasn’t until I looked in the library to find out what the term was that I got mad.

Yup, derogatory is a slight understatement to the word that he nicknamed me, as I was pissed.

I stopped playing Gauntlet ,buying my comics and baseball cards there.

I just disappeared.  I was pissed off, and mad at the way Jack treated me and he lost my business forever.

When I was in New York , my mom called me from Cleveland and asked me about some rude guy from a comic shop who was asking for his Strat-o-matic baseball cards back so he could complete his collection.

I told her that he was a jerk but if she could find them, she could give them back to him.

I told her where I thought they were and she returned sheepishly later telling me that she had thrown that box away since she thought it was junk.

So Jack never got his cards back. His precious collection was missing two of the worst teams in baseball and I was out the money for the league. But it didn’t matter to me.

The whole reason I brought this up is that I saw the game the other day and it brought a memory to mind how I was so mad to be called what I was called and yet I didn’t get Jack back.

And for the record the statute of limitations is over.

I don’t feel guilty, I feel lucky because I didn’t have to stoop to his level to get him back.

My mom did for me.

Thanks Mom.

Scotty liked the way he felt when he was in the air.  There was nothing than can defeat him when he was on his bike.  He did most of his thinking while flying in the air.  Most people concentrated or focused on the landing, or the technique.  Scotty just focused on the freedom.

“Why do I jump? Because there is something that I can touch that no one else can.  I can feel the sky as I jump every time.  I hate the concept of the ground, but I’ve got to touch the sky every now and then.  Jim can fly his jets till he turns blue in the face, but he never touches the sky.”

I could never jump a bike, my fear of heights would capture my desire to touch the sky.

But there was that one day…

I was 11 and had the greatest BMX bike ever (Okay maybe it wasn’t the greatest, but it was mine) , a solid red Schwinn that my Uncle Al gave to me.  And I know I wasn’t Evil Knievel because instead of jumping Snake River, or a Las Vegas monument, I was just jumping the ramp that my brother and I had put across a small stream.

We put the ramp where we could ride as fast as we could down the two blocks of street , making the small turn down the dirt road and then down the small hill to the ramp.

It was the last day of summer and I hadn’t landed the jump yet.

I had tried every day that summer and whether I was short, or didn’t even make the ramp, I just wanted to make this jump before school started.  Everyone in the 5th grade knew I was going to try the jump and I had the pressure of trying to make it or be known as a failure for the entire year.

So my best friend Scotty was there and told me “no matter what happens, just do your best and don’t forget to touch the sky.”

So I put on my best Dungarees and my favorite t-shirt on and headed down the three blocks to the staging area.

As I rode up my stomach fell.

Cause it wasn’t Jimmy or Scotty there.

It was the entire 5th grade.

“You can do it Donnie” said a guy who I thought tried to stuff me into my locker last year.

“I’ll kiss you if you make it D,” Joanna said to me.

And all I could think of was Scotty’s words as I started to pedal, and circled the path.

Touch the sky, touch the sky…

and I started my run, pedaling faster and faster as I hit the turn and down the dirt hill I pedalled.

The kids were just blurs as I past each of them, I could see the ramp and hit it going faster than I thought possible.

And I was flying. It was just like Scotty said.  It was amazing, I could taste it.

I landed the jump , and as my hands were in the air celebrating my landing I hit a pebble.

And I flipped in the air again, but this time with a bike on top of me landing with an awkward thud.

Something was broken in my arm. Yup, definitely broken.

Joanna gave me that kiss, but I didn’t feel it.

I didn’t feel my broken arm (in three places).

I was free.

Jumping

(Simply a fiction story of my overactive imagination…)

Fredrick was a small town that was originated by two gay frontiersmen named Fred and Rick back in the 1800′s.  Nothing really happened in the town.  It had developed into the #6 retirement community in the the entire south due to the proliferation of antique stores and the town shut down at 8 p.m. daily with the exception of the Polish bar that kept open till midnight.  Oh, what a wild town it was.

When my wife told me that we were going to Fredrick, I thought that there would be something interesting for a thirtysomething couple to do.

“We’re not here to do anything really, except shopping for the children for me, and you get to rest,” Allison said as my mouth dropped.

“Wait a minute dear.  We had a deal.”

“The deal was over when you had a heart attack at 34.  You get to follow the doctors diet, you get to rest in the country and if this week goes well you get to go back to your internet job and heart attack causing lifestyle”

“But,” I knew I was doomed.

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” the words I said when I knew that I was doomed.  I had a plan, get away when she slept like a freight train.

Yeah, about that.  We were staying in her parents house 5 miles from the main strip of Fredrick. And when I mean strip, I mean one street that if you moseyed a block over you were surrounded by bed and breakfasts and grumpy old people who hadn’t had enough prune juice in their life.

So the first night, I snuck out at 1 A.M. thinking that I had plenty of time till last call.

I pushed the car down the gravel driveway until it was far away from the house for me to start it up.  I headed down the two lane highway that lead into town to find it deserted.  I walked up to the bar and thinking that maybe it was just a slow night, but how wrong I was.

“Sorry son, Denial county rules say all alcoholic beverages must be served drank no later than midnight. So you can head back home. And by the way Daniel, give my best to your wonderful wife and I won’t tell her that you tried to get a drink when I see her next,” said Sheriff Stone laughing.

I drove back home angrier than ever.

I tried to get onto the family computer but trying to suffer through dial up was completely beyond me.  I tried everything to find some connection that my wireless could pick up but I was in the middle of NOWHERE! There was not a wireless hot spot in the town, not even in the only three star hotel.

“Sorry son, we just don’t have a reason to have it here.  You can head up to Austin if you need it bad enough,” was the excuse that I got.

I was in my own personal hell.

I got back into bed and looked at my wife.

“Did you say hi to Sheriff Stone for me honey,” Allison said as she laughed while turning to hold me?

“I hate this place.  I love you, but I just don’t like you now.”

“Just give it a shot dear.”

“Shoot me, hell, I’ll just borrow your dad’s gun.”

“No, dear.  Let me hold you and you can try something new tomorrow,” she said as she fell asleep holding my shoulder.

I didn’t sleep much that night.  It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The next couple of days were a blur, Allison shopping, me being pack mule and drug around to every shop that I could imagine in hell:

A store that had nothing but cat stuff, including ceramic waving cats, which always freaks me out.

A store that had every sports teams gear, cept my favorite team, reason why … “no one really likes them down here”.

We went to a store that had antique guns, but no bullets.

Oh and don’t get me started on the store that sold nothing but antique doll clothes.

The best that I could do was just resign to the fact that the next couple of days would drive me nuts.

However, the  final night changed the entire way I think of Fredrick.

I was sitting on the porch that had surrounded my in-laws house enjoying a pipe of vanilla tobacco when it walked up to me.

Now, everyone in town talked about the 18 point buck.

It was a legend in the entire county, no one had ever seen the beast that it was.  All the hunters had tried to shoot at it and thought to have failed.  It was huge and had the scars that would terrify any child.  Bambi, this was not.

I didn’t move and stopped even puffing on the pipe as it came closer.

The chair that I was sitting on was on the edge of the porch closest to a large area of grass that I was supposed to mow before we left on Sunday.   And I looked back to find my gun, hell even my father in laws gun to shoot it. I would be the hero of Denial. But I forgot that my gun was in my car and my father in laws was in the gun case locked up because of the last time I came to Denial.  I was in such a hurry to shoot a buck off the porch like my father in law that I forgot about the recoil and I kinda launched myself through a plate glass window.  The family nicknamed me “Secret Service” because of it. I had to find a way to let everyone see that I could either kill it, or hell take a picture of it.

The buck came closer and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.  It slowly moved and started eating something on the ground in between my chair. I slowly tried to move and it immediately jerked up.

I could feel the snorting and snot flying from the nose of the beast. I took a puff of my pipe again and it went back to work eating while I slowly took my phone out so I could take at least a picture of it.

I tried to block the sound out when it took but the noise was just enough.  The buck sprang onto the porch and came closer and closer to me.  I backed up more and more until I was at the door of the house.

As I tried to open the door in the dark the buck came closer until it launched into the air at me.  I heard a loud noise and I blacked out.

I came to in the hospital room with scratches and bruises everywhere and I had a couple broken bones.

“You’re a lucky man, not many people have come that close to an 18 point buck without proper equipment and survived sir,” said the nurse to me.

I tried to get her attention and she finally got my message to bring my phone to me.

I wanted to show her the picture of the buck, but as I scrolled through I found that I only took a picture of the bucks ass and a good portion of my left thumb.

Stupid camera phone.

Stupid buck.

When I got home weeks later my wife had a surprise for me.

“Just keep your eyes closed hun until we get into your office.”

“What’s the big deal? You refile everything while I was gone again dear?”

“Shut up and keep your eyes closed.”

“Fine,” I said knowing that she had something up her sleeve.

“Okay open them,” she said with a laugh.

Now of all the things I wanted in my office, the list included naked playmates, stacks of unmarked cash, hell even the lack of bills would make me happy, I wasn’t expecting to see it hanging on my wall.

“There you go honey, you’ll never forget that moment again.”

On my wall was the eighteen point buck head, with a plaque that read:

To my darling husband
who didn’t flinch much when
I shot the eighteen point
on our porch.

BTW, we named the Buck Dollar

Love, your wife.

I knew I’d be renicknamed Dollar when I got back to Fredrick again.

But this time Allison, I’ll have my weapon near me and I’d only stare at the stars with you next to me.

And I promise I won’t leave the bed after you are asleep ever again.

Now can you please change the dressing on my ear. I can still hear ringing.

We all travel a road where we try to get somewhere. We have plans, ideas, looking for the right exit.

But sometimes, the right play is to keep driving, sleep when you are tired and eat when you are hungry, until you get to the destination you wanted to get to in the first place.

But there are no turn around lanes on this highway, just a lonely road of twists and turns that anger, confuse and sometimes sadden us.

But the road continues on and we have to travel to places where we intend to go even if the path is long and winding.

The last month or so, I’ve seen my friends come close, my acquaintances move further away and  the people who would back my plays actually back my plays.

And it feels good.

Yesterday the boss called me up out of nowhere to tell me that I had been doing an exceptional job on the project that I was working on.

Did he have to? No.

Did it make me want to drive further on the road, probably.

Because the road is whatever you want it to be, your career, family or your play at the tables.  You have choices and sometimes you get lost making the left turn at Albuquerque.

But you never lose by taking the trip. Sometimes the best trips are down to the store where you learn something just by watching someone.

This evening I had a moment like that.  It started at a mirror at a retailer.  I passed by the mirror and looked at my face. Not at the person, but at the face. And in some cases, I didn’t recognize who I was. I saw the body, but not the soul.  But I saw the maturity and the gray hair that had accompanied my receding hairline.

I’m not 40 and I look like this.

But as I’m trying this year to look at the gold and not the just the wood slivers in my soul, I saw a man.

A man pushing a cart down the aisle. His hair was mussed and he smelled of urine. He was obese and looked like his life was challenged enough in the first place.

He had a box of cereal, and a spoon in his cart and he paid with pennies and change, refusing all help from the checker and myself.

“This is the road I’ve chosen and I’ll go as I please,” he said as he was escorted from the store.

The man was happy in what he had, and I couldn’t understand that.

Why would he be happy as miserable as he looked and probably was? Where did he live and what did he do?

But as I ran out of the store to look for the man in the snow and the ice, he had disappeared.

Was he there in the first place I thought as I slugged the groceries to the car?

But I realized that the road I was on wasn’t one that made me happy at all.

And that realization was the beginning of it all.

Anthony looked at the end of the bed. As he stared as his cold bare feet he knew that his live-in maid/ on and off girlfriend had somehow screwed with the blanket.

It isn’t easy being 6′ 10 and he usually can’t have a bed with a foot board at the end. Some hotels (especially Lisbon) he would find himself hanging off the bed.  But then again, this is his story…

…

“Honey, don’t you understand I don’t ask for much from you,” she started.

“Expected what which time dear,” I asked wishing that I could find the aspirin.  My head was hurting and I took one of those headache powders.  I could down these damn things like they were my ex to white powder.

“Tony, don’t you understand, all I need you to do is fold up your socks, kill the roaches and any bugs I see and clean the windows.  You know I NEVER do the windows.” (more…)

Last night I was in a incredibly visual dream.

I was walking with a pair of friends down a path.  We had to get to the goal, I don’t know what was at the end of the road, but my friends were in a hurry to get there.  I had my friend from a job I had in the past who had to be Mr. commencement speaker, he had to be the best, but was miserable in life. I was also with a female friend who was lost in relationships, family and life.

We walked down the path for hours and finally came to a fork in the path with three exits.

We had to cross a bridge across a abyss that seemed to go to the devil himself.  Once we crossed the bridge we would be presented with a path to chose.

The path that we were on turned into a winding and narrow path that seemed to go on forever away from our goal.  The other two disappeared out of sight one to the left,covered with brush and brambles barely passable and one to the right the other covered with dirt with the sound of rain and thunder yet closer to our goal. (more…)

I have plenty to talk about as well as the second chapter of the Island.

Hopefully I can get to them tonight.

I’ve been working on the house a lot and it’s almost finished. I’m really proud of the work and the handyness that I have discovered in me. Maybe it was latent in me and I just had to do it on my own. Maybe it wasn’t my hands doing the handy stuff.

Maybe it was Patricks.

Never the less, I’ve reached the point of what is done is done, and what can’t be done won’t be. (more…)