Category: Uncategorized (Page 22 of 95)

An acrid, burning asbestos smell caused nasal curiosity for several miles climbing the topology of Route 2 West homeward Wednesday night. Looking for the 18 wheel suspect, I passed several, but the nose nastiness remained. Traffic thinned and about 5 miles from my destination, a white trailer belched grey smoke 100 years ahead. After cutting half the distance, suddenly a dense cloud emerged from mid-undercarriage along with airborne black debris bouncing along the highway. Most of it landed and harmlessly slid to rest, except one piece bouncing along the pavement with the trajectory of a golf ball. I slowed, but with cars behind and aside me, there was very little room for evasion and the object seemed to be erratically fluttering like it was thrown by Tim Wakefield. This all happened very quickly, and as the black plastic defied physics and fell to earth, there was little doubt it would get a piece of me. “F%$#, that’s going to…” A loud, heavy bang thumped over the iPod’s efforts, followed by another along with the feeling my front, passenger tire ran over the heavy metal.

The long white trailer pulled over by the Route 70 exit and I pulled up right behind. Getting out of the car, there was no doubt where the smell was coming from. After checking oncoming traffic in the side-view, I got out and walked forward for inspection. The front lower “fin” was pretty badly smashed, and the plastic housing around the running light was hanging off.

Back in my car, I sent a text message as the trailed driver inspected his undercarriage. A State Trooper pulled up behind me and proceeded to walk around my car. “Are you OK? Is it just the front and the door?” “The door,” I replied surprised. Yeah, the door. Whatever the piece was, it somehow ripped into the lower grill, went under the tire, then exited out the side, ripping a gouge between the front quarter-panel and the door, which now makes a loud, metallic wrenching sound when opened.

Not too bad, I suppose. It’s just a car. Although, it did occur to me what the damage might have been if the mind of metal picked my windshield for a hello kiss. In that case, the trooper might have inspected permanent and irreparable damage. I was lucky.

I’ve never liked heavy metal.

“Enjoy your show.” Those words were comforting text from a loved one who was carrying a heart full of Good Friday heaviness. My body was at Boston’s House of Blues, but my head and heart were home. I needed the towering amps to blow through my soul and I asked the Facebook faithful to pray, vibe or use the force… for good. And they both did.

I’d really been looking forward to the Drive By Truckers, and they brought it, but the set list was so catalog deep and of such varied tempo, that to me, it was like a frustrating at bat against an aging Mike Mussina, full of change ups, slow curveballs and the occasional number one. I wanted all high heat.

Not to say it wasn’t a good show. It was, and the 2,449 other people carpeting the floor and papering the walls with sticky spilled drinks seemed to be in unified sway. “Patterson, you’re the f&^%ing man,” was the very direct review of a guy near me. Yeah, Patterson Hood is the man, and his songwriting is stellar, but “the moment” of the show for me was during a song by Hood’s number two, Mike Cooley. “Birthday Boy” is such a fun, rockin’ song, and the moment came at the 3:08 – 3:18 point in this video. At the HOB, that’s when Patterson rose to his Mike with the biggest smile to sing this harmony with his partner Cooley who penned the words:

To see that unadulterated joy of a guy who loves what he does and really appreciated the words of another, got me. I thought about one “Mr. G.,” Tony Gonnella. He got so much joy out of seeing his son Mike and I rain when we were young. Then I thought about Mike. And Arizona in August. And how I got here. And three words. And how I couldn’t wait to get home.

Sorry to my ones of readers for the lack of language lately. Deep in the blast-proof underworld of this space live words about living a more non-virtual life. I am. Sometimes words fail us and lately I’m whiffing on attempts to describe the present. I stare at the blinking vertical black cursor and nothing. There it is again. Now I’m chasing it like the crocodile chasing the pirate, except I’ll never enjoy the satisfaction of engulfing it. It’s always one click ahead. Elusive. It’s a carrot and I’m after it. I can only hope that what’s left in its digital wake is satisfying. I have a story to tell. It’s got everything. It’s a story where Monday is Saturday and Saturday defies description. Walk beside me and I’ll tell you all. We’ll make it up as we go. Just like when my kids were children. I’d start the story and they’d take turns filling in the blanks. Monsters became princes. Rivers always reached the sea. Loss turned to love. And somehow Jaws always showed up to eat the hero and had to be written out of the script…

We’re not in Kansas anymore.

Saturday morning I joked about the marketing term “an idyllic retreat” to describe our 36 hour cape getaway, followed by a quantum physics effort to slow time down… I don’t know where to begin or end, but since there is none, it doesn’t matter. There were so many moments that will defy the laws of time as long as my memory can. There was a five minute dueling fit of laughter and two mothers engaged in a serious conversation while ones hairdo resembled Dr. Emmet Brown from “Back to the Future,” though it wasn’t the source of the hilarity. Crystal night clarity revealed constellations to walk under and a targeted moon haze to marvel. Water glistened golden on lakes and soaring silver outside our ocean deck. Whole grapes and their fermented juices were shared with the best crackers ever. Sunday walking to Huevos rancheros and coffee, a pair who spoke for themselves: Muy Bueno! Knotty Pine, skylights, outdoor showers, dirty carpets and unstained shingles blurred through the hours. One image is indelible. A beautiful, slender left hand draped lifelessly over a right shoulder, gently brushed by sleeping hair. It hung there weightless and I watched it for awhile without touching it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to alter the perfection of it. I thought about taking a picture, but I never could have captured the moment that lives in my mind. Quantum physics is cool.

Let me post preface by stating I’m not buying the “guy in the sky” with harps and pearly gates, but now that I’m actually paying attention when in a house of the holy, I am beginning to understand. Last night’s 5:00 gathering was a good one, mostly because of the wonderful voice of the elder directly behind me in Pew 43, Seat 6. Actually, I only envisioned the old man, but looked forward to the “Peace be with you” moment when I could tell him I enjoyed his tenor.

The gospel was a long-un, but reading along, it told the story of a wealthy man with two sons, one of whom jumped the nest with his early inheritance to blow on basically, hookers and um, blow. Anyway, after junior hits bottom, he heads home and is lovingly welcomed by his father, much to the annoyance of the brother. In spite of what the son had done, the father welcomed him back with unconditional love. Without knowing “the rest of the story,” we can speculate whether the father’s act was prudent or just one of enablement with a bad ending… Whatever. It gave me some perspective on something personal to me.

The homily was titled, “Christianity is for losers.” As Father Tim talked about loss, I looked around the church and took in the faithful. It was mostly a blue-collar crowd and I realized Joyce and I were probably among the most fortunate in the room. I thought about how many struggle with paying bills, battling illness, or wrestling more elusive emotional or spiritual demons. The sermon described a black man about to be lynched by a white mob of his neighbors. The local pastor halted the proceedings to read the man’s will. He left all his possessions to those under the sheets for the acts of kindness they had shown him through life. They all left quietly in shocked silence from the love they’d been shown.

Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed… To me, they are examples of how to live, not gods. In the category of “what would Jesus do,” I think if he saw the fuss made over him in the last 2,000 years or so, he’d be embarrassed. To me, if going to church can help people be humble, kind or loving to each other even a fraction more than they were before, that’s a huge benefit. A “force” if you will.

I couldn’t wait for the “let us offer each other the sign of peace.” Well, for one I got a kiss, but at that moment I wanted to tell the old gentleman behind me how much I’d enjoyed his singing. When I turned, the old man was gone. In his place was a large, 40-ish man who looked to be somehow disabled. I can’t describe it better than a “vacancy” in his look. My comment about his singing was lost on him. At least that was my perception. I thought of a young man with a beautiful voice and a heart full of love…

Back in the car I had so much to say, but “that was worth it” said it all.

For some reason, tears of a clown appeared when I read this: “The mere fact that there is a world at all is so miraculous, so impossible to explain, that we should, in recognition and faith of that, be continually awestruck and joyful, in spite of any lacks we may feel in our daily lives.”

It was very odd that while Maddy napped next to me and Kyle auditioned for the lead in “Wicked” from his room downstairs, I was overwhelmed on Saturday afternoon reading that little passage in “Dr. Quantum’s Little Book Of Big Ideas: Where Science Meets Spirit,” by Fred Alan Wolf, Ph.D.

Why? Was it just a “Dude, we could be just a speck under my fingernail” stoner moment, or something else? Well, just think about how freakin’ heavy (not the gravitational suck “heavy”) it is that we’re here. I get the same wave of emotion at times when I look at my little granddaughter, Maddy. It’s never when she’s doing something special, it’s just when she’s being. Witnessing that little life in those simple moments is massively awe inspiring and sometimes overwhelming.

Give yourself a treat. Clear the clutter, focus for just a moment and take in the slightest bit of the beauty and love in your life. Think about the enormity that you and it exists. It feels good. Do it.