Tiny Shards

Shards of light dance across my room like tiny visitors bidding me hello. I believe they are the souls or spirits from another place here to tell me I’m not alone. At times I hear soft words I can’t make out but they’re soothing none the less. I don’t know how they get in as they seem to appear from nowhere Coming in large numbers flowing above me with the grace and elegance of a dance well-rehearsed. One by one they draw closer their tiny selves looking at me, through me to a place they’ve been before. I feel like they are inside of me for a split second then they leave in a soft blue blur back to where they came from. Gods little messengers maybe? Spirits of those gone before me gathering to read the map of my final journey?  I do not have answers, but They are so beautiful and with purpose and I am drawn to them like a moth to the flame.

Mike

Sons and daughters simply put

A son is a father’s pride and his joy. A little version of himself. Someone to teach how to fish and throw a ball. A friend in so many ways with an unconditional love that will always and forever make you smile. He will eventually take the lessons you taught and venture out into the world making his place somewhere with you in his thoughts as he remembers the life lessons learned. You see each other but not often enough as you age making those moments into perfect memories you can hold onto. He is a man and taller than you are. Guess its true you shrink as your journeys end is within reach. You have had your differences and the love between you is often only spoken in private whispers. Your proud of him with no reservations just an honest reality that has no ending.

A daughter is a father’s little blossom that never stops blooming. She was and is the love of your life. You created a special place in your heart for her and like time itself that love will never end. You sat with her and told her stories about magic ponies and fairy princesses as she held on to every word you spoke. Years later she told you she remembered those stories and the princess bed you bought her. You watched as she grew to be woman with a caring heart that she shares so unselfishly. There is no greater gift of love than a father’s love for a daughter. Now you are old, and she knows that. She stays in touch and worries about your health. She has you over for dinner on Sundays and makes sure you get time with your grandchildren. She wants them to know the kind of man you were and are. A father’s love for his daughter is more difficult to put into words but a warm embrace always speaks volumes. Time can never replace the feel of her tiny hand in your own or that special smile meant just for you.

Sons and daughters simply put.

 

My Masks

AS A KID I WAS ALWAYS WEARING A MASK OF SOME KIND. I WOULD SAVE MY HALLOWEEN MASKS FOR YEARS IN A BOX STORED IN THE GARAGE. WHEN I FELT LIKE BEING, MIGHTY MOUSE ID PULL DOWN THE BOX AND FIND MY MASK READY TO JOIN ME IN BACKYARD FANTASIES. THAT OLD BOX HELD PRECIOUS MEMORIES OF MY YOUTH, EACH MASK A PIECE OF WHO I WAS AT LEAST FOR A COUPLE OF HOURS.

MY MOM WOULD SMILE AND WAVE TO ME FROM THE KITCHEN WINDOW AS I BECAME THE SCARE CROW FROM THE WIZARD OF OZ OR POPEYE THE SAILOR. THERE WAS BATMAN, SUPERMAN, GI-JOE, ZORRO, A CRAZY CLOWN AND MANY MORE. I WOULD ENTERTAIN MYSELF RE-LIVING THE FIRST TIME I WORE EACH ONE AND THINKING ABOUT THE MOUNTAINS OF CANDY I RECEIVED WEARING THEM.

MANY OF THE STRAPS ON THE MASKS HAD BEEN BROKEN OFF BUT I USED OLD SHOELACES TO FASHION NEW ONES THAT WORKED EVEN BETTER THE ORIGINALS. LOOKING BACK, I REALIZED THOSE MASKS WERE AS MUCH A REASON FOR BEING WHO I AM THAN ANYTHING ELSE WAS.

NOW I WEAR A MASK ONCE MORE. NO, I AM NOT A BANK ROBBER OR A DOCTOR, NOT A NURSE OR A WORKER IN A CHEMICAL FACTORY. I’M JUST A MAN WHO WANTS TO DO HIS PART TO CRUSH A VIRUS THAT’S CRIPPLED OUR COUNTRY. I CANNOT FIND A LOGICAL REASON WHY EVERYBODY DOESN’T FEEL THEY NEED TO DO THE SAME? IS IT VANITY AND IF SO, GET OVER IT SOME OF YOU PROBABLY LOOK BETTER IN A MASK?

I’VE HEARD SOME SAY ITS THEIR CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT NOT TO WEAR A MASK. WOW I GUESS ITS THEIR RIGHT TO DIE TOO. WE LIVE IN TROUBLED TIMES AND EVERY AMERICAN SHOULD HEED THE WORDS OF HEALTH PROFESSIONALS WHO’VE STUDIED THESE VIRUSES FOR DECADES. ITS THEIR WORDS AND WARNINGS WE SHOULD LISTEN TO NOT THE POLITICIANS WHO KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT.  PEOPLE IN THIS COUNTRY ARE SUFFERING YET BECAUSE OF THE ALMIGHTY DOLLAR HUMAN LIVES COME IN SECOND TO THE LOVE OF MONEY.

WHAT’S THE ANSWER? CLOSE BUSINESSES THAT DON’T ADHERE TO THE RULES? YOU BET YA. FINE THOSE WHO DON’T FOLLOW THE GUIDELINES? YEP. DEMAND MASKS BE WORN OR BE FINED? YEP. INSTILL CURFEWS SO PEOPLE STAY OFF THE STREETS UNLESS THERE GOING TO WORK OR FOR FOOD AND MEDICINES? YEP. ITS NOT ROCKET SCIENCE ITS COMMON SENSE. OUR GOVERNMENT IS THE WEALTHIEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD. IF IT TAKES A FEW MONTHS TO RID THIS DEADLY VIRUS THEN CLOSE THE COUNTRY FOR THAT LONG. ONCE ITS ALL CLEAR THEY WILL HAVE TO CASH IN MORE BONDS LIKE THEY DID FOR THE LAST STIMULUS WHICH BY THE WAY THEY SENT MONEY TO ALMOST A BILLION DEAD PEOPLE!

THIS TIME USE COMMON SENSE AND ISSUE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS TO EVERY AMERICAN. THEY WILL BE ABLE TO SUSTAIN THEMSELVES FOR A FEW MONTHS AND HAVE SOME LEFT TO STIMULATE THE ECONOMY ONCE ITS ALL CLEAR AND THE VIRUS IS GONE. SOUNDS LIKE A LOT OF MONEY AND IT IS BUT ISN’T EVERY AMERICAN WORTHY OF A NEW START? WITHOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS THE UNEMPLOYMENT WILL CONTINUE TO CLIMB IN THE MILLIONS, SMALL BUSINESSES WILL CLOSE FOR GOOD AND PEOPLE WILL BECOME EVEN MORE ANGRY AT THE GOVERNMENT. IF THE VIRUS IS AMONG US FRUSTRATION, ANGER, DEPRESSION AND STRESS WILL BECOME THE NORMAL OF OUR SOCIETY. AND WHAT WILL BECOME OF THE AMERICAN DREAM?

ILL KEEP WEARING MY MASK. ILL DO MY PART TO HELP STOP THE SPREAD AND I BELIEVE ILL REACH INTO THAT OLD BOX A FEW TIMES AND PRETEND EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT, THAT MY SUPERHEROES WILL SOMEHOW SAVE THE DAY ONE MORE TIME.

MIKE

 

 

 

Foot prints

He told them to walk ahead as he was in no hurry to get anywhere but they seemed to be. He smiled as they ran across the white sands chasing the birds and splashing in the cool waters of a late October day. The older kids held onto their shoes while the younger one much like himself hadn’t seen shoes this entire weekend. A free spirit she was, her long red hair a reminder whose genes she inherited. He smiled again whispering her name as he so often did since she passed on.

He spotted a piece of cobalt colored sea glass and stooped to pick it up cringing a bit as the old back was not as reliable as it once was. Continuing their walk, the kids all found a treasure to take home, a conch shell, a starfish and quite a collection of sea glass in assorted colors. He often wondered the stories the glass could tell.

The day was running low on light as they reached his cottage anxious to show off their treasures to mom and dad who he was sure enjoyed the past couple of hours alone. Hanging his straw hat on a hook he noticed his trousers were wet from the ankles down, so he rolled them up another notch, his daughter noticing it and smiled at him the same way her mom once did. Time fly’s so fast here she told him, and he nodded without words.

He watched them drive away into the night as her man preferred night driving, but he believed it was just an excuse to get back to his beloved city. Closing the door, he went outside and sat on the steps, looking and listening to the blackness of the sea. His now constant companion in a quiet life. Tomorrow he would rise with the sun and put on the old straw hat. He would walk for miles unknown or cared about to a destination he never knew. Treasures would fill his trousers until they bulged as the sea washed his feet with every step he took. This was his life, a life they both loved as they loved each other. It was perfect except for the missing footprints next to his.

 

I do not write much anymore, Guess the words have been written and thoughts grown distant. Shadows replace memories and creativity lies dormant. One thought that occurs to me is I usually wrote about nice things: love, kindness and hope. Happy memories I could let flow from mind to paper. Now the shadows chase the memories out of my mind replaced by current events and the sorrow that comes with it.

Unless you are a writer of news numb to all the sadness and loss, its difficult to express anything else. I see it as a dark vail slowly covering my mind that will soon encompass who I am now. And I do not want to be like that. Maybe I should stop watching the news and all the sorrow it reports every single day boring its way into my mind kicking out happy memories one news cast at a time.

My grandson asked me if I could go back to anyplace in time, where would it be? I had to think carefully about that but soon told him this: I would go back to the year 1959.I was six years old and spent my play time exploring the woods behind my house. I became my favorite comic book heroes saving the world with every slash of man old broom handle that was my sword. I climbed the apple tree in my yard and ate apples until I got sick. I waited for the afternoon train to pass by as I frantically waved my arms until the engineer blasted the mighty horn making my day complete.

My dad was my real hero and mom was someone I knew I would love forever. We ate dinner together every night, went to church on Sunday and drives in the country where an ice cream cone was guaranteed. Respect was mandatory and discipline expected when you strayed from the rules. It was a simple time of my life that held the countless memories I wrote about for so long. My grandson listened intently as I told him all of this, and when he spoke my eyes filled with tears, I proudly let flow. He said I was his hero because I was always there if he needed me. He told me he wished he could have climbed that apple tree with me and explored the woods looking for treasure.

I told him in a way he was with me because even way back then God had a plan for me just like he does for everyone. He knew I would grow up and begin a life of my own, just like he would someday. He knew who I would marry and that my kids would have kids and one of them was him. So, in a small way he was right beside of me as I climbed that apple tree and searched for treasure in my woods. He grinned that boyish look and I knew he was reliving what I had shared with him. Another tear ran down my weathered face which he wiped away with no words spoken.

Mike

 

 

 

He Stood in front of an empty lot remembering it seventy years ago. He was a young man with little sense and even less money back then. He had done a hitch in the Navy and came home to the place he so desperately tried to run from. He had saved enough to buy a Harley which is exactly what he did even before all the salt from the sea was out of his hair.

He couched jumped for awhile until he earned enough to get his own place by working as a carpenter’s helper. A job he got one day sitting in a bar overhearing a guy who was telling his buddy good help was hard to come by these days. After a month or so he started looking for a place and on this now empty lot with more weeds than value, he found it.

Answering an add in the paper he met up with the owner. A fat guy he remembered, with a stained t-shirt and remnants of his last meal in a scraggy beard. “isn’t much” he said but you get what you pay for. All he cared about was a place to sleep and shelter for his Harley. The structure was detached from the house. A kind of dilapidated Shedd. The street level area was wide open and probably years ago used as a carport or horse stable. Now it was filled with various piles of junk and pigeons roosting. He closed his eyes and remembered the musty and strong smells of years past. Some would say disgusting but, it was a part of his past he wanted to keep.

Up the creaky steps led to a door with cardboard for a window which the owner told him he would replace but never did. It was very small with only the bare necessities. A kitchen with a sink, stove and fridge and just enough room for a small table and two mis matched chairs. The only other room served as a living room/ bedroom big enough for a single bed and a worn green vinyl chair that had seen better days. He took the place knowing it was a beginning and having no regrets.

When the first snow fell, he stored his bike in the so-called garage carving out a space far in the back and covering it with an old tarp he found while moving junk around. It wasn’t so much to keep his bike protected from the snow but to protect it from all the pigeon poop that fell like snowflakes. In need of a winter driver He bought an old wreck of a car that was headed for the scrap yard putting his knowledge of engines to work getting it running again. It didn’t have any seats, so he found an orange crate and made a place to sit. There was no heat, so he took out the firewall so heat from the engine gave him some warmth on frigid days.

He laughed out loud as he remembered the countless times, he cheated death driving that pile of junk on icy roads usually after drinking a bunch of beers at his favorite taverns. This was his life back then. A twenty-year-old kid looking for his place in life but never worrying about it much as he had always let the chips fall where they fell. Besides, he told himself anything would be a step up from this. Looking back now a seventy-year-old man who survived the harsh winters living above a pigeon coup junk filled musty smelling excuse of an apartment, driving an accident waiting to happen wreck of a car dreaming of spring and the open roads. He closes his eyes and the roar of his Harley comes to life after a long winters nap. The open roads taking him on the first of many adventures they shared together.

He headed back to his car leaving those memories where they belong buried beneath a sea of weeds.

Mike