Author Mike OConnor: Awaking dreams

Author Mike OConnor: Awaking dreams:    As I age, my dreams and visions seem to become more childlike.   The tin man and cowardly lion appear to me in living color and clari...

Awaking dreams

   As I age, my dreams and visions seem to become more childlike.  The tin man and cowardly lion appear to me in living color and clarity. I dance a lively step or two with scarecrow and the brightness of Dorothy's ruby slippers blind me with the hope she finds her way home.

   Onboard the pirate's ship I stow away below decks as captain jack shouts out orders to his crew of scary pirates as I build the courage to let myself be seen. They were to make me walk the plank until captain jack took me under his wing and taught me the ways of the sea.

   The dreams of children are unspoiled and filled with the imagination only a child could see, but I feel these same things, and although it is me having the adventures, I am but a child in a grown man's body. Eventually, I will wake up and smile as I remember the fun sleep gave me.

   Playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, shooting marbles with a gang of ten-year-old boys and riding our bicycles with baseball cards in the spokes, so we sounded like an invasion of hardcore bikers. These were the realities of my youth so long misplaced far back in my memories but brought to life again in an old man's dreams.

   I get to experience once again the feeling of climbing the tallest tree in the woods and looking out as far as the eye could see, swaying with the breeze of autumn chill my boyish face a shade of red and a spec of fear that made my heart beat faster. In years past the simple joys of youth would be tucked away for me to remember as I look at wrinkled hands and feeble movements.

   Oh to be so young again, to relive those childhood adventures all coming to life when I close my eyes and feel every emotion I felt back then. I suppose my dreams will slowly go away as my memories begin to elude me, but until then, I will look forward to sleep and all the magic and wonder of it all.

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Author Mike OConnor: All in a days work

Author Mike OConnor: All in a days work:    Working like a mule for days that seem never to end. The pieces of meat once my muscles are living in their private hell. Hundreds a...

All in a days work

   Working like a mule for days that seem never to end. The pieces of meat once my muscles are living in their private hell. Hundreds and hundreds of bending overs have unhinged something that needs oil. My feet absorb my weight all day and cry for a seat that won't come quickly.

   Sitting on the tailgate of my truck, I slowly eat a sandwich and wash it down with Gatorade and a smoke. It's during those small breaks I ask myself how much longer will I pretend to be decades younger? When will I accept that my time for all of this has expired and I'm working on fumes in an empty tank?

   At the end of another day when everything hurts, and I look at the progress I only think of tomorrow and maybe the finish line of yet another project. I half-heartedly tell myself that this was the last job, time to act my age and slow it down.

   The phone rings as I'm soaking my aching feet in Epson salts trying to decide if an hour was long enough? Its a potential customer who says a friend recommended me and he'd like me to stop by tomorrow to give a quote.Sure, why not?

   Morning came with soreness that had no mercy, but the coffee was waiting and the day was nothing but blue skies and opportunity. I go    Working like a mule for days that seem never to end. The pieces of meat once my muscles are living in their private hell. Hundreds and hundreds of bending overs have unhinged something that needs oil. My feet absorb my weight all day and cry for a seat that won't come quickly.

   Sitting on the tailgate of my truck, I slowly eat a sandwich and wash it down with Gatorade and a smoke. It's during those small breaks I ask myself how much longer will I pretend to be decades younger? When will I accept that my time for all of this has expired and I'm working on fumes in an empty tank?

   At the end of another day when everything hurts, and I look at the progress I only think of tomorrow and maybe the finish line of yet another project. I half-heartedly tell myself that this was the last job, time to act my age and slow it down.

   The phone rings as I'm soaking my aching feet in Epson salts trying to decide if an hour was long enough? Its a potential customer who says a friend recommended me and he'd like me to stop by tomorrow to give a quote.Sure, why not?

   Morning came with soreness that had no mercy, but the coffee was waiting and the day was nothing but blue skies and opportunity. I got the job and would start tomorrow. Not enough time to recover  t the job and would start tomorrow. Not enough time to recover from the last one but, bills didn’t pay themselves and food didn’t magically appear in the fridge.

   My two-person crew showed up at first light looking tired and sore, but with smiles on their faces because I had told them more than once I was decades older than them and if I could get it done, well they should try and keep up.

Life throws us lemons and age is one of them, but how we perceive time is what separates the go-getters from the want to relax type. I believe that as long as I can grease the wheels and dominate the pain, I will continue to rise with the sun and put in a hard day's work. Just got to quit climbing those damn ladders.

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Author Mike OConnor: Remembering

Author Mike OConnor: Remembering:    My first memory of my dad was him sitting at the kitchen table, the sleeves on the tee-shirt he wore were rolled up, and one contained...

Remembering

   My first memory of my dad was him sitting at the kitchen table, the sleeves on the tee-shirt he wore were rolled up, and one contained a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. His hair was greased down with something I later knew as Brylcream hair goo. He was drinking a bottle of Carlings black label beer he never let get warm.

   I would sit with him rolling my sleeves up and puffing on an unlit smoke he rolled across the table to me. Rock and roll was coming from the small green radio sitting on the window sill to get better reception, but he often got up and searched for a Saturday ball game or some news about the war.

  He had served in the Army a few years back and got hurt making it, so they discharged him early which kind of made him angry and restless. He couldn’t hold down a job for too long as he always seemed to get in trouble of one sort or another. When my mom tried to talk to him about losing work, he brushed her away and opened one of many beers he would drink until passing out on the couch

   He was always sorry the next morning kissing my mom and messing up my hair promising me he would never get that drunk again, and I shouldn’t worry because he heard they were hiring down at the docks and he had a buddy that could probably get him on there. It didn’t happen.

   My dad lived the next forty-something years, drinking away the pain and unhappiness. Mom stayed with him, although I never really understood why she did? I guess back then vows meant something. She passed away one night alone in their bed while he slept it off on the couch, and I cried for both of them.

   Sometimes I close my eyes and see the man who was my dad with sleeves rolled up and a pack of lucky strikes in one of them. His hair greased back, and a cold bottle of beer never too far from his reach. I could smell his aqua Velva and hear his laugh that rarely presented itself. He wasn’t a great man, nor was he bad. He was fighting demons his entire life and always seemed to lose. I loved him, and I hope he knew that? Mom said he did, and that would have to do.

   I sense that one day we will meet again and he will be the way I remember him only he will laugh a lot more and not have to carry the burdens that were his life. He will leave behind a smell of aqua Velva and a son who loved him dearly.

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Author Mike OConnor: The writer

Author Mike OConnor: The writer:    Love can only be measured by the times it's been broken. Much like life that can only be experienced if you live it. Both of these ...