Being Here

Commonwealth of Souls, by Christine Young, Chapter One, Parts One through Nine

2011-08-20T14:35:00.000-07:00

The Dream

I woke to the sound of waves rushing furiously against the shore. What body of water was this? I knew I was on earth, but I had an eerie feeling that I had traveled far. There was something inevitable in this feeling, as though I was experiencing my past, and at the same time witnessing my future. And in the midst of this strange sensation a feeling of nothingness prevailed.

If I had a mind to I could have seen them; my family and friends. I could have seen the house where I lived and the place where I worked eight hours of the day. I did not have a mind to. I did not care to. There was something inside of me; a force holding steadfast at the very center of my being; a counterpoise of some sort confronting love with hate, compassion with ill-will, fear with might, doubt with confidence—anxiety with peace of mind. None of the burdens which plagued me during my every day existence had claim to me now, nor could I remember moments of happiness tossed here and there to cushion the maddening circumstances life sometimes has to offer. I felt nothing.

The water was calm now. In the distance I saw the figure of a man moving toward the shore. As the figure became clearer to me I noticed a long, green robe around his shoulders. At first I thought he was walking on the water, but then I could see a small boat. I got up and began walking towards the shore when the vision suddenly disappeared. Was I hallucinating? The boat was there. I was not mistaken about that. I walked back to where I had been sitting when I first saw the figure come into view, hoping that the distance would clear my uncertainty. As I turned to sit down the figure was visible again, but he was now standing on the shore. He began walking toward me slowly but surely, as though he had expected to meet me there. Standing before me now I could see the man was tall and lean, and what at first appeared to be a green robe was actually a vest of pale green, under which he wore a white satin tunic with long, flowing sleeves. He offered me his hand.

“I am Martin.” he said, introducing himself with a smile. My eyes were drawn to his emerald cufflinks.

“I am John.” I replied, shaking his hand.

“It has been some time since one of our kind before the extension has come to being here.”

“Your words are curious.” I responded. “What do you mean, ‘before the extension?’”

“You will know in time.” He smiled again and patted my shoulder. “Come with me.”

We walked back to the boat and he motioned for me to step inside.

The ride was a short one. As we drew nearer to the shore of our destination, Martin pointed to a small development of shacks and spoke of the people who lived there with him. “Beyond the arcade is my home. It is not much to look at in terms of architecture—especially if I compare it to my former situation, but it is a peaceful village and we are all happy there.”

“Your former situation?”

“Where I hung my hat, so to speak. I grew up in a large house with many servants. I have no remorse whatsoever in regard to its passing. I recall mostly my mother’s love. It was genuine, but not enough to keep me at home.”

I was beginning to wonder about this man; the profound manner in which he spoke. I could not guess what he meant when he said he had no remorse for its passing, referring to his home; and the fact that he recalled mostly his mother’s love, that it was genuine but not enough to keep him there.

“Your mother?” Martin asked abruptly, breaking my train of thought.

“My mother? What do you mean?”

“Tell me about her. Did you love her?”

“Yes.” I answered quickly. Although I felt it was necessary to clarify that my mother was still alive, since he phrased his question in the past tense. “I do.”

“Describe her to me.” He said.

My confusion must have been evident. As I looked at Martin I began searching my mind for the vision of my mother, and to my surprise I could not recall her face.

“Is something wrong?” Martin asked.

“I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?”

Martin did not answer me. We were near the shore now. We disembarked and pulled the boat up on to the beach. I could see the shacks clearly now.

Martin motioned for us to proceed forward. “Come, let me introduce you to my friends.”

We began walking. I felt a queer sense of kinsman ship with Martin. I started to see him in a different light; thinking that perhaps I had known him before, in some other time and place.

As we entered the confines of the village, people began to emerge from their huts. I stopped momentarily as I watched them approach. Their mannerisms were strange; almost spiritual. We all came together in the middle of the village. They surrounded me. Then they were gone. Martin too.

I’ve had dreams before, but none so perfect; dreams that brought to mind people I had not seen in years, or people that I had met only the day before. As perplexing as this dream was, it was as vivid: the character of the man called Martin; our conversation as we crossed the water in the row boat; the feeling of fellowship in a society I was not as yet exposed to; and the most harrowing feeling of all, that memories of my mother faded to the point of disassociation. I looked at the clock on my night table. It was two minutes before six. The alarm would ring soon and I would have to get up for work. That thought did not appeal to me. It was Monday, the worst day of the week for me, and the hour from six to seven the most painful to live through. I turned around to look at my empty bed and before I knew it I was back under the covers, with no intention of getting up again. I took the phone off the hook to be sure.

Commonwealth of Souls, Two

2011-08-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

The Corner Bar

I needed a reason to call my mother. I never called her just to say hello. What could I say to her that I had not already said last week when I called. It would not do for me to come right out and say I just needed to hear her voice. She would think that was odd. So I sat there for what seemed like hours trying to come up with something to ask her. You see, mom is always busy, and although she would never come right out and tell me she has no time to talk to me—which I would appreciate more for the honesty—she will have that hurried tone in her voice which conveys the message that I should just ‘spit it out’.

I wish my father were still alive. I was never afraid to approach him with anything. He had an open door and an open mind. As far as he was concerned if I had thought it, it was worth a discussion; if I had heard it on the streets it needed an explanation; and if I had done it and it was wrong, it needed an ear my voice could penetrate and a mind my short-sightedness could duel with. I had the benefit of my father’s wisdom—not for telling me what was wrong or right, but for allowing me, with his guidance, to draw my own conclusions. When my father died I was sixteen years old. Henceforth I was the son of my mother only. The son of a prominent business woman who never had time for her son. Did she ever wonder how I was doing? Did she ever worry about whether or not I was eating properly? Not once did she pry into my personal life the way all good mothers do.

The thought occurred to me that it would improve my relationship with her if I found a girlfriend. She may very well take an interest in that—if I should suddenly produce a possible spouse. I would be interested to witness her reaction. I thought I might try it very soon. I’d have to meet someone first. I sat a while longer at the kitchen table drinking my coffee. I liked the early morning silence and I could have stayed there for a while longer, but I had to get ready for work.

I worked all day without interruption and I was glad for the distraction. My boss did broach the subject of my absence the day before minus the customary call in. I apologized and was given a warning. When I look back over my ten years of employment I can see that I am shown some favoritism. Why is because I’m fast and accurate and always there—except for yesterday.

At five o’clock I left work and went straight to the Corner Bar. It’s a small bar and the beer on tap is cheap. The crowd isn’t bad; no bikers or degenerates; mostly blue collar workers, a few Vietnam war vets, and an even smaller number of WWII vets. Occasionally you would find a woman or two connected at the hip to a guy or two, but rarely a woman alone.

This place has always been a favorite. I can sit and contemplate for hours and no outside forces can bother me. Only my thoughts are permitted to accompany me into this haven of solitude, and if they get out of hand I will reproach them with a double shot of vodka. There are other bars and clubs I go to occasionally, but for a different reason. I was not looking for that type of companionship. It was a night for solitude. I sat at my usual stool near the juke box facing the door; making sure I was able to see every face coming in.

I like most of the guys who frequent the Corner Bar, especially Joey Pike. He’s a round sort of old man with a hearing aid. He’s almost totally bald, with just a bit of gray hair lining the top of each ear. He has a very refined English accent and is one of the few WWII vets I mentioned. He had met his wife during the war. They got married after the war and since she was from New York that’s were he wound up. Joey would talk on and on about his life and his feeling of pride at being an ally in WWII, fighting along-side Americans. I would listen as though my very next step in life would be taken by virtue of his wisdom alone. In every story Joey told there was a secret passage-way into the past, and if you listened intently you would find yourself living the past with him. You wouldn't even be aware that you had taken the trip until your journey was over.

Then Kenny wandered in. I use the word wander because Kenny is a wandering kind of guy. We just call him Professor. He’s about twenty-nine and has spent most of his life in school studying “this and that”, as he says. He says his goal in life is to learn as much as he can in the short amount of time he has left on the earth. I asked him once what he intended to do with all that knowledge. "Wouldn’t it be better” I said, “to specialize in one subject so you can master it?”.

Kenny was always vague with his replies that most often didn't even connect with the conversation at hand. This night he was mumbling something about not leaving the earth until he gets what he came for. "And what is that?" we all asked in unison. "An answer!" says he. "To what?" says we.

He sat gazing at his glass of seltzer and lime. He explained that at the moment of our birth we all ask a question. "Do you know what that question is?" says he. And I blurted out “Where am I?”, which prompted an uproar of laughter. "That's the question!" says he, "and your question wasn't answered because no one recognized it as a question."

Then he tells us that later on in life we all carry around another question subconsciously, that it will surface in each of us when we begin to feel a sense of awareness about life. "Perhaps when you feel closest to God." says he.

"So, what’s your question?” I asked mockingly.

“I have asked my question, but the answer hasn’t come to me yet, so I will not reveal it.”

Usually we dismiss any conversation with Kenny as having served very little purpose, yet in the days that followed I found that I couldn’t get this particular conversation out of my mind.

Leaving the bar was a major problem for me. I could only look forward to a three block walk to my apartment, whereby I would be thrust out of my blissful state of inebriation by the cold night. There was no activity on my street, with the exception of a small grubby looking dog scrounging in my landlord’s garbage. I wondered where he came from. Who owned him? Why was he out at three o’clock in the morning? That bothered me. If you’re going to have a dog, take care of it. I worked myself up into an aggravated state due to this little dog, and by the time I got up to my apartment I needed another beer, afterwhich I fell into a sound sleep.

I was with Martin again on the Island. We were standing in the middle of the beach and there were people all around me. Martin introduced me to his friends. First there was Suzanne. She was exceptionally tall for a woman, with very broad shoulders. She had a nice smile and I remember a sudden feeling of warmth just being near her. She looked like she could calm an angry sea with a wave of her hand. She said she was pleased to make my acquaintance and promised to have a long talk with me once I had settled in. Suzanne’s height and build had at first suggested a masculine image, but her soft facial features and pleasing voice expressed a gentle and womanly soul. I thought that it would be nice to talk with her for a while.

Next there was Lydia Rose. She was very young. Her dark, wavy hair fell nearly to her waist. She was not beautiful, but her deeply set, dark eyes drew me to her as if I were being drawn into a dark, mysterious cave; frightening but nevertheless enticing. She looked up at me without saying a word. I saw wisdom in her eyes, the likes of which you would expect to see only in the elderly. She touched my face softly with her fingertips as she stepped back to allow another introduction.

Christopher the boy was the way I had been at sixteen; tall and slender—almost wavering in the wind. I can remember all too well the anxiety of the age, when bullies pushed, challenged and, worse yet, ignored. I received his firm hand shake. His deep voice took me by surprise when he said hello. He had a lot on his mind and a lot he wanted to discuss with me, but Martin stepped in, explaining that his young friend was very sociable, and given the chance would not let me alone for a minute. Martin explained to the boy that I was probably tired and would welcome some sleep before dinner.

I was tired; not from physical exertion, but confusion. I was almost listless with it. There were more introductions to people that I can only vaguely remember right now, after which Martin showed me to my hut and I quickly fell into a sound, peaceful sleep.

Commonwealth of Souls, Three

2011-08-20T14:32:00.000-07:00

Arrogant Voices

There was an invitation in the mail. It was my Aunt Bridget’s birthday party. We’ve been celebrating Aunt Bridget’s birthday every four years for as long as I can remember. When I was little I wondered why they made such a big deal out of it. My mother’s reply was always the same: ‘Because Aunt Bridget was born on the twenty-ninth day of February.’ Then she would squeeze my face, give me a hug and gulp down the remainder of her highball. And I, not a bit wiser as a result of that answer, posed the same question to my father, to which he replied: ‘Because, my boy, they are all idiots.’ I was only nine, but I could feel the contempt my father had for my mother’s side of the family, and something told me that on their part the feeling was mutual.

So I found myself at a birthday party on a Wednesday evening. I did not want to be at this party, so it was easy for me to resent everything and everyone I came into contact with; especially my mother, whose casual remarks always made me feel guilty about the most trivial matters. I felt obligated to attend. I decided to make the best of it; besides, having a few drinks would ease the tension.

Aunt Bridget sat in her rocker by the fireplace the whole evening; her favorite afghan on her lap. She must be about eighty-eight. That would be twenty-two birthday parties. How complacent she looked sitting by the fireplace, watching everyone get drunk—a pleasure she never indulged in herself.

My mother’s sister and her husband were there. I was pleased to see my uncle. My aunt lost no time in making me feel uncomfortable; asking if there was anyone special in my life. My uncle intercepted the question and ran in another direction with it. He said that he supposed I would share that information if I had a mind to, and then brought to her attention their own son, Richard, and his love life, which I assumed from my aunt’s reaction was not going to be discussed with me standing there. So I excused myself and went to the john. I could hear them speaking from the bathroom. She told Paul that she thought there may be something wrong with me in a “sexual sense” if you know what I mean. I suppose she thinks I’m gay. I heard my uncle tell her that if I was it was my affair and none of her damn business. She just went on and on about how, even if I wasn’t a homosexual, I was most assuredly an introvert, and that it was all my father’s doing. I came out of the bathroom and saw my uncle’s angry face. She quickly added “God rest his soul.”

My cousin Richard and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and, although we were only cousins, we were more like brothers in the earlier years of our childhood. When we were a few years older—he was thirteen and I was ten—things began to change. He was not around that much for me. When you’re ten years old it’s pretty devastating to be left in a cloud of dust while your best friend prances off into the sunset with a group of kids who want nothing to do with you. I could never catch up to Richard after that.

Richard was kneeling beside Aunt Bridget chewing her ear off about something. I didn’t want to speak with him for some reason, so I tried to avoid him. Unfortunately he turned his head suddenly and caught me in my attempt to leave the room. “John. How are you? What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Same old stuff. What about you?” I replied.

“I’m doing OK. How’s work going?

“It‘s good. How’s your job going?”

“Pretty damn good. I received a great review that I did not expect until June. I may be in for a promotion. We’ll see.”

“Very good.” I replied, with my usual dead-pan expression.

There was no hiding my indifference. It’s not that his life is of no consequence to me, I just cannot feign any interest in his career. I never liked the business world to begin with, so to hear about it nauseates me. Richard may or may not have picked up on my attitude. It was difficult to tell. He winked one of his bloodshot eyes and waved a pointed finger at my face. “Maybe I’m imagining things, but I do think you could care less whether I’m dead or alive. Do you have a chip on your shoulder I should know about?”

“I thought you’d never notice it.” I responded, half jokingly, but with enough seriousness for him to pick up on. Richard’s smile disappeared. “I’ve always suspected it, but now I’m certain. You’re jealous of me.”

It was as though Richard could see into my soul. His eyes confronted mine with a vengeance, stealing away the very nerve that had influenced my behavior. My expression of complacency turned into a tormented smile. Suddenly we were kids again, rough-housing in the back yard of my parent’s home. I looked Richard straight in the eye, not really sure of what I wanted to say. After a moment I responded.

“I really looked up to you at one time. I don’t know if you remember this, but I would always follow along with you and your friends until it was obvious you didn’t want me hanging around. You never came right out and told me. It was evident. It really bothered me because at one time we were close. Then, suddenly, we didn’t see much of each other; only on occasions like this—and even then, alone in a house filled with adults, we had nothing to talk about.”

I had never known Richard to be very sensitive. Maybe I never really knew him at all, but he was visibly upset by what I said. “First of all” he replied, “if I have done anything in the past that offended you, I can truthfully say that it was not intentional. As far as giving you the cold shoulder when we were kids; did it ever occur to you that our age difference had something to do with that? Would you have tried to be friends with any other seventh-grader? I certainly would not have tolerated the constant surveillance of a fourth-grader if it hadn’t been you. And you say you looked up to me….” Richard stopped there for a second to drink his scotch, looking as though a battalion of memories were marching parallel to his thoughts. “If I had known that” he continued, “I might have told you that you were looking up to the wrong person.”

The two of us were silent for a few seconds until Richard broke that silence. “You know, John, I really think you have a problem. I don’t think it’s a chip at all. Maybe it’s some kind of complex. Whatever it is, it’s a shame, because you’d be one hell of a nice guy if you’d come up for air.”

Richard looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. I said nothing and let him go on. “You’re an intellectual snob, John...” he added, “...and that’s one thing I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.

Do you know what it’s like to formulate aggression over a period of years? To spend countless nights drinking to its health, savoring each moment of ecstasy while your glass is filled to capacity by the bartender, then emptied by the loathsome creature hidden inside you? By the power of a few spoken words my cousin had succeeded in making my animosity toward him feel inappropriate and unjustified. I felt like hiding in a corner. What made me think I could say something like that to him and get away with it. I had been behaving like that for a long time. And I wondered why I didn’t have any close friends. Richard, on the other hand, had a truckload of really close friends; friends he had kept from high school. What was I going to say now. Richard was staring me down; waiting for a response. I must choose my words carefully, I thought, or I might lose a family member.

But did I really care? When have I ever cared? Maybe a long time ago when I was small. I cared so much that it sometimes hurt when nobody cared back. I did not come from a close-knit family. I knew I was loved, but it was not the kind of hands on love that I wanted or that I needed. When I was seventeen I had one close friend named Anthony. I loved going to his house because I felt at home there. His mother would always hug me as if I were one of her own. She was a nice woman, with silky black hair and large brown eyes; eyes that produced visions of homemade dinners, Christmas stockings and cozy nights. I really couldn’t see anything like that in my mother’s eyes. The love I knew she had for me must have stopped at her mouth. It poured out into words of praise when I had been good, and verbal judgment and retribution when the circumstances were otherwise. I was either good or I wasn’t. There was no in between.

I suppose I did care about Richard. Something deep inside of me always wanted to impress him. I can’t imagine that I’ve impressed him at all. What the hell was wrong with me. I’ve been burning bridges a lot lately. I suddenly caught myself looking at the floor. When I looked up again, Richard was gone.

Commonwealth of Souls, Four, Kathryn's Thoughts

2011-08-20T14:31:00.000-07:00

Young love sighs with each new day
The fire brightly burns,
How slow the pages turn.
Old love remembers laughter in the rain
The withered embers yearn
And still the pages turn.
Yet in between love may decry
What it might have treasured;
Untended, the fire turns...

...while the pages quickly burn. There it was; the last line in the poem I have been trying to finish, and with that the clouds shifted, allowing the very last ray of evening sun to filter through the tiny hole in my window shade. It pierced my dimly lit bedroom, then disappeared as quickly as it came. How obliging the sun is. A cool breeze followed.

The ray of sun placed it’s light on the typewritten page as if to spotlight the end of this chapter in my life. The cool breeze represented the freshness of a new beginning. I feel a sense of peace now that I have completed my task. I enjoy writing poetry, although the mood does not hit me as often as I would like. In my early twenties I was writing a poem at least once or twice a week. At that point in time my passion for life was alive with the beauty of nature and the warmth of young love. As I became older I still appreciated the beauty that surrounded me, but I felt less of a need to record my feelings. I was still in love, too, but it was a more comfortable, secure love, with no frenzies; no jealousies. The roaring fire within had dwindled to a warm glow of burning embers, reminiscent of all those mornings after. Now even the burning embers are gone. I have the desire to express my feelings once again.

I am plagued with an unfamiliar melancholy that is being nourished by the unhappy circumstances of my life right now. I see no end in sight for this dreary feeling, so I will let it absorb my life. I might want to hold on to this comfortably numb feeling for as long as I can, being the martyr that I am. I manage to wander through my daily routine without so much as a whisper from my colleagues that there may be something wrong with me. I’ve been thinking about my childhood these past few days, and I feel an irresistible impulse to play the games I played as a child. I’ve been thinking about the boy across the street who would always throw water balloons at me, which brought to mind my first kiss—which also happened to come from the boy across the street. These memories bring to life a powerful longing for the past and for the way things were, and they remind me that I am getting old. Perhaps this is why I am unhappy.

When I was ten years old my aunt had given me a beautiful plaque for my birthday. It was inscribed with this poem by Nathanial Hawthorne: “Happiness is as a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” The words happiness and butterfly played a big part in this poem for me, since my first thought was to get a net and catch as many butterflies as I could. In my childish way I thought that the more butterflies I caught, the happier I would be. Now I know that catching a butterfly before it is ready to settle down would be denying it the essence of its flight, and the simple act of chasing it would alter its course, and it would fly faster and further away, until I wouldn’t be able to see it anymore.

Commonwealth of Souls, Five

2011-08-20T14:30:00.002-07:00

A Casual Encounter

It was just nine o’clock when the cab pulled up to my front door, and I was anything but sleepy. I felt a little anxious and decided to take a walk. It was a nice night. I wound up at a small pub only a few blocks from my place. Being Wednesday it was pretty quiet. There were two women playing pool—rather badly at that, so I put a quarter on the side rail near the corner pocket with a fair degree of certainty that I’d be winning the table shortly.

“How long have they been at it?” I asked the bartender.

“Oh, for a while now…not very good. They‘re just killing time. They‘re waiting for some friends to show up.”

“Oh, so we’re going to have a bevy of beauties to look at.”

“We can only hope.”

When their game was over I introduced myself as the next player. I decided to take them both on. I enjoy playing pool with women; there are no stakes and nothing to prove. The games are always void of tension, seriousness and snide remarks. We played two games and I won both times. After a while their friends showed up and they all began a game of darts. Kathryn, one of the women I was playing pool with, didn't like darts and opted to sit with me and have a drink.

“It was fun playing pool...although I'm not very good. You are great at it.” she said, smiling.

“I play a lot. What brings you out on a Wednesday?”

“My sister and I decided to get together with my cousin and her friends for the evening.”

“So, you don't like darts.”

“Oh, no! I hate darts. I’ll just watch them enjoy themselves and I’ll play some tunes on the juke box. I’ll play all my favorite songs until my quarters run out.”

We began talking about the music we enjoyed. The contemporary music Kathryn liked was not the same music that I listened to, or even cared for, but there was something in her manner when she was speaking about it. I was caught up in her enthusiasm, and as we talked further I discovered that we had quite a few things in common. We shared an appreciation for good literature. She spoke of Tolkein and Wodehouse; James Herriot and Arthur Conan Doyle. I talked about Hesse and Dostoyevski; Hunter S. Thompson and Hemmingway…authors Kathryn was aware of but had no abiding interest in. She was a very warm and friendly women. She listened intently when I was speaking and offered her own interpretations and thoughts, so that I knew she wasn’t only vaguely listening, but really interested in what I had to say. She was—or at least she seemed to be—interested in me, and wanted to know about my family; where I had gone to school, and in turn I was interested to know the very same things about her.

Time passed quickly. All the women who were playing darts were now saying their goodbyes and Kathryn's sister was anxious to leave. It was nearly midnight and each of us had to get up for work the next day. But I was having a good time for a change and didn't want the evening to end. Nevertheless it ended, and I had to be content with Kathryn's phone number and her assurance that she would love to have dinner with me. I thought about Kathryn all the next day and the day after. Then a week had gone by and I still hadn't called her. What was I waiting for?

Commonwealth of Souls, Six

2011-08-20T14:30:00.001-07:00

My Mother

I decided to go into Manhattan to see my mother. Her office recently moved to a new location and she has been spending a good portion of her days settling into her new surroundings. I can picture her now, arranging her furniture and mahogany bookcases, hanging her beloved paintings according to the sketch her interior designer had prepared for her—there is always an interior designer, and unpacking her leather bound books with the accustomed loving care—placing each one in its designated spot on the shelf. As at home, she arranges them in sections: first by the country, then by author, then by title.

When I arrived she was sitting behind her desk. It was early evening and she appeared to be staring at her sofa. There was a calm silence about her. Some have characterized my mother as being cold and uncompromising. I was once told by her partner that ‘your mom is quiet yet absolute in her dealings with her work associates, and a staunch, intimidating figure to her staff. Nevertheless, she is a fair woman of business who conducts herself in a professional manner at all times.’ I remembered every word of what he said because he always spoke so eloquently.

She was startled by my sudden appearance in the doorway.

“Mom, I’m sorry I scared you.” I said hastily, “I should have called.”

“I’m glad you’re here, John. You’re the first to see my new set-up.” She stood up and gave me a hug and a kiss. I felt a slight pounding of my heart as I remembered my dream. I felt close to crying. I did love this woman, but at times I couldn’t stand her. I composed myself.

“Is everything ok?” she sensed something and looked concerned.

“Oh, sure…all is well.” I changed the subject. “I had no idea you were so close to moving.” I looked around now to take in the layout of the office. “I like it a lot.”

I was genuinely pleased to see my mother in a good mood. My eyes caught sight of the sofa. It certainly was nice. If my mom taught me anything it was to appreciate the finer things in life, and we appeared to have the same taste in furniture.

“I had a feeling you would like this. Have a seat."

I sat down and she returned to her desk, which is where she seemed most comfortable, and where I was used to seeing her. On many occasions when I was small, I was thrust upon her during a business day; usually when the housekeeper was off and I was home from school. I was nearly thirteen years old before my mother felt at ease leaving me home alone, and even at that time she would try and coax me into spending the day with her by creating special tasks that only I could handle; telling me ‘you’re the only one I trust to do this, John.’ At first I was pleased that my mother thought so much of my capabilities, but then the realization that the work was boring surfaced and I refused to do any more time.

“What brings you into Manhattan?”

“There’s an old movie playing downtown that I want to see. It starts at eight forty-five, so I really can’t stay. Maybe you’d like to tag along.”

I knew she would not want to go. As a matter of fact she didn’t even ask me what film was playing. She never seemed to have any interest in movies. It was the opera she enjoyed—and ballet.

“No, thank you dear, I have to stay and finish up here. I want to be settled in completely so I can oversee the rest of the move tomorrow, but I would like to have dinner with you one night next week.”

“I think I can get in here next week. How’s Thursday, I’ll meet you here at seven.”

I dreaded having diner with my mother. We really didn‘t have a lot in common—not that it’s required by law to have things in common with your mother, but I wished that we had—other than our taste in furniture— a common thread; something to connect us on a permanent basis; something that would prompt the call to arms of ‘did you’ or “mom, guess what?” What would it take to peak her interest. What could I say that would generate a spark and take her away from this business world that she has encased herself in for all these years—even if only for a few minutes.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve met someone.” I blurted out.

I noticed an immediate change in her demeanor. I was right. All it took was the announcement of a possible love interest.

“When did this happen?” There was a definite spark there.

“I met her the other night.” I replied. “She was playing pool with her sister and I joined in. There is nothing much to tell, other than her name is Kathryn and I was very pleased to meet her. We seem to have a lot in common.”

“You met her in a bar?” she asked with unusual inquisitiveness.

“Yes, I did. Is there something wrong with that?” I was slightly irritated at the question.

“No, no, dear. I just thought that…never mind.”

I knew what my mother was going to say and I hated her reasoning on issues of social standing and refinement, that ‘nice girls can be met at church or in the library’. I always wondered about that Church part, since I had not once witnessed her going to Church, yet she would send me off every Sunday with a check for the basket.

“Mother, she’s a nice woman.” I emphasized. “Let us leave it at that.”

“I’m sure she is very nice. I’d like to meet her. You should bring her along to our dinner Thursday evening.”

“Mother, I just met the woman. I haven’t even asked her out on a date. It was just an exchange of phone numbers and a promise to give her a call one of these days.”

I certainly didn’t expect this kind of response. I was intending to contact Kathryn because quite frankly I hadn’t really stopped thinking about her since the other night. Maybe I'll give her a call tomorrow. We'll see.

Commonwealth of Souls, Seven

2011-08-20T14:29:00.000-07:00

The Little Dog

After leaving my mother I went to see an old Lionel Barrymore film and then home to one of the local pubs for few beers. I should have asked Kathryn to come along. She mentioned that she liked old movies, especially the old black and whites. I don’t know why I didn’t call her. I leaned back on my barstool in order to get a better look at the beautiful pair of legs that had just come through the door. My mind was a little hazy, but my eyes were just fine. The good news was that she had entered by herself; the bad news was my inability to make a good impression. If she had only come through the door a few hours earlier. It didn’t matter anyway. She was gone already. I heard the words 'flat' and 'I don’t have a jack' and saw an old man escort her out the door. I wished that I was sober enough to offer a helping hand. Opportunity never knocks at my door. But I was wrong; opportunity had knocked when I met Kathryn. She was friendly and attractive and I’ve been thinking about her every day.

The door burst open again and three bikers came in. This was my cue to go home, since I always felt intimidated by the bikers. I was also too drunk to distinguish them from the less formidable patrons if you know what I mean. I tipped the hat I did not even have on to the bartender and left for home, which was a half mile east from this bar; a mile west from last nights bar; and one block west, two blocks south from Wednesday night’s bar. I had been walking a lot lately. By the time I arrived at my front door I was feeling a little better. As I put the key in the lock of my front door I was startled by a rumbling noise behind me on the sidewalk. I turned around with every intention of having to fight someone off, but it was that little dog again.

“Damn, you would just think people would take care of their animals.”

I walked over to him slowly, speaking softly “Hey fella, what are you doing out so late?”

He rolled over on his back for me to rub his belly. “You’re a nice dog? Who do you belong to?”

He had no license or name tag on his collar. “Hey, would you like to spend the night with me? How about it, fella, you look like you could use some company. I know I could.”

I got up and patted my thigh “come on boy, lets go.” He followed me right up to my front door and sat panting and wagging his tale while I fumbled with the key, trying my best to keep quiet. “Shush now, you have to be quiet or my landlords will hear you. I don’t like them—and neither will you. Good thing they’re sleeping, isn’t it, fella?”

I think I got up the stare case and into my bedroom without my landlords hearing me. The first thing I did was to get a bowl to put water in. “You must be thirsty, boy.” The poor dog was thirsty. Then the thought occurred to me that he was a dog and not accustomed to using the bathroom. I put the morning’s news paper on the linoleum by the door just in case. “It’s OK, though, if you have an accident.” I told him, rubbing him behind the ear. "I’ve had a few myself.”

The little dog settled in very nicely, snuggling into the blanket I placed alongside my bed. The last thing I remembered was the dog jumping up on the bed and resting his face on my leg. I fell into a sound sleep.

Suddenly I was on the island with Martin and his friends. By this time I was starting to feel like a member of this community. It felt perfectly normal for me to be there; settling in as if it was a move that I had planned for. Martin and I were constructing the hut that would be my home. When evening came we ate our meal of soup and bread around an open fire. The people Martin had introduced me to were there and some others. I cannot remember what we were all talking about, but I remember it started to rain and I was laughing just before I woke up. Laughter I hear is good medicine. It felt good to laugh and it was at that moment I decided that I would call Kathryn, and later that evening I did just that.

Commonwealth of Souls, Eight

2011-08-20T14:28:00.000-07:00

A Theory of Probability, Kathryn's Memory

It was Friday evening and I was sitting with my landlord drinking a cup warm milk. I had been thinking about John a lot; this nice man that I had met at the bar the week before, and I was telling her all about him.

“What a nice smile he has. He reminds me of someone I cannot place right now. Did you ever meet someone and they remind you of someone but you can’t say exactly who?”

“Yes.” she said.

“I don’t know what it is about him, and I think he’s a good deal younger than I am, but you would never guess it if you spoke with him.”

“How many years? Age means nothing.” Linda said.

“About five I would say. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t called me yet and I don’t think he will.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they never call.”

“What an attitude.”

“But it’s Saturday night—he’s probably out with someone.”

“Or maybe not. You’re a little too anxious. In all probability he will call."

Linda is always a voice of reason and optimism. It was about six months ago that she and her husband accepted my application as tenant in their home. I have the basement apartment. Linda is very nice and her husband is also very nice. He’s a big rig driver so he’s off a lot. They have two children and a big orange cat named Cleo.

It was a short lived conversation since Linda was tired. She got up and took the cups to the sink. “I’ll do these tomorrow. It’s so quiet with the kids sleeping, so I think I’m going to bed to read. You go to bed too and try not to think too much about this guy. A watched pot never boils and a phone never rings if you stare at it.”

I sighed, “You’re right—do you mind if I take Cleo down to my apartment with me?”

“Of course not. Just remember in the morning that she’s with you and don‘t let her out accidentally.”

Cleo took a liking to me almost immediately after I moved in. She’s a very loving cat. I never had a cat and I think now I will always like them. She curled up beside me in bed. What a comfortable feeling it is to have a cat purring away beside me while I read. The warm milk was having an effect on me too and my eyes started to close. I was very much at ease now and Linda’s words to me...in all probability he will call; a watched pot never boils; if a phone rings in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound—no that wasn’t it—it’s a phone that never rings if you stare at it. All these words were beginning to fade into sleep when the phone actually did ring. It was John.

I was so happy to hear his voice. We talked for at least an hour about anything and everything.

“Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?”

“I don’t think I have anything planned…” I said, not wanting to sound too desperate. “No, I don’t have anything going on, so yes, I would love to.”

After we ended our phone conversation I turned over, wrapped my arms around Cleo and kissed her little head. “What a little lucky charm you turned out to be tonight.”

Commonwealth of Souls, Nine

2011-08-14T10:59:00.000-07:00

The Village

Kathryn and I had dinner in a quiet restaurant and afterward walked through Washington Square park. “I feel as though I belong here. I’m not much of a suburbanite. Someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll have a small studio apartment here.”

“You’d live in the city?”

“In a heart beat!”

“I feel very out of place in the city. I don’t know why. It’s hard to explain.”

“I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Oh yes. I’m having a great time with you. But I don’t think I could have a steady diet of this place. It depresses me a little. Look at that man on the bench.”

I looked over and saw the man she was talking about, dressed in filthy rags lying on a bench, newspapers over him for warmth. Then I saw another poor soul staggering around with a brown bagged beverage having an argument with himself.”

“You see.” Kathryn said, nodding her head in his direction. “That’s what I’m talking about. I couldn’t look at that on a regular basis. It depresses me.”

“That’s because you’re not used to it. Besides they're just people who have fallen on some hard times. I don’t even notice things like that anymore.”

“How could you not notice it?”

“OK I notice it, but I don’t dwell on it—look over there for instance.” I pointed out the well dressed couple walking their dog. “Normal people. If you stop looking at the wine-o you’ll notice more of what is right about this place.”

“Your right.” Kathryn changed the subject. “Nice retriever!”

“You like dogs?”

“Oh yes! My landlord has a cat named Cleo. She‘s a great cat and always sleeps with me. But I‘ve always had dogs when I was growing up. I love them.”

“I think I just adopted one.”

“Nice!”

“He was a stray I kept seeing in front of my apartment and I finally took him in. I was a little drunk at the time. I still can’t believe I got him upstairs without my landlords hearing. He’s quiet, too. He didn’t bark; just licked me in the face when he wanted me out of bed.”

"What kind of dog is he?"

“Who knows…some kind of mix…looks like a terrier?”

“Do you think he belongs to someone in your neighborhood?”

“Maybe so, but not anymore. He‘s mine.”

Kathryn put her hand in mine and smiled affirmatively. "That's what happens when you leave your dog loose...a more deserving person finds him."

We had a great time in the city. When we got back home we stopped in at the bar where we had first met. There was no one there except the bartender, but you could tell there had been some goings on. The smell of beer was so strong that I nearly gagged. I was a bit claustrophobic too after spending most of the evening in the park, and we really should have called it a night. I didn’t want the night to end though and I think that Kathryn felt the same. Nothing could wipe the smile off my face. I felt like a puppy who was finally taken home to a safe, warm house. No, not at all like a puppy, more like an adult dog, like my new dog, who had been left to fend for himself more times than he could count; by various owners who had tried and failed to live with him; a dog who had been misunderstood and at times abused. This is the dog I felt like. If I had a tail it would be wagging.

Commonwealth of Souls, Chapter 2, Parts One and Two

2011-08-14T10:58:00.000-07:00

Part One, Ben's Life

The train is running late this morning; nothing to get upset about. There are some who take it in stride; then there are some who pace back and forth, looking at their wrist watches and cursing under their breaths. I don’t know what all the fuss is. So you’re a few minutes late for work; the world’s not going to end. As a matter of fact it’s a beautiful morning, so I myself will sit back and enjoy the fresh air and have a quick day dream. There’s nothing worse for the blood pressure than fussing and pacing. Here comes the train now.

“Hey, Ben…how’ya doing?” my friend Bill’s usual greeting as I take my favorite seat by the window.

“Good…good. How’s your kid…still sick?”

“No…cold is over and back to school…though he’s not happy about it; got used to his mom waiting on him hand a foot the last few days.”

I enjoy Bill’s company on the ride into work. He lives in the town next to me and works in the city like I do; works in the stock market down on Wall Street. I’m a janitor uptown; miles apart in proximity to one another as well as professionally. Nice guy he is.

“We finally sold the house, Ben.”

“Wow, that’s good Bill…how long you got?”

“Our closing is next month; then it’s off to historic Richmond Town…let me tell’ya Ben it will be a pleasure taking that ferry instead of the railroad.”

“Not to mention cheaper—how’s the market been.”

“The bulls have been fighting with the bears this week, Ben.”

As a matter of course I always ask Bill how the market’s been and he’ll go into this story and I’ll not understand too much, but I try. Mostly it’s out of courtesy because he always asks me about my job, but I don’t have any money in the stock market so I don’t care whether it’s up or down. He often tells me he envies me. I say it’s one thing to worry about your own money and it’s another to have to worry about someone else’s money, so I don’t envy him, and he says Amen to that too since it’s caused him some deep concern over the years and a lot of gray hairs.

“As soon as we’re settled you have to come out and see us. By that time I’m sure I’ll be missing our morning rides and your good advise.”
“I’ll do that.”

Bill’s offer is genuine, though I can’t see myself making the trip any time soon. With my job and my weekends full up with family I know I won’t have the opportunity. I got a son who will be graduating college in June; a daughter getting married a few weeks later; and another daughter who is disabled and who needs a lot of her dad’s attention on a regular basis. She is currently living at home, but I’m working with social services to find her a group home. Her classes in that special education program have done wonders for her in many ways; her self-confidence first and foremost. It was hard on all of us after Hattie (my wife) passed, but especially it was hard on my daughter Sadie. It’s been five years and this school she’s at is one of the best decisions I wound up making for her. When Hattie was alive it was easy going because she took good care of our Sadie. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the same with work; can’t take care of a disabled child while you’re working the hours to put another through college. I’ve been truly blessed though. I got great kids. Hattie saw to that too—not that I didn’t help, but she was mostly there and I was mostly here in the city working the hours.

The train pulled into the station. Bill and I said our farewells till tomorrow. Bill went for his subway downtown and I walked my city block to work. I like my job well enough. I've been in this building emptying the trash and mopping the floors and inspecting the grounds and whatnot for forty years next month. I don't do as much cleaning as I used to since I was promoted to manager five years ago, but I don't mind telling anyone who will listen that I know how to keep a room looking spotless clean. I choose to live my life the same way.

Commonwealth of Souls, Two

2011-08-14T10:56:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth's Conversation with Bob Kramer

About this woman John has met. I should have taken him up on his offer to go to the movies when he was here last Thursday. I do not spend enough time with my son. I do not even know what is going on in his life right now. He keeps his distance. What was her name? Kathryn I think he said. I want to meet her. Is this excitement that I am feeling right now? I have not felt this way in a long time. I am looking forward to our dinner tonight.

“Elizabeth.” My assistant whispered to me, knocking quietly at the door.

“Yes Karen.”

“Mr. Kramer is on his way down the hall…I thought you’d want to know.”

“Oh, yes…thank you Karen. Close my door on the way out.” Karen smiled and winked an eye. I sat down and waited.

I wanted Karen to close the door because it never ceases to amaze me how he barges in without knocking. Karen always warns me that he is coming and I always close the door just to watch him do this. It is ridiculous, I know, but we get a kick out of it. Bob Kramer is a very discourteous man. More than one of our employees has commented to me about his manner; that he does not even say good morning or good evening to anyone; they say ‘it’s almost as if we don’t exist, Mrs. Carroll.’

“Elizabeth, we can hold this off no longer. A decision has to be made.” Bob blurted out while barging in and walking toward my desk. I knew what he was going to say.

“Bob, can it not wait another month or so. I do not relish letting people go right before the holiday season.”

“Elizabeth it cannot be helped. These cuts are necessary.”

“I know. I know. But you are not the one who has to sit in front of your trusted employees and give them the news and then the why’s and the wherefores of being laid off.”

Over the years there have been days like this. Bob would sit with me and go over the list of employees and we would decide who was going to be let go. It is never easy for me. For Bob it is a necessary part and parcel of his business at times, and he does not seem to be bothered by it. You hire when times are good and you fire when the ink threatens to turn red.

“Here is a list of names. I need five off that list.”

He handed me his legal yellow pad on which he had written ten names listed alphabetically in the left hand column and their corresponding salaries on the right.

“What is this asterisk next to Ben?” I pointed out.

“I was coming to that.”

I did not like the sound of his voice. “And…”

“I’m afraid Ben’s termination is not negotiable.”

I felt the anger build up inside of me, but I kept my composure. It never paid to become angry at Bob because it only made him more determined. He does not like his choices questioned—not even by me, and I am his partner.

“May I ask why Ben is not negotiable?”

“Of course. He has been with us this company for almost forty years and he is nearing retirement. He is already fully vested and will receive his full pension when he is of age. If he wasn’t fully vested his name would not even be on the list—you know that.” Bob was crude, though not heartless.

“But he needs the money, Bob. His daughter is getting married; he has already laid out a lot of money for that; he has a handicapped daughter he takes care of and he has—without the help of a working spouse mind you—succeeded in putting his son through college.”

“I know all these things as well as you do. There is no need to go down this road with me. It cannot be helped. He makes too much money. We can hire someone for his position who will be considered entry level and will make much less—when you go over the figures you will see that I am right about this.”

We were both silent while I looked at the figures on the page. Bob watched me closely waiting for my response and then went on. “He is nearing sixty-five Elizabeth and will be eligible for Medicare. Until that time he will remain on our plan. He is going to get a good severance package as well.”

I looked up from the desk and directly at Bob. “I cannot argue with the figures Bob, but allow me to be upset by the timing.”

Bob became serious and softened his voice. “Each person chosen on that list for termination will receive a generous severance package and will be eligible for unemployment benefits. With the exception of Ben they are all young and will find work in the blink of an eye. They are all fine employees, Elizabeth, and will receive excellent letters of recommendation—and Ben’s will be the best.”

My sigh was long and sorrowful. “Let me have today to look at the rest of the names on the list. I will have the other four names to you by tomorrow.”

On his way out Bob turned and spoke again. “Will we have lunch later?”

“Actually, no. I am having dinner with my son this evening and will be leaving the office early.”

Bob smiled…“Give him my best.”

Bob is very fond of my son; has been since John was a child. After my husband died Bob became involved as any uncle would. He took John to ball games and was there to answer the boy questions that I could not. ‘I have to pick up where John Senior left off’ he told me— Bob was also very fond of my husband.

From early on Bob and I had a practical relationship of business and we got on well together. His accounting expertise and my business management experience laid the foundation for a long and successful career in building operations and management. I was out of college and working three years when Bob offered me a partnership. He was impressed with my no-nonsense leadership. I was impressed with his analytical and mathematical expertise. I knew how to run a business and he knew how to keep it solvent. In this case here today, keeping it solvent means making the tough decisions no matter how much it may hurt.

Commonwealth of Souls - John Carroll's Life

2011-08-04T23:54:00.000-07:00

"I am a man of many colors; passionate about every aspect of my life: good books, film noir; my extra curricular activity, drinking, which I do well above all else. I am a perfectionist and very demanding, yet my bark is worse than my bite. I am an introvert and a scholar, yet I see this life of mine - being here - as a failure. I have had many disappointments so I do not trust so willingly, but my heart aches for someone to love, and someone to love me."

Commonwealth of Souls - Kathryn's Life

2011-08-04T23:50:00.000-07:00

"I am a dreamer and my mind sometimes wanders. I day dream when I’m bored mostly, or when another soul tests my patience. I can turn on this dream world like a faucet when I’m thirsty. It’s my way of taking control. I imagine ways to make alliances out of adversaries; ways of solving the world’s problems; ways of shedding light on a situation at hand so that it can be seen more clearly. I imagine these things because I am too bashful to speak up. My power seems to be in my pen. The thoughts in my head that have been provoked by circumstance I cannot always voice clearly, though they may show in my countenance. But I can write them well. If I write it all down and they read it then they will know the sum of my thoughts; they will see the sunshine I have created. They will feel the rain produced by my tears. They will taste my wine and they will hear the child in my heart sing. And, if I write it well enough, they will reach out and touch me, and they will know that being here is a privilege not to be taken lightly."

Commonwealth of Souls - John Carroll Sr's Life

2011-08-04T11:46:00.000-07:00

“During my most recent lifetime I was a husband and a father. I recall loving my family dearly. My wife was—if I may be facetious—my Lord on earth, and my protector. She was strong, opinionated and successful. Yet, there was a sadness in her countenance that weighed her down. This sadness, brought to life by the death of our daughter, preyed on my consciousness and threatened my own efforts to let go. This sadness was still present in her after the birth of our son, and I would attempt to throw a wrench into its continuity by my oft-times comedic nature. This abiding effort got me no more than an apprehensive smile and seven syllables: 'you are a fool, John Carroll'.

“It was good that I married her. She provided for the household a lot better than I ever would have had I lived a little longer. In my youth I graduated with honors and became pretty successful in my own right. But I ruined it all by bowing to the bottle. This thing called alcohol—this liquid sustenance for my thriving dependency, became more important than anything else in my life. And it’s a shame, too, because I had so much to live for and to offer in terms of my heart and soul, especially to my son.

“But I believe I was successful in helping to create a good boy. I have observed that he has a good heart. I always made sure I had time for him while I was there. I listened to his stories. I laughed with him and I cried with him. I offered my opinions when asked for to the best of my ability. My only regret is that I may have instilled in my son the passion for the drink. I hope he realizes that is what killed me.”

Commonwealth of Souls - Elizabeth Carroll's Life

2011-08-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

"I am a very diligent soul. Each day I occupy my time with serious matters—always at the expense of the fun-times offered to me by others, which I decline to take part in. Fun is something I may have had when I was a youngster, and being here was not such a serious matter. I really cannot recall.

"I am blessed with the spirit of a son in this life. He lives in my heart. But there is an earthly distance between us that I maintain for my own sake; for I was also blessed with the spirit of a daughter before him. Her spirit was called back to heaven upon meeting her new life and my heart broke. My son carries me forward from one day to the next. Within this casing of our mother/son relationship I experience, now and then, a feeling that I may lose him at any given moment. So I struggle to keep a safe distance between us. For I know that if I did not; if I would covet him and smother him with my motherly fears and if I should lose him, I would surely die myself. "

Commonwealth of Souls - Martin's Life

2011-08-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

"I come from a very wealthy family. My grandfather worked hard to make the fortune that my father and I call our own. My father works hard too, but he didn’t get his hands dirty with soil like my grandfather did. No, dad got his hands dirty via the occasional shrewd business dealings that were put into place for the good of the company. These business transactions were not illegal, they were merely a means to an end; and to that end dad always works hard. The business eventually took its toll on me. I could not keep up the pace. After all, I was pretty much forced into the business by my father. I really wanted to be something else—anything else! So I left the company and my father is carrying on without me now. I’m doing construction work for half the money, but I’m happy. I have no animosity toward my father. He’s just a man with a business to run. As fathers go he is good. He never treated me like a child; talked down to me or anything of that sort.

"As for Mom, she wasn’t around that often because of her career as a lawyer, but the time she spent with me during those off hours was quality time; picnics in the park; movies; Broadway—great stuff when you’re a kid.

"Every year until I was twelve I had huge birthday parties with all my friends. On my seventh birthday I remember a backyard filled with balloons; a picnic table strewn with paper plates and cake and soda, goodie baskets, pointed party hats; and my father being dragged into the yard by my birthday present and immediate best friend, Buster the dog. I remember every syllable of our family discussion aboout the responsibility of taking care of a dog. Those were good times. So why, with a childhood like that, did I become an alcoholic slash drug addict?"

Commonwealth of Souls - Kenny's Life

2011-08-04T00:54:00.000-07:00

"I am constantly searching. Sometimes I think God put me here so that I could clue people in on the meaning of life—once I’ve discovered it. I’ve been in school since I was four, and I have never worked a day in my life. I am fortunate though, because I have rich parents, and being here has been mostly a comfortable experience. My parents indulge my every whim. But I am not spoiled. I was not the type of kid who constantly asked for things. I saw no value in the objects of desire other kids fawned over. I am not materialistic. I only see value in learning. I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge that can only be quenched by persistent study, which includes interaction with my fellow man—which is why you may often find me at the corner bar. But I do not drink. I will never, willingly, let anything dull my senses. ."

Commonwealth of Souls - Ben's Life

2011-08-04T00:08:00.001-07:00

"I never complain about work. I live for it and would rather die than be idle. Idleness is for the end of the day when the bones in this body ache and the mind is weary from a hard day’s work. How else could I get a good night’s sleep? I do get my eight hours every day. And when I wake I greet the new day with a smile. I have a kind heart and a peaceful disposition. If you chance to meet me you may be compelled to stop rushing; never mind that you have important things to take care of. I will not permit a hasty good morning, nor will I bid you a quick goodnight.

I am well acquainted with humble gratitude and I possess a steadfast willingness to be happy. Happy is what a soul is because it wants to be, not merely a feeling brought about by unexpected good fortune, or a feeling contingent upon everything going your way. I am self confident and I live each day to the fullest. I am most certain that God will take care of me, and I will accept, without question, any misfortune that comes my way. After a quiet repose to contemplate the situation, or the grieve if that is the case, I just let go and let God. ."

A Heart Left Closed

2011-07-02T11:59:00.001-07:00

I never thought I'd feel this way again.
At first you were a game to me; a whim
And I was lonely
So tired of spending time alone
And pretending to be happy all the time.

I was careful
Afraid of what might happen to me
if I let go
Opening my heart to someone new
never presented itself as a thing to do
And I was certain—so certain
that a heart left closed could feel no pain.

Beyond the sadness and the rain
I sensed your love coming my way
It brushed away the silent tears
Left by a love of many years
You put the song back in my heart
I never thought the days would start
when I'd be caring once again
A heart left closed can never mend.

by Christine Young 1983

A Family Reunion

2011-06-19T12:03:00.000-07:00

These are just two of the photo's my cousin Teddy's wife, Chris, took at our recent family reunion. She did a spectacular job and I cannot wait to see the rest of them. It was a very special day for my mom, as she had not seen her nephew in over 30 years. I hadn't seen Teddy in over 35 years and we were all looking forward to meeting Chris. We were friends on Facebook, but it was so nice to finally meet her in person. She is very special and both Teddy and Chris were the life of the party. The pleasures of this day exceeded our expectations. My only regret is that my dad and my Aunt Lee (my mom's sister), who had both passed away a few years ago, were not there with us enjoying the reunion. As for my mom, she was beaming with happiness and pride, and hugging her nephew was like hugging her sister too.

Happy Birthday Honey

2011-03-06T12:36:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is my hubby's birthday and I have to tell you he is just the best husband a girl could have...not only because he cooks my dinner and cleans the house and does the finances and gives the cats their pills every day, but because he supports me in every way that counts. So today I'm wishing him a happy birthday and I'm telling the world...or at least just my Facebook friends...how wonderful he is.

It's Been A While

2011-03-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

I haven't blogged in my blog for ages. Let me see, I broke my ankle in September and my moods for a few months after that time were mostly bad. I didn't know it, of course, but I imagine if you ask anyone I work with they'll tell you how erratic my behavior was. I am only now starting to be happy, which coincides with springtime being just around the corner.

Having A Broken Ankle

2010-10-30T06:19:00.000-07:00

On the Saturday morning of September 4th, I was walking with my mother in the park. I twisted my ankle and fell. To make an otherwise long story short it was indeed broken. I was out of work for nearly 7 weeks and that was hell. During this time period I watched the 3rd season of Lark Rise to Candelford, many of my favorite old B&W movies, and the entire 6 seasons of Star Trek Voyager (one right after the other).

I went back to work on October 13th with a walker and a cane, and later, when the walker was starting to be a pain in the ass, I switched to crutches. Yesterday I was told by my orthopedic doctor that I could start putting my full weight on the foot, using only 1 crutch and eventually walking without the crutch. Let me tell you it still hurts like hell. My heel is what hurts the most. It took me nearly 15 painful minutes to get from my desk at work to my car in the parking deck, which usually only takes 3 minutes. I start physical therapy next Thursday. The moral of this unenthusiastic story is watch every step you take!

Parsonage Place

2010-06-08T06:43:00.000-07:00

This past weekend my sisters and I took a road trip to Long Island with my mom. Our primary purpose was to visit the house she grew up in the 20s. Her hope all along was that the current owners would be home and she would be able to see the back yard (the canal) where she played as a child.

When we got there we weren't sure of which house it was. We had an old photo that my Uncle Russell had taken of the house in the 1980s. We parked the car at the end of the canal and walked up the street looking at all the homes carefully. "The numbers must have changed" my mom said.

We proceeded to look at two homes in particular that had the chimneys in front. Then we spotted it. It was the house with the chimney but it also had the garage. The other house did not have the garage.

So, the four of us are outside this house on the street looking around while the woman in the back yard and her neighbor in the next yard are looking at us curiously. My sister said to them "don't mind us, we're just looking around" and I added, so they wouldn't think we were nuts, that "my mom grew up in this house". With that, the woman and her neighbor took one look at my mom and raced out to the front yard to meet her. What a special treat it was for my mom to be so welcomed. A few minutes later the woman's husband came home and we introduced ourselves to him also.

What a nice couple. I think they were more excited to meet my mom than she was to meet them. They had so many questions about their home. They had been able to trace the home's construction back to 1923 and no further, and my mom was able to confirm that, since she moved in with her family when she was four years old (1924) right after it was first built.

They invited us in to see the home and to show my mom the additions that were put on over the years (it was originally just a tiny cottage size home). We went out onto the back deck to finally see the canal my mom had told us about all during the years we were growing up. The canal that she and her sister and brothers had swam in and fished in and had so much fun in. Then we all took photos and promised to exchange via e-mail when they are all processed. My mom also promised that she'd try to find some old photos from way-back-when and make copies for them.

It was time to leave and we all said goodbye with smiles on our faces. The biggest smile was on my mom's face. It is a visit she will never forget.

The Surprise Visit

2010-05-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

Today was a very good day. I had a surprise visit from my cousin Nancy and her husband Tommy (and dog Maddie) this morning. Ray didn't tell me. They called last Wednesday and said they were taking a little road trip to see us and Tommy's sister in Delaware. Ray said that he'd keep their visit a secret to surprise me. I certainly was surprised. At first I thought we were going out to a special breakfast, but when I asked him this morninig if we'd be walking anywhere (I had to know which shoes to wear) he said "who said we're leaving the house?" That prompted me to think right away that yes, this was some kind of surprise visit, but who? He said "just be ready at the front door at 9:00 a.m." I said to myself "it couldn't be Diane and Peter because they wouldn't even be up this early. But it could be Debbie and Mike and it could also be Nancy and Tommy".

9:00 am came and a car pulled up. I went out to the driveway to find Nancy, Tommy and Maddie in their SUV. What a sight for sore eyes. It was so good to see them today. We had a really nice breakfast and Nancy helped me set up Skype on my computer. Then we called Carolann and I could see her on my computer screen and she was there with Bonnie and it was so good to see them. Now I'm skype ready and all I have to do is get Diane's house on skype and then Kelly and John and Eileen and Gus. Then we can chat and talk on the video call instead of on the phone. It will be fantastic.

The 7

2010-05-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

So, once again I have decided to tackle the exam that has defeated me 3 times prior...the Series 7. What made me decide to take the test again? I have no idea. I was sitting in our staff meeting minding my own business when Anita asked each of us if we had anything to discuss. And, almost as if I was taken outside of my body and watching from above, I witnessed myself say "yes”, blurting out that I thought I would be a more productive member of the staff if I was registered. In the registered capacity I would be able to assist Anita with those tasks that I cannot now perform. What they are exactly I don’t know, but I’m sure there are a whole bunch of things that I can do. Anita is quite bogged down at the moment.

Well, now that the subject was raised I had to elaborate. I asked if it was feasible for me, at the advanced age of 59 and three-quarters, to begin studying and to take the test again. Everyone was in agreement that I should try it and “what would I have to lose”…certainly not my job; that dreaded outcome, if having failed, only applies to those who are in the trainee program to become financial advisors.

Immediately upon returning to our designated places of workship, Anita proceeded to set me up. I’ll be studying all summer. I’m kind of excited about it. I’m getting new books and everything.

Creative Juices

2010-04-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

I have had the most non-productive day. I didn’t even go to church today. I just could not get out of the house. I’ve been so burned out from work for so long that I needed this day to wind down. I’ve been on the computer most of the day. I’ve revisited MySpace and Navworks, wrote two short poems on the spot and found a new friend. I did a little laundry, made a pot of coffee and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and proceeded to pop in my Star Trek Voyager DVD (Season 3). Voyager, and all my other Star Trek DVD’s, I consider my thoroughfare to the past. This road brings me back to Lindenhurst on Long Island and into my old house and the cozy TV room where I would sit and watch all my favorite programs in the evening after a hard-days work with my beloved Benji curled up on the floor close by and my husband next to me on the sofa.

These were my younger days when I had more energy. I worked a full time job and still had the energy to be at choir rehearsal on Tuesday evenings and at karate class Thursdays and Saturdays. There were concerts and caroling at Christmas time, karate seminars and bike riding and the occasional girl's night out with my friends. All this I remember so fondly and vividly as if it happened only yesterday.

But I’ve finished revisiting the old days. I’m on my lap top in the dining room now and this is where I will remain until dinner is ready. I don’t have much else to say other than I have to go back to work tomorrow and all the creative juices that I had mustered up this morning, so vibrant and full of life as they were, have faded into nothingness. This is the nothingness I feel every Sunday evening just knowing I have to go through another week in my alternate universe. The place where creativity does not exist..

My IPod

2010-03-20T13:35:00.000-07:00

So I've had this great little iPod shuffle in my possession, in it's original packaging—never opened—for 2 years. I never opened it because quite frankly I didn't know how to use it. The iPod was a gift from our branch manager at work. We all received one. I remember seeing the faces of the young people when they opened it...you would have thought they opened a box and found gold. I opened mine and said "wow...this is...great?"

Today I finally learned how to use it. I had to download iTunes first. That was an experience. The problem with me downloading software is that I never know if I'm doing something right or wrong. I finally got it together though and now I have all this great music on my iPod. I have a splendid schuffle of Moviola (John Barry), hors de prix, a film score by DePierre Salvadori (belongs to hubby) and The Last Waltz, and if you don't know about The Last Waltz and the last major concert honoring The Band, then I feel sorry for you. As a matter of fact I'm listening right now to Manchild (Muddy Waters) while I'm posting on my blog, and, as long as we're on the subject, I'd like to recommend the DVD (The Last Waltz).

Anyway, to make an already long and boring story short, I love my new (old) iPod Schuffle.

Blowing a Gale

2010-03-13T05:11:00.000-08:00

March 13, 2010

It’s raining and blowing a gale outside. We were suppose to drive to Mt. Airy today for my mom’s 90th birthday celebration. My sister Eileen and my brother-in-law Gus are there from S. Carolina and my sister, Diane and my brother-in-law Peter and all the kids are going to be there (they live across the street from my mom). Anyway, Diane is making Lasagna. I was so looking forward to this little get-together because it’s not often that my mom has her 3 daughters and sons-in-law in the same room. My goodness there must be winds blowing at 40 mph out there and branches flying across my back lawn. I suppose that trying to drive in this weather and subsequently perishing on I-70 East would make for a lousy birthday present for my mom.

I just put on another pot of coffee and I’m sitting here on my lap top writing. My husband is running around feeding our cats. Polly is very finicky. Each day she has a preference as to what food she’ll eat. Unfortunately, she cannot verbalize this preference, so my husband opens up one can that our other cat Tommie has no problem with, and then finds that Polly won’t eat it. Then he opens another can of the food she didn’t like two days ago and she laps it right up. He’s complaining about the fact that we’re going through cat food like water and it’s starting to cost a lot of money. But he loves his little girls and money is no object.

Last week I told my husband that I thought we should bring Polly to the vet because she’s still too thin and hasn’t been gaining any weight. He thought I was over-reacting, since Polly had just been to the vet less than a month ago and the vet said she was fine. Well, I told him that I didn’t think she was fine and that she needs a blood test to check her thyroid. So he made an appointment and brought her in last Monday. When I got home he told me the vet examined Polly again and that from appearances Polly looked good. Her coat is beautiful. Her eyes are clear. Her ears are good and she didn’t have any lumps or bruises anywhere to speak of. The blood work they could do there at the vet’s office was perfect—no elevated levels of anything. However, the thyroid test had to be sent out to the lab and we’d have to wait for that. I told him “mark my words, there is something going on with that cat.” Sure enough on Wednesday the vet called and Polly has Hyper Thyroid ISM and needs the medication Tapazole, which is the same medication Tommie is on for the same thing. The vet said to him: “tell your wife…good call”. The moral of this story: never second guess the mommy.

My Husband's Birthday

2010-03-07T11:49:00.000-08:00

Today is my husband’s birthday. I was awake at 5:00 am and got up to put Mrs. Smith’s apple pie in the oven. It was so nice of her to prepare it for me since I don’t do pies. Originally I bought it for tonight’s after dinner dessert. But yesterday he told me that he would rather have it with his morning coffee. It’s a special occasion, so that was fine. It’s his birthday and if that’s what he wants, that’s what he gets.

While the pie was in the oven I got the coffee ready and then I cleaned the litter boxes (he usually does that). I was hoping he’d sleep through all this commotion so I could surprise him with everything being ready and all, but he got up. I gave him a happy b-day kiss and told him to go back to bed. But he didn’t. He proceeded with his morning routine of refreshing Tomasina and Pollyanna’s water dishes (our cats) and getting their breakfast ready.

When the pie was done we had to let it sit for 30 minutes. So we sat and had our 1st cup of coffee and watched the spring is almost here sun come up. We talked about the movie we had seen last night, The Hurt Locker. It’s up for an academy award so he wanted to see it before the Oscar ceremony tonight. The Academy Award ceremony is to my husband what the Super Bowl is to my brother-in-law. He’ll watch it from beginning to end. Now tonight should be interesting since he’s not a big fan of Alec Baldwin, and Alec Baldwin is hosting it with Steve Martin. But, he’ll watch it anyway. As for me I like Alec Baldwin. He went to my high school and as my brother-in-law tells it hung around with his younger brother, Jimmy, way back when. I wouldn't know because I was 6 years older than Alec Baldwin and already graduated high school before he even got there. We all grew up in Massapequa on Long Island.

Anyway, getting back to The Hurt Locker. It was good but depressing. It wasn’t the best war movie I’ve seen, but it did make me think of how insane this war is and wonder why we’re even over there fighting. It would be nice if the folks in the Middle East fought their own battles. I have a gut feeling it’s all about the oil anyway. But who am I to say whether the war is wrong or right. What do I really know about anything. I only have my opinion for what it’s worth, and unless my opinion is educated (in this case politically) and informed (following the news reports) it’s worth squat. What I do know is that our soldiers are heroes and I can’t wait for all of them to come home where it’s safe.

The movie my husband really liked this year was Inglorious Bastards. It is certainly a memorable movie. I liked it but was stunned by it as well. I found it very violent and I’m not a big fan of violent movies. I’m more of a science fiction, fantasy, romantic comedy and old black and white movie person. Anyway, he really liked Inglorious Bastards and has seen it 3 or 4 times already. And I can recall the word masterpiece coming out of his mouth when talking about it. I know he’ll be rooting for it to win best picture.

After our apple pie breakfast we took a nice long walk. Then I went to church and hubby stayed home. It’s 2:36 pm now and in one-half our I have to start dinner. I don’t usually cook, but I’m cooking today because it’s a special birthday dinner. Chow Mien. But before I go and do that I have to finish and post this blog entry. I’m going to try to post one every weekend. After all, why have a blog if you’re not going to spend time in there.

Check out this great MSN Video: Adorable Baby Animals

2010-03-06T04:11:00.000-08:00

Check out this great MSN Video: Adorable Baby Animals

All Little Girls

2010-02-20T12:13:00.000-08:00

My mom will be ninety years old soon. Thankfully she still enjoys good health and wits in keeping with her age. She still lives in the house she and my dad bought across the street from my sister and her family. My dad passed away in August of 2009. She misses him terribly. We all do.

Mom enjoys playing cards with my sister and I and her granddaughters, my nieces. We are a loud bunch and always have a good time. There is a grandson, my nephew, but he's always out and about and probably wouldn't be caught dead playing cards with a bunch of women. They are all young adults (my sister's offspring), the youngest being in her first year at Towson University in Maryland. We are very proud of her. But I digress.

Since my nieces would have to be taught how to play poker, we opt for playing UNO, which is not a big favorite of mine, but I put up with it. My mom enjoys any card game as long as she's surrounded by those she loves. But if it's just me and my sister and our husbands, we opt for penny anti poker. That is my game of choice. Anything else would be tiresome as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, the reason I'm telling you all this is for no specific reason, other than to paint a picture of our immediate family life with my mom. I had other things on my mind to say here, but I was distracted because my husband could not find one of our two cats and was searching frantically. We finally found her in my sock drawer and how she got in we'll never know, but I'm back now with no memory of what I wanted to add to this missive.

So my main purpose in this little diatribe is to introduce one of my mother's poems from way-back-when. It is a favorite of mine. She wrote it when I was thirteen years old and when her first granddaughter was born. This niece is the first born offspring of my other sister (I have only two) who has yet to be mentioned here because she and my other brother-in-law have chosen to retire eight hours away from the aforementioned card game.

To My First Little Granddaughter, Kim

A little bit of heaven fell from out the sky one day,
And it landed in my living room, just a smile away.
It nestled on the sofa in a blanket soft as down
And I peeked and saw an angel in a tiny satin gown.
Her cheeks were red as roses, her eyes as blue as the sky,
With a tiny little pug nose and a smile you couldn't buy.
She took the household over and reigned just like a queen,
This tiny little angel, this lovely little dream.
A precious little bundle sent from the sky above
For her mommy and her daddy to cherish and to love.

Then there was this one...another favorite:

All little girls love the same little things,.
The same little bracelets, the same little rings,
The same little puppies and the same little cats,
Stick out slips, pony tales and the same pretty hats.

All little girls have the same little sighs,
The same little twinkle in their cute little eyes,
The same little tempers, the same little schemes,
and the same little angels in their sweet little dreams.

All little girls know the same little things,
How to walk in high heels, how to ride on the swings,
How to cuddle a doll and pretend that's it real,
How to flirt, how to pout, how to giggle and squeal.

All little girls are the same little things,
Enchanting and lovely, like a butterfly's wings,
Charming, delightful, a treasure to hold,
Because God made them all from the same little mold.

Poetry by Lydia Louise Gifford
Copyright 1963-2010