Up Where The Air Is Clear

Look up.

I constantly remind myself to stop and look up.  We all miss a lot of good stuff by staying at ground level.  All the interesting stuff is up there above the ground.  We can see things that are long missing from modern buildings.

Yesterday was a gorgeous day for a walk.  It was cool, but not cold, and the sun was out a good portion of the day.  It was a perfect day to leave the house and explore, a perfect day to breathe deeply and look around.

 My town is a great town to walk.  It’s an old seaport that still functions (barely) as a working waterfront, but has become more trendy. Like most seaports, there are a lot of interesting buildings.  Lots of brick, but some with  stone facades.  There are modern skyscrapers built within the last twenty years.  Can refer to a building as a skyscraper if it’s twenty floors orless?  The best walking is in a section of town called the Old Port.  There are cobblestone streets and brick sidewalks.  The buildings in the Old Port once housed merchants’ shops and warehouses.  Now,  it is the biggest tourist attraction in town.  There are plenty of places to shop or get a coffee.  There are harbor tours and ferries to the outer islands in the bay.  If you’re hungry, there are restaurants serving everything from pizza to seafood.  Our cruise boat season came to a close yesterday, and it was estimated that each passenger contributed between $50 – $100 to our economy.  Lots of people like to spend time in the Old Port.

I was walking downtown about 4-5 months ago and I happened to look up to study a building on Congress St.  There are some interesting buildings there, but I know nothing about architecture.  I only know what is pleasing to my eye.  My friend The Squire is a huge fan of Portland architecture.  He would make a great tourguide. 

I’m standing across the street from this particular buiding, and I notice that it  has an art deco facade.  I didn’t think there were any examples of art deco in my town, which is why I had never noticed this building before.  I remember The Squire mentioning it at some point during a visit.  

I stood there, contemplating this building, and noticed that the facade had wonderful, organic lines just below the peak of the roof.  These lines resembled a vine wandering aimlessly across the building. My curiosity peaked, I looked on either side to find more fascinating architectural characteristics on neighboring buildings.  I wondered  why I had never noticed these building before.  What was preventing me from noticing these very cool things?

I never took the time to look up.  My gaze was never lifted above the second floor.  But how tragic would it have been if, after living here for over twenty years, I had never stopped to take the time and study these buildings.  Ever since that day, if I happen to be walking downtown, I will take time to stop and look up.  It makes me smile when I notice something new and unique that makes that structure worth studying.

We should all be looking skyward.  We should all be looking for inspiration above the second floor.  Our sights need to be raised above what we know, to give us a different perspective.

Look up.  The stuff on the ground – we’ve all seen it before.  The stuff up high – it’s all new.

Leave Me Alone Already

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You).

That song has the ability to stop me dead in my tracks and trigger a “highlight reel” of memories, all of which make me smile and causes my stomach to churn.  If I could, I wish I could keep it from being played on the radio, in a restaurant,  or in a store.  I like the song.  It’s a great song.  But it was “our song” and it makes me think of My Love.  It’s hard to get over her when I keep hearing “our song”.

I can come up with some very good reasons why it continues to bring me to a dead stop.  We used to dance to this song in my apartment.  I used to sing it to her while holding her in my arms.  I would it if we heard it on the car radio.  We would look knowingly at each other and grin, remembering an intimate moment. 

The lyrics say it all:

I needed the shelter of someone arms/There you were/I needed someone to understand my ups and downs/There you were/You were better to me than I was to myself/For me there’s you/And there ain’t nobody else.

Those lyrics encapsulated our relationship and what we needed from each other, which makes it all the more bittersweet.  My Love ended our relationship because she felt that I was being shortchanged, that the balance of love was leaning more to her side than mine.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  what she gave me was far superior than anything I’d experienced before.

I will never stop thinking about her or wondering if she’s taking care of herself.  There is so much that I possess that brings back memories of My Love.  It will be sad, though,  when all she is in a faint memory and a smile on my face whenever I hear “our song”.  She’ll always be with me whenever I hear James Taylor or Marvin Gaye. 

The song remains and the thoughts bittersweet.

How Can You Have It If you Don’t Know What It Is?

Find your bliss.

Sounds like something I’d read on the inside of a Dove chocolate wrapper.

But if I don’t know what it is, how do I find it and would I know it when it pops up. 

According to Dictionary.com, bliss is defined as “supreme happiness;  utter joy and contentment”. 

Hmmm.

I’ve heard of  A Love Supreme (thank you, John Coltrane) and  Diana Ross and The Supremes.  But supreme happiness?  Is there such a thing, ans what do you need to accomplish to achieve it?  Can mere mortals hope to find supreme happiness or is it like nirvana, only met when certain conditions are overcome?  ANd should we have to work that hard to achieve it?

Find your bliss?  How?  When?

These are questions I’ve pondered while making my way through the haze and hubris of my life.  If we can identify those special moments, unique places, and interesting people in our lives as blissful, then I can understand the concept.  I can recall the amazing places and people I’ve encountered.  Whether or not they are blissful is up for debate. 

I can recall a handfull of blissful moments:

1.  the births of my children.  No further explanation.

2.  Both of my visits to Scotland.  It’s proof that there are places in the world where one feels completely at home.  I sensed that this was a place where I felt truly intigrated with my surroundings.  What’s wonderful is that I’ve only scratched the surface of what I could’ve experienced.

3.  Standing atop Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park.  I’ve done it so many times and, yet, every time I do it’s like the first time.

4.  Flying down the Hudson River, on approach to LaGuardia airport in New York City.  I was flying down to take a physical when I was hired at American.  We were in a Saab 340B turbo prop, and the tower had given the captain permission to take the “river approach”.  One moment I’m looking out back towards Connecticut, then next we’re banking hard left and I’m staring at the Statue of Liberty from above.  We flew just off the tip of Manhattan.  I could see the World Trade Center.  I could look over Manhattan and see the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building and other New York landmark buildings.  I’ve flown in and out of LaGuardia many times since and have never taken that route since.  It cetainly can’t be done now.

5.  Any day at the beach.  I prefer early morning or late afternoon.  Being near the water is the best feeling. It must be something primative.  I can sit and listen to the sound of the waves, and feeling the calm move through me.  It’s always a toss-up whenever I ponder the eternal Powerball question:  “beach house or lake house?”

There are more.  I can’t recall them at the moment.  Some I won’t reveal.  They were shared moments between myself and someone special.

‘Nuff said.

These are moments in my life where I have been touched so deeply.  I have been blessed  and these connections have helped shape me.  Where will I find my bliss?  I guess it’s something you cannot create out of nothing.  Like love, it comes to you at the appropriate moment in time.  It finds you.

Here I am, come get me.

Shut Up and Play Yer Guitar Some More

Last weekend, I had the pleasure to see “It Might Get Loud”, a documentary that any fan of rock n roll should see.

The subjects are Jimmy Page, the Edge from U2, and Jack White of White Stripes/Raconteurs.

Wow!

The premise is these three guitarists are to meet in a warehouse in an undisclosed location, and talk about guitar, playing rock n roll and swapping secrets and licks.  What these guys do with their axes, the sounds and textures are phenominal.  I also like there’s a representative from each of the last three generations of rock fans, so everyone has a guitar hero.  There’s also lots of behind-the-scenes footage.  Woven into this are vignettes or glimpses into each guitarist’s career.  Lot of bio material, great achival film and anecdotes.  It’s a gold mine for rock fans.

I had the whole theater to myself, which allowed me to talk to the screen, clap, cheer…I did everything except torch up a lighter and hold it above my head.

Favorite part of the movie were the scenes with Jimmy Page.  I’ve been a closet Led Zeppelin fan for awhile.  Of all the hard rock bands of the 70’s, they can’t be pigeonholed.  When you listen to them, you mostly hear the blues, but you’ll hear different styles from folk (Goin’ to California) to funk (The Crunge).  I’m not a metal guy, but I love these guys.  The bridge to “Whole Lotta Love” is big, bad and full of attitude. Just the full sound from the bass and drums makes me reach for the volume and crank it to 11.

You should check this flick out.  My guess is that it has a limited run and will get pulled before too long.  It’s a movie that begs to be seen on the big screen.  Plus, if the theater has Dolby digital, that’s makes it sound so much better. 

I mean it, GO SEE THIS MOVIE!!!!

Sharp Dressed Man

I am wearing “the Boyfriend Sweater” today.

I had never heard to the term until I was dating My Love.  She had bought me a maroon sweater from JC Penney.  The purpose of the sweater was to retain my smell, my fragrance, my odor, whatever.  She explained to me that I was to wear it a few times, then give it to her so she could wear it and think of me.

The hard part was I didn’t have a “fragrance”.  No cologne, no aftershave, nothing.  I was fragrance-free.  The good news was I didn’t stink, either.  I had gotten out of the habit of wearing a manly scent that would drive women wild.

Just reading that last sentence makes me chuckle.  I picture the Marlboro man, macho and muscular, with a face full of character.  He would wear something manly to attract women.  That’s why  men wear  cologne,  to attract women.  I didn’t wear it in college. I had tried Old Spice in high school.  Very cliche.  My grandfather wore it.  Maybe that’s why my sex life was in the pits.  Wearing the cologne your grandfather wore isn’t likely to appeal to women in their 20s.

Wearing the “Boyfriend Sweater” was almost a moot point, except that My Love helped me pick out a fragrance that she liked.  She found that the sweater worked its magic with something to stimulate to her brain. 

I am wearing this sweater for practical reasons.  It’s chilly here on the coast, and it’s a light but warm sweater.  It’s doing nothing for me at the moment.  Except maybe bringing back some old memories.  A good friend told me that she wears an old gray tee-shirt that belonged to a former boyfriend.  She told me she had been wearing it while at home recovering from a nasty case of flu.  She said that wearing it had made her melancholy and she was thinking of this man, and wondering why they weren’t together anymore.

I could relate.  There are a few articles of clothing that remind me of My Love.  She used to wear my fleece bathrobe when she finished her shower. Whenever she would spend the night, she wore a blue pajama top with a pair of striped pajama bottoms that belonged to me.  She also wore one of my oxford button-down shirts around my apartment.  There is nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt as a nightshirt, with the  sleeves rolled up and the first three buttons left undone.  I can see her, lying on the bed reading, with  a comfortable, yet slightly rumpled look and come hither look on her face.  It makes me go weak in the knees thinking about it.

No doubt there will be other episodes when my memory will take me back.  The question is how to deal with them.   The triggers are unpredictable; I never see them coming.  My stomach doesn’t churn they way it used to a few months ago.  Since I carefully placed her photograph in a box with her love notes and cards, I have a difficult time remembering her face.  It’s as if she’s a shadow that drifts across my memory.  I remember those legs, her lips, and how she would nuzzle into me whenever I would come up from behind and wrap my arms around her. 

Writing has become a challenge all of a sudden.  I’m having a difficult time concentrating.  I need to settle my brain.

Sorry.

It Ain’t What It Used To Be

Here’s a quickie…

While driving to the library, I saw a gorgeous late 20’s Ford Model A.  Not built for speed, however, as it slowly made it’s way up the hill on State Street.  Black, well-cared for and full of style.

Driver was talking on his cellphone. 

I may be the only one who finds this amusing, but I did find it odd.  I’m so used to seeing people in current models with the cell glued to their ear.  But in an antique car?

Talk about the violent clash of technology and history…..

This Word Shall Not Be Spoken

My Son and I are watching the Patroits game Sunday afternoon and I was apalled.  It had nothing to do with the play on the field, nothing to do with a comment made by the broadcasters.  It was what was happening at Gillette Stadium.

It was snowing.  It was October 18 and it was snowing in New England.

That’s disgusting.

I’m a firm believer that certain events should occur in appropraite times.  I believe that the Christmas decorations can be put up the day after Thanksgiving, not after Halloween.   I believe that nobody cares if you wear white after Labor Day.  I believe that, if the ground is clear and the sun is out, you should be able to play golf in January, regardless if there are temporary greens or not.  I believe that it should not snow (at lower elevations) in New England until mid-November.

But there it was, wet flakes making a slushy, slippery playing surface. 

Football should be played in snow.  It adds another element to help level the playing field.  When I was in fifth grad, our teacher played touch football with us.  He’d organized games at recess when it would snow. I remember playing center with snow up to my knees. It’s easier on the body to get knocked around when you have a fluffy.  Football was meant to be played outdoors.   As opposed to domed-stadium football, where it may be warm but it eliminates the weather as a factor.  Folks in Minnesota had to freeze at Metropolitan Stadium while watching the Vikings before they got a domed stadium.  Folks in Green Bay still tough it out in cold Wisconsin weather and they’re proud of it.  No dome for them.

I’m not as huge a football fan as some people are.  I love watching high school football.  Speaking of which, this Friday is The Battle of The Bridge between the Red Riots and Portland Bulldogs.  This has been the traditional last game of the regular season for both schools.  The winner gets to decorate the bridge in their school colors.  It’s been lean for the past ten years or so.  Portland has beaten the Red Riots more often than not and that makes Red Riots fans frustrated.  This year, both clubs are evenly matched with two explosive running backs on either side.  I can’t wait.  This year’s game will be played only a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. 

Aside from high school ball and the Patriots, football for me, isn’t the fanatical passion it is for most people.  I don’t play fantasy leagues.  I don’t own team gear.  I don’t tailgate or have huge parties on Sundays. Not even for the Super Bowl.  I would tailgate if there were a place to do it.  I just enjoy football in season and just as a game, not a lifestyle.

Back to the S-word.

When I brought my daughter home last night, it was still snowing and the ground was white. Big, wet flakes pounded the windshield.  So, having a little fun,  I started singing Chirstmas carols.  This put my daughter over the edge.  I was just kidding and so was she, but she agrees with me that it was too early for snow. She went on this rant about the snow, but I knew it was for show.  With every carol I sang, she told me I was going to Hell.  That was for effect, too.

But going to Hell for singing Christmas carols?  Please.

When I woke up this morning, the snow was all gone.  That sounds like a blues lyric.  Where’s my harmonica  (wa-wah-wah-wa). 

 I was happy to see the sun shining this morning and the ground covered with red and orange leaves.  Yeah, it was a bit chilly.  I’ll take that, but no snow, please. 

Snow, snow, go away.  Don’t show your face until we’re good and ready.  At least let the leaves fall.

Too Good To Be Wasted

It is a gray, cold morning in my neck of the woods.   I stood on the loading dock at work and looked out over the scrubby landscape, the young birch and ash trees ablaze in yellow and orange. The cold air felt good  but it reminded me of what was to come.   This was a quiet, soft morning, too good a morning to be wasted at work.

I allowed my  mind  to wander back to one of  many mornings just like this.  Back to the warmth of a shared bed, back where two people created memories and how they believed mornings should be.  We have shared mornings many mornings like this, waking  up under fluffy down comforters, all warm and cozy, with lots of pillows, the sheets soft against bare skin. 

 These are the perfect mornings for long, luxurious lovemaking, being playful under the covers and losing track of time.  Mornings like this are perfect for lingering kisses, exploring hands and wicked minds, and the only sound I want to hear is a tender whisper from you in my ear, speaking passionate words of longing.  Those were times when we believed we were the only people on earth.

Let’s make the most of this morning.  Let’s cherish it all.  Because, too soon, it’ll be over. We’ll  glance at the clock  and  wonder where the time flew to.  Then, we’ll want it all back because these mornings are too rare.  Time is never on our side.

 Our lives are so busy.  We know how precious these times are, that how easily they are pushed aside by the demands of everyday life.

But not this morning.

How long has it been since I got lost in your beautiful blue eyes?  When was the last time a kiss left me breathless? It’s been too long since your fingers danced their way down my body.  Slowly, like a spider moving towrds its prey. They paint an invisable picture on my skin.  Go slowly,  I want to be devoured by you, slowly.

Why now?  Why this morning?  Because all the pieces fell into place:  you, me, time away, desire, love.  Throw in a carafe of mamosas and bagels, and we have a perfect morning.  Later I’ll pull on sweats and a ballcap and run outside for the paper.  We can spread it over the bed, have some tea,  and just be.  And later we’ll make love again.

All in its own time.

Take the time when you can.  Make the time because you should.

Tonight’s Menu: A Mixed Grill

It is the end of the workday, but not the end of my week.  I would love to be able to sleep in tomorrow, maybe fix a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and go wherever thewind will take me.

But, sadly, so.   I’ll be up  way-too-early when the majority of the world is enjoying a relaxing start to the weekend.

This will be one of those posts that has something for everyone.  Maybe not everyone.  How about 4 out of five dentists?  Choosy mothers?  The Pepsi generation?

Alright, enough.

Tonight is the last home game for the Red Riots football team.  So far, they are 4-2 with tonight’s game vs. Gorham, then The Battle of the Bridge.  I found out yesterday that My Son sustained a concussion during practice.  He failed the computer tests that are conducted with potential cranial injury but was told he could be back for the last game of the regular season.  I understand that football is not a gentile sport, that injuries happen.  But how does a kid sustain multiple blows to the head..IN PRACTICE.  I understand he’s disappointed he may not be able to play for awhile.

My Daughter and I had a great dinner last night.  Since we have a similar sense of humor, we can get silly and that’s how it was last night.  The spaghetti stayed on the plates and there are no stains in the rug or on the couch cushions.  I cherish times like this when I can be Dad instead of her Father.

A good friend tipped me off to an interesting concept.  It’s called Meet Up (www.meetup.com ) and there are all kinds of groups where people can socialize.  If you are into cooking, coffee, wine, adventure activities or just want to meet people, there are groups for all that and more.  I found a writers group that I wanted to join.  But I was detained while picking up My Son from his team dinner last night, so I missed the beginning.  Actually, I missed the whole thing.  I went to the address provided on the website, but when I rang the doorbell, no one responded.  Bummer.  I’ll have to arrive earlier next week.

One of the things I will need to change, whenever I start dating again, will be to forget what I knew with My Love.  I have to re-learn how to date.  Not so much the flowers/dinner or a movie/kiss at the door stuff.  Instead I need to change how I think about the structure of the relationship.  I will want to date someone who isn’t balancing another relationship against ours, but I want to be able to focus on the present.  I want to take it step-by-step, savouring getting to know her.  I want to be secure with myself and my life so I’m not so quick for exclusivity.  I don’t want to define myself by the relationship.  I am a LONG way off from dating again, despite desiring the intimacy of a relationship. 

I am loving internet radio.  I’ve logged into Free Form BCN several times this week while at work.  I love the idea of not know what song you’ll hear next.  Having worked in radio,  I know what good radio sounds like and I haven’t heard it for awhile.  It’s where the DJ’s had personality; they identified with their audience, could program their shows and select the music.  It’s easy now to tune up and down the dial and hear the same presentation, just different music.  They tell you the same thing no matter the format.  Every station is ”playing a better mix of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s”, “more variety, less talk”…..you get the idea.  Now that I’ve discovered internet radio and can pinpoint music that matters to me, the only use for the radio will be news/weather and the ballgame.   That’s actually kinda sad.

I will not be dressing up for Halloween.  I’ve never been big on the holiday.  maybe it was the pressure of finding an original costume.  My best costume was a Christoper Columbus outfit, complete with crushed velvet cap and ragmop hair.  My mother made it from scratch.  You don’t get much of that anymore.  As I grew older,  it was just a day when you got lots of free candy.  A few years I had to “Trick or Treat for UNICEF”.  Usually we got the boxes in our Sunday school classes and were expected to return them on the Sunday following Halloween.  That activity reminds me of the scene in Woody Allen’s “Radio Days”, an autobiographical film about growing up during World War II.  The scene takes place during Hebrew school class.  These Jewish boys are sent out by their rabbi, to collect funds to promote a Jewish home in Palestine.  Being kids, they end up taking some of the money and spending a portion on candy, ice cream or Secret Avenger Decoder Rings. The young Woody gets hauled up in front of the rabbi by his parents.  Do you remember collecting for UNICEF?  How many of you skimmed a little off the top?  Did some of it end up in the till of the neighborhoodstore?  Do I see a few hands rising hesitantly?  C’mon, ‘fess up.  But don’t worry because it’s ancient history, you won’t be held accountable.

It’s too damn cold for this time of year.  Where’s Indian Summer?  Where are the temperatures in the mid-50’s? 

Enjoy your weekend no matter where you are.  Hopefully, there will be lots of color, interesting people, and stuff to make you go “hmmmmm”.

Righting a Sinking Ship

After yesterday’s reaction to the events of early in the week, I think I’m back on track.  The “events” I refer to have to do with My Love.  When she responded to a forwarded “cute” email, I misinterpreted her response to be one of reconcilation.

My bad.

After putting myself in a positive direction, I allowed myself to be distracted.  A good friend said that I was “lovesick and heartbroken”.  No truer words have ever been written.  I am the one in control.  I was the one who allowed myself to believe she wanted me back.  We are both healing.  Our wounds are much too fresh and the scabs too easily torn off.  As much as I love her, I have to move forward without her.

Yesterday, I had an interesting conversation with My Daughter.  I explained what I was going through and was having a tough time with the breakup.  I told her I trusted her because she had gone through something similar.

Point of information:  her boyfriend of almost 2 years had been caught cheating on My Daughter with a good friend of hers.  I assumed she had a solid support group.  Dad was so wrong.  The LARP group the two of them participate in, believes that David did nothing wrong, which leaves My Daughter completely betrayed and extremely angry.

Well, My Daughter reminded me of that fact and told me we didn’t go through similar circumstances.  I told her I was sorry and that it wasn’t my intention to open old wounds.  She then reminded me that, like dear ol’ Dad, she didn’t have anyone she could talk with about this ordeal, which obviously was a parallel to my experiences.  I felt for her, knowing that she really wanted to unload this burden.

Sometimes it’s hard to see how the people you are the closest to, are so much like you in subtle ways.