I would normally reply to everyone’s comments after I got home but tonight found me at Fenway Park.
A close friend of mine called and offered me a free ticket (courtesy of Luis Tiant).
How could I say no?
The Sox won and it was an awesome game.
Varitek hit a home run.
Perfect night with good friends and it cost me a few beers.
The pic above is close to the view I had.
Going to bed now.
For tonight, anyway . . .
Classic Raid ad.
Saw this pasted on another website and had to share it.
It reminded me of this
Bernie loved the Red Sox.
And he loved pretty women.
But mostly Bernie loved his Budweiser.
I say that because he always referred to it as ‘my Budweiser’.
Up at 3 in the morning everyday, he would open the train station where I catch the daily commuter rail to Boston.
Though he had seemingly no teeth to speak of, something inside him was always smiling.
You just couldn’t walk away from this man and not feel better about the world around you. His job was simple security, but he did it well.
About a month ago, I realized I hadn’t seen Bernie and asked around the station to see if anyone knew his whereabouts.
The ‘bagel & ticket man’ at the station said he probably took a long and much needed vacation.
Probably off drinking some ice, cold Bud, I thought.
Good for Bernie.
He so deserved it.
I got to the station this morning and bought a bagel and a New York Times and went upstairs to the train landing because it was a beautiful day.
On my way outside I saw a piece of paper taped to the inside of the front door.
From a distance it looked like an obituary.
As I drew closer I read the name: Bernard C. Jensen, 76.
I stood there reading his obit wondering how many people catching the train actually knew him and knew that he was gone.
Son of a bitch, I never even got to say goodbye (a re-occurring theme in my life).
I believe that one person can make a difference in our lives and Bernie was just that kind of man.
The train station seems different in a very subtle way.
For me, anyway.
It felt fitting for me to post this on Memorial Day weekend.
Bernie was a veteran of the Korean War and was awarded a Bronze Star.
No surprise there.
The red and green lights just came on, Bernie; the train is coming.
I still remember the day you told me your little ‘Commuter Rail conductor’ secret.
You made me feel special, but then again you had the ability to make everyone feel that way.
Sweet peace to you, kind sir; the sweetest of peace to you, Bernard.
Your long journey has reached its final destination, albeit prematurely.
Here’s to you, my friend . . .
Happy Memorial Day to one and all!
My DSL tanked all last night and the better part of this morning.
I finally made the dreaded call to tech support and am now online with a rad new connection.
If you sent me an email asking why I’ve not responded, I’ve yet to even get my mail.
I may get somewhat caught up tonight.
in the ps. department:
Happy Anniversary to Laho and Liho!
And they said it wouldn’t last . . .
My father is 78 today.
I stopped up to see him with Pamela and my daughter Sarah.
He couldn’t quite figure out how to blow out the candle so we helped him out.
He didn’t seem to mind.
He proceeded to eat the whole damn thing.
God bless him.
I’m off to bed, long day folks.
Later gators . . .
It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility; they must have action, and they will make it if they cannot find it.
I got on the train and began writing when my pen decided to go postal and ink itself to death while taking my right hand hostage.
I wanted to write because I ransacked my leather satchel like a madman looking for another pen which I didn’t have.
(One pen in my bag and I call myself a writer. What is up with that? Sheesh)
I cleaned off the suicidal gel point and opened my journal to write, black fingers and all.
I’d just read a thoughtful little piece in a book called Walking on Alligators – a book of Meditations for Writers
The uber short chapter focused on something we creative types can all agree on.
How many of you have put off your writing in hopes of waiting for that ‘perfect’ moment? That time when the stresses of your lives are at their lowest level?
If you’ve never found yourself in that situation, I’m jealous.
I’ve done it many times but try hard to tell myself that writing itself, be it good or bad, happens in the midst of our hectic and stressful lives.
Ideas show up unannounced, sometimes in the mid-bite of a ham sandwich, while waiting for your oil to be changed, or driving an altogether too familiar fifty mile stretch of highway when your subconscious thoughts come out to play.
I’ve even had words come to me sitting in the dentist’s electric chair.
Always have a pen and paper.
If your pen explodes, clean it off and continue.
This is writing.
And this is life.
The author, Susan Shaughnessy, explains that “. . . books, poems, and screenplays are written while household appliances are breaking down, rebellious kids are trying your patience, and family and friends are quarreling and making up again.”
I thought about how brilliant that thought truly was and wanted to share it with you.
Don’t wait until the morning sun rises and your life will supposedly be settled and less hectic.
Need a laugh?
This is just way too damn funny.
It’s Ren and Stimpy meets Pepe Le Pew.
Put down your coffee and click play.
I appreciate all the comments folks!
I will catch up on them before days end.
Spent last night watching several episodes from the first season of Supernatural with my daughters.
Really nice just to hang for a night with my girls.
All three of them.
We don’t do it enough.
Anywhoo, have a great weekend . . . rain and all.
The picture above is for anyone with multiple cats and currently experiencing a storage problem.