Deep inside this garden of souls lies the bones of a lifetime drowning in half-truths, Of long and slowly forgotten days that were sadly beyond repair, Of nights not unlike the darkest side of the moon A few insignificant touches of the brush would be all that it took, to make life go on as she thought that it should; Unbroken and bright, the simple and small while echoes of unwanted things filled the silent grey halls . . . Of her Gothic cathedral, sadly visited by few, where three skeleton keys were kept hidden from view because life wasn’t meant to be that easy, and she kept it that way, anyway maybe all the way The tall stained-glass windows soaked with rays of the sun kept the white light of truth from touching the soul of anyone, near or far, it never really mattered distance was never a fragile thing Deep in this garden of souls lies the bones of my life, my blacks and my blues, and yes, my oh-so-not-insignificant life But you will know I was here by two things left behind originally unwanted but in the sweet by and by they would find . . . You. Somewhere deep in Gethsemane with two deep sunset roses nearby . . .

Pamela- I've always dreamed of singing this song for you. In my heart, I know that I have, maybe someday I actually will. It's everything I've always wanted to say to the only person in the world that I could ever say it to. Our love is a slow, sweet dance . . . Happy Anniversary, my Pamela (put on the headphones I've left for you. Loggins is simply amazing LIVE.)

Forever

Now, while we're here alone and all is said and done Now I can let you know because of all you've shown I'm grown enough to tell ya You'll always be inside of me. How many roads have gone by So many words left unspoken I needed to be be your side If only to hold you. Forever in my heart Forever we will be Even when I'm gone You'll be here in me Forever Once, I dreamed that you were gone I cried, I tried to find ya I begged the dream would fade away and please awaken me The night took a hold of my heart And left me with no one to follow The love that I grasped in the dark, I'll always remember Forever in my heart Forever we will be Even when I'm gone You'll be here in me Forever Forever in my heart Forever here you'll be Even when I'm gone You'll be near to me Forever in my life Always thought I'd be I'd be yours Forever . . .

It's Malarky Monday once again. And off we go . . . Sometimes it's all about the dancing. Check out this 20 year old bird named Frosty. Personally, I think he needs a pair of Wayfarers 8-) Here's a hopeful picture How about a totally useless product? or one that's just plain weird (faith enhancing breath spray?) Please visit my fellow Malarkers!

Moe, Morky & Muffy

I began thinking about the old black pot belly stove that sat in the cellar of the house I grew up in. No idea where the thought came from but it triggered a total waterfall of memories for me. The stove was fat in the way a corpulent Santa Claus would be. It had an ornate shiny silver 'belt' of trim around the belly and a flat top where you could actually put a skillet and fry some eggs or place a kettle to boil water. I vaguely remember my father heating some hot dogs and  Boston Baked Beans on it one winter night when the power went out, though my sister would have to validate that. Many magical things happened in that cellar over the years. There were the band rehearsals where I learned to play songs like 'Ohio', 'For What It's Worth' and  'Rocky Racoon'. I learned that Wild Irish Rose was total rotgut at $2.98 a bottle and that weed was something to be smoked and not ripped from the garden to be added to the compost pile. Guild, Fender and Martin guitars were awesome and playing the introduction to 'Black Magic Woman' on a Fender Rhodes while high was a near religious experience. (My Mom knew, but said very little) It was in that special place that I slowly broke away from childhood innocence and began to see all the crazy possibility in the world. It was in the ground level bay window that my father would set up one of those chintzy silver tinsel Christmas trees. You know, the ones that were lit up by a squeaky and archaic tri-color rotating light that turned the tree from red to green to yellow to yack? My father would plug it in and run outside and stand in the side yard and stare at it as he shook his head in total Yuletide affirmation. After my sister's wedding (reception), 100 or so people descended on the house; upstairs, downstairs, in the cellar, 9 Old Worcester Road was transformed into a surreal but quintessential Animal House complete with music, booze, food and crazy people walking through screen doors. I'd never seen my Dad totally blasted until that night. Christ in a sidecar, he was funny. Even funnier the next morning. (don't talk to me, just don't talk to me . . . ) The cellar was also the location of a very special place created by Sarah and Jenna (my two oldest daughters) called, 'Mr. Boston's'. My father had remodeled an old bureau into a bar on wheels, an idea he got from God knows where. Take a bureau and turn it around so the drawers are facing away from you, cover the back and sides with paneling and put a nice wood trim around the top corners and you have a bar. I can still see the tacky yellow linoleum he put on the bureau top. The 'drawer' side faced the bartender where there were drawers filled with drink mixes, napkins, toothpicks, martini glasses, broken corkscrews and booze (except in the off season). There was a maniacal clock with backwards numbers and hands that hung on the wall behind the bar. (the second hand went backwards) On the face it boldly asked "Are you ready for another one?" It's ironic that when you were drunk it actually made some sense. The girls would go straight to Mr. Boston's whenever we went to visit my mother and father. Sarah would usually start out as the bartender because she was older and Jenna would be her soul customer (*ms, intentional). We could hear them laughing and yelling as we all laughed and smiled upstairs. Eventually, they would get a bit bored with the limited clientele and come back upstairs to recruit some fresh meat. We would all go downstairs and 'get served' as the girls became both bartender and waitress. They would take orders on their paper pads and serve us wonderful food and drink. That was until we got our bill. ($768.00 for 2 burgers and drinks!?!?!?! Your prices are too high Mr. Boston) I guess what I realized today was that my cellar was a place where small dreams came true for many people, including my two oldest daughters. And I know that everyone reading this post has their own 'Mr. Boston's' as well. Write about it tonight . . .  and remember. It's only a few pen strokes away . . .

Get out the headphones. Just an old tune I still love. The singer is Bobby Kimball who is no longer with the band. He sings his proverbial 'nuts' off. Great song, really gay ass video though. Have a bitchin' weekend folks. It's going to be 80 degrees and sunny in Boston tomorrow. Look for me on my back deck tomorrow night smoking a Cuban Montecristo #2  . . .

This is the latest web/ YouTube sensation called Miranda. Is she a Dancing Queen? A singing sensation? Maybe not on this planet. Either way, she rocks my world. Kinda. I gotta talk to her about how she applies her lipstick though. Maybe she needs to be in one of those Little Caesar pizza commercials . . .

The year was 1978. About the time I met the woman that would ultimately change my life. And I met my wife . . . :mrgreen: I'm sorry but they don't write stuff like this these days. A pop song with a #11 chord? Questions about the above observation are welcome. Though you may not understand the answer. I used to play this song and loved the chord changes . . . As always, headphones are highly recommended. The sound is great.

Our Mom would have been 81 today. It was on my mind from the minute I got up today. For her wake, I made a CD with a slew of tunes that I thought she would like. This was one of them. Unfortunately, the audio quality on this is real sub par for Take Six. Get out the headphones. It helps. Whoever was mixing them that night needed to boost the 'soprano' vocal.  Helllllooooo? That said, my mother would have loved these guys. Happy Birthday, Mom. Maureen and I miss you every single day. Dad will be there when he's ready or until you at least yell, "Wally! Get here! I'm lonely!" Hope they have YouTube up there in heaven. Miss you and love you every single day. Dad does, too . . .

There is a quiet place Far from the rapid pace Where God can soothe my troubled mind

Sheltered by tree and flower There in my quiet hour With Him my cares are left behind

Whether a garden small Or on a mountain tall

New strength and courage there I find Then from this quiet place I go prepared to face A new day with love for all mankind

From those wonderful folks at Guinness: "Last year, Guinness® started Proposition 3-17, the campaign to make St. Patrick's Day an official holiday in the US. While we gained a lot of your support, we still need one million signatures. When you and your friends support Proposition 3-17, you have the opportunity to make a difference. To make history. To make official what we already know is the greatest holiday of the year." This is something that is near and dear to me Irish heart. Click on the Guinness banner above and cast your vote! My dear daughter Sarah sent this link to me but failed to buy me a pint. Oh, sweet Mother McCree, kids these days . . . If you feel so inclined to purchase me a pint, click on the Guinness glass below. All will be explained. (michael@badsneaker.net) But at least sign the petition! btw- I'm making "Steak & Guinness Pie" this year for the Irish holiday. (thanks, J0j0!) Stay tuned for the review. "No man ever wore a scarf as warm as his daughter’s arm around his neck." ~Old Irish saying Pour yourself a pint!!!!!!!!

I made it through the holiday, y'all. Christmas Eve found me a bit crazy though (as my wife will attest) What can I say, Maker's Mark bourbon makes me silly. Go figure. But, I had fun, 'kissing-my-brother-in-law on the cheek' fun. Yeah, I don't think he liked it though. My sister did give me the holiday hat of my dreams though. We had all kinds of wonderful food to eat, music playing, inspired conversation, barrels of laughter, Rum Swizzles on ice, wine, beer and we were comfortably surrounded by family; everything one needs to make the season bright. You can probably tell from the picture at the top of the post which book I'm currently reading (a present from my 3 wonderful girls) I love Wally Lamb but his books do take some perseverance to get through. Not that I'm complaining. As a Patriots fan, after yesterday, I have lots of time to get my nose stuck in a book anyway. I have realized that I've been seriously slacking in the reading department, something that changes today, not on January 1st. To write, you have to read. And today, it started with no conceivable end in sight. As far as writing goes, reading helps me and pushes me in a forward direction. I have no doubt that 2009 will be a great writing year for me. As far as the blog goes, I won't be very far away but I've made some serious creative promises to myself and will try like hell to keep them. (or Laho will kick my arse) Damn these New Year resolutions. Will I give up Guinness? Yeah, right. Will I give up blogging? Don't think so. Will I cook less Risotto? Not if my daughters have anything to do with it. Will I stop smoking cigars? Puuuhleeese. It's a new year and a fresh chance to chase my dreams. Many will come true this year. I just have to keep on believing and praying. Catch all of you in '09. I wish all of you the very best that this life has to offer. The candles are lit and the prayers waiting to be whispered. Please let me know if you need one. Happy New Year, folks. And go easy on the MSG, okay? My pen is ready. It's time to rock, folks . . . :mrgreen: