reds, crimsons and bloods
there’s a rose in the meadow
snow-covered in love . . .

for a very special flower
and for Deb

I need the sharpest of knives to slice this
epidermal anomaly from the trappings of my weak and aging body
Deep slices to the elbows, slow and tender slices to the knees
please scratch my legs until they bleed, thank you please
this betrayal of skin, the most hideous part of me
is a possession of the worst kind,
an internal itch I will never be physically able to touch
the P takes over my body, the quintessential tired host
it will never be free . . . as the crimson spreads far above the blood that boils deep within me
People will continue to stare,
invisibly pointing to my sprawling scarlet letter ‘P’
just another ugly ducking,
just another ugly waiting stranger hiding deep inside of me . . .
I hate this

Ravens 33

Patriots 14

The first quarter was enough to make me gorge a bucket of maggots.
Did I swear?
HellsYeah.
There’s always next year, I guess . . .
Wes, we missed you

It is during this time of the year that I generally go into an emotional cocoon;
my own kind of hibernation and self preservation mode.
December 1st until January 2nd, my internal sensors (censors) go into a Lockdown setting.
Life is hectic, loud and screaming with white and pink noise.
I need a celestial graphic EQ (equalizer) to take out the nasty sonic peaks and hisses of the daily grind.
Ah, were it that easy.
Maybe there’s an app on the Iphone for that.
The only place that I can find some silent respite is when I fall asleep.
But sometimes even sleep doesn’t work.
The other night (this just came to me now) I was dreaming that I was standing in the middle of some godforsaken superhighway with cars and trucks whizzing by me at what seemed to be light-year speeds.
I could feel wind on my face but the cars and 18-wheelers were just horizontal blurs of colour.
I was frozen, frightened and couldn’t move without getting reduced to a platter of road kill.
I did finally wake up at 3:03AM.
My skin was clammy and I was thirsty.
I went downstairs and got a glass of water and back up to bed where I began tossing and turning my nocturnal thoughts like a mad chef tosses a freshly ordered Caesar Salad.
At 5AM I got up and made coffee.
The act of trying to sleep was maddening.
This dream was symbolic for me and the perfect allegory of my life.
It also made me think of a story someone once told me.
It could have been told to me by my mother – but like my dream’s unknown ending, I just can’t remember.
I do remember the story though.
Its author is unknown so I’ve taken the liberty of changing the POV.
This story inspires me and brings hope to the heart because a worldly truth is that we are all in this thing together.

I was at the end of my rope. Seeing no way out I dropped to my knees in prayer.

“Lord, I can’t go on,” I said, “I have too heavy a cross to bear.”

The Lord replied, “My child, if you can’t bear its weight, just place your cross inside this room. Then open another door and pick up any cross you wish.”

I was filled with relief.

“Thank you, Lord,” I sighed, and did as I was told.

As I looked around the room I saw many crosses, some so large the tops were not visible.
Then I spotted a tiny cross leaning against a far wall.

“I’d like that one, Lord,” I whispered.

The Lord replied, “My son, that’s the cross you just brought in.”

During this holiday season, it is my hope and prayer that the burdens you carry in your hearts today will seem lighter and somehow more distant tomorrow.
Pax . . .

*the picture I used for this post was taken by Amanda Lucier.
Click here to learn more about this amazing photojournalist and the story behind the photo.

This is something we should all read at least once a week.
It was written By Regina Brett, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio
To celebrate growing older, she once wrote a column called  ‘45 lessons life taught me‘.
It was the most-requested column she’d ever written.
Her odometer rolled over to 50 in 2006, and there was an update.
This was an email sent to me by a blogging friend from another blogging friend.
I’m hoping she sees this and realizes that, yes,
I am in that rare 7% to pass this one along.
This is priceless, folks.
Please feel free to forward friends and family this LINK.
This needs to be read.
Pax.

Regina Brett’s 45 life lessons and 5 to grow on

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.
8. It’s OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.
12. It’s OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn’t be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry; God never blinks.
16. Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
17. You can get through anything if you stay put in today.
18. A writer writes. If you want to be a writer, write.
19. It’s never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Overprepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: “In five years, will this matter?”
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.
35. Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.
36. Growing old beats the alternative – dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.
38. Read the Psalms. They cover every human emotion.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.
41. Don’t audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
42. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.
43. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
44. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
45. The best is yet to come.
46. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
47. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
48. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.
49. Yield.
50. Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.

Blessed.
Grateful.
Incredibly fortunate.
Thankful beyond my wildest dreams.
To 2 very special people who shall remain anonymous.
I will sleep well tonight . . .
with a confirmed warmth for the upcoming Winter as well.
Blessed.

Sarah and I went to visit my father yesterday to feed him lunch and sit with him for a while.
Lately, he’s been overly emotional for reasons I may never be privy to.
The minute he saw us, he broke down completely.
I feel terrible saying it but I’ve almost gotten used to it now.
I had to.
My empathy for him that once seemed to be an impossibility to avoid feeling
has now turned into an acceptance of sorts that boggles my mind.
He was in the rec room that overlooks the city waiting to be fed.
I wheeled him to his room where I know it’s quiet and had Sarah get his lunch.
He’s a finicky eater these days around everyone except my sister and me which makes total sense.
His diet is now 100% pureed making his meals look more like and artist’s palette than a meal.
I learned yesterday that spinach makes my father cry.
On his plate were potatoes, spinach and something that would resemble pasta and meatballs in the ‘baby food’ format.
20 years ago, the thought of drinking an Italian meal through a straw had never occurred to me.
My father’s daily nutritional needs are now thrown into a blender ala ‘Bass-O-Matic’.
And I wonder why he cries?
I can’t get away from the feeling that a small part of him is frightened.
Not of me or Sarah or Maureen or Pam and the kids but he seems almost Fear Factor scared.
My sister says he’s a tortured soul and I would have to agree.
There are so many things that run rampant through my mind as I feed him, spoonful by blessed spoonful . . .
(I’m looking at a rainbow hovering over Boston as I write this. Truth)

there was the day we brought my mother to assisted living and took my father back to our house for a BBQ.
That may have been one of the last times that I actually ‘had’ him.
He was making sense and I could talk to him and he could understand me.
He was profoundly sad about bidding farewell to his wife for two weeks but at least he still liked the taste of beer (something he’s since lost long ago)

Spoonful by blessed spoonful . . .

the soft, cool grass beneath my feet in the backyard as we played catch after he got home from work.
We never talked when we played catch but there was conversation that he and I understood.
Especially when he threw a ball with some mustard on it, smiling as I caught it.
That was my own personal field of dreams.

Spoonful by blessed spoonful . . .

the Christmas night I went to the facility he was staying in and found him in a self-induced sugar coma after polishing off an entire bag of Dove’s chocolates that someone had given him.
There were candy wrappers everywhere, discarded like wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
He seemed ready to do jumping jacks, for Christ’s sake

I keep praying for a rainbow in his future but he’s having one hell of a time seeing through the gauzy reality he’s currently living in.
I finish giving him lunch and to my surprise he’s eaten everything save for the Popeye spinach soup.
I’m happy because he has a belly full of food but he’s the farthest thing from a happy ending because he knows it’s time for me to go.
I kiss his forehead and say, “I love you, Dad,” to which he replies, “Yeah.”
Sarah and I walk to the door and she says, “Bye, Grampa.”
More Wally tears.
We walk down the corridor to the elevators in silence as I allow myself to cry a bit on the inside
wanting badly for the seemingly inconsequential goodbyes to finally end.
It’s then that I have an small epiphany; as I feed him lunch, he’s actually feeding me.
It’s a Communion of sorts between my father and I.
I change my mind then and there.
And all of a sudden I don’t want the goodbyes to end.

*I have no clue as to how many chapters are waiting to be written regarding this incredible time in my life.
As sure as the Akubra hat on my head, this will be far from the last.

I’m not entirely sure where to begin because my grey matter is still processing all that’s gone on these past few weeks. If I haven’t stopped by your blog it’s simply because the last month has consumed me both physically and emotionally leaving very little of me left to visit.
As most of you know already my family and I vacationed for a week with Maureen & Mark (M&M), Annie
and Evyl & Joyce down on Cape Cod.
The week after, M&M stayed at our home and rode the train into Boston with me most days.
I worked and they did everything from walking the Freedom Trail to taking a Trolley Tour all over the city. I was blessed on one night with a surprise game at Fenway Park. (saving that for a later post)
M&M also had their own personal city guide, my daughter Hannah,
who has found a new best friend in Morky (Moe, as well)

Cut to Day 1:

The flight carrying M&M, Annie and a very special present for yours truly landed late the Saturday they arrived.
No worries, right?
Planes land late all the time.
Little did I know that this was the proverbial tip of the holiday iceberg of mishaps.
I expected a phone call from Maureen when she touched down in Boston and assumed it would be her when the phone rang.
The phone did ring and I was surprised to hear Annie’s voice. (cue the bah-da-dum-dum)
All I remember from the conversation was Annie saying,
“They lost the didj. Don’t worry they will find it and hand deliver it to the house on the Cape tonight.”
The ‘special’ present was a custom made Australian Didgeridoo just for me. (click the link for a description)
I had already known about it for months because Moe had sent me pictures.
This instrument was special; sacred, actually.
I realized that Annie had made the call because Mark was physically restraining Maureen
from committing her first murder on American soil.
This didj was unique as a constellation in the sky, a one and only; a present that M&M held so dear.
My heart broke knowing how upset they both were.
Thank God Annie was there as the voice of calm and reason.
It seems she quelled the impending riot and got everyone to the van that would bring them to my house.
We made it to the Cape and got settled and began our wait for the didj.
Saturday night, no didj.
Sunday night, still no didj.
Monday, no didj.
496 phone calls later (by Moe and Annie) told us to expect it Tuesday night around 5:30.
Guess what?
No didj.
More phone calls and a promise that said instrument would be delivered by 10:30PM.
Things were getting surreal now.
A firepit was lit, many drinks were poured, cigars were lit and we all sat around the fire playing ‘Celebrity Heads’  laughing and listening for the courier to pull up in front of the house with the long lost precious goods.
It was at 10:30 that a van finally pulled into the driveway.
Like children on Christmas morning, all of us ran out to the front yard of the house totally freaking out the driver. He could tell that we were all very happy to see him
(* a bit pissed as well).
I high fived the guy and took the didj into the house as Mark and I began opening the nuclear war-proofed package.
Mark took the black padded sleeve off, handed it to me and said, “Here’s your didj, mate.”
Holding this incredible instrument was not unlike holding a newborn baby.
I knew how much it meant to Maureen and Mark and the moment overwhelmed me.
I then did what all father’s do when they hold their newborn . . .
I cried.
Like a baby . . .
Still learning to play it and getting close to an actual didj sound.
Stay tuned.
Annie, thank you for your relentless pursuit and urgent phone calls to the courier.
And Maureen?
Thank you for not ripping the head off of an innocent American body. (she’ll be right, mate)
Hooroo!
(below is a pic of the actual didj)

*slightly intoxicated . . .  
** btw- this didj is a low F# drone (sweet spot/fundamental tone)

A quick post for Maureen and Mark who will be leaving us tomorrow afternoon bound for home.
This post is more emotional for me than you could ever believe.
Thank God it’s not live on YouTube.
From Pamela, Sarah, Jenna, Hannah, Jon and me . . . Godspeed on your trip back home.
Know that there will always a ‘home away from home’ for the both of you right here.
We don’t want to let you go but sadly, we must.
Two weeks ago, the song in my head was ‘Get Here’ but now I’m thinking it should be ‘Get There’,
back to Oz where your hearts and souls live.
Thank you for your love, your stories, your hearts, your incredible ability to make us laugh
(and take the piss out of us) and your endless Aussie generosity.
Pamela and I are gobsmacked and so incredibly blessed.
Might take a while but We’llberightmate . . . until the next time anyway.
Love you both to bits . . .

ps. light the candle, Maureen 
pps. I’ll keep on working on the G’day . . .

Please say a prayer for all these folks taking to the air to get here, okay?
Doesn’t have to be Robert Frost prose but keep them in your prayers.
GodSpeed to all . . .
Can’t wait to see all of you!