A dear friend of mine died last Sunday.
I just found out about it today.
Ironic that I was looking for something in my closet just the other day and
looked up on my bookshelf to see my old copy of
"Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance",
the cult novel by Robert Persig.
Its pink and black cover reeking 'classic lit'.
Rod had given it to me many years ago during one of my visits to see him.
I thought, "I should really call him one of these days."
Looks like I waited a bit too long.
His last words were supposedly, "With a little more time, I would've gotten it right!"
You were wrong, HRB.
You got it right this time, from where I'm standing.
Although there are no calling hours I thought some music would be appropriate.
He loved music.
This is your swan song, my dear friend.
I will miss you.

 

Out on the street I was talkin’ to a man
He said "there’s so much of this life of mine that I don’t understand"
You shouldn’t worry yes that ain’t no crime
Cause if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

You need direction, yeah you need a name
When you’re standing in the crossroads every highway looks the same
After a while you can recognize the signs
So if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

Life is a liar yeah life is a cheat
It’ll lead you on and pull the ground from underneath your feet
No use complainin’, don’t you worry, don’t you whine
Cause if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

You gotta grow, you gotta learn by your mistakes
You gotta die a little everyday just to try to stay awake
When you believe there’s no mountain you can climb
And if you get it wrong you’ll get it right next time (next time).

"Get it right next time" by Gerry Rafferty

Monday rolls around way too quick these days.
Where did the week go?
Poof.
That's where.
Welcome to Malarky Monday!
This is the day of the week that a group of us (teh blogocracy) tries
to get you to giggle, spit, put a smile on your face or all three.
After reading my post, please visit my fellow cohorts for more Monday Mayhem.
This is 'crazy shit' week for me.
A potpourri of oddness and funky humor.
Sorry in advance about the f-bombs

There is nothing funnier than a cat wearing red sox.
Oh, wait a minute.
There is . . .

 

This is pretty much self explanatory but funny nonetheless.
Illegal downloading is a problem these days.
Still trying to download an English Bull Terrier . . .

 

Is this cat's name Rocky?

And in closing a footnote to our wonderful government
(currently buried in 2ft of snow. cool, huh?)
((screw 'em, they deserve it))

 

 

Now please visit my MM blogging buds!

Moe
Morky
Dilligaf

 

I thought I was going to put up a Facebook page and go anonymous but I was wrong.
It didn't work out that way at all.
In the past 24 hours, I've changed my name three times and received over 60
emails regarding changes in my status.
I've also managed to piss off someone already and have been told to, "Go fry ice."
In a nice way, of course.
That must be the Facebook way or something.
Jesus Krispies, some people really take their FB seriously.
I am getting a kick out of the people I've already run across though.
It's like old home week.
My daughter Sarah has 'friended' me but I'm currently experiencing the heartache of being 'blocked' for the first time.
Ouch that hurts, SG. (cue the violins, please)
Who knows, Pamela may have her own Facebook page before the end of the day.
I'll tell her, "It's just like Twitter. Except different. Kinda."
She'll shake her head and say, "Whatever."
That means, "Go ahead. Sign me up. Even though I won't know what the hell I'm doing."
I'll tell her, "Hey, that's what we have the kids for."
For now maybe we'll wait on a Facebook page for rumswizzle.
She's just started getting good at Twitter.
Click on the picture above for a gander at my profile page.

 

 

 

Nothing says congratulations quite like a picture of Borat, don'tcha think?
High Five! <-- click here, please
Back in November I did a post regarding people that have left
the most comments on my blog.
I challenged people to try and up their comment count by offering prizes.
(I know, I'm a comment whore, sue me)  :mrgreen:
As of 12.31.2009 the top three commenters were:
*Maureen (154)
*Lolly (77)
and
*Lynn (71)

*numbers are a very close approximation according to Google

I want to thank all three of you for being such an integral part of my blog over the past year.
Without interaction and comments like yours I wouldn't be here.
Know that something will be on its way this Wednesday when I hit the post office.
*Maureen, your prize will be inside Morky's b-day gift which we will send in February
(And it's quite a doozy, let me say. And no, it is not a cheeseburger)
I thank all three of you for visiting me and making my comment numbers go in the right direction.
Up.
You ladies have rocked my world.
The best to all of you in the new year.
And please keep visiting . . .

Malarky Monday will be back next week.
Moe and Mark have been in Sydney since last weekend making it tough for
a Monday post.
Hopefully, this video will suffice until then.
Happy Malarky Monday, folks!

 

ps. got some fireworks going off here on Thursday night.
Be sure to check it out!

There are things that happen in our lives that occasionally defy space, time, gravity and logic. While we experience these types of phenomena on a daily basis we are sometimes too busy to see and embrace it. There are two areas that require attention in my backyard: the lawn and the flowers. I generally mow the lawn while Pamela tends to the flowers. The flowerpots lining the yard and hanging from the shed looked especially good this year but the garden looked like some fat lady sat on it. The poor appearance of the garden had something to do with the amount of rainfall we had in June. It rained 28 days out of 30 and the garden flowers suffered. Pamela hates weeds and is constantly plucking them from the garden and the mulch that surrounds the outside of the yard. I tell you this so you understand that she has a keen awareness of all things growing in the backyard. As I said before, all of the Cape Cod goodbyes were difficult but nothing could have prepared me for August 2nd, the day Maureen and Mark left. Pamela & Hannah went with me to the airport that afternoon. The skies were greyslate over Boston and the tone in the truck was a bit somber compared to the first drive to the Cape two very short weeks ago. We somehow managed the ‘goodbyes’ and went our separate ways, more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I was walking and wearing my Akubra, my arm around Pamela. She took my arm and placed it over Hannah’s shoulder who was hurting more than Pamela. This would be our hardest and saddest goodbye. We got home and tried to keep busy straightening up and getting the house back in order for the work week ahead. I poured a few fingers of Maker’s Mark and made Pamela a Rum Swizzle. I was in the kitchen on my laptop when I heard Pamela yell from the backyard, “Hey Michael! Come here!” She was standing by the enormous hostas (so big I call them Jimmy Hostas) staring at the ground. “Look at those two flowers.” “Yeah,” I said, in that low to high tone I use when questioning her. “They weren’t there before. I swear. I’ve never seen them.” “Then how did they get there,” I asked. “They’re Impatiens. They need to be planted.” “And you didn’t plant them?” I asked. “Nope.” She got teary and said, “It’s Maureen and Mark. They didn’t want to leave. They didn‘t.” What do you say to a woman crying over two mysterious flowers that have grown out of nowhere? You don’t argue, for one thing. You shake your head, agree, and give her a huge hug. As a dear friend of mine once said of wonderful and mysterious things in this life, “Sometimes, it just is.” I’m also thinking that those plant roots run quite deep. Now that’s something I can definitely relate to . . .

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

Maureen and Mark will be here until next Sunday so I don't expect much to change here at Smoke and Mirrors. It's not everyday that you can show someone from Australia around the city of Boston. The week at the Cape seems like a dream now, a very wonderful dream. With games like 'Celebrity Heads', 'The Redneck Game of Life' and 'Three Questions', I learned more about this special group of people than I would have learned in a lifetime. And although I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, I promise there will be much to come. I'll be coming 'home' very soon.

It’s always a daunting task starting a new journal; all that virgin white space, the absence of anything resembling a word or thought, and the cackling cynic inside me all trying to sway me towards more menial things like cutting my lawn (which needs to be done, btw) or re-grouting the tile in the bathroom. This soft leather-covered journal was made in Italy and given to me by my daughter Jenna. It’s really gorgeous. I began to wonder what will be written on these pages by the years end. In 7.23 days, me, Pamela and the girls will be spending a week on Cape Cod with Annie, Maureen, Mark & Evyl (and Joyce!) The location will not be disclosed so please don’t ask. We’re celebrating Christmas in July because my wife thought December was a silly time for all the folks involved to visit. This is going to be one of the most amazing weeks of my life while on this spinning blue ball in space. There will be many things: laughter, tears, music, incredible food, stories, Rum Swizzle, bourbon, Guinness and enough fine cigars to smoke out an army of stogie veterans. Oh, and there will be stories. I know I already wrote that but it needs to be repeated. Honestly, where would we be without our stories? If someone had told me 10 years ago that I’d be spending a week of my life with people I’d never met I’d say they really ‘lost the plot’. All of us talk on the phone and Gmail chat on a fairly regular basis so no one is a complete stranger here. I’ve known Annie since our writing days at WVU. And Evyl has been a true bud since I first started this blogging thing back in 2005. As far as Maureen and Mark, I’ve known them from some previous life, or so it seems. I could go on and on about my personal expectations regarding this most special of holidays but I prefer to record some actual memories in this very special journal. Stay tuned for some truly awesome posts starting around the 18th of July (our first day on the Cape) We have some blogging hijinx planned as well, actually more of a blog hijacking, so to speak. All will be revealed in time. We’ve all waited well over a year for this moment. What’s 7.20 more days? And it now looks like my new journal isn’t so new anymore. Stay tuned. As far as the post title goes . . .  my dear Pamela is pretty damn sure *she may not be ready. Just watch her 'Twitter' for more details! :mrgreen: Ready or not Cape Cod, here we come!

She is the light of my life, my best friend in the whole, wide world and the mother of 3 incredible daughters. She is the heart of our home and the glue that makes everything stick. I can't imagine my life without her (the same goes for our daughters, for that matter) She forever goes above and beyond the call of duty regarding our girls and that's just one of the thousands of reasons she's so damn incredible. When she reads this she will deny it 100%. Yes, folks, she is humble as well. I am fortunate enough in this life to be married to my best friend. Happy Mother's Day, Pamela. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for every single thing you do for me and the girls. I love you like crazy, green eyes. As do our girls . . . A Happy Mother's Day to all! ps. Mom, I miss you as I do every year since you've been gone. Last Wednesday afternoon's visit was my present. Hope you liked the flowers . . . love, Michael pps. Pamela is Mother of the Year!