I was up and out of bed at 5:45 this morning, a bit early on a Tuesday but I had some things to do before heading into Boston. I could hear freezing rain ‘ticking’ off the windows in the living room and thought, “Early train.”
Icy conditions bamboozle the commuter rail and taking an early train would ensure me an on-time arrival at work.
The train left at 7:30 and being an express train should have arrived in Boston by 9 allowing me an hour or so to grab a bagel, coffee and a quick glance at the morning paper while sitting on my perch high above Copley Square. (@Finagle-a-Bagel on Boylston St.)
Faulty rail signals, an express train turned local (all stops)
and a medical emergency 15 minutes outside of the city got a very livid Mick to Back Bay Station at 9:50am.
Smack my ass and call me Betty, but I was ready to kill someone.
So much for the leisurely coffee and toasted bagel, so much for a glance at the newspaper, so much for a break from the incessant insanity surrounding the holiday.
Fuck a fruitcake, I was pissed.
And I gave up 45 minutes of sleep to run to work.
Excellent.
That was the start of the day.
I should have stayed in bed and continued scratching my ass.
This was not what I had in mind to start my day.
The month of December has me searching, every single year, looking for something that allows me to make some kind of logical sense of the holidays.
It gets harder every year, folks.
Some years, I’m lucky and it falls into my hands like a subtle grace from heaven.
I remember coming home one Christmas Eve several years ago from wherever I was working at the time.
I felt grumpy and tired, filled with enough vitriolic wassail that I was eager to share it with anyone unfortunate enough to cross my path.
It was snowing that night and the roads were all unplowed, (another opportunity for me to curse the Gods) making the going very slippery.
I pulled up to the top of my driveway, turned off my truck and closed my eyes.
After a few deep breaths I said, “It’s over, Michael. Another season is over.”
I got out of my truck and began walking towards the house when I stopped.
Beyond the candles in our windows and the twinkling Christmas tree I could see Pamela and my three girls.
They were laughing, they were happy and they were waiting for me.
With snow falling all around me, my mind took a lifelong snapshot of that image.
In an instant, the world changed and in that snowflake-filled moment, so did I.
I found exactly what I was looking for (and thanked St.Anthony, btw).
That Christmas Eve would turn out to be something magical.
This year, the task is turning out to be something of a scavenger hunt.
8 days left and I’m still looking . . .
and saying my fervent prayers to St.Anthony . . .

It all began back in 1986 when I was living the life of a ‘musical’ Riley.
That, however, is a post for another day.
I used to write songs for my wife as unique Christmas presents.
After sending a few of them on to a dear friend, she suggested (ever so gently) that I make an attempt to sell my wares.
Clearance from my wife and a link to PayPal has opened up a channel of commerce, so to speak.
The CD is a compilation of ten songs written and recorded exclusively by me.
Accompanying each CD will be liner notes for each song, with my personal thoughts and wishes for each.
CD’s will be ready to ship immediately.
10 tunes, pure Christmas, pure me.
There’s also an added bonus track this year, an instrumental called ‘Waltz for Mel’ written for another dear friend for the wedding of her daughter.
I guess you could do worse and order a Britney Spears Christmas CD.
Click on the street musician below or the Santa hat in my sidebar.
Feel free to pass the link on to someone you know that likes sappy original compositions.
Actually, the songs are quite nice, imho.
If you’re interested but want to hear something first, let me know.
I have a tune ready to be sent via email.
If you have Itunes installed, even better.

Sometimes, the problems you must face
are more than you wish to cope with,
and tomorrow doesn’t seem to offer any solutions.

You may ask yourself, “Why me?”
but the answer is sometimes unclear.
You may even tend to feel that life hasn’t been just or fair
to burden you with such obstacles.

The roads any of us choose to follow are never free
of bumps or curves,
but eventually the turns lead to a smoother path ahead.

Believe in yourself and your dreams.
You will soon realize that the future holds many promises
for you.
Remember . . .  difficult times don’t last forever.

~Geri Danks

{dedicated to my three girls}

I am: always waiting, endlessly hoping
I think: the world is going to hell in a hand basket . . .
I know: I’m not the only one that thinks so
I want: just enough
I have: a sad heart . . .
I wish: it weren’t so
I hate: Winter . . . (it’s coming)
I miss: Summer
I fear: things I have no control over
I feel: tired, like always
I hear: conversation, the rustle of a newspaper, a train on the tracks
I smell: like a fine cigar . . . (that nobody likes)
I crave: anything but
I search: for ‘the’ words . . .
I wonder: exactly what they mean
I regret: so very many things, so many mistakes, wrong turns and unfulfilled dreams
I ache: daily
I care: deeply
I always: keep ‘hope’ somewhere very close
I am not: a brain surgeon, but I’m pretty freekin’ smart
I believe: in my three wonderful daughters (my 3 hopes)
I dance: like an epileptic underneath a manic strobe light
I sing: rarely these days, which is sad
I cry: behind locked doors (not often enough)
I don’t always: shave my head
I fight: for what I truly believe in
I write: to simply stay sane
I never: feel that life is fair
I stole: a nice four-wheel dolly from a ritzy Hotel in Boston many years ago
(actually, I just ‘forgot’ to return it)
I listen: to those that truly need to be heard
I need: something
I am happy about: the fact that the dung-slinging elections are almost over.
And I could give two sweet shits about them.
Politics suck. Period. Amen.

Feel free to tag yourself on this.
No tagging here.
I borrowed this from Moe.
Great Meme . . .
Maybe too much information?
Ah, well, it had to come out sooner or later . . .

truth, masquerading
honesty is a false face
cuts my bleeding soul . . .

This day has found me disillusioned with various aspects of my life.
I am sadly discovering that in the blogworld, things aren’t always what they seem.
Seriously contemplating some time away from this place that I truly love, if only to figure out just what the hell I’m really trying to accomplish here.
I may be back tomorrow, I may not.
Right now, I just don’t know.
Pleading the fifth and I’ll leave it at that.
Much safer that way.
Until next time, be well folks.

I received an email a week or so ago that I almost sent to the spammer.
Something made me open it.
It was from a woman named Jody Simpson, of WEGO Health, an online resource for health related issues.
She had been reading my Memory Lane blog and was curious if I’d be interested in doing a “spotlight interview” regarding my personal experience with Alzheimer’s Disease.
I agreed and was contacted by Toni Kistner, the assigned editor for my interview.
Jody and Toni were both incredibly helpful in ultimately getting this thing down on paper.
I thank them both dearly.
Click on the picture above to learn a few things that you may not have known about me.
To leave a comment on WEGO, you may have to register.
If that doesn’t work for you, feel free to leave a comment back here.
As always, thanks so much for reading.

I’ve thought about this place for a long time.
Had dreams about it actually.
When I began blogging back in February of 2005, I remember wanting to create a place of safe harbour for my words and thoughts; such delicate things.
I wanted it to be a place like no other.
I eventually realized that would be hard to do because of the limiting nature of platforms like Blogspot and WordPress.com.
While they were good in their own right, my options were a bit limited.
I look at my blog tonight and to be honest, I am gobsmacked.
It’s so damn beautiful.
My life has had many wonderful twists and turns since that tentative first post way back when.
I thank God I found the intestinal fortitude to finally hit the ‘publish’ button.
My life hasn’t been quite the same since.
What you see before you is the culmination of a writer’s dream, a place I can call my own.
The writing won’t change but the walls are much prettier to look at, don’t you think?
I thank you for visiting and hope you’ve changed that URL on your blogroll.
There’s more work to be done here but I believe this is a respectable start.
Before I let you cruise around the joint, some thank you’s are in order.
I’ll try not to make this sound like I’m accepting an Academy Award but . . .

My deepest thanks and gratitude to Moe, she wanted this for me as much as I did for myself.
She is singlehandedly responsible for installing the WordPress.org software (on a server somewhere in Arizona), uploading countless themes, plugins and all the bells and whistles that make this blog sing.
The webhosting and my own domain were an early Christmas present from her and Mark, Anonypop.
(thanks, mate)
Maureen, you are a beautiful and brilliant star that was destined to find your way into my night sky.
I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Maybe someday while drinking beer and eating lobster on Cape Cod.

Thanks to Kelly, for helping to render the CSS code in order to make this blog look the way it does.
To me, reading CSS is like Chinese Arithmetic, it just doesn’t make any sense.
But Kel knows her stuff. Brilliant.
And, she is the sole reason Amum and I met.
I call meeting Kel a Godwink.
I call knowing Kel a Godsend.
Thanks, kiddo.
Bloody good job.

Thanks to Annie for believing in me even when I stopped believing in myself.
You are a true friend, a great poet, writer and an absolute sweetheart to boot.

Evyl, for being there.
You have been with me from the very beginning of this blogging thing.
You have taught me that as bad as life can get, you still have to laugh.
You rock Mr. Mac

To my wife, Pamela, who gives me the time and space I need to write and maintain a site such as this.
It’s time consuming as any decent blogger knows.
Her patience is a virtue, her encouragement and love are virtually endless.
Am I lucky or what?

And lastly to my mother, the reason I began writing in the first place.
This one’s for you, Mom.

Welcome to the new Smoke and Mirrors, folks.
Don’t forget to change that URL . . .
And thanks for the visit.
Looks like I’ll be around for a little while . . .

I am currently reading two books: “Book of Shadows” by James Reese and “Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage” by Alice Munro.
I always have several in the backpack.
The count was three as of earlier this evening before I finished
“When God Winks” by SQuire Rushnell, a belated birthday gift from my sister
(actually, wicked belated ).
WGW is a book that explores the deeper meaning of coincidence in our lives.

God Wink ; a personal signal or message, directly from a higher power, usually, but not always, in the form of a coincidence

My sister bought it for me simply because she and I are intensely familiar with God Winks.
There’s this.
Or this.
Or this.

The book goes on to explain that these instances of coincidence (or serendipity, if you like that better) are signposts from the heavens that we’re on the right track; cosmic signals that we are not alone.
I’ve had many “winks” in my lifetime.

A few years after I began writing, I entered a contest at Writer’s Digest.
Ten people could win $100 in WD writing books and a year’s subscription to Writer’s Market, a WD site that helps find a home for that oh, so lonely priceless manuscript.

Months passed and I forgot all about the contest BUT I was still writing.
I remember sitting at the computer one day and staring at the damned blinking cursor thinking, “What the hell am I doing? I can’t write. This is stupid.”
Feeling disgusted and totally unoriginal, I closed Word and checked my email.
Spam.
Spam.
Spam.
Word of the Day.
Spam.
Writer’s Digest.
Writer’s Digest?
Hmmm.
I opened the email and started yelling.
I won.
Ask my wife. I NEVER WIN ANYTHING. Truth.
A wink to be sure.
And hey, I’m still writing, right?
Now I pass the pen to you guys. I love coincidence and I love winks.
Tell me about one.
Come on, now. You have at least one if you really think about it.
I know for a fact that Kelly and Maureen have had a few.
Hell, Annie, too.
How about it guys?
One wink for the gipper? (I’m trying to say that with an Aussie accent)
~m

Ps. Sis, the book was bloody brilliant. I could have written it myself . . .

It was in this post that I mentioned a moment of clarity that I’d experienced with my mother when she was in the later stages of Alzheimer’s.
I like to think that there are times in our lives when, for whatever the reason, we are deserving of a small gift of the soul; something that catches us off guard and lifts the spirit; an experience that simply says, ‘carry on’.
If you’ve visited Smoke and Mirrors before and have read any of my writing, you could conceivably finish this post for me.
I think.

Lately, I have been keeping close tabs on my father (my sister, as well) for reasons I have chosen to keep private.
That said, I visited him last Sunday around noontime to feed him lunch.
He tends to eat well whenever my sister and I feed him simply because we’re able to be patient. It’s a wonderful feeling to know he’ll nap the afternoon away with a belly full of food and that we had a small part in it.

He ate well for me on Sunday: pot roast, mashed potatoes w/gravy, vegetables and the softest dinner roll I’ve ever held in my hand.
I wasn’t sure if he would even finish his dessert but the bastard ate all the Banana Cream Pie and didn’t even ask if I wanted any.
(I tried it and yes, it was very good)

I cleaned him up and we sat by the window in his room.
A slice of winter sunshine found him and I think he enjoyed the warmth of it.
I spoke with a few of the nurses on the floor who told me that he’d had a very good night.

“Walter? Oh, no problems with him. Sweet man.”

With my questions answered and my father fed, I went back to his room and bent down so we were face-to-face, and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Dad.”

He just stared at me.

“I know, I know,” I said, “You love me too, right?”

He lifted his tired hand, smiled and gently stroked my cheek.
No words were exchanged but no words were really necessary.
For a brief second, my father was really ‘there‘.

When moments like this happen you have to soak them in because they’re oh, so rare.
It’s the stuff of the soul.
Small gifts, my sister said.
Maybe they’re not quite as small as I’d originally thought.
I walked out of the nursing home and felt the winter sun on my face and I smiled because it felt a bit warmer than it usually does.
Maybe that was a gift as well . . .

~m

Having three girls, there are things that as a man you just know, or don’t know.
I’ve been thinking about this for sometime and have come up with a list of things they’ve taught me.
Sometimes it’s just observing their bizarre womanly ways and sometimes I get a hands-on lesson.

• I can spot a Vera Bradley handbag from 100 paces. (yeah, I know. Scary)
• Orlando Bloom is hot, but Jensen Ackles (Supernatural) is way hotter.
• Folding laundry is quite natural now except when it comes to folding a bra.
• “I love you, Daddy,” loosely translated means, “I need something and you will get it for me.”
• Girls can be downright nasty to each other.
• Nothing dries tears quicker than a trip to Hollister.
• They know the ins and outs of Itunes way better than I do.
• They can use the T9 word when texting on their cell enabling them to send me the “Gettysburg Address” in less time than it takes me to text the word, “Ok” and hit send.
• There are countless stars in the sky, but every one has its place.
• Never honestly comment on a new hairstyle. Just say, “It looks very nice.”
• Not all facial moisturizers are created equal.
• Patience. (4 women getting ready to go out for a Saturday evening is excruciating)

Look for a future post and update.
Learning about women is an ongoing process and I’m still a beginning student, apt but beginning.

~m