Send In The Clowns

By – Daniel H. McCarty

Editor note:  This little ditty from February, 2016.  I don’t think i missed the mark by much.  This was previously posted on ‘Life After Mass’, an alternative blog that I use.  Those that follow closely might see something familiar.

 

I’m a political Junkie. Not the kind of day-to-day politics that goes on in the Congress and Senate. Nope. That’s an exercise in futility. That trike is broke and there don’t seem to be a body in a hurry to fix it.

Walt Kelly

I’m talking’ pure entertainment. Expensive entertainment but a hoot and a holler nonetheless. It’s a lopsided spectacle this year. All the buffoonery is on one side of the aisle. You see the Dems have all but ceded that hoss race to the Queen of Little Rock. That’s a shame because Bernie is a far more interesting character in my mind and I can betcha he doesn’t have more than 57 cents in his pocket. and that’s a Sears and Roebuck pocket to boot. But I’ve always been a Democrat in the voting booth and a Socialist on the street. I don’t fear the label. If they had elected Zolton Ferency Governor in the 70’s, Michigan would be in better shape today (do the Wikipedia). but that’s history and we all know how much attention that gets.

Walt Kelly

But the Far Side?  Now that’s a spectacle. We’re not talking a pair of boobs. No, more like a baker’s Dozen. And they aren’t sweet and petite. Uh Unh. these are big, sweaty, ridiculously obscene Chesty Morgan boobs.

Bill Watterson

Donald Trump – New York bluster without class, subtlety or empathy.. How many bankruptcies has he presided over? Hates immigrants – just marries them. Would you really want him representing us in a diplomatic role? You don’t put Putin in a headlock. And he’s never been wrong. Too rich to be wrong.

Jeb? – Looks like a deer in the headlights lately. But he’s already got King Faisal’s support. And besides, his wife is Mexican and he speaks Spanish (Immigration Issue – it’s a lock) and his Daddy and big brother have already been president. Its his turn. Right? How come he never uses his last name anymore. Hmmmmm?

Chris Cristie – New Jersey tough guy role will get him votes in Hoboken. Rest of the country – not so much. Big ole sweaty boy.

Dr. Ben Carson – Living proof that intellect can be one-dimensional. “Hey, Obama’s black.  He got elected. And he was just a lawyer.”

Rick Santorum – Far Right Wing Catholic that is even attacking the Pope. And he still wears sweater vests. If you aren’t in possession of a pair of ovaries, don’t try to legislate them. what was he thinking?

Lindsey Graham – Battery was dead in the driveway before he even filed. Never made it over the Ashley River Bridge. What was he thinking?

Bobby Jindal – Had them lighten his skin for his official portrait. Nuff said. What was he thinking?

Mike Huckabee – Josh Duggar. What was he thinking?

Kasich – Who? What was he thinking.

Scott Walker – Well he is on the Koch payroll so he has already accomplished something. He’s been thinking a lot.

Mario Rubio – He listens to Hip Hop and he’s from Florida. That’s a whole lot of electoral votes and hanging chads. And his parents are Cuban immigrants. He also speaks Spanish, but who cares. His daddy and brother were never president. But he is thinking and he’ll be back.

Carly – She’s so vain. What was she thinking? Oh right. She has ovaries.

And if I left anybody out….well who really cares. The rest have been consigned to the kids table anyway.

So. Do you want to know what they aren’t talking about at the kids table?

Walt Kelly

GLOBAL WARMING: Yeap. 10,000 of the worlds most astute environmental, ecological and physical scientists are all wrong. The Jersey sweaty boy has consigned Hurricane Sandy to the nightmare file and the California Drought and total lack of snowpack in the High Sierras is just an anomaly.

Theres a reason that the Right is in abject denial of Climate Change. It’s economic. Citizens United put a price tag on America and the heavy hitters stepped up and outbid the public and your children’s future. Do you know how they calculate the value of an energy company like Georgia Pacific, BP or Exxon Mobil? Not by what they have in the storehouse or on the shelves but by whats in the ground that is yet to come to the surface. If legislation is passed that limits carbon that pollutes, than the stock value of energy companies takes a hit. And we are talking about trillions of dollars in resources so a $250 million dollar ad campaign targeting climate change scientists is a drop in the bucket. And they have a huge block of the American public buying into their lunacy.

ECONOMICS and PRIVATIZATION:

Supply Side Economics, Friedmaneconomics, Chicago School Economics, Reaganomics, Trickle Down Economics or Compassionate Conservatism. Rewrap it every four years and put a pretty new bow on it but its all the same. And it does not work. Never has and never will. Know why? The theory is that if you give tax breaks and incentives to the wealthy that they will take that wealth and create more jobs and become wealthier and then the cup will overflow and that excess wealth will trickle down to the bottom feeders. You want to put more money into the economy? Than portion it out to the poor and working class because they feed it right back into the pool because they live paycheck to paycheck. They spend their money immediately. They don’t stash it into foreign investments and offshore banks.

When I was in the Marine Corps in the early 70’s, I had my breakfast cooked by a mess Sargent, rode in a cattle car driven by a Corporal from the Motor Pool and watched the Seabees construct roads and E.M clubs. That’s all history. Now private companies do all that. Pizza Hut and Taco Bell feed the troops and Cheney’s buddys from Halliburton handle all the construction tasks. And they are making a ton of money doing it. But you think business can do a better job than the US Government. Well Uncle Sam got us to the moon and back and gave us velcro, computers (yes I know what the British did in WWII) and solar power. And the best pair of boots I ever had were courtesy of Uncle Sam. Private enterprise? Just go look at Flint and Detroit. And anyone heard from US Steel lately (Yes I am aware of what the Marshall plan did for the Japanese and German steel industries). The Mortgage crisis? Unchecked greed at its finest. So much for private enterprise. Folks, this isn’t 1955 anymore. And big business is not in business to look out for your well being.  And heres a mini shock for you, capitalism isn’t working either.  Least not for you.  We’ve been bought and sold.  You don’t buy that?  Give me a call.

Walt Kelly

FAMILY VALUES and GODLINESS:

Emotional Issues. Religion isn’t a photo op and few politicians really care about abortion or where your kids go to school. They put on the shawl and carry a borrowed Bible through the doors of the First Presbyterian while flashbulbs pop. And the pious soak it up. And as soon as they are out of office their shadow never darkens Gods door again. Ron Reagan was not a believer, G. Dub paints still lifes on Sunday and Trump can’t even quote you a bible verse. Even I can do that. The most pious president of the last 50 years was Jimmy Carter and he is vilified by the Right. Because he was a Democrat. It’s all about emotion and pulling the heartstrings of the Bible Belt. And they are true believers who do not question. That boat floats high in the water.

Walt Kelly

IMMIGRATION: It inflames the Base. They have no problem with undocumented aliens that tend their gardens and change Juniors diaper. Why would they? They work for half the price and you don’t have to worry about unemployment compensation. And another Great Wall? Didn’t the Chinese do that? Where did it get them for the next 1000 years? Do you have any idea how much that would cost? Where is that money coming from? Couldn’t we put it to better use elsewhere? Didn’t you have a relative on your family tree that came here looking for a better life?

RACE:

Ever been Black or Brown…..or Yellow? Any idea what that’s like? Now if you answered yes, than my apologies but I aim to continue because most didn’t answer at all. You think that there isn’t a different standard? Well, than I can’t get through to you in this brief forum. Step out of your shoes and rethink your mindset. Or you can remain a curmudgeon. What do you have against Continuing Education ?

So…………….

I am a Progressive without apology.

I don’t accept the smear job that has been done on the word Liberal, Socialist and Progressive.

They have Huckabee, Trump, GW, Santorum, Coulter, O’Reilly, Limbaugh, Beck,Hannity and Palin.

We have Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky, Micheal Kinsley and Bill Nye.

They have Victoria Jackson and the Cable Guy.

We have Jon Stewart.

They have Cat Scratch Fever.

We have Born to Run………

I think I’ll stay in my corner.

Walt Kelly

whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

Welcome To The Hotel Art (California) – Such A Lovely Place – An Audio-Visual Adventure -1

By Daniel H. McCarty

Editors Note:  It’s been awhile since I posted a photo essay.  I have to share these.  This is going to be long because there were too many that I couldn’t leave out and you are never going to be able to see them in person.  They are going to raze the place,  So, I decided to post them all.  This may take several posts.  It will be worth it – trust me.  One favor I ask.  Do not view this on your cellphone.  Please.  You need the biggest screen you can get and the highest resolution you can commandeer.  If you have to borrow a friend’s computer, then so be it.  They were edited on my I-Mac 27″ 4K monitor.  The colors are amazing. Keep in mind that I had to deal with the light available.

Click on the photos to enlarge

Lady GaGa mural

Sometimes you just get lucky.  We went to photograph the murals painted on walls, dumpsters and alley ways of Sacramento.  I posted several on FB last week.  The last stop was the jewel – a 40 foot tall Lady Gaga.  It was a work in process.  The painter was an artist from London.  She was standing in the bucket of a hoist with spray cans in her hand.  The area was cordoned off with yellow evidence tape.  You couldn’t get within 50 feet.

A few days later, an old friend posted pictures of the completed mural that she had taken from the back of a motorcycle.  I had to see the completed work.  We went back the next morning.  While there we got into a conversation with Bruce Presley who happened to be the property manager of the surrounding buildings.  He mentioned that they were going to be razing the buildings on the south side of the courtyard.

Bruce Presley

“Man, you should see the inside of that place.  It was The Art Hotel.  It’s a wreck, but its a fabulous wreck.  Everyone that lived there was some kind of artist.  Poets, Painters and Playwrights.  There’s art everywhere.  Gotta see it to believe it.”

“Can we get in?”

“No, not today.  Supposed to be off-limits.  Too late today.  Not before Friday.  Maybe Friday morning.  I got things to take care of.”

I was flying out to Chattanooga the next day.  Damn.

“I can let you in Friday morning.  What time you want to do it?”

“9:00 a.m. OK?”  I had already decided to switch my flight.  After all, I had come to California to take pictures .  I couldn’t pass this up.

“Won’t be here at 9:00.  How about 11:00?”

“Deal.  We’ll be here.”

Outside wall of The Art Hotel

I switched my flight out to 10:30 at night on Friday, the Redeye.  At 10:45a.m. we were standing on the street looking for Bruce.  He didn’t disappoint.

“I’m going to let you in this back door.  You can open the front entrance door to give you a little light.  Otherwise the only light is going to be through the windows.  Now I’m not going in to hold your hand so you gonna have to be careful.  It’s an old place.”

Back entrance of The Art Hotel w/ Bruce Presley and Karen Bagdasarian

Front Vestibule of The Art Hotel

The Night Porter

That was the extent of the entry way.  It just gets better.

“Welcome to The Art Hotel”

Riding on the Wall

 

See Next Post to continue the pictures – There’s a lot more

“Hold on, I gotta take this call.” Whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

Red House Over Yonder – 2

 

Editors note:  Part II.   Just so you know.  Resolution or saturation has not been enhanced.  I did Photoshop but only to enhance light and decrease shadows.

Door to nowhere. Nothing but air and a 30′ drop

 

 

“Wait a minute, something wrong here
My key won’t unlock this door
Wait a minute, something wrong here
Lord have mercy this
key won’t unlock this door
(something wrong here)
I gotta bad, bad feeling
My baby don’t live here no more
(That’s ok, I still got my guitar…look out!)”  from Purple House by Prince – a tribute to Jimi Hendrix’ Red House

“I always loved Red, Dearie” Gracie Allen Whistledownthewinddotorg1’wordpress.com

This Used To Be Home – 3

Editors Note:  People lived here, worked here, created here.

The “Art Hotel” show will only be open 8 days since the building will be demolished.
Andrew Nixon / Capital Public Radio – From the below article

http://www.capradio.org/articles/2016/02/05/artists-take-over-abandoned-hotel-in-downtown-sac/

The following pictures are of the former owners and their families.  Some were piled on the floor after relinquishing their hold of the wall.  Others still hung on.  Bruce said the paper was too fragile to take them off the wall so he was waiting for them to join the others.

 

 

“I was just thinking about you.” Whistledownthewinddotorgi.wordpress,com

Every Picture Tells a Story- 4

Editors Note:   This may take two more posts, give or take.  It was such an experience.  The way you feel when you visit Bodie.  Abandoned lives.  But in this case its abandoned art.  Soon to fall neath the wrecking ball.  I’m not quantifying here.  I don’t have a clue whether this is world-class art or not.  But I do know this.  It’s loud, it’s vibrant. it’s fun, it sucks you in  and it just may be the artist at their best at that given time.  That’s exactly the same thing that I try to capture every time I push the shutter on my camera.  The best you can do at that given time.  If you are looking for Technical Mastery, you won’t find it here.  The conditions were too dark, the light just wouldn’t cooperate.  A more proficient photographer would have done a better job but I  didn’t have time to wait for them

“I firmly believed that I didn’t need anyone but me
I sincerely thought I was so complete
Look how wrong you can be
The women I’ve known I wouldn’t let tie my shoe
They wouldn’t give you the time of day
But the slant-eyed lady knocked me off my feet
God, I was glad I found her”   ‘Every Picture Tells A Story’  Rod Stewart

 

 

 

 

And our credo: “Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc.” We gladly feast on those who would subdue us. Not just pretty words.”                    Whistle downthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

Wordsmiths – 5

Editors Note:  I have great fondness for those that bare their soul on an empty canvas.  I have walked with poets, I have raised a glass with poets.  So word of advice when you are in the presence of a wordsmith.  Listen with open ears and eyes.  They aren’t looking for analysis.  They are awaiting your emotional response.  Sometimes a wistful smile says it all

The Lake and the Sunflowers

What will I remember when I can’t remember well
What will rise from the bottom of the lake
Which stories will I revisit
That have confounded me

The ones with hooks and line left behind
A sunken boat with ragged boards
Or shattered glass and rusted metal
Maybe blanched fishermen’s bones

All might emerge from the deep
To inhale and exhale
And turn over and over
In my anchorless mind

But then just maybe
I might look to a shoreline
From above the dark surface
And see what is growing at the edge

Something that will comfort me
Something bright against the dim reaches
A clear memory from my happier past
I know for me there will be sunflowers

 ‘The Lake and the Sunflowers’  by Jo Asakawa

 

Gepetto lacked Empathy

The intersection of light and prose

Hardin was never meant for California.  Died at the hands of a squatter

A lot cheaper in the long run.  A little luck and the price of a SF Giants ticket

Happy for you Shelbey

Dear Aquatic friends, stay clear of the sunshine

I tried, but I just couldn’t argue with that

Wicks never quit. Quitters never wick.

Please don’t turn out the lights.  We are all quite fond of Magpie.  Do your part

Quiet please.  Be very, very quiet

Theres a message for you in the cupboard. I couldn’t find anymore room on the walls and windows

The writing is on the walls. The whole screenplay

If the word fits, swear it

Inspiration in a bottle. Ever wonder what Hemingway would have written if he’d been a stoner? That ‘Old Man’ would have never left the dock.

“

“I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling ’bout half past dead
I just need some place where I can lay my head
Hey, mister, can you tell me, where a man might find a bed?
He just grinned and shook my hand, “No” was all he said.

Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me

I picked up my bags, I went looking for a place to hide
When I saw old Carmen and the Devil, walking side by side
I said, “Hey, Carmen, c’mon, let’s go downtown”
She said, “I gotta go, but my friend can stick around”

Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free”     ‘The Weight’  by  The Band

whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

Come To My Window – 6

Editors Note:  This ought to wrap it up, unless Karen surprises me with a few sharp dressed pics.  Women go crazy for a sharp dressed pic.

“Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon
Come to my window
I’ll be home soon

I would dial the numbers
Just to listen to your breath
I would stand inside my hell
And hold the hand of death
You don’t know how far I’d go
To ease this precious ache
You don’t know how much I’d give

Or how much I can take
Just to reach you”     ‘Come to my Window’  by Melissa Etheridge

The intersection of light and prose

Gaga mural from 4th floor window

Again

“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”              Leonard Cohen

 

Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you. Whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

 

 

On Being Human

Editor: This has been sitting on the shelf for three years. It was originally part of another story that involved Ferguson Massey and his difficulty with his novel ‘Redemption’. Maybe you have to be familiar with the ‘Cuffeys Cove’ story. I’m just throwing it out there to clear out my Draft file. At one time it was relevant. Can’t say anymore.

“”The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection.”  George Orwell

Lyndon Johnson was sending another 50,000 troops into the Viet Nam conflict.  This could easily spiral out of control.  The French hadn’t succeeded, what made Johnson think the U.S. would be more successful?  Sometimes Cuffey’s Cove seemed a world away yet as a writer Ferguson was one with the world.  His characters lived in it.  He had been toiling over his book ‘Redemption’ for months.  If it hadn’t been for the love and constant support of Maise, he would have torn his hair out.  Why hadn’t he just written about her?  That would have been a great exercise in comprehension.

 Maybe he was writing about her.

                                     ‘The Redemption’

                         Chapter 2 : On Being Human

They had been married for 24 years.  Of course they were in love.  They had weathered hard times.  Their son Ricky had died in a boating accident on Richardson Bay 5 years previous.  The breast cancer raised its ugly head 2 years later.  Life had been devastating to the both of them but they had immersed themselves in their careers.  If they stayed busy, they didn’t think as much.

He looked forward to seeing her every day when he returned home, sitting beside her on the couch, sharing their day.

“What do you love about me?”

“You make me feel good.  I smile when I see you.  I’ve been in love since the day I met you.”

“But why do you love me?”

“Well, you’re special.”

She stared into space.  A wistful smile playing her lips.

Richard reached for the remote.  Maybe if he increased the volume slightly or changed the channel.  Why did she keep returning to this line?

Belinda had been diagnosed with an adenocarcinoma of the left breast three years previous.  Upon further examination, her doctor had detected two small lumps in her right breast.

“It’s very aggressive.   I’m recommending a bilateral total mastectomy Belinda.  Please don’t put this off.  You need to discuss this with Richard this weekend.  I’ll give you my home phone number.  Call me on Saturday or Sunday and be back in my office Monday at 8 a.m..”

 

Belinda drove west of  the Battery Spencer overlook and parked her Honda in a pullover.  She stared across the Bay at the lights of San Francisco, unable to focus on anything.

Battery Spencer view of The Golden Gate

‘What would this do to Richard?’  A part of him had gone numb with the death of Ricky.  She wouldn’t have to wear a bra anymore.  That’s reason to celebrate.  She would be strong for the two of them   .   .   . like her Mother.

Her eyes were drawn to the Golden Gate as the evening lights were lit.

Is it getting late?

She could do this.  It was in her blood.  She reached forward to turn on the ignition, sobbing.   She could not stop.  She pulled down the visor to look into the vanity mirror.  Tears were running from her nose as well as her eyes.  Her hair was matted against her forehead.  Hopeless.  She collapsed forward against the Accords steering wheel.

There was a gentle rapping of knuckles against the window.  She turned to see a young man of maybe 18 years old, hair halfway down his back.  Probably unaware that the ‘Summer of Love’ had ended a year ago.

He was squatting down beside the Honda to maintain eye contact.

” You OK Ma’am?  I’m Barry.  Can I call for help or something?  I got some bottled water in my backpack.  There’s a Ranger over at the Battery that I could go get.”

Belinda lowered her window three inches and dragged the sleeve of her coat under her nose.

“I just got some really bad news, that’s all.  Thank you for caring.  I’ll be all right.”

“Just remember Ma’am, ‘ Love is all you need.”

Barry flashed her a peace sign, “Take care Ma’am.  Take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be all right.”

But she wasn’t.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

We put on a front because it makes it easier to navigate life and we just don’t want to impose.

I know John Prine wrote this and I love his version. But something about Bette’s voice that buffs away the rough edges.

whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

Reflections Off White Sand

 

By DHMcCarty  7/19

 

Editor’s Note:  This one has been sitting on the shelf for three years. I felt it was time for a resurrection.

We  worked out this thing between us.  Out of respect for .    .    .  time.

Time  spent  married  .    .    .    .     .  time spent before marriage  .    .    .    .    . time spent  parenting.

I  have no bad stories about her.  No horrendous occasions to mark  memory.

Just slow immersion in sameness.

She may have been a part of that, but she wasn’t the reason.

.

She drives Bella and Lucy to the beach on Friday, after school.  That way she gets a head start on her own  week.  The following Friday I drive them out to Lakewood Ranch,  to start my seven days.

Anna Maria Island-media-cdn-tripadvisor-com.jp

We bought the beach house from my Grandmother  when she went to the nursing home.  6 of the 8 homes on 68th are owned by retirees, half of which live out of state.  The other two are rented out in season.

Candace  Cunningham lives next door.  She was a teenage friend of my Mother.  We have dinner and drinks on occasion.  It’s good to have a friend next door.  She tells the crowd at Duffy’s  she’s a Cougar.  She’s 72.

Devil Ray at Siesta Beach – mv-minnow-1a-mvminnow-com1.jpg

Rachel teaches at Bayshore High School and the girls both go to Bayshore Elementary, so driving the kids to school during season, is no real chore.

I have  a ’63’ Karmann Ghia convertible.  It’s on  its 3rd engine.  The girls love the attention it gets.  When I pull up to their school,  Bella and Lucy wave like they’re in a parade.

1963 Kharmann Ghia convertible
goldbug.com

.

I like to plan little trips.

A Saturday fishing excursion (the short one) makes them sunny and happy, but tired afterwards.  They stay in the shade when we get back to the beach.

They like going to  St. Armands Circle,  I hang in the doorway to let the shopkeepers know they’re attended.  The girls are smiley and polite, so the proprietors don’t mind.

Siesta Key Beach, sand as fine and white as talcum powder -florida-siestakeybeach-org.jp.

Our private little beach is tucked into a tiny alcove on Anna Maria.  The girls love the active scene at Siesta Beach.  Bella pretends she’s  in Malibu, ‘Swimmin Pools, Movie Stars’.

They love the Mote, the museums and community theatre productions in Sarasota.  Ringling is such a treat for them.

‘The Greatest Show on Earth.’

Strip built sea kayak-646513-lumberjocks-com.jpg

I built my first kayak in the garage in Lakewood Ranch.   About 800 labor hours.  I still have the boat,  know where every mistake is.

Now I rent an abandoned gas station in Palmetto, just across the 8th street bridge.  I construct strip built kayaks and canoes there.

‘Dayton Griswell’s Strip Built Design’s’

I’ve got 3 forms going on continually.  I used to build 2 kayaks at a time and one canoe.  Now its more canoe than kayaks.  I’ve sold a total of 16 canoes in New York alone, all upstate.

The kayaks are  commission these days.  The designs have grown more ornate.  I’m building one for a lawyer in Minneapolis.  So far he’s paid me $28,000,  $23,000 of that is labor.

Canoe with seat-1280×853-blackwaterriverguitars-com.jpg

Rachel and I were  married for 12 years before we had children.  We spent more and more time apart.  We thought children would recharge us.  It was time.

I worked as a City Planner for Sarasota.  I hated it.  An endless series of Sarasota social events that Rachel just stopped attending.  I was jealous.

.

I met Sean Dennis at  a C of C dinner.  He’s a Marine Biologist at the Mote.  He saw me showing pictures of my kayak progress to Andy Devine.

Sean was working on a canoe. We became friends.

I was sitting on Sean’s dock on the Upper Manatee  when it hit me.  I’d been thinking about coming out here for three days.

.

I never anticipated seeing Rachel anymore.  I thought about her but there was no anticipation.

After dinner she would retire to the living room to correct papers or work on her manuscript.  I worked on my kayak.

On Fridays we would make love by the numbers.

We smiled at each other, we just never grinned.

.

When I moved to the beach, I quit my City Planning job and started doing contract work for Bradenton and St. Petersburg.  Far less hours and more time working at the beach.  The income didn’t drop much and I had more time for my interests.  Sean suggested I rent the gas station.  He knew the owner.   It sat empty for 2 years,  so, rent was cheap.

It took me three days to clean out the building. Pressure washed from floor to ceiling. I painted the floor and walls a Misty Blue. Suits my mood.

For years I told myself that if you’re not in love, you’re just living. Life is too short to miss out on love.

Now I worry that I’m settling for a strip built love.

With a soundtrack of ‘Misty Blue’.

 

whistle downthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

 

 

 

On Being Human

 

And Now I Lay Me Down

Posted on January 3, 2014 by Daniel H McCarty

She was 38 years old.  I’ll call her Sandra.  She went to her Primary care Doctor complaining  of Stomach Discomfort and frank blood in stool.  He sent her straight to the hospital for a CT of the Abdomen and a KUB.  Standard tests to rule out tumors, growths….any monsters present in the abdominal cavity.  They did not.

Her daughter was 18 months old.  I’ll call her Emma.  Sandra lived for 16 days after her diagnosis.  Inoperable cancer with extensive Mets, no Chemo, no Radiation….too late.  For two weeks I was her night nurse, an assignment that I would lobby for.

She never stopped smiling.

She did her hair  daily and her makeup was always fresh.

She wore tasteful nightgowns instead of hospital fare.

She memorized every employees name and thanked each for the most mundane of tasks.

She kept a movie camera on a tripod at the foot of her bed  and had stacks of notebooks that she jotted down the events of her life, stories of a family that came before her and silly little jokes.

They were for Emma.

I would go to her room and adjust the zoom of her camera and she would hold out her little remote and it was showtime.  Her face would fill the viewfinder and I swear a John Williams movie score would come out of nowhere.  I would stand at the doorway observing as her  hands fluttered first to her lips and then her finger to her chin as she pretended to ponder a point.  I started backing away but with the 6 others behind me it was a little crowded, and 2 of those were other patients.

About the 10th day she was there I started to notice gray circles under her eyes.

“Dan, what is it?  Hand me a mirror please.”

It was the first time I saw her frown.

“Oh dear.”  softly, but I was sure that was what I heard.

I walked to the nurses station and told Wendy and Tammy.  Tracy was listening in and before I finished my statement she had her I-Phone out and talking to her friend at a local salon.

Two hours later Tony Tone flounces in with two-tone hair and a cosmetic case.

“Wheres the Princess?”

He was marvelous.

It was the second best show we had been treated to that week.  And Sandra was transformed from a Princess to a Queen and until that final Thursday Tony and his Hairdresser friend showed up nightly as soon as their shift ended shuffling family members from side to side with little hip bumps and“Shoo-Shoos”.

And then Wednesday Night.  I had been stuck with the Charge position.  I slipped into Sandra’s room as Tony and Colette were leaving.  There would be no filming tonight.  Tony and Colette had done miracles but the sparkle was gone and her breathing was down to 12 rpm.  I took her hand and her eyes fluttered open.

“I think Phillip is jealous of you.”

“Oh that’s silly.  Phillip is young and handsome and everything a girl could want.  And Emma adores him.”

“But you’re funny and he can’t manage that anymore.  You make me laugh.”

I stood silent for a moment.

“It’s getting harder to do.   You got dealt the worst hand possible, how do you manage this?”

“I don’t fold.   I am a terrific poker player, I can outbluff anyone.”

The room was silent.

“Dan, my daughter probably would not remember me by the time she was 12.  Just shadows of stories that her Father and Grandparents told her.  I didn’t want her to see a sad dying shell.   No.  I want her to remember a pretty, happy Mama.”

She closed her eyes and folded her hands across her chest.  I walked out of the room, rounded the corner and stood with my hand against the wall attempting to compose myself.

  It didn’t work.

I glanced to my right at Marianne and motioned to her to close the door.

And I wept.

To my left stood Tony facing the wall with tears streaming.

“Hey sweetheart.  Your makeup is running.”

He threw his arms around my neck and buried his face in my shoulder.

“So is yours Danny Boy.  Why can’t I find a girl like that?”

“Keep looking Sweetheart.  She’s out there.”

 The  two of us busted  out laughing so hard that we were holding each other up.  Colette gave us a sullen look and then her dam burst open.  Marianne had to bring her a chair.   I turned around to see every Walky-Talky patient on the floor in the hall, half with tears in their eyes.  They knew.  They all knew.

And the next morning she passed three hours after I had left for the day.  She was surrounded by her family except for Emma.

Sandra wouldn’t allow it.

Yes this tale is about Sandra.  And it is about the noble souls that hold their emotion in check.  Until they can’t.   Who take care of every need.  It is about the nobility of service.  About those who brush wispy white strands aside and stroke foreheads.  Those that sit beside a bed at 3:00 am and hold cold hands and search hopefully for a pulse.

  It’s about ninety pound  Tran who advocates for more pain medication and won’t back down from a reluctant MD even though it runs counter to everything she learned in her culture.

  It’s about 6’5″ 280pound  Mike who walks through doors sideways and bends over beds and gently lifts ancient bodies as if they were a child because he doesn’t want to risk sliding them and shearing their skin.

 And it’s about Gail, Evelyn, Jennifer, Robert and Aubry that have punched the clock 5,000 times and probably will a 1,000 times more because there isn’t anything else out there that satisfies them as much.

  And it’s about Kelly who tells raucous colorful jokes and probably could win an arm wrestling contest at any saloon but she’s the first one through the door and pumping CPR if a code is called and she doesn’t quit until she looks up to see everyone silently looking at her.

It’s about Jeff in the ER that pulls his coat from the rack and hands it to a homeless man shivering in the doorway.

And Nancy and Wendy in the Sierra Nevadas that work Oncology because it makes them humane.

And Muhammad in Oakland who runs a code better than any ER Doctor because he has to.

And Doris in North Atlanta that runs the rapid Response team and rehashes every decision  she made, looking for a miscall, because she couldn’t reverse the course.  You didn’t miss a thing Doris.  It was just time.

To each and every one of my brothers and sisters in scrubs.  I send my love and respect.  I salute you.

Names have been changed in some cases and yes I took liberties.  The picture is the coast in Newport, RI.  And yes I took liberties with that too, there just wasn’t an appropriate picture.  I call it ‘Blue Monday’.

This post was inspired by a story of an Iranian woman who died in a Northern Michigan Hospital. The nurses hooked up a computer video system so the family in Iran that could not arrive in time could witness their daughters passing.  Everything the long distance family would have done for their child was done by the staff with strict adherence to Muslim ethics……with love and tears.  It was posted on Huffington Post this past Week.

I am a Nurse.   I try my best to be human.

A Familiar Face And Name

by Daniel H McCarty

When you deal with a person who’s experiencing dementia, you can see where they’re struggling with knowledge. You can see what they forget completely, what they forget but they know what they once knew. You can tell how they’re trying to remember.      Walter Mosley

He wasn’t that old.  He just looked it.  He had a thick thatch of pure white hair and had probably had it since he was in medical school.  He was one of the few that would rather do the right thing than be right.  I remember assisting him with a pulmonary assessment.  He finished his assessment and left the room to enter his notes in the medical record.  As I was lowering the patient back into a supine position he hiccupped and started in with a hacking cough that produced a blood tinged sputum.

“How long have you been seeing blood in your sputum?”

“Maybe two to three weeks now.”

“Did you tell this to Dr. Canada?”

“No, I’m here for the shortness of breath.  That blood ain’t much.  It goes away after a while.”

“So you’ve seen it before?”

“Off and on for about nine months, but never more than a few days at a time.  I been a smoker for forty years  What’d you expect?”

“I’ll be right back.”

I walked to the Nurses station and rounded the corner to the doctors dictation room.  Dr. Canada was on the dictation phone logging in his notes.  I gave him the cut sign, a quick slicing motion across the neck.  He looked up at me, pressed the pause button on the phone and placed it back in its cradle.

 “What is it Dan?”

“He’s got blood in his sputum.  states he’s had it off and on for nine months.”

“He didn’t mention that to me.”

“I know.  He thinks it’s his lot because he smoked for forty years.”

“Well come on, help me get him to an upright and have the unit clerk order a stat chest x-ray.”

Now if you have never worked in a hospital you may have never experienced the ‘Physician as God syndrome.’  It isn’t omnipresent but it is more common than it should be.  But Dr. Canada was never a member of that club and he always had one goal in mind.

 “Do what is right for the patient.”

And his ego never got in the way.

“You only know yourself because of your memories.”
― Andrea Gillies

What happens to a piano player that develops severe rheumatoid arthritis that twists his fingers into a gnarled mess?  Or the opera singer that is afflicted with throat cancer?

Or the physician that is cursed with the onset of Senile Dementia?

 “He easily gathered her in his arms; Gramma was made up of skin and bones and hate and crazy – and hate and crazy don’t weigh anything.” 
― Barry Lyga

“What the Hell is this?”

I’d known Robert for 10 years.  He wasn’t given to exaggeration or casual profanity.  He was in my opinion the best respiratory therapist in the hospital.  If you needed him, he was there…in a lick.

“What’s going on Bobby?”

“This order makes no sense.  This guy is a CO2 retainer and he wants him put on a non-rebreather.”

“Who does?”

“Dr. Canada.”  Guess I wake up Dr. Covina.  At what…..3:00 in the morning.”

“But Dr. Canada is in-house.  I just passed him in the hall.  I think he’s on 2E.”

“I don’t want to embarrass him.  I’ve worked with him for twenty years.  I’ll just call Covina.  He’s been covering this for three months now.”

“Covering what?”

He just stared at me.   Sad and helpless.

He went to the chart rack and pulled out three charts of Dr. Canada’s patients and opened to the Physicians order section.

“Notice anything?”

All three patients had the same order set.  Not surprising to me.  There were standard orders for common diagnoses.

‘Yeah, what?”

“211 is an end stage COPD and 247 is in with Pneumonia.  Now 234 is post op with a wedge resection.  All identical orders.  Everybody loves this guy but this is a problem.   Dr. Covina has been covering for his partner for months.  Dan, I think he has Alzheimer’s.  He doesn’t remember what we talked about an hour ago and he has started carrying 3×5 cards in his pocket to jar his memory.”

“looking at my reflection, in the window opposite, hollow and translucent, I see a woman disappearing. It would help if I looked like that in real life – if the more the disease advanced, the more ‘see-through’ I became until, eventually, I would be just a wisp of a ghost. How much more convenient it would be, how much easier for everyone, including me, if my body just melted away along with my mind. Then we’d all know where we were, literally and metaphysically.” 
― Rowan Coleman, The Memory Book

There is a profound sadness that accompanies Alzheimer’s.  Much like Kafka’s  ‘Metamorphosis’, they dry up and wither away.  The personality traits that comprised the individual disappear one by one until we are left with a familiar face and name but jumbled expectations.

 “Well, now
If little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you
Little by little
If suddenly you forget me
Do not look for me
For I shall already have forgotten you

If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life
And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots
Remember
That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms
And my roots will set off to seek another land” 
― Pablo Neruda, 

whistledownthewind.org1.wordpress.com

“Rock Stars Have Kidnapped My Son” – An Audio Visual experience.

 

By Daniel H McCarty

Editors Note:  Hang around long enough, sooner or later you get this.

“Coming back is the thing that enables you to see how all the dots in your life are connected, how one decision leads you another, how one twist of fate, good or bad, brings you to a door that later takes you to another door, which aided by several detours–long hallways and unforeseen stairwells–eventually puts you in the place you are now.”
― Ann Patchett

“Ever seen a blind man cross the road
Trying to make the other side
Ever seen a young girl growing old
Trying to make herself a bride

So what becomes of you my love
When they have finally stripped you of
The handbags and the gladrags
That your poor old Grandad
Had to sweat to buy you”  ‘Handbags and Gladrags’ by Michael D’abo

(click on the link below)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edbFVGrTG-c

Dan McCarty 

 To everyone:

I shiver when I see someone point their fingers at all Christians. I know (and KNEW) good Christians. Yes, some Christians can be very UN-Christlike.

 Many Christians are not just true believers but also are truly Christlike. There are a lot of those.

I believe a Christian is compassionate.  A true Christian Mother is a mother to all children. It was that way when I was a child.The Mothers on the street and in the church Mothered all of us. You were always welcome in their home.

Fathers took you on boy scout trips and invited you along to the lake. My best friends Dad taught me to water ski and explained how the trains switched tracks while we were waiting for a train to pass on M-12.

For the most part they were Conservative folk. They wanted to welcome you to the picnic  and borrow you a glove so that you could play softball afterward.

They were not scared. Immigrant meant their Grandfather who they adored.

I left the church when I was 20. There were too many questions not being answered in my mind. But I have that ‘Olde Tyme Baptist’ spirit running through my DNA. I am a dreamer, yes. But I have been kicked in the head enough times that I want to be able to touch the truth these days.

Those that point fingers at Christians are pointing their fingers at my 10 year old soul. And they could not be more wrong. I don’t have Liberal bonafides although I do have a Liberal arts Degree, if that matters. My life long education has taught me to opt for the guy on the roadside. He needs it more than that guy cruising by at 70 in a loud car.

Matthew 25: 40 King James Version 

“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

For many reasons I’m not a Christian anymore. When you complain about  Christians that  differ with you on matters of human dignity.  Keep an open mind.

I knew their parents. . . . . .

Have a little faith.

(click on the link below.  .  .again.  It’s different.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJylcQ7CGfI

Your true friends really do care about you.  If your car is stranded on Hwy 6 outside of Ely, it’s gonna be your true friends that text you hoping you’re all right and your True Believer friends that will say a prayer for you.  A true Believer prayer and 79 cents will get you a pound of bananas at the Ely Grocery.

Meanwhile it’s 106 degrees in the Nevada Desert.

Tonopah, NV http-www-roadtripswithtom-comwp-contentuploads201607dsc_0152.jpg

Did you know that the town at the intersection of Hwy 95 and Hwy 6 is called Tonopah.  I thought that was amazing.  I just wrote that story 2 years ago.

They got a missile firing range and a Clown Motel.  Wonder if you must have a union card to check in. Maybe a bouquet of balloons tied up like weiner dogs.

1484066019-7317780670-6d624faa30-b.jpg

Guilt

The most unhealthy of all emotion.  Ties you up in knots, burrows down into the marrow of your bones and can all but cripple you if you let it get a hold of you.  So why let anyone use it on you.

You know what?  I’ve reached an age where I am tired of that shit.  Take your guilt trip elsewhere.  You can call me any name that you want to.  Go ahead.  I do ask one thing.  Be creative.  Don’t just call me that same old tired crap that you heard someone else say.  I’m reminded of some words of wisdom I heard as a child back in Royal Oak.  I just didn’t realize how poignant it was back then.

“You can pick your Friends and you can pick your Nose but you can’t pick your friends nose.”

Think about it.

Keep your fingers and hands out of what doesn’t belong to you.  I learned that when I was a kid.  When you start legislating sexual preference, religious choice, who gets a pass or who doesn’t, what you should watch or shouldn’t watch and white men trying to tell ladies what to do with their woo-hoo, you are trespassing on dangerous ground.    Keep your fingers out of there.  Don’t even think about taking a swing at me when I am wearing my pink hat.  I got a couple of million Nasty Women at my back.

 

Tiny Dancer moment:

I went to a reading last night.  I read a story I had written and a poem.  Everyone was very kind.  There is a camaraderie among those who wrestle with words.

A friend sent me a beautiful story today.  A life affirming story.  A story about life changing right in front of you.  A story that they will be telling in 30 years.  If you really wanted to send me a gift, you couldn’t have chosen better than that.  Those that know me – know that.

Over the years friends have sent me stories about their lives.  They have sent me poems that open into their soul.  They have sent me pictures that share a moment in time with them

Years ago I passed through Ely, Nevada with my son.  We stopped at a Mom and Pop off Hwy. 6 and picked some road trip food.  They had weathered wood floors polished smooth by the soles  of a thousand cowboy boots.  Hand painted butcher paper fliers on the windows,   Bananas 79cents/lb  and White Lily $3.29/5lb.   There was a cork board next to the checkout that had index cards advertising trailers for rent and baby sitting services from Mama Lacey.  In the back there was a little girl of maybe 12  years trying to lift a large produce box full of bananas on to a table.  My son was oblivious.  He was at an age where he consciously avoided eye contact with the opposite sex.  I nudged him and nodded to the little girl.  His eyed dropped to the floor and then back up.  He awkwardly stepped over and helped her lift the box safely onto the table.  As we drove away there were a pair 12 year old  eyes staring through the space between bananas and White Lily on the store windows.  I’ve often wondered what she dreamed of that night.  In those 15 minutes I reviewed every reason that I loved that boy.  None of them came up wanting.

 

“Mr. Fred shook hands with her, said he was glad to see her, drew out a wet Coke from the machine, wiped it on his apron, and gave it to her.
This is one good thing about life that never changes, she thought. As long as he lived, as long as she returned, Mr. Fred would be here with his…simple welcome.
― Harper Lee  – Go Set A Watchman

 

whistledownthewind.org

 

And just because we are in a groove tonight, you get a bonus track.  You can thank me later.

 

 

‘Change Is Gonna Come’

 

By Daniel H McCarty

“When I touched her body,                                                                                                                                      I believed she was God.                                                                                                                                           In the curves of her form                                                                                                                                          I found the birth of Man,                                                                                                                                     the creation of the world,                                                                                                                                  and the origin of all life.”
― Roman Payne

Donna  rolled over in bed to hit the alarm.

5:00 in the morning.

She was coming down from the worst nightmare of her life and a hellacious hangover   from two glasses of wine and election returns that had played out until almost midnight.  She just didn’t feel like walking today.  She glanced at the pink Tutu draped over the chair as she laced up her walking shoes.  There was so  little hope today.  She had so many counting on her.  She had to shake this off, their dreams were her dreams.

Out the door and into the street and ominous grey skies.  Was it just her imagination or was there a storm brewing in the Sierras?

Lone Cypress

 

Jo sipped her coffee and gazed out over the gardens from her perch on the upper deck. She was searching through the temporal archives for the perfect word.  Her life was words these days.  Not a bad space to be in but this day was a wash. She was coming up blank.  She would have to return another day.  Maybe hold a conch to her ear, listen to the beating of her own heart, somewhere in the past.   Maybe that was where she wanted to go.  The present was just so distorted.

Karen was surfing Facebook at 5:15 in the morning.   She had hit the pillow at 9:00 last night.  She had enough of the electoral process.  But retirement or not she had an internal clock that had been honed to a fine edge by 20 years working for the state.  She slapped her laptop shut at 5:30.  Enough was enough.  Molly was scratching at the door.

“Sorry little girl, this just isn’t a good day for the ladies.  What do you say, grab the Canon and head for the Delta or back to bed and cover up our heads and hope we wake up in another world?  I kept thinking that Mom would have been so happy.”

Karens Mother Kate at Douglas Aircraft WWII

 

Sharalee had been so hopeful.  The world was changing around her.  She thought back to her Mother and her Grandmother before her and how they struggled and persevered, even if that struggle had chipped away at their soul.  The day before she had sent a message of hope out to the world.  Today she felt that it was her soul under siege.

“I  walked to our polling place with 4 girls under the age of 12 and their parents. We were a beautiful parade of ladies celebrating the fact that we were able to choose between two women for President of the United States. After we voted and took pictures we walked/skipped and cheered for “Girl Power” to the pizzeria where I treated everyone to dinner to celebrate such a historic event in US history.” – Sharalee

Sharalee and Sierra – Girl Power

 

I am disappointed.  The election did not go the way I had hoped.  But for my fair friends  that felt a change in the air.  .  .  .  .well, they can speak for themselves.

 

 

Hitching A Ride On A Cosmic Train – Yusuf Islam

By DHMcCarty 06/25/2016

Narcissism often leads us to relate to others as objects instead of as equals – Martin Buber 1923

 

 

November 5, 2016 – 7:20 pm EST – Breaking News –  CNN Headline News – Erin Burnett reporting,

“At 10:00 am this morning, a video emerged of Hillary Clinton in conversation with her aide Huma Abedin discussing King Salman and the Saudi royal families financial ties and support of the Wahabbi sect in the Saudi kingdom.  The video sound track was murky but there appears to be a comment by Secretary Clinton that employs a profanity in reference to King Salman and his apparent support and funding of Wahabbi schools that have been deemed as training grounds for Muslim extremists.  The Saudi Government has issued a strong rebuke and placed an embargo on crude oil shipments to the United States.  Muslim leaders in Pakistan, Yemen, Afghanistan and Kazakhistan have joined the Saudis and issued similar rebukes.  Exxon-Mobil immediately issued a $2.49 per gallon increase in gas at the pump.  This incident follows closely on the heels of an announcement yesterday by the Benghazi Investigation committee in Congress that there is incontestable evidence that Secretary Clinton used her personal email server to send highly classified information that jeopardized the safety of the security staff at the Libyan Embassy.  The Grand Jury stands ready to indict Secretary Clinton at 8:00 am tomorrow morning.  This chain of events comes three days before election day.  The latest New York Times instant polls have shown Hillary Clintons standing in the polls plummet by 30 points.  The Times poll shows a dramatic reversal with Donald Trump now leading Clinton by a margin of 44% to Clintons 32%.  Clinton advisor James Carville has called this “A political smear job unprecedented in American politics,” stating that, “With 3 days before the election, there is no way to recover from this despicable series of lies and innuendo.”  Donald Trump and the American Congress have offered a formal rebuke and demanded that Clinton offer up a formal apology.  Clinton has issued a statement that the video was a fabrication and an example of exactly how low Trump will stoop to redirect his failing campaign.”

 

November 9, 2016 – 8:15 am – Breaking News – CNN Headline News – Wolf Blitzer reporting.       

“In the most dramatic turnaround in the history of United States politics, Donald Trump has been elected President of the United States.  He won with a margin of 42% to Hillary Clinton’s 38%.  Gary Johnson and the Libertarians collected 17% of the national vote.  One week ago Hillary was polling at 61% to Trumps 28%.  The election was predicted to be the biggest presidential landslide in history.  The Democrats and the Clinton campaign are in a state of shock.  There are reports that Bill Clinton went on a rampage last night at the St Regis hotel in Manhattan, smashing mirrors and windows.  We will bring you further news on this story as the facts come in.”

 

January 21, 2017 – 4:30 pm – Breaking News –  Fox news – Megan Kelly reporting.

“This is my last broadcast for Fox News.  I have been asked by Donald Trump to take on the duties of National Press Secretary.  I feel honored to serve my country in that capacity.  We have had extensive conversation about the Trump philosophy and I can say I am 100% on board with my president.  We want to make America great  again.

A Narcissist:  Wikipedia

• An obvious self-focus in interpersonal exchanges
• Problems in sustaining satisfying relationships
• A lack of psychological awareness
• Difficulty with empathy
• Problems distinguishing the self from others
• Hypersensitivity to any insults or imagined insults
• Vulnerability to shame rather than guilt
• Haughty body language
• Flattery towards people who admire and affirm them
• Detesting those who do not admire them
• Using other people without considering the cost of doing so
• Pretending to be more important than they actually are
• Bragging (subtly but persistently) and exaggerating their achievements
• Claiming to be an “expert” at many things
• Inability to view the world from the perspective of other people
• Denial of remorse and gratitude

 

What difference does it make?

 

This man that feels no regret, no remorse and no gratitude?  A failure to appreciate.  A failure to see value in others.  He does not relate.

This man has no soul.

This man is not interested in your well being, only his own enrichment.  He will stop at nothing to achieve that.  His sense of entitlement does not waver.

Beware the man who has never fallen, the man who has never picked himself up and dusted himself off.  He has no experience in dealing with adversity.

Beware the man who has never heard ‘No.’

Beware the man who bullies and belittles and denigrates others (women, the disabled, ethnicities and differing points of view or beliefs) to gain advantage.

Government is not a business.  There are no unilateral decisions.  Diplomacy reigns.

This man would walk the ‘Killing Fields’ while dabbing on sunscreen and marveling at the wonderful rhythm he was making as the skulls crunched beneath his Jack Boots.

We have seen this man before.

Do not let your anger write our history.

 

 

“People say that if you’re still angry at 52, you’re not an angry young man, just a grumpy old git.”   –  Paul Weller

 

Little tune from The Cat

Donald the clown – common dreams.org
whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com

 

Muchas Gracias

 

By Daniel H McCarty

Editor:  This is an example of throwing something out there and hoping it sticks to the wall.  Hope you enjoy Amigo’s.

 

fimneartamerica.

 

Sanchez Sanchez was the 14th of 15 children.   He had 9 brothers and 5 sisters.   By the time Rodrigo got to number 14 his imagination had run out so he made a statement on futility……….Sanchez Sanchez

Rodrigo Sanchez quite enjoyed the ‘ohhh’ sound.   He named his children Hernando, Fernando, Chiquito (his first daughter who Rodrigo nicknamed ‘lil mosquito), Oregano, Christo, Mateo, Orlando, Harpo, Groucho, Badabingo, Bellisimo, Ho-Ho-Ho, Elviso, Sanchez and Marie.

So Sanchez picked up on the message.

Rodrigo paints cars and has sex.   He just makes children, he has no time for them. Especially if your name is Sanchez.

Because he never receives feedback, Sanchez never learns to emote.   He is emote less.

Somehow he ends up as the bartender at Mui Bien Cantina in Tostada, Gaudalajara, that serves great watermelon gazpacho in season.   Sanchez has collected a vast library of stories about ‘humans’.

He just thought he should collect something and though he had lousy short-term recall he was simply amazing at long-term.   But due to his lack of emote, his delivery came across as ….deadpan.   Everyone sitting at his bar thought he was putting them on…..and they loved him for it.

Because they thought he was for real.

He wasn’t. ………..Or maybe he was.

Sanchez didn’t have a clue.

He was just telling a story.

In his droll….true self.

Fall On My Face

By Daniel H McCarty

Whitewater Falls

I had gotten used to the green. And the damp. This is the oldest rain forest in the United States. May be the biggest.
The rain started two days ago.  What a great time to be living under a tin roof.
Drum circle?
Any damn time they please.
So I took the 107 to town..  A watercolor of red, yellow, orange and honey.

 

Fall is here.

 

“The sun comes up in a coffee cup
Waitress, please I’ve had enough

Lord I can’t believe what I see
How could you be alone
When you could sit right here beside me, girl
And make yourself at home.”        Lyle Lovett – ‘I Been to Memphis’

 

‘El Sol’  sprayed the roadsides and forests with every shade available to the maple,oak, beech and ash contingent.
And I spent the afternoon listening to blues and Boz while the roof vibrated.  After the rain stopped,  I opened all the doors and windows and put on a long sleeved Henley.

 

I smelled damp leaves and an air ripe with pine . The water in the creek was swollen and impatient rushing over the rocks and through culverts,
I took a walk through a drizzle so fine it was mist. I brushed the dew from my face and breathed deep.
I could swear I smelled cinnamon.

 

And now for your listening pleasure, I present the great Lyle Lovett and his ‘Large Band’ singing ‘I been to Memphis’