I think I am becoming a bit of an insomniac ... okay, but I know I am a hypochondriac and I tend to exaggerate any minor malady I experience. Having a hard time getting to sleep tonight and I did last night too ... but that doesn't make me an insomniac ... right?
Yesterday, in a fit of maniacal inspiration ... {jeez, look at my wording here -- four lines and I'm already a hypochodriacal insomniacal maniac ... perhaps my lack of sleep has shut off my verbosity filter. Ease-up there, big boy ... this ain't a college application essay} ... But, where was I? Oh yeah, so yesterday I felt inspired to sit down and write out a little summary of all the stories I've been trying to write for the last 15 years or so. I always get hung up on the actual telling of the stories ... the muses, when they visit seem always to act like either a drippy faucet or a fire hose ... neither of those being a very practical way of getting a drink of water. Well, yesterday the fire hose was in full effect ... but rather than let it flow until I ran out of time or emotional energy or both, I took my pen and just wrote down the gist of each story. Names of characters and a very brief two or three line description of the who-what-when-why-how of each scenario. The result was three pieces of yellow paper with some very specific ideas ... a sort of outline for what I hope will become a book of inter-related short stories if not a full-fledged novel.
"Dude, wishful thinking," says the rat under my bed to the little yellow man in my head. "You haven't written anything yet and you ain't gonna write anything now." Well, that's what he thinks ... we'll see if we can't prove him wrong.
And now I'm getting sleepy ... I knew if I did this the electric glare of the laptop would sear the old irises to the point of fatigue. Better spell-check this puppy {so if you think I'm crazy you won't also think me stupid} and call it a night. The fire hose is not a good thing to be foolin' with in the wee hours of the morning.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sunday Mornin'
... the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen and the sound of Mammacita and Sister Baby having a pleasantly animated conversation. Brother Man is still asleep and probably will be till around noon time ...
It feels like complete happiness. I am recording it so, someday in the future when happiness seems hopelessly elusive I can remember how very simple it is.
It feels like complete happiness. I am recording it so, someday in the future when happiness seems hopelessly elusive I can remember how very simple it is.
Friday, February 20, 2009
What's Up? ...
I think I must be something of a manic/depressive when it comes to blogging. Feast or famine with me ... guess that's part of the problem with my writing. But we ain't here to talk about that now!
The kids have been in Nashua, New Hampshire with their grandparents Nonny and Kahuna (those are the nicknames they chose) ... so Mammacita and I have been home alone for nearly an entire week. Now, you know I love my kids ... but it's a veritable wonder what a week without morning routine, bedtime routine, Dora, Blue and Spongebob can do for your sanity. 'Course, I can't blame all my seasonal insanity on the kids -- they are actually a very small part of it. Work was absolutely crazy during the month of January and for a good part of February too. I feel like I had no time to think ... which also means no time to dream or meditate or read or write or anything. I'm sayin', it sucked y'all. Wasn't much use to my poor wife and children during that time. Gotta plan better for the hellish first month next year ...
But this week has been quite blissful. Aside from going to a movie {Slumdog Millionaire -- which was fantastic} we haven't done much. We have enjoyed being with each other without Brother Man and Sister Baby there to distract. I feel like we have come back together ... and it's not (as I had assumed it was) all about sex either. It's more about togetherness. Gotta work on preserving and protecting that, even when the kids are here ... we need it. And, yeah, it is partially about sex ... Mammacita can still stop a clock and bring ol' DaddyO to his knees!!!
A couple of personal breakthroughs are quivering on the horizon for me, I think. The story I've been trying to write for fifteen years has come back to me on an errant breeze {Mammacita's analogy} and I am writing again ... if you're good I may post a little somethin' somethin' from the story here. Also been thinking a lot about religion and faith ... beginning to come to some conclusions about what I do and do not believe ... if I'm good I'll post a little somethin'-somethin'.
That's about it ... what's up with You?
The kids have been in Nashua, New Hampshire with their grandparents Nonny and Kahuna (those are the nicknames they chose) ... so Mammacita and I have been home alone for nearly an entire week. Now, you know I love my kids ... but it's a veritable wonder what a week without morning routine, bedtime routine, Dora, Blue and Spongebob can do for your sanity. 'Course, I can't blame all my seasonal insanity on the kids -- they are actually a very small part of it. Work was absolutely crazy during the month of January and for a good part of February too. I feel like I had no time to think ... which also means no time to dream or meditate or read or write or anything. I'm sayin', it sucked y'all. Wasn't much use to my poor wife and children during that time. Gotta plan better for the hellish first month next year ...
But this week has been quite blissful. Aside from going to a movie {Slumdog Millionaire -- which was fantastic} we haven't done much. We have enjoyed being with each other without Brother Man and Sister Baby there to distract. I feel like we have come back together ... and it's not (as I had assumed it was) all about sex either. It's more about togetherness. Gotta work on preserving and protecting that, even when the kids are here ... we need it. And, yeah, it is partially about sex ... Mammacita can still stop a clock and bring ol' DaddyO to his knees!!!
A couple of personal breakthroughs are quivering on the horizon for me, I think. The story I've been trying to write for fifteen years has come back to me on an errant breeze {Mammacita's analogy} and I am writing again ... if you're good I may post a little somethin' somethin' from the story here. Also been thinking a lot about religion and faith ... beginning to come to some conclusions about what I do and do not believe ... if I'm good I'll post a little somethin'-somethin'.
That's about it ... what's up with You?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
The Koolest of the Filter Kings ...
Maybe it’s old age steadily creeping up on me but I find myself these days thinking a lot about departed loved ones … I think about them and I feel sad for the time {sometimes minutes, sometimes days} it takes me to bridge the gap between remembered grief and cherished memory. But I’m reminiscing here … not self-analyzing so –
Today I was thinking about my cousin Skip. I chose this picture:
Because those are the kind of cigarettes he used to smoke.
Skip himself was perhaps the coolest cat I ever knew. Confident, funny and just COOL … I’m talkin’ cool enough to spell the word with a “K” and seventeen “O’s.” If anybody was the Kool Filter King it was Johnny “Skip” Owens Jr. Here are some memories of Skip …
He introduced us to James Brown … he loved the song, The Payback … {“I don’t know karate, but I know KA-RAZY!”}. He would listen to the forty-five (that’s a vinyl record with a single song on each side for all you youngbloods} for hours … cigarette dangling from the lips, bouncing up and down as he sang and danced along with James. Listen to the song here .
…I am parenthetically reminded that we once went to see James Brown at The Playhouse in the Park – and outdoor venue that used to be in Franklin Park in Dorchester. We were pretty close to the stage and James had on a fire-engine red suit with red patent leather shoes, lookin’ like the Devil himself … and he DID NOT sing The Payback. I remember thinking it was a good thing for James that Skip {who, himself was quite capable of KA-RAZY, as you will soon see} wasn’t there …
Skip lived with us for a while in the mid ‘70’s and during that time he was always very respectful to my father and especially to my mother even though they were probably only a couple of years older than he was. He loved my mother’s spaghetti … one night, somebody had loosened the cap on the extra large bottle of Frank’s Red-Hot Hot Sauce {my father and Skip ate that stuff on just about everything} and Skip spilled a whole bottle of it on his plate. Rather than disrespect my mother’s cooking by throwing away an otherwise perfectly good plate a spaghetti, Skip sat there and ate the whole fiery meal. Now dude had the quintessential 1973 soul-brother afro … but by the time he finished that the spaghetti he had just about sweated that bad boy straight!.
When we were about 8 and 9 years old, our older cousins Jonathan, Billy and Adam decided it was time to teach us how to fight. They did so by taking us outside and kicking our butts in the front yard for what seemed like a good long time. After a while, I decided it was best to stay down but Darryl kept getting up and the guys kept hitting him harder and harder … you know, to teach him a lesson … make him tough. Right about then Skip pulled up. He asked my cousins what they were doing. “Teachin’ Van and Darryl how to fight, man. You know, so they won’t be a couple of little punks.”
“A’ight,” Skip said, taking off his shirt. “Why don’t y’all teach me how to fight.” They were scared, but the dude-code wouldn’t allow them to back down. I tell you, they made a very valiant attempt to do to Skip what they had been doing to Darryl and me. But their failure was colossal … and quite entertaining to behold. I mean he beat ‘em bad … beat ‘em till the tears and snot flowed freely … made ‘em look like three ragdolls wrestling with a rotweiler. And all the while, that Kool Filter King dangled between his lips as he trash-talked, belittled and beat the crap out of the hapless boys. “Now look at them,” Skip said, pointing to us on one side of the lawn (by now smug as all get-out) “and look at you” pointing to them sprawled on the other side, two of ‘em spread-eagled on their backs and one rocking back and forth in a fetal position. “Who looks like punks now.” We walked tall for a good little while after that one.
The last time I saw Skip, he came to visit us at my mother’s house in Mattapan. He was getting older … the afro was gone. He had that still-makin’-it-but-just-barely look about him. At this point my father had been dead for ten years or more and the distance between us and most of our Owens cousins had grown steadily during that time. I had begun to reject the inner-city tough guy machismo that dudes like Skip exemplified. But much as I had come to resent that lifestyle and as much as Skip seemed like a relic from a time long passed … dude was still inescapably cool. As he was leaving the house, he asked me to step outside with him for a minute.
“I just want to ask you something,” he said to me, while lighting a fresh Filter King. “And you can be straight up with me.” He took a long drag – hesitating, I think. “Do you think I’m a good man?”
The question took me by surprise … how could I answer that? He must have sensed my struggling. “A’ight, put it this way … do you think I’m a bad man? You don’t think I’m a bad man do you?” I told him no. “Good enough, cousin. ‘Cause you know I tried to be good to y’all.” He hugged me. Promised he would come by again soon. Never got a chance to.
I sometimes wonder if he knew at that time that he was dying. I wonder if he was reaching for something by asking that question. I wonder if my answer gave him what he was looking for.
And I wonder if, wherever he is now he can hear the answer it’s taken me all these years to confidently affirm. “Yes, Cousin. To me and mine, you were a good man. The Koolest of the Filter Kings!!”
Today I was thinking about my cousin Skip. I chose this picture:
Because those are the kind of cigarettes he used to smoke.
Skip himself was perhaps the coolest cat I ever knew. Confident, funny and just COOL … I’m talkin’ cool enough to spell the word with a “K” and seventeen “O’s.” If anybody was the Kool Filter King it was Johnny “Skip” Owens Jr. Here are some memories of Skip …
He introduced us to James Brown … he loved the song, The Payback … {“I don’t know karate, but I know KA-RAZY!”}. He would listen to the forty-five (that’s a vinyl record with a single song on each side for all you youngbloods} for hours … cigarette dangling from the lips, bouncing up and down as he sang and danced along with James. Listen to the song here .
…I am parenthetically reminded that we once went to see James Brown at The Playhouse in the Park – and outdoor venue that used to be in Franklin Park in Dorchester. We were pretty close to the stage and James had on a fire-engine red suit with red patent leather shoes, lookin’ like the Devil himself … and he DID NOT sing The Payback. I remember thinking it was a good thing for James that Skip {who, himself was quite capable of KA-RAZY, as you will soon see} wasn’t there …
Skip lived with us for a while in the mid ‘70’s and during that time he was always very respectful to my father and especially to my mother even though they were probably only a couple of years older than he was. He loved my mother’s spaghetti … one night, somebody had loosened the cap on the extra large bottle of Frank’s Red-Hot Hot Sauce {my father and Skip ate that stuff on just about everything} and Skip spilled a whole bottle of it on his plate. Rather than disrespect my mother’s cooking by throwing away an otherwise perfectly good plate a spaghetti, Skip sat there and ate the whole fiery meal. Now dude had the quintessential 1973 soul-brother afro … but by the time he finished that the spaghetti he had just about sweated that bad boy straight!.
When we were about 8 and 9 years old, our older cousins Jonathan, Billy and Adam decided it was time to teach us how to fight. They did so by taking us outside and kicking our butts in the front yard for what seemed like a good long time. After a while, I decided it was best to stay down but Darryl kept getting up and the guys kept hitting him harder and harder … you know, to teach him a lesson … make him tough. Right about then Skip pulled up. He asked my cousins what they were doing. “Teachin’ Van and Darryl how to fight, man. You know, so they won’t be a couple of little punks.”
“A’ight,” Skip said, taking off his shirt. “Why don’t y’all teach me how to fight.” They were scared, but the dude-code wouldn’t allow them to back down. I tell you, they made a very valiant attempt to do to Skip what they had been doing to Darryl and me. But their failure was colossal … and quite entertaining to behold. I mean he beat ‘em bad … beat ‘em till the tears and snot flowed freely … made ‘em look like three ragdolls wrestling with a rotweiler. And all the while, that Kool Filter King dangled between his lips as he trash-talked, belittled and beat the crap out of the hapless boys. “Now look at them,” Skip said, pointing to us on one side of the lawn (by now smug as all get-out) “and look at you” pointing to them sprawled on the other side, two of ‘em spread-eagled on their backs and one rocking back and forth in a fetal position. “Who looks like punks now.” We walked tall for a good little while after that one.
The last time I saw Skip, he came to visit us at my mother’s house in Mattapan. He was getting older … the afro was gone. He had that still-makin’-it-but-just-barely look about him. At this point my father had been dead for ten years or more and the distance between us and most of our Owens cousins had grown steadily during that time. I had begun to reject the inner-city tough guy machismo that dudes like Skip exemplified. But much as I had come to resent that lifestyle and as much as Skip seemed like a relic from a time long passed … dude was still inescapably cool. As he was leaving the house, he asked me to step outside with him for a minute.
“I just want to ask you something,” he said to me, while lighting a fresh Filter King. “And you can be straight up with me.” He took a long drag – hesitating, I think. “Do you think I’m a good man?”
The question took me by surprise … how could I answer that? He must have sensed my struggling. “A’ight, put it this way … do you think I’m a bad man? You don’t think I’m a bad man do you?” I told him no. “Good enough, cousin. ‘Cause you know I tried to be good to y’all.” He hugged me. Promised he would come by again soon. Never got a chance to.
I sometimes wonder if he knew at that time that he was dying. I wonder if he was reaching for something by asking that question. I wonder if my answer gave him what he was looking for.
And I wonder if, wherever he is now he can hear the answer it’s taken me all these years to confidently affirm. “Yes, Cousin. To me and mine, you were a good man. The Koolest of the Filter Kings!!”
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Feelin' Like a Hoopty ...
From the urban dictionary:
1. hoopty -- Basically, a piece of crap car. Usually cheap and/or broken down. Can be any size, make or model, but must (or should) be embarrassing to drive
With the new year about to roll in I have been thinking about resolutions … well … no, actually that’s not quite true … “thinking” is too strong a word. I have been entertaining an occasional fleeting thought about resolutions … now, that’s more like it. Truth is I’m a little jaded about the whole process. “Why,” I say to myself. “What possible good can come from resolving to be a new and improved version of myself on January 1st only to roll out of bed on, say the 15th, look in the mirror and realize that all I did was spray a fresh coat of cheap paint over the same old high-mileage hoopty I was last year.” Yes, the check-engine light on the dashboard of my weary soul is flashing … and I’m afraid that the price of a tune-up might be higher than the blue-book value on this old clunker.
……….
……….
Okay … so I wrote that on December 26th and I am marveling at how swiftly the post holiday blues sets in … “check engine light on the dash board of my weary soul”… Geez, sorry about that one. I leave it here only because it reminds me and gives you a glimpse into my melancholy, overly dramatic mind. Feeling better today … but still cognizant of the fact that most of my days are pretty mundane and that the same old same-old, though comforting in its predictability also threatens to undo whatever is left of hope and optimism in me. And aren't those the qualities that make you believe there is still good work to do in this life, positive change to initiate and effect? Iguess I just need to remember that everything in my life that I feel is “mundane” and “the same old same-old” was once wonderful and highly desirable to me. The problem is NOT that these things are any less wonderful or desirable, it is that I have gotten used to them and that I do not wonder at or desire them like I used to when they seemed to be just beyond my reach. My family, my friends, my job, my home, even the relative health of my aging mind and body … wonders of my world for which I am today (and ought to be every day) deeply grateful.
And so now, sufficiently tuned-up, I prepare for another year. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn't it? I’m still a ’64 … but rather than thinking of my life as a busted old hoopty I’ll think of it as a classic. Vintage … Yeah!
Think I’ll put the top down and take her out for a spin!
Friday, November 28, 2008
DUDE & FOOD ...
So …
The other night I got up in the middle to make one of my infrequent raids on the old fridge …okay, so their fairly frequent but I usually just window shop these days. HONESTLY ... I get up, open the door look around for goodies and then end up getting a glass of water and going back to bed. But on this particular night I had more sinister intentions – you see, Shemetra had brought home a nice 2 liter bottle of orange soda … it was for Jared (DaddyO gets diet Coke ONLY). It’s 2:30 in the morning – not a creature stirring. I make my move. My side of the bed is against the wall so getting out requires some agility (so as not to disturb Mrs. O) and some fortitude (just in case I do). Success … and from there it is a short tip-toe to the fridge and the frothy orange deliciousness. But, alas, I open the door and there … where it should be … is the two liter bottle. But it is nearly completely EMPTY … I’m sayin’ the thing has about half a thimbleful of orange soda in the very bottom of it. “Who the … what the … why would anybody …”
Rage, despair, bewilderment …
... and then a shudder of realization. My son is no longer my little boy, no longer the kid he used to be. He is now a DUDE … a fledging, a young-blood but a dude nonetheless. Only a DUDE would drink all except the last fifth of an ounce of soda so he wouldn’t have to dispose of the bottle.
Well, it’s been a long time since I co-habited with another DUDE so I thought it might be worth my while to remind myself what that was like so I can prepare myself for what’s in store. DUDE just turned fourteen so, the way I see it, I have four more years before I kick him out … I mean, send him out … into the world. Couple of DUDE stories for those of you who haven’t had the privilege of encountering one in its natural habitat.
When Shemetra and I were dating, she made me this gorgeous chocolate birthday cake. It was the most amazing cake I had ever seen … chocolate with shaved pieces of Hershey bar and little silver sugar candies on top. It was divine – when she gave it to me I just knew THAT girl loved her some ME. Next day, one of my roommates stayed home from work because he had a cold. Later that day, he called me at work, “Uh, VanO, I was wondering if I could have some of your cake.” I should have known better – I mean, this was a DUDE. I knew that the only consumables in the house were a half a box of four month old Grape Nuts, a can of tuna and my cake. But I gave in. “Sure, buddy. Have a piece.” Well, I got home that evening looking forward to my dinner of grape nut tuna casserole and chocolate cake for desert. When I lifted the bowl that had been covering my cake I witnessed a veritable miracle. Before that moment I would never have believed that a sliver of cake that thin could have remained upright. There it was, quivering on the plate, a piece of cake so thin you could see through it. I gasped, and the slight stir of air it caused knocked the piece of cake over and it disintegrated.
Rage, despair, bewilderment. “DUDE … seriously!?!”
Then there was the time (same apartment) when the other DUDES and I decided to have a bunch of fellas over to watch a football game. They all came in. At first I had them take of their shoes so as not to dirty the carpet, but when I realized that the room smelled of corn chips and there were no corn chips on the premises I had them all put their shoes back on. Someone had the grand idea of ordering pizza, which we would all throw in for. I ordered it … but as we were going around asking people to contribute, one DUDE had forty five cents; another had a bus token and a ticket stub, a third had an expired coupon for a different pizza shop … some had no money at all. Out of twenty DUDES I collected about six dollars … and the pizza was already ordered.
Rage, despair, bewilderment …
... but wait, that’s not the worst part. I coughed up the thirty five bucks needed to cover the balance of the meal and, just as the pizza was arriving, the phone rang. It was Shemetra … so I had to take that call, I mean the girl LOVED her some ME and I LOVED me some her. We talked for a few minutes. When I got off the phone – maybe twenty minutes later – every box of pizza, I mean EVERY SINGLE BOX was empty!!! All that was left were the grease spots on the bottom. “DUDES … seriously!!???!!!” I watched the football game while eating tuna and grape nuts.
There are many such stories, most of them ending with me hungry – ALL ending in rage, despair and bewilderment. And now that Jared is fourteen, I fear that the cycle may repeat itself. But, look on the bright side … I am older and wiser now. And yesterday I took three Devil-Dogs out of the box and hid them in strategic places throughout the house. So, if you will excuse me, I am going to have a snack. .........................
………………Well …no Devil Dogs!!! The DUDE strikes again …
.... rage … despair …bewilderment. “Jared … DUDE …seriously!!!???!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sister Baby & Baby Sister
I LOVE this picture ... two of my best girls.
If you loyally follow my blog ... and you should ;) ... then you are already well-acquainted with Sister Baby. Now I'm introducing you to Baby Sister ... Carol Lynn Washington.
During the worst of my bad days ... and I've had some BAD ones in recent years -- when horrible circumstances or just my own chronically low self-esteem threatened to undo me, I knew that there was at least one other person (besides Shemetra) who thought I was good man. Sister Washington has always had my back!
When we were kids, we used to call her Mommy ... because that's how she has always acted toward Darryl and me. Now I ain't gonna lie and say that we didn't resent it at times while we were growing up -- I mean, chick IS my BABY sister, after all. But now that I am older it is very comforting for me to have her as a second mother. Carol is simply one of the most encouraging and supportive (and, yes, protective) friends that I have. I confidently call my sister my friend ... and how cool is that. It is also very cool that my daughter, besides looking like her Auntie Carol, has some of those same matronly characteristics. She is convinced that her brother Jared ... though 8 years older than her ... is in near constant need of her guidance and insight. I guess it's in the genes.
Carol is about the sweetest person on the planet ... but don't mistake it for weakness. Mess too much with her or one of hers and there will be, as my grandmother used to say, "hell to tell the captain!" The earrings and shoes will come off and somebody will get hurt. What an amazing woman she is. One day she can wrestle down a grown man (as she used to have to at times when she worked as a correctional officer in one of Boston's notorious lock-ups) and the next day she can be in tears because my son and hers have had an argument. That's my sister y'all. Ain't she somethin'!
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