The Season of Irony

I long for fireworks during the onset of July.  Not for the reasons you think.

I wandered aimlessly in a park; amazed at a family of ducks.  What perfect order of beauty.  What family was meant to be.  Mother duck seemed to smile as she counted the heads of each of her children.  I tossed a lone piece of bread in hopes for her approval.

I long for the colors that paint the sky in early July.  Not for the reasons you think.

I asked myself a question as the family of ducks passed me by:  "Where is the patriarch?  Why is Father Duck never to be seen?"
  

On certain days of summer, I felt like I was God.  Like when I was a kid; burning ants with a magnifying glass.  Like sleeping in past noon with no worries on my shoulders.  Like tossing a piece of bread at the happy family of ducks.

I long for lazy days.  Not for the reasons you might think.

If only walls could talk, secrets would not exist.  If only walls weren't built, summer would never end.



I long for endless winters huddled next to burning embers.  Not for the reasons you think.


I could find a friend in a snowman with a corncob pipe dangling from his mouth.  What a perfect snapshot of wisdom.  What a friendly face to see. 

I could find a friend in a snowman; even a father on restless days.  I told him all my secrets.   I begged him not to leave.

The creation of my own hands had this look of nonchalance.  Not to be confused with indifference.  Like the father I never knew, he would soon melt away.

I long for winter's endless possibilities.  Not for the reasons you might think.

On certain days of winter, I never build a fire.  There's something about the cold that makes me feel alive.  There's something chilling in the air.  I prefer the beauty in the bleak. 

But not for reasons you might think.


If only walls could talk, secrets would not exist.  If only walls weren't built, winter would never come.

He stole my heart the day he stole my bed

There's this moment, a one defining moment, in the lives of those who own a dog.  This moment, not only changes the life of the person who owns a dog, but it ultimately will determine who owns who.

It's been nearly a decade since I had to say goodbye to my black lab, Buddy, of nine years.  Like all life altering experiences and remarkable fixtures that come and go into our lives, I remember just about every detail of my life with Buddy.

Deciding to get a dog is one of the most important life changing decisions, we, as people, will ever make.  It's a decision that is not only rewarding but it literally is one of the few things in this life that will leave an indelible imprint in our lives and hearts forever.

Who doesn't remember their first dog?  Who can't talk about a past dog without a smile beaming across their face?  Who hasn't wept the day they had to say goodbye to that lifelong friend?

Dogs are amazing.  They fill our lives with joy.  They can bring meaning to an empty life.  They teach us how to love; to unconditionally love.  A simple greeting from a wag of their tail has the power to change our mood; to put things into perspective and to simply make us want to be better people.

Dogs change lives.  If you haven't owned a dog, you haven't lived.


Today, I had one of those flashbacks of Buddy.  Maybe, it was the early evening thunderstorm that threw me into some whirlwind of nostalgia. 

But there I was laying in bed.  Alone.  And for some reason, I just started to laugh.


I don't know if I made a mistake.  It was one of those decisions I made because frankly, you have to be heartless to say "no" to a puppy when he looks at you with those big, sad eyes.

There I was, years ago, just laying in bed.  Thunder echoing throughout my house.  Rain beating down on my rooftop.  Buddy was my new friend.  Our nine year journey together was just beginning.

I'll admit I just wanted to slowly fade into sleep as the thunderstorm of that evening was passing through.  I couldn't.  Buddy was sitting at the side of the bed; just staring at me. 

"Go lay down", I sternly stated.

Buddy whimpered and just sat there staring.  But it was his next move that would inevitably change the course of our relationship and ultimately my life.

He placed his small chin onto my bed.  Then he lifted up his tiny paw in a feeble attempt to jump onto my bed.  Buddy was politely asking if he could sleep in bed with me.

How could I say 'no'?  Those soft, big, brown eyes were politely begging for comfort.  He was choosing me as his refuge. 

Everything would be okay in his world, if I just simply let him onto my bed with me.  That's what he was telling me.

So, I gave in.  I have a heart.  

That night Buddy slept right next to me with his head on my pillow.  That angry thunderstorm quickly melted into a beautiful song.  Everything was okay now in Buddy's world.

Little did I know at the time that the decision I made that night was a nine year decision.

That one special occasion of offering my bed as a place of safety for him turned into a nightly event. 

Dogs quickly become entitled. 

Over the next decade, I never owned a bed.  I simply rented it from Buddy. 

When I came home from work, if he wasn't asleep in my bathtub, he was asleep on my bed.

 

At night, when I crawled into bed, he would jump in with me.  And he got to choose which side of the bed was his.  Even worse, he chose how much of the bed was his.

If I dared push him to the side, he would growl at me.  If I used my angry voice, his angry voice was even louder.

Each night was the same.  I would let Buddy lay down next to me with hopes that once he fell asleep, I could nudge him to the side and recapture what is mine.  But it never took long for me to realize that I would have to wait until the next night to try again.

 

Once he was comfortable in my bed, he would decide to get even more comfortable by laying on his back with his four legs spread out.  

On a few occasions, I would get the courage to remind him who was boss.  I would take back my bed and push him onto the floor..  But of course, we know what would happen next....

Buddy would sit at the side of my bed and place his chin onto my bed.  Then, he would place his paw on my pillow as a feeble attempt to jump in with me.

How could I say 'no'?  Those soft, big, brown eyes were politely asking for one more chance. 

And he got his second chance.

This cycle was repeated his entire life. 

I may have endured many restless and sleepless nights but looking back, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Lukewarm Last Supper

The water is hot
then the water is cold
and I feel so dirty

I'm so beautiful today
and so ugly tomorrow
and I feel so unworthy

The water is hot
then the water is cold
and I feel so dirty

Lies Lies Lies
my new master
If karma is the queen of the opera
I'm stealing the scene
like a lucky bastard

I find it sick and twisted
and on the holiest of nights
somewhat masochistic

c'est la vie
my nitrous oxide
your jokes aren't funny anymore

I'm your chicken soup
your patron saint
I'm your convenience store

Sweet Jesus once fell in love
with a young girl from Bethlehem
he was hated by the masses
so he died for them

Sweet Jesus returned three days later
the young girl was not impressed

all Jesus could say was...
they crucified me but only you can hurt me

The water is hot
then the water is cold
and I feel so dirty

Scarecrow

I could get a lot accomplished in the driving rain.  Like clearing my mind.  Like escaping my secrets.

There's something about that road; just me in my car on that poorly lit road. 
There's something about playing that radio with a specific song on repeat.

I get a lot accomplished when I find myself alone.  Like remembering how it was.  Like dreaming how it will be.

Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard.

And I'm stuck on those two phrases. 

I've always wondered why when we are feeling down, we choose music that holds us down.  You'll never find Shiny Happy People on the playlist of the lonely. 

The devil is called the prince of the air.  When negative energy such as sadness fills this vacuum; it is he we feed. 

I was sitting in church; buried in a sea of crucifixes.  At 15, it's the last place, I wanted to be.  And it occurred to me, at that moment, how that sweet symbol of salvation is lost as it dangles on the necks of the self-righteous.  If the woman I love was bludgeoned to death with a hammer, would I wear some shiny piece of silver in the shape of a hammer to remember her suffering?

These are the thoughts that I accomplish in the driving rain.

On that poorly lit road, I always come to the same conclusion.  I conclude we are masochistic at best and sadists at heart.  Like a herd of cattle, we will trample each other at the mere rumor of danger. 

Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?  A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

I was shirtless and barefoot behind the wheel.  Like a drunk captain of her own ship.  But I had a destination in mind.  It was the perfect moment to tell her I love her. 

There's something about our spirit when our defenses are down.  There's something about leaving our pride in the backseat when we have nothing to lose.

It doesn't mean much.
It doesn't mean anything at all.

I can find clarity in the driving rain.  I come alive off that beaten path. 

There's this field across from my old home; governed by a makeshift scarecrow.  And it's funny to me.  He just stands there;  all day, all night.  And sometimes, I find myself in that neighborhood hoping for one last glimpse of the ghost that left us on a gloomy night in September.

And I swear that scarecrow is telling me something.  Those dead eyes see straight through me.  If the moon casts its shadow just perfectly as I sit in my car, I will wave at that scarecrow.  And I know, it's an exercise in futility but sometimes, friends are the ones who never talk.  Or judge.  


And strangely, I empathize with him.  How lonely he must be.  He exists merely to manifest fear. 

I don't want to be a scarecrow.  I don't want to manifest fear or give into the fear emanating from a world of scarecrows.

I could get a lot accomplished in the driving rain. 

Like being cleansed from all this filth.

Like clearing my mind.

There's something about that poorly lit road.  Where my Creator shows me the world with a new set of eyes.  Where the prince of the air chokes on his own bile.

And I find clarity, at last.
And a tear rolls down my cheek.

And the scarecrow waves back.