"Long Bomb Touchdown"

I really have few memories of my Dad when I was young. He just wasn't around that much for memories to stick in my mind. But there was this one Sunday morning that for some reason Mom had left me behind from church. This was something that did not normally happen and I can't remember why. This left Dad and I to our selves and Sundays for my Dad meant football and beer. The first game was about to start on TV and the Cleveland Browns were going to get the ball first. My Dad looked at me and said, "Long bomb to Paul Warfield touchdown." I couldn't believe it but I saw it for myself Cleveland's first play was exactly as Dad had called it. I was struck with awe and I can't remember anything else from that morning including the second play of the game. But for one morning my Dad was the Kreskin of football.

Insomnia

Sleep does not come easy to me as I have been an insomniac for as long as I can remember. I have tried all the remedies, several medications from Doctors and over the counter, all the herbs and teas you can think of but it all remains the same and I lay there with my mind racing about something. I can remember one night laying in bed exhausted from my day and my mind would not shut down. My back hurts in this position I'd better roll over. Is that sweat running down my leg or is something crawling on me? My foot itches now. (scratch foot with other foot) Ah relief, but now my ear itches. when will it stop. I need to buy tires for the car soon I saw the tread indicators today. I wonder how much that will cost. Am I bothering Donna rolling over so much? I can't get comfortable. It's too hot in here. Did my fan get moved I can't feel it any longer? Somehow amidst this brain chatter I eventually fall asleep. And like a favorite record with a scratch on it, playing the same song over and over repeating at every turn of the vinyl album, the song can't get beyond the scratch until the needle is lifted and gently placed back into the grooves.

Life is a Candle

My life doesn't reflect the box of cherries so popular from the movie Forrest Gump, but rather my life is like that of a candle. I have been burning brightly deep orange and yellows for some time now. Over the years the candle has gone out a few times and has needed to be re-lit in order to burn again. The flame goes out more often than before burning brightly at first but eventually the flame starts to flicker and the molten wax soon smothers the flame to smoke. Once re-lit the wax has hardened beneath the flame and the process repeats as the pool of wax grows until it nips at the flame. Again the liquid snuffs it out and the smoke fills our senses giving us the sign to re-lite the flame. We wait until the wax cools or we pour some out and allow more room for the flame to burn. I am in this stage of the candle's life. My flame burns brightly some days and others it is barely distinguishable as lit. The flame returns to burn again and again and again. My candle has been tall and deep with ample wax to melt over and over. Can you describe your candle?

Loved That Jazz

I started playing the saxophone in sixth grade. I wanted to play the trumpet but Mom didn't have much money and we had this horn in the family already. Besides the band teacher told my Mom my lips were too big for the trumpet and I should try something else. So the saxophone became mine. Doug, my older brother, had played it in school too. I imagine Mom had originally bought it used for him because the ivory keys were more worn than he could have done in such a short time. Being in the band was alright during Junior High inCopperas Cove Texas but given a choice I would rather have been on the football team. I was just a bit too fat and not athletic enough to make the team. That husky frame was perfect for developing good breathing techniques for the horn and I quickly improved. Later we moved to Salt Lake City Utah and the band this school had was a jazz band. My love for jazz and the blues began and I quickly became the first chair alto sax player. We showcased our talents during school assemblies and inter-school contests. We never won. But one morning I announced to the teacher, a short red-haired thirty-ish gal, that I had bought a book on improve and had been practicing. She was impressed and an hour later before the school assembly, about ten minutes before it was to start, she came over to me and told me I had the solo in the opening song. I replied there isn't a solo in the music as she laughed and said there is now, just improvise. I was sweating bullets from that moment on. I'll queue you she told me. Well it happened and I somehow managed to stay on key and for about a minute or so I played like I never played before. Ending the solo on the highest note an alto sax can do and blasting it for all I was worth. The school loved it and I have never felt so elated. I couldn't play again until I caught my breath. Soloing without written music was such a rush I felt like I was face jumping the Half Dome.

Afraid of Death?

The afternoon sun was still burning hot right into my eyes as I walked the dog. I had not walked her for quite awhile because when I do my back starts to hurt. The pain can be very intense after a twenty minute walk. Why or how my thoughts turned to death I'll never know. But they did and I will try to re-create them here. I believe in the here-after but not necessarily the Christian definition per say but definitely a spiritual world. And believing this I am not afraid to die. I would no longer be in pain. I would no longer have a foot that is numb. I would no linger be fat for a spirit has no mass. Is this something to be afraid of? Will I cry on my death-bed? I will for those I leave behind as I know they will experience a pin that no medicine will numb. I do have feelings, deep feelings that surface in agony when a friend or loved one passes away but still no fear, no anguish and no worries of my own demise. I write today knowing that at age forty-eight my life is more than half over and I will welcome my death whenever it finds me. As told in Kurt Vonnegut's book Slaughterhouse Five,
"So it goes."

"So it goes."

Mom

My Mom is the sweetest woman in the entire universe. She is always giving of her time, money when she had some and her boundless love. Mom is sweeter than honey fresh off the comb. Mom is sweeter than the homemade caramels she has been making since I was little. Mom is sweeter than the taffy being pulled in the kitchen at Christmas. Mom is sweeter than the pan of fudge that has turned to sugar. Did I mention what a wonderful person my Mom is? She is wonderful like the first snow of winter so clean white and fresh. So wonderful as a full autumn moon shining down lighting your path home. So wonderful as the aroma of baked bread drifting from Grandma's kitchen throughout the house warming your heart and stimulating your senses. Yes she's that wonderful and more. I would gladly sacrifice my life to save hers. Thank you Mom, I love you.