1,001 Words

*this post was originally conceived as a ‘father/daughter’ post with two different interpretations of the same picture.
Jenna (the bride) posted this pic on IG last Father’s Day and it hit that writing nerve in me resulting in this post.
Putting your thoughts on paper and ultimately sharing them online is a dicey thing.
So, this post may be updated at the appropriate time.

She was a special one, this one, and I’d known it all my life. She was so much me, so much mine way back when. A simple walk down the aisle would ultimately change all that from my perspective but was I ready to just give her away? Guess it’s a yes and no kind of thing., a ying and a yang, a blue sky versus a bruised and cloudy one. (That day was grey but not totally foreboding)
Already did the ‘giving away a daughter’ thing once before so I should be used to it by now, right? 

But I wasn’t.

It’s hard to give up a daughter. She’ll now be be taken care of by someone other than me. I didn’t feel great about it the first time (Jonathan changed my mind on that one) but once again I sure as hell wasn’t feeling great about it now.
It’s a Dad thing really because no one will ever be good enough for your daughter.

In my heart, I knew Aaron was all that.

He was much like me in many ways; he loved to cook, loved music, smoked a pipe and cigars, and asked me personally for her hand in marriage. And I knew he loved her and would protect her. That worked for me and she was truly happy, pretty much the bottom line.

Several hours prior to the wedding, my presence was requested at my oldest daughters house where some pictures were being taken. Caught me off-guard because I’d been told to meet everyone at the church before the wedding.

I arrived at the house and was ushered to a bay window in the kitchen that looked out over the backyard.
I was instructed to look out and not turn around until told to do so.
I assumed the bride was still being gussied up with make up and flowers and accoutrements I could never dream up.

The moment to turn around eventually came for me and there she was, my daughter, my Jenna.

My eyes filled with tears as I saw her standing there holding hands with my granddaughter, Meryl (the flower girl).
Jenna was everything that I thought she would be, her soft brown eyes were smiling and her face was radiant.
She was happy and palpably over the moon about her amazing day ahead.
I hugged her for a moment before croaking out, “You look beautiful,” into her ear.
And she looked so beautiful.

We waited in the back of the church for what seemed like an eternity before the processional song started.

She took my arm in hers and said, “Are you ready? Cause here we go.”
Yes, here we go, I thought.

Lazy and sultry summer days and  cold snowy winter nights swsept through my mind when she used to be safely under my roof.
Those days were coming to an abrupt end with every single step we took.

I had to accept the fact that this is how life works.
You have to let go of something you love sometimes to ultimately get what you want.
For her, I wanted happiness and someone to fill her days with wonderful things.

In that small, silent moment, I understood and accepted that she’d found that someone.
And my heart smiled as I kept on walking down the aisle.

 

M

Never Grow Old

bowie_laughing_suit_full

Most folks that know me know that I loved David Bowie.
He’s was as unpredictable as a 65 degree January day here in New England.
He was the quintessential ‘box of musical chocolates‘.
You never knew what you were going to get.
You would reach in and maybe pick one that tasted like it was filled with Colgate toothpaste.
You’d gag and say, “Yuck,” and maybe spit it out but inside you’d think, hmmm, it wasn’t that bad.
But now and then one chocolate was quite simply extraordinary.
So it was with Bowie and his many musical gems.
I’m going to miss his element of surprise.
I read this article from the Steinway ‘Listen’ Magazine and thought it was quite good.
Has some incredible photos of the man himself as well.
Good for a morning read with steaming a cup o’ joe.
You can read it HERE.

M

 

Mongrain

I’ve been out straight with all sorts of things lately but I saw this video and had to post it.
As a musician, I am in awe of this guy.
Not sure if he came before ‘August Rush’ or if he was the actual inspiration for it.
Judging from the movie clips I’ve seen, the August Rush kid smiles way too much for my comfort.
Kinda freaky and ala the Shining, so very unlike Mongrain.
Check it out.
Crazy.
This is some tres cool shit.
Off to bed, folks.

~m

Smoke, Lies and the Nanny State and . . .

Just wanted to put up yet another “thank you” post for being so damn generous with your comments.
I wanted to make my way around the “bloghorn” but will never do it all tonight.
I’m only human.

A few notes of interest, if you look to my side bar you will see a little jpeg of Joe Jackson (musician).
If you click it, it will open Adobe Reader on your computer (assuming you have it installed), and download his essay as a .pdf file.
I don’t comment much about smoking on the blog but I feel Jackson’s essay should be read by smokers and non-smokers alike.
I think it’s absolutely brilliant.
You may feel differently.
I’m not going to address my stance on smoking right now.
Just know that I smoke.
And I enjoy it.
And I pay exorbitant and unscrupulous taxes because of my habit (which is absolute bullshit).
To the US government, tax something else for a change, for cripes sake.
Just imagine if the government started taxing Budweiser and Happy Meals the way they tax tobacco these days.
Would people be a bit angry?
Think about it.
Click on the philosopher above to visit Jackson’s website.
There’s some great stuff to be found there.

And now for something completely different;

Last week, I woke up in the middle of the night after falling asleep early and came downstairs to the sound of ‘beep-beep-beep-beep’.
My wife was laying on the couch pointing the cordless phone at the TV and pressing the “call button” on and off.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to turn this friggin’ thing down,” she said.

“You can’t do that with the phone, dear, ” I said, as I took the phone out of her hand, turned off the TV and guided her upstairs to bed.
Ah, sleepyheads can be funny sometimes.
I think she may have called China a few times though.
Check out the Jackson video below.
Classic Joe.

~m

Imagine

Walking to South Station tonight, I noticed the elaborate and somewhat intricate weaving of people on the streets of Boston.
Sometimes my walk seems perfectly timed as I pass pedestrians in an orchestrated sort of dance, just missing bumping into someone while neon pedestrian lights go white and I walk across the streets unscathed.

Chance?

Maybe . . .

Something happened last night that I have no reasonable explanation for.
It’s quite simple but it went something like this:

I began thinking about this particular song and went to YouTube to see if I could at least find the video, which I did.
As I listened, I thought of one special person that I had to send this song to.
There was a reason for this intense feeling but it’s a long story, and not for tonight.
I thought about opening my ITunes and buying the song and sending it on but decided it was too damn late to start futzing around with my Nano.
But I did check my Gmail and was surprised to see an an email from a dear friend of mine and in the title it said, “Here you go ~m”.
Curious, I opened the email to find the song I’d just been listening to attached to the email in an ITunes format.
Goosebumps, blessed goosebumps.
There was no logical reason for me to receive this email but there it was. Go figure.
It was an ultra-heavy dose of serendipity, possibly chance but I smiled as I dragged the tune into my ITunes folder.
The story gets more interesting though.
I sent the song sailing over the waves of the internet to a soul that I knew it would appreciate it.
Turns out the song was desperately needed and right on time.
The chain of events that made this happen made me realize that many stories have already been written.
And I felt so blessed and happy to be included in this one.
For Lent (yes, it’s Lent for us Catlicks), I have given up nothing but I have vowed to get on my knees on a nightly basis and pray.
My prayers tonight go out for my friend Gerry and his nephew, Brandon.
Have a serene weekend, folks . . .
See all of you next week.

~m

ps. the candle in the post is for Brandon.
Today
was his birthday. Sleep in sweet peace, young man
and to the special lady that has sees the Southern Cross at night

Bad Country Song Titles

  • I hate every bone in her body but mine.
  • I ain’t never gone to bed with an ugly woman but I sure woke up with a few.
  • If the phone don’t ring, you’ll know it’s me.
  • I’ve missed you, but my aim’s improvin’.
  • Wouldn’t take her to a dogfight ’cause I’m real scared she’d win.
  • I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like having you here.
  • My wife ran off with my best friend and I miss him.
  • She took my ring and gave me the finger.
  • She’s lookin’ better with every beer.

    And the Number One bad title is . . .

    • It’s hard to kiss the lips at night (that chewed my ass out all day long).

    A shout out to my good cigar-smoking bud, WM for the email.
    You made Henry proud with this one, dude.

    ~m

    What is the square root of eggnog?

    It’s always around this time of the year (December 20th, to be exact) that my brain goes into this bizarre auto-hibernation cycle.
    I can’t hear “Jingle Bells” or “Merry Christmas, Darling” by the Carpenters simply because my brain refuses to latch on, refuses to release the adequate amount of acetylcholine needed to make my synapses “see” the connection.
    Maybe it sounds Grinch-like, but it’s not.

    Around every corner lurks some crazy bastard that thinks I should be incredibly happy, that I should embrace the “wassail ‘n eggnog” mentality of a holiday I’m still trying desperately to understand.
    Sometimes I wish I didn’t understand it, maybe I’d enjoy it more but sadly I cannot.
    I don’t watch much TV but when I do I inevitably see a Kay’s Jewelers commercial and I’m pretty sure that ‘every kiss begins with Kay’s’.
    Ughhhh.
    Hey Kay’s! I’m holding some wicked mistletoe over my yuletide ass.
    You guys can start there with a big, wet smooch.
    Gag me with an unrealistic, smarmy and overtly utopian commercial.

    Avaricious companies like this prey on the materialistic and compulsive nature of nincompoops foolish enough to believe that some diamond-studded placebo will make all their holiday dreams come true.
    My God, what unadulterated bullshit.

    There is a major reason for my somewhat apathetic attitude towards the holidays and maybe it’s because I’m just beginning to understand that it has little to do with shiny and expensive things.

    But there will always be another commercial, another misguided Christmas song and another 100 reasons for me to hate the things that society thinks will make my holiday grand.

    I’m thinking that maybe that’s okay.
    And I might just make it through another Christmas without the help of Kay’s . . .
    As far as the answer to the square root of eggnog, maybe it’s 42
    Though I may have to ask Sarah’s roomate, Kat . . .
    I hear she’s pretty good with math.

    ~m

    Leader of the Band

    Dan Fogelberg ~ (1951 – 2007)

    In my early years of playing music, Fogelberg was a definite musical influence on me.
    I saw him perform in 1976 at the Orpheum in Boston (the first night I ever smoked a joint, now you have some serious dirt on me).
    I wooed my wife way back when performing many of his tunes.
    Whether you liked the guy or not, he was a peaceful man and a very talented songwriter.
    I saw this news clip on Yahoo this afternoon.
    God, I have another reason to hate Mondays.
    I am very sad tonight.
    I’ll stop there.
    Should you ever get a chance, listen to “Souvenirs”.
    Click on the photo above for Fogelberg’s website.

    And here is a sunrise
    To set on your sill.
    The ghosts of the dawn
    Moving near.
    They pass through your sorrow
    And leave you quite still…
    Sitting among souvenirs . . . 

    Sleep in heavenly peace, Dan . . .

    ~m