Browse Category: Stories

DANCING FISH AND THE DANNY GODINEZ BAND

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

SOMETIMES the best things happen when you do something on the spur of the moment, something spontaneous. When you are tired of the routine. When it’s late Friday afternoon and the full workweek has all but killed your brain. When you make a phone call to hook up with someone you haven’t seen in a while and say, “Let’s go!” When they are available and it just all works out. That is the best!

Such was the way my weekend started out when I called Cousin AP and asked the magic question: “Sushi?”

We went out for sushi at The Dancing Fish Company in Bethlehem, PA. It was the best! I didn’t see any of the fish dancing. Even if the fish tried to dance, it would have been a short little waltz! One of us would have covered it with ginger, dipped it in soy sauce, and it would have been curtains for the fish and delight for the palate! Spider, dragon, Alaska, vegetable and yellowtail were the rolls we feasted on. Plus we had “chicken and ribs.” Huh? At a sushi restaurant? But wait! The “chicken and ribs” dish was actually a California roll covered with spicy tuna. Yummy! Add to this a little salad and miso soup. Top it off with an ice cream dessert called “mochi” that brings you to a state of near euphoria, especially the red bean. And you have a meal worth dancing for. Bring a cousin, a good friend, a lovely person onto the stage and you have Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers cutting up the rug!

AFTER DINNER, Cousin AP and I decided to go to the Pattenburg House. It was only 9:30. Neither of us felt like going home so early. So we went over to Pattenburg to have a drink and maybe catch some music. AP had heard that some guy from Seattle was doing a solo show. We enjoyed the first band, a group of local guys called Dyer Weed. Their music was kind of groovy and fun. Some of the guys in the band weren’t even wearing shoes. That’s the way it is at the Pattenburg House. The atmosphere is kind of laid back. A lot of people frequent the place and know each other. You can let your hair down, laugh and dance. But since I don’t have enough hair to let down, and I don’t dance (despite the Fred Astaire analogy above), I just enjoyed watching the band.

The first band finished, packed up and we were excited to see that the act from Seattle was not just a solo singer but a full band. They were the Danny Godinez Band. The who? No, not The Who! The Danny Godinez Band! Although we had never heard of them before, let me tell you, within the first 30 seconds of the very first song we were amazed and knew that we had gotten something worth way more than the little $5 cover charge we paid! These guys were awesome! They were extremely talented, precise, jazzy, rocky, soulful, playful, quiet and explosive! Wow!

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Of course, as a drummer, I watch every move a drummer makes. This drummer was blowing me away! He used everything at his disposal with precision, speed, accuracy and timing. He was a well-trained warrior wielding his weapons and tearing through the crowd.

Yet, when you talk with him, Todd is a mild-mannered kind-hearted guy, an intelligent guy who takes the time to listen when people speak to him. We struck up a conversation when the band took a break and made a connection for me to possibly do some web design for the band and, more importantly, to make a friend.

What about the rest of the band?

Danny Godinez will quickly get your attention with his acoustic guitar. He was smooth and fast. It was obvious that he “becomes one” with his guitar. When a guy uses harmonics, slaps his strings, picks with precision and speed, and masterfully bends his guitar neck to get just the perfect sound, you know that you are getting more than just music. You are getting the man’s soul. When he adds smooth singing and even mimics his guitar licks with his vocals, you are getting soul and art.

Danny, as well, is a super nice guy. In fact, all the guys in the band are great people. There is no arrogance among them. They interacted with the crowd in a positive and friendly way. It was great to see. How many times do you see musicians that don’t even have half the talent as Danny and his band who have ten times the amount of arrogance and act like their “you-know-what” doesn’t stink? Most of the time their music stinks more than their “you-know-what!”

Farko is the bass player. He came from Uzbekistan and hooked up with the others when he came to Seattle to attend music school. Farko is a mighty cool guy to talk with. We really enjoyed talking and laughing with him. It was interesting to hear his story.

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On the keyboards is Joe Raven. Wow! He is all curly hair and lightening fingers! It was a lot of fun to watch him play. Just like the others, he was a delight to talk with as well.

COUSIN AP and I enjoyed ourselves so much that we decided to make the trek to Norwalk, Connecticut to see the band again on Saturday night. I wanted to hook up with them again in order to talk some more about their website and possibly helping them out with that. AP and I both wanted to see them again just to enjoy their incredible music. We were surprised that it took us less than two hours to make the trip. Norwalk was a nice little town. There were plenty of clubs, shops and restaurants around. The band played at a place called Ocean Drive on Washington Street. It appeared to be a little upscale. In fact, we nearly paid more for a glass of wine than you would pay in a store for a small bottle! It was so opposite of the scene at the Pattenburg House. Regardless, AP and I had a good time. She took a lot of good pictures for the band. We had an opportunity to meet some new people. It felt good to get away and do something different.

ONE LAST THING. The Danny Godinez Band from Seattle, Washington is like a secret that no one should keep anymore. When I first heard them I thought, “Why hasn’t someone told me about this band before?” It almost felt morally wrong that I had never heard anyone talk about these guys before. Hey! If there is a good band, I want to know about it! Don’t leave me in the dark! How dare you! Let’s make a deal. Any time you find out about a good band, let me know. I’ll do the same for you. And if the timing is right and you are in the mood to do something spontaneous, let’s go hear a good band together. Okay? Good!

APPROACHING 9/11

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

MANY and various are the emotions in my heart on this day just two days away from the anniversary of September 11. The first hints of autumn are in the wind, carrying memories of events that I never thought I would see. Faces flash through my mind: concerned television news anchors, a murdered fire department chaplain, the dusty bleeding wounded, reluctant widows, rejoicing Palestinian children, a warm-hearted girl in the city, my confused and frightened seven-year-old. I cannot help but stare at the diminished New York City skyline every time I drive to the city, hoping that maybe it’s all been a dream and the Towers are still standing, their occupants still with us.

Often I vacillate between desiring peace and wanting justice. In actuality, there can be no complete peace without justice. How can one be at peace and satisfied when he has been severely wronged and no reparations have been made? How can one rest when some of his most valuable possessions have been stolen, destroyed, desecrated, murdered? Should not someone be held accountable and made to pay?

Yet, what price paid could ever sufficiently replace that which was lost on September 11, 2001? The whole earth itself with all its treasures would be a filthy, disgusting, pitiful and trite offering compared to the value of just one of those souls that unjustly perished on that day. They can never be replaced. Humanly speaking, we could never obtain satisfactory justice for the murders inflicted on that day. Even if we imposed a million condemnations upon the perpetrators of these crimes and their accomplices, making them to die a thousand deaths for their deeds, would any of us be satisfied?

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Sure, that is justice. But would that ever satisfy the longings of love violated? Would that return a firefighter to his weeping widow? Would that return a bride to her lonely groom? If we take a life to pay for another life, does that satisfy the confused orphan? Or does that only make more orphans? Do not get me wrong. I believe that justice demands that the life of the murderer be ended by the hands of the law. If orphans are made it is not the fault of justice but the fault of the killer. You should have thought about your weeping orphaned son before you plunged the knife in, before you pulled the trigger, before you crashed the plane. Justice demands a life for a life. But love is not satisfied by it. If I could resurrect one of those who hijacked the planes last year, and kill him with my own hands over and over for each of those that died that day, no one would be satisfied. The fiery jealousy of love requires more, requires that which cannot be exacted nor paid. Indeed, it would set the world on fire and consume all in its path. No wonder it is written, “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay.”

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MANY TIMES over the past year, I have stood at Ground Zero, blinked unbelievingly up through the hole in the sky and asked, “Why?” I have tried to comprehend the unthinkable. I have heard the fanatics refer to the “Great Satan,” my country. I have seen the smugness on their faces as they hide within their caves and their violence, self-proclaimed ambassadors of Allah, praising their deluded minions falsely called martyrs. I have studied their psychological profiles. I have listened to their twisted reasoning. It can only be understood by madmen and zealots. I do not believe that they represent true Islam. Certainly, there are multitudes of peace-loving Muslims. Certainly, I am friends with some of them. I will not allow the zealots of their religion to cloud my opinion of them and trust that they will accord me the same understanding. Certainly, there have been murderous zealots in my religion also. Let us not judge each other based upon the deeds or misdeeds of those in our religions who wear the robes, the collars, the suits, the turbans, the rings, and claim to be our spiritual guides. Know my heart and its sincerity. Judge me on that basis.

FOR A TIME, the skies were silent over the United States after we were attacked. The sights and sounds of airliners flying overhead toward New York were unnoticed, part of the background noise of every day life here. Now, since the startling sound of the first plane that flew over once flights resumed, and with each plane that I see, I am made to think of that awful day. Wonder assails me and carries my mind to places I do not wish to go. I picture myself seated in a meeting at work at 8:46 AM. I see my colleagues, smell the office coffee, try to shake off the aggravation of the morning drive and focus on the work at hand. I see the plane crashing in upon us. I imagine what would become of the walls around me, the ceiling above me, the pen in my hand, the watch on my arm, the woman seated across from me. I try to imagine the terror of those who saw the plane approaching at 400 miles per hour. Did they have time to see it? Perhaps they had their backs turned. One can only hope.

I IMAGINE that each time I visit New York, there will be the thoughts of sadness, injustice and confusion. These things will never be forgotten. They may become less intense with time, just as a wound hurts less the more it heals. The scar will always remain. Scar tissue is the strongest tissue. Come, my friends. Let us continue on, united, scarred and limping if need be. The skies rain blessings more often than fire. Let us look up with expectancy and determination. Let us rebuild with courage and confidence. Let us pray with sincerity and hope.

CORRESPONDING PICTURE GALLERY:

ON THE EVE OF THE SPEECH

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

IF YOU could enter my mind this evening before my first scheduled speech, what would you encounter? Perhaps a great deal that would surprise you. I am sure you would find much that would amuse you. Perhaps a thing or two that might shock you! Would you be scared? “Should I be?” you ask. No. I was just playing with you! You know me! Come on! Enter my mind! Just watch your step and don’t trip over anything! It’s a little cluttered in spots!

Well, tonight it seems that the old mind is experiencing a little anxiety. That’s why there’s so much static in the air. Anxiety about the bills, the kids, the ex-wife, the web projects. Anxiety about being anxious. It all makes one a little jumpy, a little tense.

Writing helps though. You watch as the creativity starts to make its way out into the hallways here. It tends to brush away the cobwebs and the dust. It tidies up some of the clutter. It makes room for larger and prettier things. Ah! The creativity! Refreshing as a spring rain! Enlivening as the encouragement of an old friend! Sometimes, simply sitting down and writing alleviates a good deal of the stress of the day.

YOU ASK if I’m anxious about tomorrow’s speech. Now that you are inside my mind, I suppose I cannot hide too much from you! Of course I am nervous about the speech! I feel so unprepared! The old fears jump out from some of these closets. “What if you get one minute into the speech and lose your train of thought?” “What if you say something funny but no one laughs?” “What if you get your timing all messed up and don’t finish within six minutes?” “What if you trip and smash your nose on the steps when they introduce you?” “Remember SECOND GRADE??”

Oh! I knew that old fear would sticks its ugly face out! I’ve been waiting for that one! You know what? Maybe one of the biggest reasons for wanting to speak in public is to pound on that ugly old fear and send him crying to his momma! The best way to overcome a fear is to confront it and take action in spite of it!

I see the puzzled look on your face. Let me tell you a story.

WAY BACK in second grade at Alpha Elementary School, we were assigned one of our very first book reports. No problem! Even at that age, I loved to read and write. In fact, as soon as I could spell my name I was writing it everywhere! My mom used to say, “You would write on your ‘rear end’ if you could reach it!” (Not her exact words! That sentence was edited out of respect for the general readership. Although, I did use a rather crude word in my last entry. Didn’t I? Anyway…) I wrote with anything- pen, pencil, crayon, fabric marking wheel! That’s right! Before I entered kindergarten, my name was everywhere! Walls! Paper! Books! Even etched into my wooden dresser by the nifty marking wheel! “SAMMY SNYDER” left his signature, like a tomcat marking his territory! Boy was my mom pissed!

But where was I? Oh, yes, second grade. Though the research and writing of the report was not an issue, there was a catch. We had to read our reports in front of the entire class! No icebreaker speeches to get you started! It was sink or swim! On report day, you were put on the spot in front of the whole stinking, rotten, jeering second grade class in all of their immaturity! You were fed to the sharks!

I do not remember if we went alphabetically on the day the reports were read. I just remember sitting in my seat and being overwhelmed by the anxiety of it all. My goodness! It felt like an eternity of waiting and fearing, sweating and wishing that the school would blow up! But my turn came.

“Sammy Snyder, won’t you come up now and read your report for us?” asked the ever lovely Mrs. Yates.

As in a dream, I made my way to the front of the class, disconnected from my body and deaf to all but the whispers of my anxieties. I stood and looked at the class. I don’t remember most of their names now. But I still see their faces. All was in slow motion like a scene from a movie. Somehow I managed to begin speaking. “My report is on bats. Bats are the only flying mammals. Bats…. Bats….. Bats……”

Tragedy.

Due to my fear of public speaking at the age of seven, I lacked even the courage to ask dear Mrs. Yates for permission to use the toilet before my turn to speak arrived. Just a few sentences into the report, the stress found my weakness- my bladder! Quickly the dark wetness spread from my crotch, rushed down my pant legs, and formed a circular spot on the carpet. No man is an island? Let me tell you, I stood there an island surrounded by urine and seven-year-old laughter! I felt helpless like a man washed up on the shores of an isle of insane laughing monkeys! Surely, in their hysteria they would have led me to the heights and shoved me off the cliffs and watched my brains spill out on the rocks below.

But Mrs. Yates saved me. “Oh, Sammy! Why didn’t you ask me? Go to the nurse’s office.”

I sloshed my way down the hall. The nurse asked, “What happened to YOU?”

“I got sick?” Maybe I couldn’t hold my bladder. But I sure wasn’t going to let go of what tiny bit of dignity I had, even if it meant denying the whole incident.

IS THAT a fear as far as tomorrow’s speech goes? No, not really. I have learned to control the bladder situation. I just won’t drink anything after midnight tonight!

See that? I only told you one story and already things look a little better in my mind! I took you back to second grade and both of us forgot our worries for a bit!

WE MOVED from Alpha a few years later. I never forgot that incident in second grade though. I bet most of the class still remember too. I can imagine a few of them at a class reunion.

“Say, who was that kid that did the report on bats and wet himself in front of the whole class?”

“Oh dude! That was Sammy Snyder!”

At least I left a lasting impression! Now I figure that it can’t get much worse! Even if I wet myself tomorrow it won’t matter too much. Been there! Done that! So onward to success! If you never fail, if you never make a fool out of yourself at least once, it means that you are still hiding in your fears and you just haven’t stepped out yet. Step out, man! Even if it scares the piss out of you! Step out!

(I realize that I wrote of this incident previously in the “I Blame Carole King” entry. Please don’t be pissed at my redundancy!)

DON’T LOSE THAT NUMBER

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

BACK IN TIME again. This nostalgic piece is being written while under the influence of Steely Dan. Who would have thought? When I was in high school it just was not cool to listen to Steely Dan! How could that boring stuff compare to something as deep and musically intricate as the amazingly broad spectrum of three chord symphonies produced by the likes of AC/DC? How could that lame music measure up to the culturally enhancing and magnanimous-thought evoking quality of the wholesome Alice Cooper? Tell me. How could Steely Dan ever hold a candle to the altruistic, not-for-profit, purely for the love of art, labor of love of the face-painted Kings In Selfless Service, KISS? My how perspectives change with a little time and experience! The rich keyboards, clean drums, smooth background vocals, quality lyrics, horns, percussion, worthy guitar work, I’ll take Steely Dan! Now they take me to times past through “Rikki Don’t Lose that Number.”

I am always impressed at the way in which a song, a sound, a smell or any one of innumerable stimuli has the ability to carry one back in time without warning. You might be in the midst of complicated work, or driving to the store, or watching a parade or eating a meal, when suddenly something causes you to remember days of long ago. A long closed and forgotten door in your subconscious is opened and you find yourself in fields of yesteryear.

How did “Rikki Don’t Lose that Number” place me in the backseat of my grandparent’s car in New Egypt, New Jersey on our way home from the Jersey Shore? Was it a hit song on the radio on one of those summer trips back in the early 1970s? Was it one of the many popular tunes that Sister C, Cousin B and I used to sing along with while we jumped on the bed in Pop and Gram’s spare bedroom? That room had a mirror on the wall and we would jump and sing and collapse in heaps of laughter upon the mattress. I remember that “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers was one of our favorites. (“I’d like to hear some funky Dixie Land, pretty mama come and take me by the hand…”) But “Rikki?” I don’t remember that being one of our favorites. Oh, but I don’t want to “lose that number!” I don’t want to lose that connection with the past and those good memories! I’ll “send it off in a letter to myself” and to whoever wishes to read it. Maybe it will bring smiles from the past to someone’s face that has long forgotten how smile.

New Egypt, New Jersey is not a major town. I don’t remember any town at all actually. I remember flat Central Jersey farm fields. I remember the small racetrack there. Was it only for go-carts or was it for stock cars? I don’t remember. Pop would always travel the county roads through the New Jersey pines when we went to the shore. New Egypt is somewhere on one of those routes. Maybe it was the oddness to a child’s mind of a place called “Egypt” in New Jersey. Are there pyramids here too? Maybe just small ones brought over by the early Egyptian settlers who arrived in New Jersey around the time of the Dutch? Do the mummies come out at night and eat people in New Egypt? We never hung around long enough to find out. We were only passing through on our way to Sea Isle City, Cape May, Avalon, Atlantic City or Brigantine.

DO YOU KNOW the excitement of a North Jersey kid when he sees sand along the road on his trip to the shore? It’s comparable to seeing the first snow flurries of the winter, the first robin of spring, the first neighborhood house decorated with Christmas lights on the day after Thanksgiving. Somewhere around New Egypt we became alive again, mummies or no mummies. The lethargy was gone. Our nearly bursting bladders were forgotten. The air was fresh with salt and excitement. The sand was on the ground! The beach was just beyond the next incline in the road! Do I see the waves already? Or is that only the heat rising from the road?

There was another sign that we were almost to the shore. Along one of those county roads through the pines there was an ice cream stand. How we would look forward to arriving there! Pop was famous for near mental breaking long trips without many stops. Oh, but he loved ice cream and we could count on his stopping at this stand! By the time we would get there we would be ready for 10 feet tall ice cream cones! It was all very psychological. If we could just keep our sanity until we made it to that ice cream joint, we knew we would be refreshed and able to keep our minds for the rest of the journey. The excitement and sugar would carry us the rest of the way! What a second wind!

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AT THE SHORE we would stay in campgrounds. Pop always had a trailer or a mobile home. When we were old enough, Cousin P and I had the honors of helping Pop hook up the water and sewer hoses when we got to the grounds. Other than that, our time was filled with fun. We would bring our bikes and ride the dirt lanes through the grounds and pretend we were one of several favorite stock car racers. We would spend our change on candy at the campground store. We would go to the game room and play air hockey while The Guess Who sang “American Woman” on the jukebox. Every evening we would take refuge in the trailer while the truck passed through and sprayed for mosquitoes. I’m sure they killed a lot of those critters and some of our brane shells. I mean shane brells. I mean brain cells. If it rained, we would play card games such as “Pig,” “Go Fish” and the interminable “War.”

We spent a lot of time at the beach. In my mind I will always have a vision of my grandfather walking painlessly barefoot over scorching sand, like a pale, bald, Irish firewalker, while his children’s children hooted and hopped among the broken shells and discarded cigarette butts in his wake. Mahatma O’Ghandi, leading a band of initiates yet to be trained in the art of endurance. Oh, the mercy of the ocean! Praise to the gods of water and relief!

In the evenings, the boardwalk was the attraction. We laid down our quarters. The wheels spun. The prizes were won now and then. We bought kites, saltwater taffy, t-shirts, key chains, polished seashells, magnets and more. We ate funnel cake, freshly roasted peanuts, candy apples, cotton candy.

In Atlantic City, we watched the horse dive at the Steel Pier. We had our pictures taken with Phyllis Diller and the Pope at the wax museum. We never failed to get a kick out of the Planter’s Peanut man at their store on the boardwalk. Gram purchased specially designed shoes in Atlantic City. Was the store called Sheldon’s?

At Cape May, we searched for Cape May “Diamonds” on the beach. We marveled at the half-sunken concrete ship. We watched Pop go crabbing and fishing in the bay. We gave up and finally bought the “diamonds” at one of the many sea shell shops.

At Brigantine, we stayed with the nuns, friends of Aunt E. There, Cousin P was the only one brave enough to see the movie “Jaws” in the theatre. How does one muster enough courage to watch a movie about a killer shark at night and then swim in the ocean the very next day? At Brigantine, I got one of the worst sunburns of my life. Somehow, I was severely burned on my hips. It hurt to wear my jeans at night. One night there were toads everywhere outside. Of course, we enjoyed catching them. Well, I only semi-enjoyed it. Bending over hurt too much due to the sunburn! I distinctly remember Cousin P telling me that I looked like an absolute idiot trying to catch toads by only squatting and not bending my waist.

One of the funniest things I ever saw happened at the shore. We spent the day on the beach and were ready to leave. We were tired and hungry standing outside of the car while Pop unlocked the doors. I remember that one of the girls had to pee. For crying out loud! You had a whole friggin’ ocean just yards away but you want to hold it until we find a bathroom??? Then it happened! Right down the back of someone’s neck! Sea gull poop! I was looking right at her, one of my cousins, when humor struck! She was standing next to a telephone pole and… “Bombs away!” Have you ever seen the way a young girl dances when she has gull crap on the back of her neck? I was delighted! When she yelled, “It’s not funny!” it became even funnier! When I said, “Ewww! Look at the shells in it!” she nearly killed me! Thank you, “Rikki,” for reminding me of gull shit!

ON AND ON I could go with these memories! As I play the Steely Dan song again, I am thankful that I didn’t “lose this number.” Hey, “Rikki,” you know who you are while you’re reading this. “Don’t lose that number!” Call it up. Remember those times from your past when you were a little more carefree and optimistic. Think of gull shit on your cousin’s neck and smile! “Send it off in a letter to yourself” and pass it on in order to inspire someone else. May the gull of paradise visit you all!

A GLASSFUL OF SUNSHINE

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

INTERESTING day today. I went down to Flemington in the afternoon. I heard that the band Cairo was playing at a wine tasting event that was being held by Unionville Vineyards, Amwell Valley Vineyards and Poor Richard’s Winery. It was a beautiful afternoon. I found myself alone on a Saturday without any solid plans. So I thought I’d take a drive down to see the band.

JF has to work this weekend. It was a rather sudden change in her schedule. I don’t like change! They say that the only thing that does not change in life is the fact that things change. Well, I’d like to change that! They say that change is good. But I’m not so sure that all change is good. Some change is just rather necessary or compulsory or mandatory, forced upon you by the will of another. But I digress here. It is not the end of the world that JF and I are not together this weekend. Schedules change. Remember? Change is good. But since we had been seeing each other nearly every Saturday and Sunday for quite a while, I’m at a little bit of a loss to know exactly what to do with myself right now.

So rather than sit in my stuffy little apartment and drive myself crazy by knowing that I should clean the place but lack the ambition to do so, I decided to get out of here. I came very close to giving into the temptation to go back to bed around 10 am. I could have rationalized that it’s been a while since I got to sleep late. I could have said, “Gee, Sam, you work so hard, you drive so much, you only sleep about five hours each night. Take it easy on yourself, buddy!” I could have given in to the increased gravitational pull from the mattress, the luring pulsation of the pillow, the death wrap of the blankets. If so, I would have wasted such a great day! I ran out of here with the mattress snarling and nipping at my heels. Whew! Saved the day!

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CAIRO is just great! Today was the first that I ever heard them live. Very great sound! They have a funky-bluesy-reggaey kind of sound. It was perfect for such a sunny day. Plus, they are really down to earth people. They are playing again tonight in New Hope, PA. I’m thinking about going down there. I got it in my blood now! I’ll worry about the messy house tomorrow… or maybe not!

There were quite a few people out to see Cairo, taste some wine and just enjoy the gorgeous weather. I felt like a mole that hadn’t broken through the surface of the earth in about fifteen years! It sure is a different vantage point on the world when you are basking in the sun listening to good music compared to when you are in your cell chained to a computer at work! It was good to be around people who were just having some fun and relaxing. It was good to see kids dancing, parents dancing, pretty girls dancing. Yeah! That’s right! I was sitting right there with the two prettiest girls! I even had my picture taken with them! No, I’m not going to show you! You will just get jealous! They’re MY girls! Ha!

YOU KNOW, watching this little boy dance in the grass today made me long to be free again. Why can’t I be so free in heart to get up and dance for the simple reason that I felt happy? Why do I always have to worry about image? Why do I allow myself to be stifled by cares and stresses? Why do I allow myself to remain crippled by past heartaches and failures? Why do I bury my true potential beneath the fear of what others might say? Why do I allow myself to feel mediocre and insignificant when I am the only ME that ever was or will be? Why can’t I shine as bright as the sun today? Man! I do not want to reach the end of my days with a big burden of regret on my back! God help me to dance!

Well, time to put this on the web, take a quick shower and go listen to some good music again!