December 13, 2009

"Mommy's Time Out"

When Little Billy is bad, he gets a time out.

But Mommy...

...takes a time out and THEN she gets bad.

Mommy gets naughty.

Mommy drinks like a sailor and Mommy lets ALL the sailors dock in her port.

Mommy is dirty.

December 9, 2009

"Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow"

Sometimes my iPod is chillingly clairvoyant.

Four songs that played within 20 minutes of each other on my iPod this afternoon (after last night’s snowfall):

"Pictures of Home" by Deep Purple, which has the lines: "I'm alone here, with emptiness, eagles and snow. Unfriendliness chilling my body and taunting with pictures of home."

Then an instrumental by Phil Keaggy called "Icicles."

Third, "Home Again" by Carole King which says, "Snow is cold. Rain is wet. Chills my soul right to the marrow." Yes, it snowed last night, then turned to rain and left a big chilly mess here.

Fourth, “Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow” by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds:

Where is Mona? She's long gone. Where is Mary? She's taken her along. But they haven't put their mittens on And there's fifteen feet of pure white snow

December 8, 2009

"The Orange Thug and the Event of My Healing"

I am a teenager. I am paralyzed from the waist down. Getting around is difficult, but my spirits are good. I’ve become proficient in pulling myself along the ground with my arms and maneuvering my weight to slide down inclines. I am paralyzed, but not crippled.

On my last day in this condition, I am out with my Mom, my grandmother (Gram), and a friend of mine who always insists on helping me move about. The place where we are is crowded.

Waiting by an elevator with my friend, I notice stairs nearby. I want to take the stairs. But Mom said we must wait by the elevator while she gets my wheelchair. I am convinced that I can make it up the stairs using my arms and positioning my body against the wall as I do so.

“Mom, let me go up by the stairs. I can do it. I want to do it.”

Mom says, “There are too many people. And Gram is with us. It’s easier for her to take the elevator.”

I plead with my mom as more people join the crowd in front of the elevator. “Please, Mom. I can do it!”

A stern police officer in a uniform that looks like it’s from the 1950s accompanies a tall rough looking prisoner among the crowd. The prisoner is wearing an orange jumpsuit. He is a thug if I ever saw one.

While Mom is setting up my wheelchair, the thug is standing behind Gram. He pulls her close to himself then slides has calloused hand down her blouse and clutches her breast.

The cop pretends not to notice.

“Hey!” I yell, “Get your hands off my grandmother. Hey! Officer! Do something!”

The thug looks at me from the corner of his eye and grins.

The cop glances at the thug groping my grandmother, then turns and begins to whistle as if he saw nothing.

I try desperately to move over the help my grandmother. But I cannot get through the people.

Mom is still working on the wheelchair.

Finally, in a storm of curses, I make my way to a spot within reach of the thug and I smash him on the top of the head with all my might.

He in turn clobbers me square in the face with a mighty fist and I am knocked to the floor unconscious.

When I come to, most of the crowd has cleared. I jump to my feet yelling, “Where is that bastard! I’m gonna kill him!”

The thug and the cop are gone.

I realize that I am now whole again. I jump. I jump. I jump!

This was a dream I had last night.

December 7, 2009

"Inspiration Delivery"

(Yes, that's really a slice of pizza. On the road.)

Sometimes you need inspiration.

Sometimes you look for it.

Sometimes inspiration finds you.

Sometimes it's delivered!

Tonight, driving out to pick up Chinese food, around the bend, through the woods, watching for black ice on the country road where I live in northwest New Jersey (it was 27 degrees when I left the house, 26 when I got back), there it was, in the middle of the road... a run-over pizza box and a full pie scattered across the road!

Pizza never fails to inspire me. It is my muse. I can eat half a pie, then sit in silent wholeness, reveling in my existential cheesiness. Ahhhh... pizza!

What tragedy hath befallen thee, yonder lone pie? What decree of the gods hath ordained thy sacrifice upon the lonely macadam byways of this icy wilderness? How many tongues have been deprived of thy tasteful splendor this dark eve?

How the HELL did you end up in the road?!

How does one explain the loss of a pie if one is the pizza delivery guy? "Well, boss, I was trying to save time and did a drive-by toss like a newspaper delivery. Oops." How does one manage to drop a pizza in the road? I would have never returned to the pizza parlor. I would have kept right on driving until I found another job... or a church to ask forgiveness for the mortal sin of pizza molestation.

Well, one man's sin is another man's inspiration. Mr. Pizza Delivery Guy... God bless you as you burn in hell! (However, I'll choose pick-up instead of delivery next time.)