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An Untitled Update

 John said “you’re going to play bingo tomorrow.” I said “what?” “BINGO. Tomorrow. With your grandmother.” I finally remembered. “Oh, yes!” I told my grandmother I would come over for bingo at the assisted living where she stays; they play on tues and fridays. They have trivia and other games and activities, even a cocktail hour (which I will not be enjoying, sadly). It’s things like that that keep life exciting, cut the edge on the boredom. For me it’s my crossword and connections puzzles and jeopardy; it tickles my brain. And of course this endeavor (I wonder how you say bingo in Spanish (that’s a trick question by the way)). August heat has been unforgiving yet compassionate: I find whole body perspiration to be slightly cooling— there is a tinge of winter joy even in the blast of summer. This one has been doubly hot. It gives an excuse to take a second shower. It’s like starting the day over at 6 o clock. I get to redo my makeup, which has basically turned into a sweat paint on...
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Light My Fire

  I’m not sure where I’m headed with this piece, but I just found a quote written in one of my old journals that has really inspired me. The quote is from the writing of Anne Morrow Lindbergh: “The best I can do is to piece together every detail I can remember, no matter how little, and blindly hope that a miracle will happen, that this patched collection of fragments may ignite somehow, and that some glimmering of the indescribable feeling may be relit in me” (from Bring Me a Unicorn). I must’ve written that down years ago, and I forgot all about it. What a gem. I’m not sure of the context of that wonderful sentence, but to me it’s all about the craft of writing.  Remembering. Reliving. Describing (even the hard stuff). I wrote that down in a marble notebook I was journaling my way through as a pool monitor in 2017. I do remember reading Anne’s work that summer. I remember the hopeless boredom and the rainy afternoons, the hot asphalt and the wild turkeys. I read many bo...
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I Wanna Rock

  I just had one of the best experiences of my life because i went to the Hard Rock Hotel in Tampa Bay, Florida.   I’m in love with a casino. And I’m not even a gambler. What’s wrong with me?  I seem to be embodying the epitome of living vicariously. And it’s hard to justify, because realistically these places want to create the best experience for you so you spend more money. Smoking allowed? Check. The best music? Check. Free drinks? Check…please! Just take all my money and tell me I can live here. I’m an addict dying for a hit.  I was impressed by more than the Casino. The establishment is lavishly decorated. Simple yet ornate. Quite glamorous. Even the bathrooms! Smelled delicious. Perfect lighting. Look down, and there’s a beautiful carpet, Arabian nights styled…look up and there’s a chandelier, and possibly a disco ball. They spare no expense (because they’re taking all your money, or most of it).  Men with money and beautiful women: You can be your ow...
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Vacation: Tampa and Kissimmee

 Time to put that brown paper bag over my head… Because I just got back from vacation. And it was awesome! I really had a blast. I’m going to brag a little bit, sorry. John and I went to the Hard rock hotel in Tampa Bay. Because he’s a gambling man, and I’m a good luck charm (I think).  We left Daytona on a Friday for a three hour ride west. We got to Tampa around noon amd parked in a parking garage so we could walk the Riverwalk trail. It’s a two mile hike along Tampas River. It wasn’t very exciting and it was very hot, and lacking entertainment (shopping, of course). Thank god I found a Starbucks tucked inside an embassy suites. Ah, hot coffee. Yes, I’m nuts. We met a stranger who asked us riddles. Yeah, riddles. Like four different riddles, all very clever with good answers. “What fills up a room but doesn’t take up any space?” We didn’t know (the answer: light). I don’t know if they were originals, but it was cool to meet somebody, enjoying a cigarette just like us, who di...
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Mountain Mama

 I tried writing about the place I’m from, my hometown, on this website; it was such a meager description it was undeserving of publication. Yeah, I deleted it. I hope I can write a better tribute. Like millions of others, im not from Florida (big surprise). I hail from El Norte (the north. Duh). I was born in Maryland, in Essex to be exact, but I wasn’t raised there. My mother moved us to the small town of Luray in Virginia (in 1998 I think). And it was a really good thing, because it was a great place to grow up. Not to mention spectacular in beauty. You know how John Denver sings about country roads? He’s talking about the Shenandoah valley. It’s my home.  Luray is settled in the valley of the blue ridge mountains, hence the Shenandoah valley. It’s the county seat, of page county, but that’s not what makes it unique. It’s home of the famous Luray Caverns. A lot of people I mention that to have no idea what I’m talking about. That’s surprising, because it’s world renowned. O...
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The Day the Music Died

I got to the hospital at two in the afternoon on a Saturday. My dad had been taken to the hospital the previous night by the rescue squad. I gave persmissom for them to intubate, even though that was against his wishes — I really regret that. Plus he was on hospice, so it didn’t make sense to them. I should have followed the squad car to the hospital that night. I figured this would be another one of his short intubations followed quickly by consciousness and breathing. It would be round no. 5. No, this was different.  Once again I found him laid in a bed with his mouth agape because of a tube down his trachea. The only thing was he wasn’t  sedated. The staff told me this. I thought he was just so exhausted from obvious sleep deprivation, because of the nights he stayed up (I think he was scared to sleep), that he was just catching up. It’s almost impossible to be intubated without sedation. Something was wrong. The doctor asked, since he was on hospice, would I agree to en...
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One Hundred And Going

 You probably knew that when I got to 100 posts I was going to write about it. I just can’t help myself. Like my dad’s old cell mate Hammer told him, “Ron, when I drink, I just got to get on my motorcycle and ride. It’s an irresistible impulse!” (that would famously be his defense when he represented himself in court). I may be a compulsive writer (is that a thing?) instead of a rider… yet I’m riding this creative buzz: a lot of things can happen when you replace alcohol with caffeine.  “Something unresolved lingers through routine activity”…that’s a quote I just ripped off YouTube, from a video about creepy Florida towns (of course). And it just resonated with me, like the perfect sentence to describe what I do, or rather the atmosphere a writer is surrounded by. So much of life is potential material, and the urge to write about it is a constant hum (I’ll admit that sometimes I’m so uninspired. Unless I’m writing pieces like this). It’s a dormant volcano: it’s bound to blow. ...
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