Driving I-95 S. I Wear My Sunglasses At Night.

5:33 am.

Tuesday.

I dial up 80’s on 8 on Sirius, and accelerate down the exit ramp, spilling into light traffic onto I-95 South. Another day. Rick Moody’s “relentless sameness to it.”

Second song on the playlist: Sunglasses at Night. Corey Hart. (1983). I clip the front end…and then the chorus, and the lyrics spin and spin and spin.

I wear my sunglasses at night / So I can so I can / Watch you weave then breathe your story lines. / I wear my sunglasses at night / I wear my sunglasses at night./ So I can so I can / Keep track of the visions in my eyes / I wear my sunglasses at night / I wear my sunglasses at night / So I can so I can
See the light that’s right before my eyes

18-wheeler, no branding, slides into the center lane, and then again into the left lane. I’m doing 70 mph and he’s widening the gap. He’s passed 4 other semis, UPS, US Postal Service, Sysco and New England Seafood Distribution, before returning to the center lane. Clear skies as far as you can see.

Lanes tighten up ahead, and he slows in the construction zone. I approach and he’s to my right.  He bobbles left into my lane, and I slide left into the towering cement highway divider. If your window was open, you could brush that divider with our hand. Steady DK, Steady.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Five hours sleep, and a miscalculation of the dosage of ZzzQuil, new sleep medication. Steady DK.

He slides back into his lane, I shift lanes and exit onto I-287. He heads to Manhattan.  Exhale.

I wear my sunglasses at night. I wear my sunglasses at night.  [Read more…]

Siblings.

safe,parent,

She’s 23.  Her Brother, 22.

He orders a Tom Collins, and gets carded.  She, a Zinfindel. Dad, a tall ice water. “Sparkling, or Flat for you Sir?”  “Tap, Miami’s finest please.” After dinner cocktails in a hotel bar, with of-age children. Embrace the memories, block the melancholia. I fail, it seeps in and then overwhelms me, water around stone.

It’s a quiet Friday night. The Sushi Chef leans on the glass case and flirts with the cocktail waitress. She’s wearing a smart black skirt and jacket.  On the other side of the bar, middle aged lovers huddle, whispering.

A one-man band blows on an electronic wind instrument, alternating with a brass trumpet with a black trumpet cap.  His supporting cast, multi-colored bars flashing on a laptop and pumped out of tall, thin, floor standing speakers.  He sways to and fro, lips pursed on reed. The Chill music hangs, a sweet fine mist over the valley.  One could drop this, all of this, in Ramblas in Barcelona, in Gastown in Vancouver or the Dièse Onze in Montreal.  Vibe, Same.

The eyelids are heavy, barbells. The body, from its all day soak in the sun, the wind, and the ocean salt, aches for rest.

I watch them leave together, bar hopping. She leans into him with her shoulder, they laugh. How many times in their lifetimes? Hundreds of times where Mom, and Dad, the Heavy, broke up skirmishes, and worse. Salter’s Light Years: “Passing of life together, a compact that will never end…lives formed together, woven together.”  And Parents stitching, braiding, weaving it all in the hope of This. Look, This, a tapestry. Full body warmth rushes in.

I ride the elevator up.  Melancholy, a Tsunami now. [Read more…]

No Trade.

beach-walk

They were walking up the shoreline, Brother and Sister now in their early 20’s. The waves were lapping at their feet, their feet disappearing in sea foam before the waves rolled back into the ocean.

I’m wading through Herzog’s book, now 60% of the way through. My headphones are piping in a Nils Frahm playlist from his album “Felt“. I set the book down to watch them.

Rachel is doing a handstand on the beach while Eric is taking photos. I can see them laughing as she tries it again. They are Friends. All those years of fighting, squabbling and picking on each other in the back seat of the car…All those corrections by Mom and Dad to keep it civil…look at them, they’ve become Friends.

Just as they pass below me, as if on cue, the late afternoon sun streams through the clouds. A warm breeze gusts. And two Pelicans skim the ocean, gliding along with the wind currents.

Herzog said that “Today I would give ten years of my life if I could play the cello with the same ease as breathing. The finest music has a quality of consolation you find nowhere else, with perhaps the exception of religion or being in contact with small children.” 

I glance down at the playlist to see the title of Frahm’s track. It is titled “Less.”

I paused to contemplate Frahm’s tune and Herzog’s words.

Frahm got it half right. “Felt” yes. “Less” no.

As to Werner, I Iove the Cello, but I wouldn’t trade a single moment.

Not one.


A Letter to My Brother, Lorne. L-O-R-N-E.

APH___NOOGIE_by_Inonibird

Some things can’t be left unchecked. No Sir.

My youngest Brother Lorne replied to my post “I came that way. D0K” with this:


That was funny but don’t feel sorry for you. On a weekly basis I go through this. First name Lorne. Loren? No. Lauren? No. Lauryn? No. Mark? Mark…WTF! And the other day…Thor! Really? How our parents allowed you and my other awesome brother to name me I will never understand!!


[Read more…]

I win

frosty-car-hood

It was cold.
A bone rattling winter morning.
Brother Rich and I are waiting for a ride to hockey practice.
We’re stomping our feet.
And banging our mitts trying to warm.

The hood of our green, ’55 GMC pick-up, is coated with frost.
A frosty floral design.

“I dare you to lick it.”
“You dare me to lick it?”
“Yes.”
“What do I get if I do?”
“You won’t do it.”
“I won’t do it?”

He grins.
Pudgy boy shoots his devilish grin.
I pause.
I wheel around,
And, lick it. [Read more…]

Unstoppable

Lorne - unstoppable - bone marrow transplant

This is my youngest brother Lorne.  This photo was taken one year ago yesterday after his successful bone marrow transplant.  He celebrates another year of a remarkable life.  This man, my Brother, carries himself with such grace, with such gentleness, with such kindness and with such optimism – – I shake my head in wonder.  It makes me believe that he was “selected” because of his indomitable spirit and strength.

[Read more…]

Just another Friday?

It’s May 11, 2012

My Brother’s birthday is today.  My “baby” brother.

Just another day?

Just another Friday?

Just another birthday?

No.  Not exactly.

Six months ago, today being a reality was a coin toss.

And here we are.

Man with a big heart battling.

A good man celebrating his birthday with his beautiful wife and two strapping young boys.

Life is short.  Life is good.

Happy Birthday Bro.  This song is for you…

 

 

 


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