Enjoy It

Fill your life with activities, and you will risk missing its adventures.
Follow an itinerary, and you will inevitably be led astray.
Do what others tell you, and you will discover nothing new.

Forget about the future. Focus on the now.
Forget about what to do. Focus on with whom.
Sit. Relax. Enjoy the company of others.
Argue. Laugh. Share stories with one another.
Enjoy it while it lasts.

Cornflake

We’d been high stepping through the green thicket of Sandot’s farm a mere twenty minutes when we saw him.

Poor thing all tangled and wrangled round that tree. Sandot said he must have been there at least two days now. Two days! We couldn’t let such a cute fatigued face languish toward a droopy death. So we set out on a K-9 reconnaissance mission.

Our four-legged friend had apparently hurdled through the outstretched arms of a pimply-assed tree grasping for opposite ends of the sky, when he snagged his chain-linked leash round the tree’s trousers, instantly ensnaring himself in an uncomfortably smelly situation. So the furry little frolicker’s afternoon of carefree prancing quickly turned into a struggle for doggy survival.

We cautiously approached the petrified creature who seemed skeptical of our intentions. He sat nervously, legs folded under belly, growling in fear and glaring at our every step as we crept through the muddy copse.

We poured fresh water into a skinny bamboo bowl and extended it to our shivering friend. After sniffing for signs of anthrax, he slowly lapped a few gulps into his parched puppy mouth as we seized his leash from the relentless grasp of that stubborn tree.

Now that we’d gained his thirst-quenching trust, we thought to feed the dog. So I offered him some cereal. Our new friend sniffed the gift again—although this time with significantly less skepticism—then devoured each nutritious flake with slobbering gratitude.

The dog stretched his sore, dilapidated legs for the first time in two days and then followed us back up the trail with a gaping smile. We christened him “Cornflake”.

Betsy Blue

It’s the tenth frame.
Andy is beating John by one point. One pin.
Your average Joe might shit his socks in this situation.
But John is more composed than Mozart.
(Plus he’s not even wearing any socks).

John rises from his red plastic bucket seat one big toe at a time.
He slurps down his last gulp of Johnny Walker
And scrupulously situates the empty glass on his glossy red throne.
Licking his lips with whiskey delight
John whisks around and gives Andy the stink eye.
He doesn’t really know what the stink eye is
But John hopes he has struck fear in the heart of his opponent.
(With any luck Andy won’t misinterpret John’s taunting as a retort to his flatulence).

This is the moment of truth.
John struts over to the conveyor belt.
He reaches for Betsy Blue—
A darling beauty with the fiberglass curves of a Laotian Queen.
John presses Betsy to his lips and gives her a smack of whiskey breath.
He licks his lips again
Savoring the flavor of Betsy’s bowling alley lip-gloss.
John takes three intoxicated strides forward
And lets Betsy fly…

Game over.

Words of Wisdom

Immersed in a word. Sentences turned phrases. Phrases turned pages. A life consecrated. Dedicated. THE HOLY SCRIPTURE. History. People. Places. Struggle. Strife. Sacrifice. Triumph. Lessons learned. Meaning. Purpose. Reason. GUIDANCE. All for one. One for all. Simple stories. Complex answers. INTERPRETATION. Choice. Free will. Divine excellence. Omnipotence. Too literal. PAROCHIALISM. Sectarianism. Stubborn. Selfish. Black vs. White. Good vs. Evil. Us vs. Them. All for one? One for all? Words turned phrases. Phrases turned pages. PARABLES. Metaphors. Allegory. Morals. Not rivalries. Not wars. Understanding. Acceptance. PEACE.

In Honor of Him

We still hike the same treaded trail of history every Christmas.

Same time. Same park. Same path. I wish I could say I wear the same Ghostbusters pajamas; battling cryptic hallucinations of gap toothed fairies. But Mom, unaware of the threads of time-travel, burned my slime-repellant suit in a flame of forgotten nostalgia.

Paps always said family was more important than anything in the galaxy. Even more important than the Yankees winning the pennant. So in addition to the tradition of family meals between bedlam of work and school, Paps would take us on a Christmas saunter through the park.

We would skip through the trees on the south side entrance. The frigid Christmas air pinching my cheeks like a ruthless Grandma. Morning dew glimmering off the grass like 24 karat crystal winking at a Bel-Air trophy wife. Sparrows caroling Christmas cheer from the window of their tree condos.

We would park ourselves on a bench by the water while Paps told magical stories about the ducks who we fed stale Doritos. Each feather with its own fantastical story. Every beak with its own beating heart. All the ducks deserved and demanded attention. And Paps was sure to grace them all with tall tales of adventure.

In reminiscence, those were the happiest moments of my life. But despite a ginseng shot of holiday joy, I was too young to understand. It wasn’t until after Paps passed away that I appreciated those Christmas days in the park. It’s virtually impossible to immerse in the present and appreciate the simple beauty of stagnant life, especially now, as I fend for myself 24 hours a day, minute by New York minute.

So to maintain sanity and soul, my brother Jim and I make the same trek through the park every Christmas. We bring a bag of stale Doritos and sit upon the pond, sharing a holiday feast with our quacking feathery friends.

We do it to honor Paps. We do it because we’re family.