SOME SONGS AND TUNES YOU'LL NEVER FORGET

TODAY DOESN'T LAST LONG; TODAY IS LIKE A SONG AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, IT IS GONE. YOU KEEP HUMMING THE MELODY FOR A LONG, LONG TIME UNTIL YOU THINK YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE TUNE ALTOGETHER, AND THEN YOU HEAR OR SEE SOMETHING THAT REMINDS YOU OF THE SONG AND IT SEEMS ONLY LIKE YESTERDAY.

THE ISSUE OF HESITATION ABOUT THE FINAL DESTINATION

Just because the wheels are turning doesn't mean you're going anywhere different than where you've been before. The best way to find out where you're headed is to look in the rear-view mirror and see where you have been. If you don't like where you're headed, you have a choice to stop and get out; you can put it in reverse and waste more time going back to where you started from. Or you can continue on and hope you like your final destination. Figure out your own plans well in advance just in case you might want to make some preliminary changes.

REMEMBERING THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA...

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A MOMENT WHEN YOU KNEW YOU WERE WATCHING A TIME FRAME THAT YOU WOULD RECALL TIME AND AGAIN? THOUGH AT THE TIME, THERE MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN ANYTHING SPECIFIC THAT WAS AKIN TO A THUNDEROUS AWAKENING OR AN ENLIGHTENMENT FROM ON HIGH? IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHY ON A CERTAIN SATURDAY NIGHT ALMOST FIFTY YEARS AGO I STOOD ALONE ON A YOKOHAMA STREET, A BRICK STREET NEAR THE BUND AND SAW THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA SPEEDING THROUGH THE JAPANESE NIGHT, LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND, SPARKS FLASHING ON THE LATTICE WORK OF ELECTRIC WIRES ABOVE THE BRICKS, THE FACES OF A THOUSAND JAPANESE SEEN THROUGH THE WINDOWS, SPEEDING ON TOWARD THE FUTURE, LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND. I WATCHED AND WAITED, I LISTENED TO THE SOUND OF HISTORY IN MY MIND, THEY WERE ALL AROUND ME, IN THE OLD BUILDINGS FROM TURN OF THE CENTURY; THERE WERE THE EMBASSIES IN EMBASSY ROW, QUIET AND ASLEEP, THE SMELL OF CURRY RICE, THE ECHO OF THE CLICKING ABOVE THE BRICK, THE SPARKS FLASHING, CLATTERING, THE HOLLOW SOUNDS OF A NIGHT THAT ENDED BEFORE IT BEGAN. ALONE THEN FOR A FEW MORE MONTHS THEN ALL WOULD CHANGE FOR FIFTEEN MONTHS THEN CHANGE AGAIN FOR A LIFETIME. TIME LINES, SOME PLACES IN TIME WE REMEMBER BECAUSE OF REASONS YET TO BE EXPLAINED UNTIL YEARS LATER WHEN ALL IS VERY CLEAR, EVEN THE SOUNDS THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA MAKE AFTER NEARLY FIFTY YEARS.

WHEN THE HORIZON IS OFF-CENTER AND IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT

IT WAS TOO FAST, TOO QUICK AND FOR THAT, I AM SORRY. SORRY ABOUT WHAT, THE SUNSET? NO, BUT I MIGHT AS WELL BE. WHY? WHY? CAN'T YOU TELL! I MEAN IT IS MUCH TOO SLOPPY, THE COLORS RAN AND THE HORIZON IS OFF CENTER, ROUNDED LIKE THE EARTH INSTEAD OF FLAT LIKE A MAP. WELL, WHAT THE HECK, WHO IS PERFECT ANYWAY? NO, DON'T ANSWER THAT, I KNOW THE ANSWER. THAT I'M NOT IS OKAY, BUT THE NEXT WATERCOLOR WILL HAVE TO BE BETTER OR I WILL BECOME SO DEPRESSED THAT I WILL...WILL STOP PAINTING, OKAY? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? THAT'S IT, RIGHT. YES, THAT'S RIGHT. NOW, NOBODY WILL HAVE TO LOOK AT EACH NEW WORK OR WORD OR ANYTHING. THAT'S RIGHT, GO AND READ OLD BOOKS, LOOK AT OLD PHOTOS AND SUFFER ALL THE PAIN OF THE UNIVERSE. THERE YOU GO AGAIN, WAXING SILLYOPHILOSOPHICAL. SO, STOP PAINTING, STOP WONDERING ABOUT THE MEANING OF MEANINGS. NOW, THAT'S A NEW ONE, WONDERING ABOUT THE MEANINGS OF MEANINGS. TO HECK WITH IT. I'M JUST THANKFUL THAT I HAD THE CHANCE TO BE HERE AWHILE. LIKE FROST SAID ABOUT LIFE, "it's much better than the alternative." YES, IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE.

THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE SOUTH BAY BEACH TOWNS

WHAT WAS THEN WILL NEVER BE AGAIN. SUCH IS LIFE AS IT WAS MEANT TO BE BECAUSE TIME CANNOT BE STOPPED. THE TONS OF CONCRETE REVOLVING LIKE THE EARTH ON ITS AXIS, THE BIG TRUCK DUMPED IT ON THE SHORE, THE BEACH AND OVER OLD PIER PARTS, OLD FOUNDATIONS WHERE SPAGHETTI RESTAURANTS AND KOSHER MARKETS WERE SIDE BY SIDE, OLD WORLD CONVERSATIONS ON OLD BENCHES, ON OLD FOUNDATIONS, OLD PIERS WHERE SPAGHETTI RESTAURANTS AND KOSHER MARKETS WERE BEGUN BY OLD WORLD IMMIGRANTS. IN TIME THE OLD WORLD LANGUAGES, CAFES AND MARKETS WERE GONE, DISAPPEARED ALONG THE BEACH TOWNS FROM SANTA MONICA AND VENICE TO MANHATTAN BEACH, REDONDO BEACH AND HERMOSA BEACH, ALL THE LITTLE SOUTH BAY CITIES THAT SURRENDERED TO THE CONCRETE COMPANIES, REAL ESTATE SCHEMES AND OTHER CITY LAWS UNWRAPPED OR TOSSED INTO THE DEEP BEYOND THE SHELF. IT WAS OVER; IT HAD BEEN KIND OF LIKE THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE BEACH CITIES. THEY ARE GONE NOW AND ARE REMEMBERED BY NAMES ONLY BY A FEW ARTISTS AND BARTENDERS, A FEW GROCERS AND SHOPKEEPERS, A FEW WRINKLED AND CRINKLED SURFERS, A GENERATION OF BABES ALMOST GONE NOW. YOUR RELATIVES AND MINE LOST IN TIME. THOSE PIN-UP LADIES WHO FIRST WORE THE BIKINIS OF THE 50S, THE HOT BLONDE AUNTS. AND HARRY THE LIQUOR STORE OWNER GRINS, STILL SMOKING HIS CIGAR, SOMEWHERE. IT WAS A DIFFERENT KIND OF SUNSHINE THEN.

THE WILL BEHIND LIONBERGER'S AUTO PARTS CALENDAR

The difference between love and all of the other emotions waits quite often until death calls the family members together to see

who got what and how soon it will be delivered. I recall when an uncle

died in 1984. Betty said there was no will; she has, I have heard, gone to get her due reward. She sent my daughter a blue velvet dress from Hawaii with a chuckle she didn't think I heard. It was the same jealous giggle I had heard in the family room at the funeral held in August of that year. Her snicker came shortly after the recording of "In the Garden." Some call it "He Walks With Me." She had what she thought was the last laugh, especially when her husband delivered the wheelbarrow full of rusty tools from his trunk to my driveway with a strange expression on his face. Among the rusty tools, nuts and bolts was a wooden box full of old clay pots, some cracked, some with soil so hard it had almost petrified, like a smile on a dead persons face we can't see once the lid of the casket closes for the final time. Or so some might think...for the final time. I never touched the rusty tools, not once, just buried them between the western wall and the eastern gate to wait and see what might spring up through the soil someday. The flower pots, I sensed were not meant to be my inheritance, but I accepted them with glee and shook Rick's hand. She would have to buy another dozen or two to start another season of her special perrywinkles and lilies of the valley that won her ribbons. She never called to ask for their return. I use them to get my ivy and special marigolds a good start each spring. I guess Betty never knew Uncle Jim had told me where the will was long before he died. It was, if anyone might want to know, behind the calendar from Lionberger's Auto Parts. Rest in Peace, Betty, dear. What did you tell Uncle Jim about the will, or did he even have to ask?

UNIVERSAL TRUTHS MIXED UP BY TOO MUCH CURIOSITY

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT STAIRWAYS WITH SHADOWS BENEATH THAT REMIND ME OF ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE, LONG BEFORE THIS LIFE, LONG BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY. COULD I HAVE BEEN IN STORAGE, MY MIND NURTURED BY GRAIN DUST? OR IS THIS SIMPLY INSANE TO LET MY CURIOSITY TAKE ME TO HEIGHTS OF NEW DIMENSIONS ONLY TO HIDE MY PATH WITH SHADOWS, TO KEEP THE TRUTH FROM LETTING ME KNOW WHEN AND WHERE THIS VOID MIGHT HAVE BEEN? IS THERE A REMOTE CHANCE THAT WHAT I BELIEVE TO BE THE PAST IS THE FUTURE? IF THAT IS TRUE, WHAT AM I DOING HERE? AND YOU ARE FROM THE FUTURE THEN? OR SHOULD I ASK, FROM THE PAST, SAVED FOR SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE? PERHAPS THIS IS A SIMPLE PIECE OF DREAM MACHINERY GONE WRONG, MIXED UP WITH TIME MACHINES, PERHAPS NOT.

BACK ON THE RIVER ONE MORE TIME

I WOULD LIKE TO BE BACK ON THE RIVER AGAIN, IF ONLY FOR JUST ONE MORE TIME, AWAY FROM THE CONCRETE WORLD OF COMMERCE AND CIVIC AFFAIRS, AWAY FROM THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS AND BLANK STARES OF PASSERSBY MET ALONG THE SIDEWALKS, AWAY FROM THE SIRENS AND PANIC ATTACKS OF ANCHOR MEN AND WOMEN LYING TO MY CHILDREN TIME AND AGAIN, AWAY FROM THE LEAD-PAINTED TOYS SENT TO SABATOGE A GENERATION'S MIND AND BODY, AWAY, AWAY, BACK ON THE RIVER WHERE MY MIND TRAVELED AT ANOTHER TIME, BACK ON THE RIVER, DOWNSTREAM THIS TIME, BACK ON THE RIVER AND DOWN TO NEW ORLEANS BEFORE IT WAS SOMETHING IT BECAME MORE THAN WHAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN, MORE THAN WHAT IT WAS PLANNED TO BE...

THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE ARE VERY SPECIAL

THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE ARE THOSE ITEMS THAT ARE ASSOCIATED WITH THE SEASONS

A clay pot resting on a porch swing, what kind of seed is sleeping deep inside the earth and is it dreaming about next spring? Does the swinging motion create a kind of rhythm, a kind of hope for a new life when the sun shines again in March? A question or two might arise, but that's okay.

ON RUGS, RINGS, LIFE, DEATH AND THE SANTA FE RAILROAD

SOONER OR LATER I WILL FIND OUT WHAT MAKES A GOOD RUG GREAT OR THE REASONS WHY SOME RUGS ARE SOLD THE FIRST DAY THEY ARE DISPLAYED AT THE STATION WHERE THE AMTRACK STOPS TWICE A DAY. ONCE EAST AND ONCE WEST, IT'S BETTER HEADING WEST, THE RUGS SEEN ON THE WESTERN JOURNEY SEEM BEST, AT LEAST TO ME, BUT NONE ARE AS GOOD AS THEY WERE WHEN IT WAS THE SANTA FE INSTEAD OF AMTRACK THAT STOPPED LONG ENOUGH TO FIND THE BEST TURQUOISE RING FOR THE PRICE. BUT HOW CAN A RING, OR A RUG, OR ANYTHING, REALLY, BE JUDGED BY THE PRICE? SURE, I COULD SAY IT WAS ALL RELEVANT; THAT'S THE ANSWER I RECALL GETTING ANYTIME I HAD A QUESTION THE PROFESSOR COULDN'T ANSWER. THAT WAS SO LONG AGO, LIKE THE TRAIN CALLED THE SANTA FE. THE TIME WILL COME WHEN THE LAST PASSENGER THAT RODE THE SANTA FE WILL BE DEAD AND GONE. THE PROFESSORS TOO. GONE? GONE WHERE? LET SIMPLY SAY DEAD AND LEAVE THE WHEREABOUTS ALONE. IF I COULD ANSWER WHERE THEY WENT I WOULD KNOW PRECISELY THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN RUGS AND RINGS AND WHAT IT IS THAT MAKES IT SO. ONE WOULD THINK WE WOULD KNOW BY NOW, CONSIDERING HOW MUCH MORE WE KNOW THAN OUR GREAT AUNTS AND UNCLES KNEW. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INDIANS WHO MADE THE RUGS AND RINGS? ARTISTS ARE THE LAST TO RECEIVE THE RECOGNITION AND ACCOLADES

A PICASSO KIND OF SUMMER AND IT'S OVER

IT WAS A PICASSO KIND OF SUMMER AND NOW IT'S OVER. SOME COLORS WERE TOO BRIGHT FOR THE SUBJECT, SOME MUCH TOO DIM. IT WILL BE SUMMER AGAIN, SOMETIME, SOMEDAY, BUT WILL IT BE THE SAME, OR JUST A SHADE TOO COOL?

SOME OF THE TUBES ARE EMPTY NOW, THEIR CAPS GONE, LOST, FOREVER OUT OF SIGHT, LIKE A STARFISH PICKED UP AND TOSSED BACK...

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE OREGON HOTEL MIGHT BE?

IF THAT ISN'T THE MOST MORONIC QUESTION I'VE EVER ASKED IN QUEST TO BE LITERARY IN MY OWN UNIQUE WAY I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY. BEST TO LEAVE OLD HOTELS ALONE, THE CHARM IS LONG GONE, THE TENANTS WHO KNEW ANYTHING WORTH SHARING LONG DEAD, SO WHAT ELSE MATTERS? SURE THE NAME MIGHT SEEM ROMANTIC FOR ANYONE WHO STOPPED IN WYOMING AND

LOOKED FOR AN APPRENTICE POSITION AS A JUNIOR COWBOY, BUT THAT'S ABOUT AS FAR WEST AS MOST THIRSTY DRIFTERS WOULD GO, DRIFTING WEST ANYWAY. HOW WOULD AND HOW COULD ANYBODY BUT A BUM END UP IN A DUMP CALLED THE OREGON HOTEL FOR SIX BUCKS A NIGHT? THERE WAS LOTS OF ROOM FOR NEGOTIATIONS, BE SURE ABOUT THAT. ONE THIN SURPLUS ARMY BLANKET WITH SEVENTEEN MOTH HOLES AND A SINK WORN SMOOTH BY YEARS OF PREVIOUS TRANSIENT'S FLESH SAVING MONEY SKIPPING A STOOL THAT FLUSHED CAMELS CIGARETTE BUTTS DOWN THE PIPES FOR A FINAL CRUISE DOWN THE SEWER RIVER. SPELL OREGON WITHOUT SKIPPING TOWN .

THE LEGEND OF THAT OLD GOLD STAR MOTHER

That old home back in the woods was there for years and I took it for granted that it would be there forever so I never missed it, really, just looked at it in every season and felt good because I knew it belonged to a widow lady up in age who no longer gardened but sat beside the big west window and watched the world change the way it has, the wars won, the war lost in 1972, the others tied, the thousands who died for no reasons like a Pearl Harbor kind of war. There was the two gold stars in the west window; they finally dimmed, even in the sunsets they stop reflecting. There was the gold someone said she had since her husband died and where she kept it nobody knew and there were other things said about the woman who sat beside that west window keeping her own notes on neighborhood payments to keep lights on,and those writing letters to old friends before they died, before the internet made ballpoint pens obsolete. Somebody said her sons were killed by snipers, the eldest while reading a letter from his girlfriend beneath a palm tree somewhere in some south seas islands called the Solomons, Tulagi was its name.The other son,the second son,the younger of the two, died from a single sniper bullet that struck him right between his eyes. Killed in the Philippines where he was arming Hucks with 45s,though they far preferred their machetes for close-up and hand-to-hand and just killing, killing, killing. Yes,alive until a single bullet hit him right between his eyes. The body never came back. Purple Hearts were delivered by two tall Marines, so they say. That old home was not always in the woods I've heard. There was a street with lanes and the water mains were in with plans for a suburban project planned, then she backed out time and again,so many times the city finally left her alone considering her grief and everything. That house is gone now; it's been gone for nearly ten years. I know she must have died back then, nearly one hundred years old I'm told and I know that's right because I've done the math on things and times like life and death so many times before.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEATNIKS AND DEADHEADS

POTTED PLANTS ON THE TABLE WE BROUGHT ACROSS THE BORDER ENJOY HEARING OUR CASUAL RECALL ABOUT HOW WE WERE PULLED ASIDE TO SEE IF WE WERE TRYING TO HIDE MATCHING CHAIRS WITHOUT A DECLARATION OF OUR LAZY KIND OF LIFESTYLE BACK THEN WHEN MUSTANGS DIVIDED THE INTELLECT BETWEEN POETS IN CONVERTIBLES AND WRITERS ASLEEP IN PSYCHEDELIC VOLKSWAGEN VANS AND BUSES PAINTED PURPLE AND GREEN WITH PEACE SIGNS THAT WERE MISTAKEN FOR LUXURY AUTO LOGOS.

A MERRY-GO-ROUND POEM

ARE WE THE ONLY ONES ABOARD?

A MERRY-GO-ROUND , THE MOTION, THE MUSIC, THE MEMORIES. TO BE ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND JUST ONE MORE TIME, ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE, WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER THAN I AND I WAS YOUNGER THAN YOU, DAUGHTER, WIFE AND LOVERS ONE AND ALL LONG GONE, WHILE YOU REMAIN, SPINNING WITH ME FOR ONE MORE DAY AT A TIME. AROUND AND AROUND, FOREVER GOING, SPINNING, YET NEVER QUITE ARRIVING AT WHEREVER WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FOR MORE CARNIVAL AND LIFETIME FUN. THE MUSIC PLAYS AGAIN AND AGAIN, HOLLOW SOUNDS IN HOLLOW HORSES HEADING RIGHT AND AROUND AND ROUND. WHY MUST THIS MERRY GO ROUND EVER STOP? WHO SAID IT WOULD OR IS IT ONLY RUMOR? THE MUSIC THRILLS MY SOUL, AND YOURS? DO YOU LIKE CALIOPE MUSIC OF THIS SORT? OR IS IT TOO CARNIVAL, TOO MUCH FUN FOR YOUR MIND? WHO IS THAT GHASTLY AND GHOSTLY FIGURE WITH THE CHISEL? THE NOISE FROM THE CONSTANT BANGING, CHIPS OF GRANITE AND MARBLE FLYING, A RINGING HOLLOW SOUND, A KIND OF FINAL MELODY, NO HYMN OR DIRGE, A CIRCUS MARCH OR MILITARY PARADE MUSIC. WE ARE MOVING UP AND DOWN LIKE WE DID WHEN WE WERE HERE BEFORE. WHERE ARE WE NOW IF WE AREN'T HERE? KEEP CHISLING IF HE MUST BUT BIRTHDATES ONLY, LEAVE THE OTHERS BLANK.

GRANDMOTHER WOULD BE SORRY THERE IS NO PALESTINE

GRANDMOTHER'S FONDEST WISH WAS TO SEE THE HOLY LAND SOMEDAY BEFORE SHE PASSED AWAY. BORN IN THE 1880S, HER VIEW OF THE LAND EVERYONE CALLED PALESTINE WAS QUITE A CONTRAST TO WHAT HAS TAKEN PLACE SINCE THE DAY SHE DIED IN 1963. OLD SUNDAY SCHOOL PICTURES OF A HOLY AND PEACEFUL PLACE WERE IMAGES SHE CONSIDERED SACRED IN HER DAY AND LIKE THOSE OF HER GENERATION, SHE NEVER REALLY KNEW THERE WAS NO PLACE CALLED PALESTINE, EVEN AFTER BALFOUR AND A FEW OTHERS SIGNED SOME PAPERS THAT CHANGED OPINIONS AND WORLD HISTORY IN A MOST FATALISTIC AND UNREALISTIC WAY.

NO LONGER SECRET BUT STILL SPECTACULAR

AMERICA'S B-2 BOMBERS , SKY
SCULPTURES , A KIND OF SORT OF SECRET ABSTRACT SKY ART EXHIBIT. MORE THAN MERE ELEMENTARY MOBILES TO SERVE AS SECRET STEALTH EXAMPLES, THESE LETHAL AND LOVELY SHAPES THAT FLY HIGH AND LOW ARE ALWAYS ARMED AND READY TO GO . WHEN AND WHERE THEY GO NOBODY BUT THE PRESIDENT AND A FEW AIR FORCE GENERALS KNOW.

THIS BIG BLUE WINDOW IS NOT IN PARIS

THIS PICTURE WASN'T TAKEN ANYWHERE

NEAR FRANCE OR ON THE CONTINENT WHERE GRADUATES ONCE WENT FOR THEIR FIRST GRAND TOUR. IT'S NOT IN JAPAN, BUT THE TREE WAS A DEAD GIVEAWAY WITH SPACE ON ALMOST ANY TOKYO STREET SELLING FOR ALMOST A MILLION YEN FOR ONE SQUARE FOOT OR LESS. BUT WHERE IT IS ISN'T WHAT MAKES EVERYONE ON THE STREET BELOW STARE UP AT THE BIG BLUE WINDOW, IT'S WHAT HAPPENS ALMOST EVERY NIGHT WHEN THE WINDOW SHADES ARE RELEASED FOR ALL TO SEE WHAT'S INSIDE THAT IS SO SECRET IN THE DAYLIGHT. YOU SEE, BESIDE THE TREE THERE IS A BENCH MADE OF IRON WHERE PEOPLE REST AND TALK, LAUGH AND POINT AT THE BLUE WINDOW JUST BEFORE THE SUNSET. VENDORS WITH WAGONS LOADED DOWN WITH SODA POP AND SALTED PEANUTS, POPCORN AND CANDY WAIT ANXIOUSLY FOR THE SUN'S FINAL RAY TO DISAPPEAR BEHIND THE CITY SKYLINE. LADDERS ARE NOT ALLOWED. AND CLIMBING THE TREE HAS BEEN AGAINST ALL CITY REGULATIONS SINCE THE SUMMER OF 04; EVERYONE KNOWS WHY BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY WHICH REMINDS OF ANOTHER CITY WHERE BLUE WINDOWS HAVE BEEN STRICTLY AGAINST ALL CITY AND COUNTY REGULATIONS SINCE...

HOTEL ROOM OUT WEST 1960S STYLE

I JUST FIGURED OUT I'M STILL A REGISTERED GUEST IN SOME OLD HOTEL ROOM OUT WEST. I FOUND THE ROOM RECEIPT AND THE KEY IN THE BOTTOM OF AN OLD SUITCASE. I FEEL PRETTY FOOLISH NOW, BECAUSE IN THE TOP RIGHT HAND CORNER OF THE ROOM RECEIPT THERE'S A SPACE MARKED NUMBER OF GUESTS. THERE'S A CHECK MARK IN THE SPACE MARKED "TWO." WHAT BOTHERS ME IS MY MEMORY; TRY AS I MIGHT, I CAN'T REMEMBER WHO THAT SECOND GUEST WAS, BUT THERE'S ANOTHER CHECK, BESIDE THE WORDS "DEPOSITED ONE DOLLAR FOR A SECOND KEY."

JADE CAT AND GOLDEN LAMP

THE TWO HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR MANY SEASONS, THE GOLDEN LAMP AND
WIDE-EYED CAT OF
JADE.
IT IS A MOST COMPATIBLE AFFAIR, A PERFECT AND MOST CONGENIAL RELATIONSHIP.

CONTEMPLATING THE ELEMENTS OF DESIGN

CONTEMPLATING A FEW ELEMENTS OF DESIGN

USE OF SOME COMMON SENSE WHEN

DISCUSSING THE CREATION OF ANY KIND OF IMAGE OR DESIGN OF VISUAL

ENTERTAINMENT THAT WILL BE KIND

TO OUR SENSES IN RESPECT TO ALL

WHO WILL BE LOOKING INSIDE OF OUR HEARTS AND MINDS TO SEE WHAT TYPE OF THINGS, SHAPES AND COLORS MOTIVATE OUR TALENTS TO ILLUSTRATE WHAT WE ARE ALL ABOUT, HEART, HANDS, EYES AND SOUL

WHILE HITCH-HIKING ACROSS CONNECTICUT

AGAIN, TIME CANNOT BE DENIED, IT IS SO MUCH A PART OF ALL WE WERE THEN AND WHAT WE BECAME AND WHERE THOSE OF US STILL HERE WILL BE. ISN'T IT FUNNY THAT WE ASSUME WE CAN DELAY TIME
BY KEEPING OUT OF SIGHT IN TIMES SQUARE AT MIDNIGHT OR ANYTIME? REALLY. WHY WAS I HEADED THERE? TO SEARCH OUT RESTAURANTS IN TIMES SQUARE ? NO, IT WAS CURIOSITY, A TRAVELING KIND OF LUST, REALLY.TIMES SQUARE? IT WAS WHERE I ENDED UP AFTER A FULL DAY
OF HITCHING RIDES FROM SOME TOWN SOMEWHERE UP IN THE NORTHERN PART
OF CONNECTICUT AROUND SALMON BROOK AND SOUTH, IN AND AROUND DANBURY TO NORWALK, THEN STAMFORD. THAT'S WHEN SOME MAN NAMED MARVIN IN A STUDEBAKER TRUCK PICKED ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, IF THERE IS SUCH A PLACE BACK EAST ANYMORE. LIKE STUDEBAKER TRUCKS, NOWHERE PLACES ARE EQUALLYAS RARE. PEOPLE ARE EVERYWHERE. MARVIN TALKED ABOUT THE KOREAN WAR AND HOW YOUNG I LOOKED WITH ONLY ONE DECADE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN OUR AGES. IT WAS SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT, FOR SURE. HE SAID THAT WAR WAS HELL AND KOREA WAS WHERE HE FROZE BOTH EARS. HE WAS BORN IN 1932. ME? A MONTH AFTER PEARL HARBOR HARBOR. HOW MANY MEN HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW THE YEAR YOUR WERE BORN DECIDES WHICH WAR YOU'LL BE IN. HE SAID HE WISHED HE HAD BEEN BORN IN 1922 BECAUSE THE SOUTH SEAS WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER FOR HIS EARS. HE WANTED TO STOP OFF SOMEWHERE TO BUY A BOTTLE BUT I GAVE HIM A SIP FROM MY FIFTH . "NO," I TOLD HIM, "NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK BEFORE," I SAID. "CONNECTICUT WAS QUITE ENOUGH FOR ONE DAY. MARVIN SEEMED TO KNOW HIS WAYAROUND TIMES SQUARE LIKE THE BACK OF HIS HAND. "WAS I HEADING THERE TO SEE SOME KIND OF SHOW? DID I KNOW THE LEGAL AGE FOR DRINKING IS EIGHTEEN?," HE ASKED. "I KNOW." I SAID AND MENTIONED MY PLANS TO STOP AT THE PEPPERMINT LOUNGE. WHY HADN'T I TAKEN A BUS? IT WAS TOO COMPEX TO TELL HIM THAT I WAS ON LEAVE AND IT HAD TO DO WITH FREE PLANE RIDES ON MILITARY AIRCRAFT AND SPACE AVAILABLE, NOTHING MORE AND NOTHING LESS...I THANKED MARVIN, TOOK A LOOK IN A MAGAZINE STAND OR TWO, ATE SPAGHETTI IN A GREEK RESTAURANT AND FOUND A CHEAP HOTEL ROOM WITH NO BATH EXCEPT THE ONE AT THE END OF THE HALL. FROM MY WINDOW I COULD SEE TIMES SQUARE. SO THIS WAS NEW YORK. I HEARD PEOPLE WALKING AROUND ALL NIGHT. SOME WERE IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE MY DOOR; MOST WERE SEEN MILLING AROUND IN NEWS STANDS. I WONDER WHY PEOPLE WANT TO SPEND NEW YEARS EVE THERE?

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED?

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE WE MET AT THAT OLD PIER BY CHANCE? IT WAS A SUMMER KIND OF ROMANCE, ONE WE KNEW WOULD NOT LAST. YOU WERE FROM SOME LITTLE LAKE TOWN DOWN IN UPSTATE NEW YORK AND YOU ASKED ME WHY I DECIDED TO SPEND TIME IN BAR HARBOR, MAINE. YOU LAUGHED WHEN I TOLD YOU I HAD NEVER HAD LOBSTER WITH A MAINE BAKED POTATO OR WRITTEN A BEST SELLER. YOUR EYES SPARKLED LIKE THE STARS WE SAW AS WE LINGERED AND STAYED ON THAT RICKETY OLD PIER. WHEN THE ATLANTIC'S NIGHT WIND BEGAN BLOWING IT MADE YOU SHIVER. WE EMBRACED AND SPENT THE REST OF THE SUMMER TOGETHER IN THE CABINS WE HAD RENTED IN ADVANCE UNTIL SEPTEMBER TO GET AWAY FROM LIFE LONG ENOUGH TO FALL IN LOVE. IT'S A WONDER WE NEVER WROTE EACH OTHER EVEN ONCE, BUT I THINK WE BOTH KNEW IT WOULD BE BETTER BECAUSE WE SENSED OUR LOVE WAS TOO PERFECT TO LAST ANYWAY. WE WERE SO ROMANTIC, YET SO FATAL AND SO SELFISH TOO. WE WERE TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND THAT PASSION COULD BE DIVIDED. WE WERE UNWISE. ARE YOU STILL THE DEAN OF THAT ALL GIRLS SCHOOL? YOU DIDN'T KNOW I KNEW, OR DID YOU? MAYBE WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOME SUMMER, BUT THE OLD PIER, AS YOU MUST KNOW, FINALLY FELL IN THE WINTER OF EIGHTY-NINE. IT WAS ON THE COVER OF MY LAST BEST SELLER.