STALKING 60 – No Turning Back Now

--> The countdown is on. Six months from tomorrow, October 7, 2014 the sun will reach the spot in its orbit designated as April 7. The day of my birth, 60 years ago. Perhaps it is a function of being born smack-dab in the middle of what became known as the Baby Boomer generation; this contemplation of mortality, this obsession with retaining youthful vigor, looks and place in the world; this fear of becoming irrelevant. We will not go gentle into that good night, damn it.

I remember, as a teenager, thinking that I never wanted to be the kind of “grown-up” that my parents exampled for me. Take away the extra issues —the alcoholism, being a step child at a time when step-children were rare commodities — and there was still the general feeling that belonging to my parents’ generation meant being out-of-touch, disinterested in the world and frozen in time as far as personal growth and learning. No, I was never going to be that kind of adult. And if it meant never getting married and never having children (because having children may have sapped the life out of them), then so be it. Not for me. I was going to stay vibrant, connected and relevant, damn it.

The attitude seems naïve and unrealistic to me today, and hypercritical of the lifestyle of the generation that raised me and my fellow 1973 high school graduates. My three grown children might be surprised to know that once I swore to never have any. On the other hand, maybe that would help them understand my intense “I won’t be THAT kind of mother” attitude – fiercely resisting becoming out-of-touch, disinterested in the world or frozen in time. Not me, damn it.

There is talk today of the media having too much influence on the shape of opinions, however, back then, the constant talk about the “generation gap” and the “silent majority” did its part to effect the thinking of the populace. The Kennedy assassination, the Vietnam War, the Watergate debacle that led to the resignation of Nixon — all this contributed greatly to the attitude that we were going to do things differently. No child of ours would be spanked, no son or daughter of ours would be sent off to fight in a senseless war, women would get equal pay for equal work, and racial issues would disappear. Now, I look and see that the Baby Boomers didn’t solve all country’s problems. In some arenas, we have made things worse.  The world is still full of wars, equality is still an unfulfilled goal and helicopter parenting had created an Entitlement generation that some say deserves a spanking.  In the almost 60 years since my birth, the world has spun faster than it ever has, flinging scientific discoveries, electronic gadgets and breathtaking current events at us faster than we can understand them; but understand them we must, because despite competing with the generations behind us who were born into this maelstrom, we are not going to be out of touch, disinterested in the world or frozen in time. Not us, damn it.

But now, the countdown is on. There is nowhere to hide from this reality as it bears down on me like a freight train. And true to my Baby Boomer heritage, I am going to over-analyze it, pontificate about it, and enumerate the reasons that it isn’t going to get me. I am going to laugh and cry in its face, deny its existence until the last possible moment, until at last I learn to embrace the passage of time and my own mortality.

Damn It.

join me tomorrow at my new blogging home at Stalking 60.

9-11: The Day the Earth Stood Still

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The Day the Earth Stood Still

I remember stepping out of the shower

images on the television, a building engulfed in flames.

Thought it was coming attractions of “Collateral Damage”

a movie discussed earlier,

the screams of Katie Couric told me otherwise.

Wrapped in a towel, staring at the images, mind so filled with horror

no discernible words formed.

Dressing robotically,  confused as to what I was seeing

the second plane confirmed the intent.

I remember radio voices,

Scott and Todd, reporting what they were hearing

and seeing – voices choked with shock –

in Dr.Uray’s office – the nurses were weeping and trembling

all with children somewhere in the city.

We listened to Todd, or maybe it was Scott, wail in disbelief as the first tower

fell to earth, Dr. Uray corralled her staff – saying they must do their job in times of war, 
her face grave with past remembrance, her mouth set in a line of determination.

I remember calling the office to say I couldn’t possibly come in,

my boss Morgan said many were leaving anyway,

others sat silent in the conference room,

soundless except for whispered descriptions for those without sight,

of the unfolding  results of  incomprehensible acts.

Later would come the stories of Michael Hingson and his guide dog Roselle 
– escaping from the dust, debris and chaos, 
but that day, we saw nothing but death and destruction.

I remember going to my sister Theresa’s house

she hadn’t heard from her husband,  a supervisor at UPS, 
who often subbed for drivers on the World Trade Center Route.

The kids trickled home from school , we tried to shield the youngest, Robert,

Through many many anxious hours before his father walked in the door.

I remember going home to my house,

my daughter Annemarie and my son Roy Michael, on the deck

surrounded by football players and cheerleaders

silent and subdued they clung to each other powerlessly,

all knowing someone with someone in the city.

I worried about my oldest, Rosemarie, on campus at Montclair University,

no phone calls would connect.

The greatest fear of a mother is to be separated from her children in a calamity or disaster. 
Without her home where I could see, her, touch her – unbearable,  on a day where all was unbearable.

I remember from a high point in Monroe,

a place now covered with a gated community, 

we saw the smoke pluming miles into the sky

– a sky devoid of air traffic of any kind –
 creating a deafening silence the seemed to halt the Earth in its rotation, 
hold it motionless in orbit,   
rendering us unable to draw a breath.

I remember night fell, but it was only darkness; sleep wrenched from it,  leaving only nightmares behind.

© 2011 Noreen Braman

Write down your memories for your children, your grandchildren, and all who follow in your footsteps.

Yes, I own a giant cellphone – and here is why

--> Today, CNN ran a cartoon called “Attack of the GiantCellphone” which makes some funny points, but in my opinion, doesn’t really address the real problems with cell phones, big or little, that I will address at the end of this rant. 

I am a baby boomer who loves computers, doesn’t need anyone to explain social media to me, and, in fact, keep the whole network of computers at my office running. And yes, I own a “giant” cell phone and am not ashamed to say so.

Yes, my baby boomer eyes need a larger font and the size screen to keep me from scrolling hell. Yes, I love my cell phone camera, and all its bells and whistles that can almost compete with my digital SLR.  And yes, I am accessing Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and a multitude of other apps on a daily basis. My giant cell phone is my pocket computer. For heavy-duty graphic design, creative writing and research, nothing will beat my desktop or my laptop – and if attached to my huge monitor, the photos are indescribable. So, I make no apologies for not being able to carry it in my pocket on most occasions. My screen is big enough to read books, meaning that I don’t even have to bring along my e-reader of choice, unless of course I am going to be doing a lot of reading outside, say, on the beach.

I am as considerate of others when I take photos as I am when I use my digital camera, and agree that people blocking other people’s views of shows, scenery, events and sports by holding up their phone, tablet or video camera (remember those) are just rude.  And seriously, trying to video a concert on most any kind of consumer recording device just produces a lot of out of focus video, and crowd-spoiled audio. There are just some times when the cell phone should stay in your pocket or bag, or cutely designed cross body phone case.

Unfortunately, one thing that cell phones are exceptionally bad at is phone calls. Despite my love for new technology, I long for the days of the old-fashioned-hanging-on-the-wall phone. The one that let people talk freely to each other, even speaking at the same time, without the digital signal cutting one person off in favor of the other.  Pretty soon we will have to start saying “over” when we are letting the other person know that it is their turn to speak. And that will only work if you are alone in a sound proof booth, because add anyone talking in the background, dogs barking, babies crying or even just the sound of brushing your hair behind your ear, and forget about intelligible conversation.   Talk to a customer service person on a headset or someone who has you on speakerphone and you descend into a level of hell reserved just for cell phone conversations. I cannot recall how many conversations I have ended with “Just text me!” or “Call me when you have a better signal!” or “0K! That’s fine!” (That one almost got me into the credit card scam of the month club).

So, my advice is, if you need to talk to me, send me a text, an email or a carrier pigeon, but don’t try to call me on my cell phone.

Be There or Be Square - Keeping Your Brain Healthy & Active With Humor comes to Philly!

It is not too far off to start making plans to attend the Association for Applied and Therapeutic's 2015 Conference in May, 2015. I KNOW I need to do as much as possible to keep my brain healthy and active as I stalk 60 - so I will be there!

I Take the Ice Bucket Challenge and Call Out fellow Laughter Yoga Leaders, AATH Members and Humor Writers, including you, Dave Barry!

Having once appeared on the same newspaper page as Dave Barry, and getting a nice note from him after I thanked him for sharing his audience with me, and subsequently getting a signed book from him that he addressed "Noreen - to my idol, " I feel like we are close enough best buds to call him out by name. Plus, he may very soon get some "read my book" correspondence from me that I will prepare according to his detailed and helpful writer instructions in his new book, "You Can Date Boys When You're 40."  So, I am challenging you, Dave - all other professional humor writers, my fellow members of the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor, as well as Laughter Wellness instructors and Laughter Yoga leaders to join me in laughing at ALS, with smiles, ice water and money. #LaughatALS

No Peace, No Happiness

 

There are so many places in the world that need lasting peace, right now, today. Let's hope that somehow, the parties involved will come to realize it is the only way to lasting happiness.

Happiness Happens Month August 11, 2014

#Happinesshappens when I go to the beach with the love of my life.

Happiness Happens - Celebrating What Makes Us Happy

Even here in the good ol' USA, happiness is not a right, only the "pursuit of happiness." And, in that phrase is a golden nugget of wisdom. Happiness IS something to be pursued, to be sought, to be created and to be shared. It is not going to fall down from the sky like smiley face snowflakes. Sometimes when world events, local events, personal events and internal events seem to be conspiring to snatch that happiness goal further and further away, it is them we have to step back and assess where our happiness is, and how we can breathe it in. 

Today is Happiness Happens Day, part of Happiness Happens Month, a period of time chosen by the Secret Society of Happy People for focusing on happiness — what it is, and how we find it.  Skip on over to their website and find some great smile starters, happiness challenges and words of wisdom. Find out about 31 types of happiness, and track your own happiness progress for a day, a week or a month. And, if you do nothing else today, share a smile with someone else. It will make both of you happy.

Not in Turkey - Not Anywhere! #direnkahkaha

Who would want to suppress this? Laughter is life! Found this on Pinterest, the original link is gone. Would love to link to the original if anyone can find it. Thank you Dr. Akin for sharing this with the world, especially in light of the recent ridiculous comment in your country that women should not laugh in public.

 

I Can See Clearly Now That You Don’t Care if I Can See

Finding a great pair of glasses is almost as difficult as finding a bathing suit that fits. Those of you who have searched for either know what I am talking about.  When I spotted a particular pair of glasses on the web, I just knew they were for me. Of course, they might look terrible when tried on, but I just had to find them.

It took trips to three stores and calling of others to finally track them down. When I put them on, I was sold. Put my prescription in these babies! Unfortunately for me, my recent eye exam result was “no change,” and I didn’t have a new prescription. My prescription was right there in the eyeglass store’s computer, but they couldn’t use it. Apparently, eyeglass prescriptions expire in two years. I needed a new copy of the prescription straight from the eye doctor.

No problem, said the eyeglass store, we will just call the eye doctor and have it faxed over. But, it was a weekend, so they promised me they would call on Monday.  Apparently, I have the most popular eye doctor in the world, because the line was busy for days. I decided to call myself, and got voice mail. I left a very polite and detailed message, indicating what I needed to be faxed, and a call back number in case there was an issue.

Today is Friday. The eyeglass store is patiently saving those hard-to-find specs for me.  And the prescription has not yet materialized. So, I called again, and miracle-of-miracles, after an extended hold, spoke to a live person. Sure, she said, she would have the doctor sign off on the prescription and fax it over to me.

Two hours later, no fax had arrived. I called back – sorry to nag you, but I want to get to the eyeglass store. I am told that yes, the doctor signed off, and the prescription was given to the “Clinical Desk” who will fax it by the end of the workday. I explain that it is the end of my workday, and I am getting ready to leave the office for the weekend, and could they maybe fax it now?

She puts me on hold for five minutes and then comes back to say, yes, it will be faxed  over shortly. That was an hour ago.

So, I just called the office again, just to make sure they have the correct fax number. This is what I hear: “Thank you for calling. The office is now closed.”

Is Laughter Yoga Exercise or Entertainment?

It is something laughter yoga/laughter wellness leaders might want to ask themselves. 

Read my article.

Fireflies - For the first day of summer

"Fireflies" ©2014 Noreen Braman

As dusk darkens my yard, hundreds of tiny lights rise from the grass, like silent fireworks. The yard is alive with light. As I watch these little stars twinkle, it is hard to remember that this is the magic of an insect, not some ethereal spirit.

I am awed by the evolutionary miracle that has taken place so that fireflies can find a mate in the summer darkness. Suddenly, I am aware of the mystical importance of it all — primeval life going on amid the suburban rubble.

As humans, we can feel that only our own existence is important, that somehow we have the power over life. And yet, nature is there, gently reminding us that life goes on, with or without us. As long as I can see fireflies doing their dance on a hot, summer evening, I'll know there is hope for the world.

©2014 Noreen Braman
 updated from my previously published version that appeared in Sunshine Magazine.

The President Kennedy and Chicken Fat Song Connection

Anyone who was in school during the 60s remembers the President's Physical Fitness program, instituted by President Kennedy, and the tests you took to prove how American Strong you were. For me, it was the chin up that was my demise, my flabby arms unable to lift me up more than once, and I am not even sure I did it once.

The program had a television commercial that I have been desperately searching for. It featured a depiction of a human as a head on a TV screen that barked orders to a robot. Where it should be taken, etc. At one point, the robot just wanders off, leaving the TV head person to just keep shouting at the robot whose name I seem to remember was "Z-12." The moral of the story? Use your body, or someday you won't have one anymore. It was an idea that resurfaces in the the Pixar animated film, "Wall E" where bloated, obese humans have every need met by robots and machinery. Cautionary tales meant to inspire us to take care of our bodies and the planet.

I remembered the President's Physical Fitness challenge with a wistful nostalgia, a noble idea that never quite got me to improve my chin-up performance, but did serve as a source of reward for those more athletically inclined, including my own children when they were in grammar school. What I never remembered, until now, was that this program also came with an evil, menacing, demeaning piece of music that has been recently resurrected by a commercial for Apple. 

It appears that the "Chicken Fat" song, which became the soundtrack of my adolescent nightmares, was actually titled "The Youth Fitness Song" and it was commissioned by the President's Council on Physical Fitness. Written by Meredith Wilson ("The Music Man") and recorded by "Music Man" star, Robert Preston. My brain, which has been screaming since I first heard this song playing in the commercial, is now on full about-to-meltdown red alert. Say it isn't so!

Oh yes, we've got trouble, right here in EVERY CITY IN AMERICA. Sure, Apple shortens the torture, it almost sounds catchy. But listen to it, preserved for posterity on the JFK Library website. 

And if you want to sing along, here, via Lyrics Playground, are the words. Every torturous verse.

Thank You, Apple, for reawakening the chicken fat trauma!

My ears are bleeding and a terrible song is ringing in my ears. No, I don't know the name of it, or who sings it. All I hear is the demeaning refrain that demands, "go you chicken fat—go!"

All I can see is  a junior high school gymnasium, in East Brunswick, New Jersey, full of adolescent girls in ridiculous white "gym suits" that snap up the front and show the world every bit of patterned underwear that you wore by mistake because you forgot it was gym day.

All I can feel are the eyes of the gym teachers as they bark out corrections for the exercises we are stumbling through to the beat of that godawful chicken fat song! A song I had convinced myself was only the stuff of a junior high nightmare and not something that really ever existed.

But now, thanks to Apple digging up this monstrosity from the adolescent graveyard where it should have stayed, I run, cowering, from the room each time the commercial comes on. And, as for whatever great new apps and gadgets are being advertised, don't show them to me, don't tell me how wonderful they are; because in my mind they swim forever in a greasy nightmare of chicken fat.

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 25, 2014

Heirloom

a mother’s heart is
a patchwork quilt
of captured moments
stitched together with
threads of memory.
bright squares of joy
full of laughter and smiles,
tattered places worn thin
by the wiping of many tears.
Encircled by lace knit of
dreams both fulfilled and denied,
creating a haphazard pattern
woven with the textiles of life.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 24

Pompeii


They had no word for volcano
and no oral history or mythology
about the mountain that
overshadowed them
and the tremors that
shook their town.
Even when the smoke
began to rise
it was a matter
of curiosity rather than
concern
even when ash rained down
they stayed
under roof, under shelter,
under ground.
Realizing too late
utter destruction had come
with the searing heat
that struck them
where they stood
and buried them as they died
with arms outstretched
and feet in motion
with babies in arms
and silver in pockets.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 23

SOMNIPHOBIA

Soft warmth awaits
but she knows the truth,
silken pillows tempt
her to close her eyes.
Bedding that smells of
fresh laundering
beckon her lie down.
But she knows the truth,
the winding sheets
the enclosing shroud
the darkness deeper than night.
The morning sun grows dimmer,
the birdsong farther away
the struggle for life gets harder
with each trip into sleep.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 22

Future Dreaming, Present Tense

Once on a Brooklyn street
I looked into the sun
and imagined my life
in the year 2000.
How far away
and futuristic
the world would be,
like the '64 World’s Fair
that I never went to,
but influenced
my fantasies
of rockets and flying cars
and mechanical wonders
powered by atoms.
How old I would be!
How easy my life!
Now 14 years past
I am tethered to my smartphone
make my living with computers
and pilot spaceships in my dreams.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 21

Calendar Prayer

Oh many-faceted god of time
who rules my every movement
appearing to me in many forms
paper pocket planner,
networked program of days,
tiny screen of smart phone,
I appeal to you, keep me on track
guide me with your incessant reminders,
notices, bings and chirps,
and grant me the temerity
to give you offerings of my schedule
in as timely a way as you
give them back to me,
otherwise your good works
are all for naught
and I miss another appointment.


©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 20

Easter 2014

holiday dinner
the clan gathers
now three generations.
traditional food
new savory dishes,
sports, politics,
and baby care.
Naps gratefully
embraced by
elders,
and fought off
by babies,
screaming in
protest.
Sights and sounds
and smells and tastes
the touch of love
as life goes on.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 19

Here is a Spring Poem/Poster from a few years ago.

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 14-18

Poetic Excuses

Monday the server went down again
Tuesday the phone calls were crazy
Wednesday I needed to reboot myself
Thursday the traffic was hell.
Today I write this Friday verse
early before things get busy
resolving to get back to daily poetics
or at least more creative excuses.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 13, 2014

April Snow

At night, alone
she mourned
the April love that
slipped right through
her fingers,
with the flowers of May
to put on a grave,
and the Aprils to come
always threatening snow.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 12, 2014

Premonition

I knew Death was stalking.
I could see it in her eyes
hear it in her speech
watch it in her movements.
i wrote it down
as if somehow
the words would
protect her.
And now I try again
though it didn’t work before.
I know Death is stalking,
and my words are powerless
to save him.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 11, 2014

For Those Trying to
Escape the Rabbit Hole

falling, like Alice
grasping bottles
and drinking
on the way down.
The White Rabbit
has promised
a world without pain
just drink this
or eat this
until you grow
or shrink
and fit in
where you couldn’t
and see things you shouldn’t
knowing you will disappear
leaving nothing behind
but a smile.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 10, 2014

Terra Luna

The glossary of "lunagraphy"
defines the lunar landscape:
maria — the empty seas,
battered mountains reduced
to breccia — moon rubble,
overlapping craters,
lava flows and rills,
formed by forces above and below,
ancient beyond understanding
mimicked on every road I drive.
©2013 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 9, 2014

Contemplation

Just because the universe is swimming in dark matter
doesn’t mean dark matters must preoccupy my thoughts
yet not attending to them doesn’t make them go away.
I hereby designate, bequeath
being of sound mind and body
but If I cannot speak for myself
my wishes are as follows…
My parents didn’t do these things
and it didn’t save their lives
and I am so much older
than they ever got to be.
Still such dark matters,
though currently invisible
have great mass and gravity
that cannot be ignored
even by someone
still waiting to see
what I will be
when I
grow up.

                                             ©2014Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 8, 2014

Rescuers

The lifelines that I cling to

when the ship is going down,

throwing out the life ring

when it looks like I might drown,

and even when the stormy seas

toss me wildly up and down,

hands reach out save me

and let me know you are around.

 ©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2014 - April 7, 2014

A friend writes a poem for me today! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Birthday Haiku

Noreen Braman is
A smile of laughter and hope
Happy Birthday, Friend

©2014 Julie Bartha-Vasquez


 

NAPOWRIMO 2014 April 6, 2014

The Middle Ages

I am thankful for Arabic numerals
that reduced the year to four numbers
and keep most of our ages in double digits.
And mystified that animals were prosecuted
in the same manner as humans
yet see the parallel to today’s
declaration of corporations as people.
The persecution of rats still goes on 
as the scapegoats for the Black Death
but just this week they were declared
to not be the source of the plague.
But out of the war, famine and
consistently  religious paintings
came the refreshing breath of the Renaissance
and as I leave my middle ages
I can ask for nothing less.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 5, 2014

Starlight

Millennia after my light goes out
in this tiny speck of the universe
it will sparkle still across galaxies
and perhaps eyes not unlike mine
will gaze into this light and see
all of us as we once were,
in the starlight we go on forever.

©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO- 4-4-14

dark nights

watching you sleeping
listening to you breathe
feeling your body moving in dreams
Counting my blessings
forgetting daylight worries
drifting off to sleep
beside you.

(c) 2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO - April 3, 2014

“sticks and stones may break my bones, 
but words will never hurt me.”



word pain

Armed with words against words,
waving flags of false bravado
we declared impotent
the taunt, the name, the belittlement,
giving no satisfaction, no tears of pain
while inside, our very souls reddened,
shrinking backward into the darkness
where the real pain lives,
a caged animal with claws
less easily provoked with age
but still strong enough to bite.


©2014 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO - April 2, 2014

"Slow down, you move too fast,
You got to make the morning last." 
Simon & Garfunkel
59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)


The Physics of Living

misplaced objects and frantic searching
reason for panic the week of my birthday
misfires from an aging brain
that instead of just flowing at the speed of life
is getting lifeyears ahead of itself.

©2013 Noreen Braman

It is National Poetry Writing Month 2014 - Let the versifying begin!

Here it is, April again: the day of fools, the cruelest month, the hours of daylight, the weeks of poetry. I begin the annual National Poetry Writing Month (NAPOWRIMO) following sage advice; writing about what I know. 

 

Never Give a Server an Even Break

Unless you backup your backup of the backup,
the day will come when you will find out
the backup you backed up so smugly
has been vaporized like a planet in Star Wars,
and you’ve no recourse but to rescan
pages and pages of things you hope you still have,
and you know you deserve what you got
from letting your data hang out in bad sectors.

©2014 Noreen Braman

I Finally Get My Own Bailout

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the term “bailout” has been used since about 1951 to describe “the act of saving or rescuing something (such as a business) from money problems.”  This noun is different from the intransitive verb, “bail out” which can mean jumping from an airplane (hopefully with a parachute) or ironically, “to abandon a harmful or difficult situation.”  Of course, any news article that states that the Government “bailed out” the banks does NOT mean they abandoned them or jumped out of an airplane with them. A closer meaning of the expression would be that we the taxpayers paid to keep the bankers out of jail. With bail.

Say it a couple of times: bail, bail, bail, bail. It becomes a tongue twister just like “toy boat.” And it is from a boat that a bail comes from.  A bail is a small bucket used to scoop water from a sinking vessel and dump it overboard. Hopefully, there are enough bail and bailers to dump the water faster than it is coming in.  Scoop and dump, scoop and dump — as fast as you can, you Bail Out the boat. Scoop and dump money and you bail out the banks, or the car manufacturers, or a foreign government.

Today I was reminded that I should not be complaining that I have never been bailed out. All this time I had forgotten the many meanings of “bailout” and have been waiting for my chunk of tax funds to rescue me from money problems. But apparently, my bailouts, and yes, there have been more than one; have come in a different form.

Back in the late 70s, I lived my bell-bottomed, Huck-A-Poo shirt-wearing life in a basement apartment.  To maintain this level of luxury, I worked two jobs while I eagerly waiting for Reagan’s trickle down economy to benefit me. His use of a water metaphor should have warned me.

One night I came home to find four inches of water throughout the apartment. Water was spewing from the toilet and the sink drain. Neighbors above me continued to shower and wash clothes, unaware of what was happening underneath them. While the plumbing was eventually fixed, I still had to spend many hours, scooping up water, dumping it by the potful into my washing machine. With the drain hose looped out the window, I was able to finally, bail out my apartment.  Thanks, President Reagan, for that massive trickle down effect.

All this came back to me today while we were busy doing Saturday household chores — a large part of which is laundry. Yes, the washing machine broke, and of course it was mid-cycle and full of water. We had to remove an entire load of wash, piece by piece, and wring them out. Then, we scooped water out of the washer, by the potful, and dumped it in the sink.  In addition to the distinct feeling of deja-vu came the realization that our long-wished for a bailout had finally arrived.

At least no one had to spring us from jail.

Walk by Story #2 - Trapped Like Rats

Truth in advertising: rats are becoming harder and harder to trap, especially those who have had their intelligence and fearlessness ramped up in the laboratory.  So, it is probably not the best comparison to say that, recently, there has been a rash of trapped-like-rats humans in my circle. In fact, it may be a cautionary tale that humans may be becoming increasingly easier to trap than rats.

The first person I know who was trapped in the past two weeks fell victim to something that apparently is more common than I realized. The story opens with a frightening scene in my house - the LOML (love of my life) collapsing in the bathroom. I ran to the sound and found him on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from a cut on his forehead. While dialing 911 I gave him a couple of chest compressions until he took a big, gasping, breath and began to wake up. Police and EMS arrived and an attack of atrial fibrillation was suspected. Off to the hospital we flew, picking up paramedics along the way.  At the hospital we were met by my son and the LOML's sister - wonderful and caring support for both the patient and myself.

The long night in the ER is a tale for another time, but by 2 AM things were stable and calm. I stayed at the hospital, my son and LOML's sister went home.  I imagined them both snuggled into their beds like the children in "The Night Before Christmas" while I shoved two chairs together in the tiny, makeshift acute care cubicle and tried to sleep myself. Little did I know that a drama was taking place that wouldn't be resolved until almost 5 AM.

LOML's sister had been unable to park in the filled-to-capacity hospital parking deck, so she parked in a municipal parking deck. The hospital security guard, fearing for her safety at the late hour, offered to drive her there and wait while she got into her car, and then would follow her out of the deck.  Using the automatic machine in the parking deck, LOML's sister paid her parking fee, got her car and then, with security officer in tow, headed for the exit. The exit with the gate. The gate that requires either a special electronic card or the paid parking receipt to be inserted. The guard inserted his key card in lane 1. The gate did not open. He waved LOML's sister over to Lane 2, just thinking that Lane 1 was not working and surely Lane 2 would. She inserted her paid receipt. The gate did not open. They were, essentially, trapped in the municipal parking deck at 2:30 in the morning.

Calling the displayed emergency number on the gate dispatched a mechanic to take care of the problem. Unfortunately, he showed up with only his own keycard, which did not open the gate. Eventually, the manual or emergency way to open the gate was discovered and both LOML's sister and the by-now-very-MIA-from-the-hospital security guard were released from captivity. I can't say for certain, but I think the city rats, who are able to get in and out of the parking deck with impunity, enjoyed the entertainment.

This morning, I see this Facebook report from my friend, environmental writer John Platt. 

"I went down into our basement yesterday to change the furnace filters. The good news: I did not see any evidence, which I had feared, that we have mice.

The bad news: We have a lot of very big, well-fed spiders."

Now, one might conclude that the spiders ate the mice - but that would be a silly Stephen King horror story conclusion. Spiders don't eat mice. At least regular house-type spiders don't. I am not sure about giant jumping desert spiders or hairy tarantulas; and the only man-eating spiders I know of populate forests and mines in The Lord of the Rings and other "fantasies."  On the other hand, are spiders capable of setting traps other than webs, say, for example, fixing a door so it can't be opened? I say this because of the next line from John:

"Oh, the worst news? Apparently our basement door is broken and I got trapped down there for an hour and a half until Colleen came home."

I know where the mice were. They were out in the yard feeling proud of themselves. No broken door kept them from escaping the spiders in the basement.  And lucky for John, the spiders were so well-fed that they were in no hurry to pounce.  At least for an hour and a half.

Walk-by Story #1 - Who Stole My Sunsets?

I have several options for my drive home from work, my favorite being some two lane back roads that wind through a little pocket of rural New Jersey, complete with farmland, horse stables, and homes set back from the road surrounded by acres of woodland. It is a pocket that is shrinking; the low speed limit roads are becoming commuter thoroughfares, and on the edge is slowly being eaten up by an epidemic of cavernous warehouses.

Since moving to this area of New Jersey at 11 years of age, these roads have been my go-to place for fantasizing about rural serenity. Long stretches of farmland gave uninterrupted views of sunrises and sunsets and a horizon of shifting colors as trees paraded through the seasons. At one crossroad, a magnificent, 3-story Italianate house, complete with cupola reigned majestically. And while townhouses and shopping malls and fast food drive-throughs sprouted up with more and more frequency, this area was spared. Until now. Until the unrelenting march of development rolled through, the horizon became blocked with huge square, nondescript buildings, and roads became home to tandem tractor-trailers.

Last week, I could tell that an unusually colorful sunset was setting up, just from the color of the sky I glimpsed through the trees as I drove home from work. The sky was cloudy but obviously there was a break somewhere. As I emerged from the wooded area and passed the horse farm, I caught a quick glimpse of the sun, a stark, flaming red ball with defined edges defying the clouds that were trying to hide it. A long, dark finger of storm cloud slowly rose in front of the sun, a perfect dragon silhouetted against the crimson sun. And then, the warehouses rose into view, and the sun was gone. Cars around me prevented any type of slow down- no smelling of the roses for these road warriors. I wondered how many of them had even seen the dragon in the flaming circle.

The light streamed over the top of the warehouse, then began to fade. I knew the clouds were thickening in front of the sun. By the time there was enough sky visible to me the sun, the light, and the dragon were gone. I felt as if something rare and beautiful had been stolen from me.

I remember when I first moved to New Jersey that “old-timers” at the county fair would complain about the development that was happening then. They would point to the street I lived on and tell me that it used to be a potato farm. The county road that bisected the town had been a two lane residential street. And thanks to the giant high school on the hill and the expanded NJ Turnpike overpasses, someone was stealing their sunsets.

It occurs to me that I finally understand what William Gibson said, ”Time moves in one direction, memory in another.” And my sunsets will always be with me.