Howdy ya'll. Just kidding. I dig the south but -ya'll- just rankles me. No offence.    

    So anyway..........I'm once again living south of the Mason Dixon. Coastal Plain. Hot and flat. That's okay. Plenty to do and see and the SR finds corners and an occasional hill. She gets to see the ocean and rivers. Swamps and gator habitats. S'all good.

    We get to see Deb's Grands and watch them discover life with its infinite possibility's. But we miss the hills. My people are hill folks and hills are lifeblood.

    Having recently ventured into the NC mountains, we drove past Grandfather Mountain where sits Fraser's Ridge. Mythical home of Jamie and Claire. Plus, we walk the streets of New Bern in their footsteps. Past Tryon Palace where Jamie plead his case. Of course, this palace is a re-pop built in 1958 or so. The foundation and basement are correct. Or so they say.

    The surrounding countryside is the SR's habitat. She loves the cotton and tobacco fields and the tumble down buildings of yesterday. Old, unused gas pumps tickle her two valves and adjustable cam. She staccato beats past these and ticks and tangs in the parking lot upon reaching home. I hit the kill switch and utter the line I've uttered for 50 years now.

 "I live another day." 

Kings Island

If we, in fact, are to succeed in this vision, this crux of life. What are we then to do? Shall we then punt? Yes. I've been watching a tad of football.

But what indeed is this life? I've been self aware for, well, I'm into my seventh decade of self. And awareness. I'm impressed with how little I know.

There is, of course, a different but also an infinite parallel between wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence. And of course the ever popular mentioned: common sense- lay persons are so very fond of bringing up in verbal discourse.

We inhale and exhale. Love. And eliminate waste.

There must be more.

I feel an incredible emptiness at times. It hurts.

This feeling does not make me unique. If perhaps a small measure of honesty is applied, everyone goes through a period of empty measure. Many periods of empty measure in the decades we spend on this rock.

Like a never-ending roller coaster ride at Cedar Point or Kings Island.

I have never been to Kings Island.

Throw in the towel?

Perhaps. But not just yet.

The Wedding of Jack-Patti-Sweet and Mandy

 With apologies to Jack Kerouac, Patti Smith, Larry Norman, the band Sweet.....and to Mandy.                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                                                    so anyway there i was large majestic victorian house next to the y moaning seething breathing 1976 and 20 piss factory of a job huff huff huff she crawled into my bed like a cockroach the words she said got into my head like a waterfall she had big bell levis wife beater shirt man man man tight tight i loved her in the sad morning eight track tape player wired to a car battery boom boom boom downstairs neighbors neighbors to the side everybody square square square bitching screaming met some cats and chicks street folks paul jerry his wife with a collection of weirdos and bee bopps straight outta heaven and hell beer weed acid soapers laughter tears tears tears piss factory job huff huff huff 64 mustang was my chariot exhaust wasted fumes buzz buzz dizzy dark hair to her shoulders slim young fun boom boom my jeans were tight loved a knife and buckle fight sorry Mr. Norman wire frame glasses man oh man i dug her she dug me together with jim and munch in his gremlin with paul we made 3 we kissed soothingly softly sweetly sadly as the grem tossed about the sad country lanes she came to me in a skirt of green net sewn over w/flat metallic circles which dangled and flashed and when her memory visits on a pillow of sweat with toss toss turn and my hair is cropped craving covering i remember member remember member making love to her sweetly that sad morning two lost angels hung on a city shelf   

Stoney Smoothie Charlie and Me

I met them when I worked at the hospital laundry. Had I known what life held in store for me I would have stayed there and retired. But I was young and knew no better. My official title was, Wash Man. Sounds menial and even funny but in the world of laundry you were top dog. A roofer buddy made fun of me a lot. He said he had a man's job and I was nothing. I got him a job with me when he was laid off one winter. He said, shit buddy, you work hard. I said. No shit.

Stoney was born with a handicap. Not sure what caused it. His left arm was withered, he walked with a limp, and he was totally blind in one eye and could not see out of the other. Sorry for the platitude. It did not slow him down however. Worked his ass off and he trained me and we became good friends. He rode a moped, dreaming it was a Panhead. And. And. And.

Smoothie was Stoney's buddy and and that's how I met him. What a character. Short fellow with red hair and beard. Loved him dearly. He had the look of a leprechaun and I don't mean that in a bad way. And funny. Shit man he could make you laugh. He was ill. But are we all not? Who among us....is....not.....ill. Found out later. Much much later. He was in and out of hospitals the years we travelled this rock and filled each other's spirits. But that was long ago. Long. Ago...............

Charlie was in a wheelchair. Never heard why. Never came up. Kept a towel in his lap. You'd go to visit him at his apartment and there was laughter ahoy! Laugh...laugh...laugh. He had a speech impediment as well. Loved him to death. Never said a cross word to any living being be it man-dog, woman-cat, or child with lollipop.

So anyway......the world spun and time past in the hamlet of Mansburg. We ran the bars together. Laughed and cried together. Held each other up and knocked each other down. Fell into and out of relationships. Threw up in alleys. Listened to music. Talked....Talked....Talked.

I think of them often today and I'm not sure I'll ever find love like that again. Pure. But memories can be translucent, myopic and sometimes, deceiving. We each have them but 'tis like the ebb and flow of ocean tide.

Lottery

Who would've thunk it? I made it to 94. And counting. I always joked with my doctors that with my luck I'd live to 100. Sometimes, finding a new doc happens by way of sons and daughters taking over their father's practice. Other times, perhaps by lottery. I can't always remember. I took the meds they said would lengthen my life. I worried that they were just generating income. What are ya' gonna' do?  I've outlived everyone I knew.

I kept riding the whole time. Not a whole lot but a bit here and there. I'm fortunate that I no longer need an automobile. Could not afford one and the self-drivers make me nervous. Left turn crashes have greatly diminished and may even be non existent. I don't always pay attention.

The electric bikes came slowly and are no longer cost prohibitive. Like microwave ovens. First slowly introduced in the UK as law. I think. Required by law in the developed world. At least in my little one. Mine is relatively inexpensive with a range of 600 miles between recharges. It is light enough for me to handle.

I kept one of the internal combustion bikes. They were "Grandfathered" in for a bit in transition. I remember what the term means but don't wish to explain. The EFI bike got sold but I kept the carburetted UJM. They hold a lottery every year and on a closed off course us oldsters get to ride our dinosaures. I won this year! Yahoo! The oil for the old gal is difficult to find. The black market is your best bet. Expensive but I manage to budget it in by not eating for three days. Piece of cake. Har! The fuel is readily available and inexpensive. 'Splain that one to me?
.
This luxury was bestowed upon us through the good graces of the AMA. Suddenly, at least that is how it appeared to me, all those weary old slogans became null and void by the silent passings of 'leccy bikes at speed. The "Loud Pipes Save Lives" from the outlaw and the perceived outlaw communities and the "Loud Pipes Risk Rights" stance of the AMA no longer mattered. Cool with me! I can't stand to argue any more and can't barely even stand to talk to people and I've heard all the noise I care to hear.

For those that wish motor exhaust noise there are buds that comfortably fit in your ear. They are legal in some areas and illegal in others. Who cares? I heard a pup the other day use the overused and generationally selective term "Old School" talking about the buds. I guess helmets have devices for sound too. I don't really know how it works and what is available. I dig the silence of sailing. If need be my organic memory bank can boot up motor sounds AND all the damn music I've ever listened to. It is noisy in here!

You can even purchase 'leccy bikes that look like a Panhead, BSA Lightning, or a Vincent Black Shadow. Hell. I saw one last week that was a '69 Sandcast CB 750. These are esoteric and purchased by millionaires. I judge no one's ride. Some of them worked hard for their money and sacrificed.

Mine is quite cheap. Inexpensive
rather. I love her all the same.

Gotta' dash for now. Gonna' unplug the gal and take a blat.

Let The Day Take You

What I enjoy most about life is never knowing where the day may take you.

Deb and I had left a birthday party last Saturday. We had her grandson with us. He is almost twelve and an amazing young man, who, I do not doubt, will do amazing things. I enjoy his company immensely. He likes to read and write and is an accomplished drummer. He's been through some shit and I admire him.

So anyway,,,,,,there we were. Deb said, being our pilot, "let's drive out this way." We found ourselves pulling into the parking lot of The Historical Aviation Squadron near the airport here in Lancaster.

I get a bit absorbed by World War II stuff. I wandered

around their museum talking to an older gentleman with a lot of knowledge. B-17's and their crews have fascinated me for the longest time. Amazing machines and amazing men.

So anyway.....long story short.....one of the fella's there tells Deb's grandson he is taking a plane up today and asks if he wants to go. Of course he does. In a seventy six year old plane piloted by an eighty five year old pilot. No fear indeed. The plane was used during the big war to guard our coasts by the Civil Air Patrol.

Then, it's Deb's turn. She takes a flight. I hold her purse. Then, they fire up a helicopter and Deb and her grandson take a flight in that.

This was a fluke folks. Don't run out there looking for a free flight like their's saying I sent you. But check the place out. A place where our history is being preserved by those that lived it.

Where are we going today Deb? I'll hold your purse anytime!

Monocular Vision

Living in a binocular world and I am a monocular guy. (sang to the tune of Madonna's: Material Girl)

I've been monocular since I was eighteen.There are scads of us. Perhaps even shit-loads.

We are a proud lot. 'Taint easy. But so is having no arms or legs. We have it in perspective. No boo-whoing here. We get up in the morning and do it.

Our stories are as broad spectered, although lacking depth perception, as a, well......prizm.

My own arrival into the world of monocular-ness is quite boring. I drove my car drunkenly into a telephone pole. If your story provides more depth (sorry) please share.

Don't hand us something and expect us to zoom in on it. And for fucks sake don't toss us something and expect us to catch it! Okay!?

We drive cars, eat, sleep and make love like everyone else. Just differently.

We laugh at ourselves. Change song lyrics. Don't it make my brown eye blue. Jeepers creepers, where'd 'ja get that peeper. I've only an eye for you. Smoke get's in your eye.

I almost feel sorry for binoculars. How very boring for you.

We meet new people everyday. We bump into others on our unsighted sides. I personally met a young lovely at a wedding years ago by knocking our noggin's together. A great ice breaker.

There are pitfalls. When two of us get together it is difficult as hell making eye contact. Jeez. Which eye to look in? Very confusing.

And we have many celebrities, world leaders, dignitaries and plumbers in our midst.

We get to wear eye patches and hunks of glass to drop in our buddy's Martini when he ain't lookin'.

So if you want to join an elite brother and sisterhood, poke an eye out with a screwdriver.

Chose the non-dominant one.