Month: April 2011

Scenes Witnessed or Experienced In The Last Year

Dave

I

They were made for each other. He was capable of romanticizing the way a waitress touched his hand while returning his change. She calculated potential property settlements during a first kiss. Yes, in a dystopian parallel universe kind of way where the trains crash on schedule, they were made for each other.

II

Overheard at Corky’s…

“Here’s the deal. I knew where I was, where we were, and most importantly, where they were on this issue. The problem isn’t that they weren’t prepared two years ago. The problem is that two years later, they are still unprepared.”

“So why are they still in office?”

III

Work then home. Work then home. Sometimes he broke up his pattern and had dinner with his mother. Then he would go home. “Cleveland’s a terrible place to be single”, he told a co-worker. Work then home. There is no life insurance coverage for the terminally single.

IV

He believed in Intelligent Design. He created his universe. He was the Lord and Master. He was bathed in light and warmth. But his universe was shrinking. The wife moved out years ago. The kids were hanging around till the checks stopped. The eclipse is imminent.

V

We complain when people are silent and accept things as they are. We complain when people protest and make a scene. We don’t like it when the politicians veer too much to the left and are scared when they take the big turn to the right. So we live in our own version of the moderate middle, alone, and wondering why no one else sees our truth.

We are not so different. David Ackles was right. “They suffer least who suffer what they choose”.

The Politics of Blogging

Dave

Bismarck noted that politics is the art of the possible. Everything is political. This is the politics of blogging.

Even something as free-form and spontaneous as blogging has its own internal logic, rules, and regulations. This is particularly true for Again? Really? There is an unwritten style book. There are reoccurring characters. There are facts that are fungible and facts that are sacrosanct. Feelings may be explored and expanded, but they can never be faked. And I never, ever, throw the first punch.

Thankfully, I have an entire cadre of volunteers to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Sally is my #1 sounding board and the person assigned to protect me from myself. Since I tend to write these at home, in long hand, while enjoying a cigar, she is normally a couple of feet away watching TV and waiting for me to get some idea on paper. I prefer to have my stuff read aloud. If they ever create a “Blogs on Tape”, I would rush to be one of the firsts. A look from Sally can quickly kill a post.

My daughter Jennifer has also served as editor-in-chief. She is far too busy to fulfill that role now, but I value her input when given. She is about to launch her own blog, Jensfoodadventures.wordpress.com. The initial posts are terrific.

Jeff, my business partner, and Felicia, our secretary, are the last two members of the home team. Both are very good at letting me know if a little more detail or clarification is needed.

I expect Sally, Jeff, or Felicia to understand the cultural references and to appreciate the humor. If I am too obtuse or fail to entertain any of them, it is time to rework the post.

Since many of my characters are drawn from real life, some of my readers search each post for a reference to them. A couple are capable of finding themselves whether I meant for them to be there or not. This usually sparks a lively exchange of emails and private messages on Facebook. Others, like Beth Bryan, know that just mentioning them by name improves any of my posts.

I am also blessed with kibitzers. Captain Grammar checks me for typos, word usage errors, and other failings. She is very fast. Some of her emails have resulted in immediate changes before any one else has had a chance to notice my mistakes. There are those who might consider having someone standing over their shoulder a nuisance. Not me. I find having an extra editor invaluable. I also appreciate Sergeant Spell-Check. His only problem is that he is sometimes wrong. He is always entertaining, just not always right.

Putting together Again? Really? and Health Insurance Issues With Dave takes a lot of time. All of these posts have numerous links. Having readers suggest topics and issues helps tremendously. The feedback, nudging, and comments, even those that are kept private, significantly contribute to the final product.

Today’s post is designed to thank the people who help bring you Again? Really? and Health Insurance Issues With Dave. I couldn’t do it without them.

Just Breathe

Dave

Not Veronica, but Betty.
Mary Ann not Ginger.

I was not fooled by the different last name, the changed hair style, or even the fuzziness of the Facebook picture. I recognized her immediately. And I smiled.

She hadn’t been beautiful or glamorous. She was pretty. She was cute. She was smart and she was ditzy. It was a combination that I have always found irresistible. But she was totally inaccessible. It would be years before I would date a non-Jewish girl and I knew nothing of conversions. So we became friends. I didn’t have an agenda or ulterior motives. I was completely safe. I listened to her and I could make her laugh.

There were days that I lived for that laugh.

And now, thirty plus years later, we were having lunch. Still incredibly cute, still smart, and somehow even ditzier, she was still inaccessible. The smile was unchanged, the laugh still endearing.

Back at my office she tried to recall a song she had heard earlier in the day. “Her name was Anna. Her last name had something to do with a hammer. Nail, nail something.”

I offered to look up Anna N. on Google.

“It was a great song. I couldn’t write it down. I was still on the turnpike. New song. Breathe.”

I had already walked to my desk and begun the search. “Breathe isn’t new, but it is a great song. This should be easy.” I clicked on a link. She leaned over my shoulder to read the lyrics.

I clicked on another link and a pretty young woman stared into the camera, and into us, as she began to sing. The words meant something to me. I’m certain they meant something to my friend. Not every silence is awkward, but this one was. I turned as she retreated to where we had been sitting.

It had been a moment of great intensity and intimacy. But we aren’t destined to share such moments. We weren’t in 1972 or ’73. We aren’t now. I returned to my seat and did what I did best.

I made her laugh.