Endless Summer Creations

two years ago i stood before that door of the man who was my hero who i loved to my core who captivated us all with his stories of endless wisdom and wit who had been kept from me “he’s not well” “he can’t see anyone” yet he welcomed me just like always my heart jumped for joy next time my son could be there it would be alright again my son could take his place at those bustling tables of family holidays that i had always known they would always be there, right? but for that brief precious afternoon we were reunited i had found what was lost stay longer, they all said we’re having pizza and salad it’s ok, i said didn’t want to overstay my welcome they insisted so i took my place and for a while all was as it had been before we still felt her absence voids that could never be filled the house with all the familiar trappings gone but somehow the same table reappeared the same spirit i could feel her with u...

By João Pimentel Ferreira via Wikimedia Commons Well I was able to get back to my writing project which I started almost two years ago.  I have to be vague about the details right now - I feel like the finished product could be so good that I don't want to spoil the surprise.  I have my son Carl to thank for much of the concept. It's something that I need to finish.  For me.  Many things that would never be said otherwise.  Many conversations that need to be had.  Even if only in bookland.  I know these things will most likely never be said in real life.  All I need is for them to have been said on paper, either real or virtual..I have been mourning certain things.  And I know that to complete my mourning process, this book needs to be written.  It's been several years in the works already.  It's not something I can rush.  But I do need to finish and move on with my life. I've been sick and bedridden all weekend long. ...

Carpenter Park at Thanksgiving my home state i have not forgotten you fireflies in the dusk the hill stretching away down Rockford Park which became a Fourth of July theater a playground where dogs ran free in bliss the tower which i've always longed to ascend my feet carried me through the cross-country trails at Carpenter Park through all seasons even through the still of winter where i had to bound like a deer to jog through the snow drifts when green returned I would see startled bunnies scatter in front of me the theater of trees at turns redolent in deep summer greens then slowly set afire breaking into golds, reds, bronze until the cold would always claim the last of the leaves I remember hay rides through the nipping October nights which ended round a fire the centerpiece of hot apple cider melty s'mores of all the natural beauty i've ever seen i love yours the most your nature takes me home

There was a time we lived off in the woods.  As I lie here in the comfort and security of my bed, listening to the rain fall outside my window with the blinds drawn, I can almost imagine that we are in the middle of that forest again. It was a good place to rest.  A good place to escape the life that had been imposed upon us, and to redefine life according to  our terms. No need to dress up or look a certain way.  I mean, who really cared?  There was no pressure.  The residents were mostly down-to-earth, unassuming people living in a rural Pacific Northwestern town.  Some of them were retirees.  Some lived on Social Security like us.  For others, the RV park was just an in-between place.  One guy had been in the process of building a house on his own land for about a year. I even worked for the RV park for a while doing bathroom maintenance.  But it wasn't really a job....

This is the post I wrote on Facebook in early September 2015 when I realized we needed to return to Florida.  I wrote these words with a very heavy heart because in coming north, I had just wanted to come home.  But I had to eventually face the reality that the places which had always been home to me no longer were.  I came to realize that home is wherever Jim, Carl and I may be.  Even if it's in a hotel room.  Or an RV.  We learned to cling hard to each other.  Like hikers lost in a snowstorm, we kept each other warm to survive. There's a part of me that wishes I could just wash my hands of my old home.  It is no longer the source of comfort, companionship and merriment that it once was. However, I would not take back our time up north.  There was so much beauty there.  I saw it when the heavy snowfalls descended outside our motel room window, and Carl looked out to sights he had never seen in his life.  I saw it when Ca...

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack And you may find yourself in another part of the world And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife And you may ask yourself – Well, How did I get here? “Once In a Lifetime,” Talking Heads And you may find yourself living in a 1978 Champion motorhome in an RV park in the Washington forest.  And you may find that the family you thought would always be there was gone.  And you may find yourself in a life which makes no sense, in which the train jumped the track long ago and continues to hurtle helter-skelter through the wilderness heading to destinations unknown, leaving behind a family that once was.   Carla used to wish so badly that train could be stopped, turned around and returned to the life that made sense, in which Carla knew who she was and didn’t have to keep adapting herself anew just to survive.. ...

”You can’t just invite yourself over,” came the words over the phone. “It’s not 1980 – you’re not five years old anymore.” It didn’t even seem real.  This couldn’t be happening.  Granpop wouldn’t let this happen.  It wasn’t that Carla was so shocked to hear those words coming from Stan.  He had always been strange.  Carla had just come to take it as a fact of life that he was a bit off.  Most of the time he just sat there with the gravest of tones and expressions, and skulked in and out of rooms with a strange frailty which contradicted his fine-tuned physical condition.  He was a superb runner and had actually fueled Carla’s inspiration to start running herself when she was only 12. Stan had other good points too – he could tell maniacally funny jokes.  Jokes that would have everyone around the table roaring with laughter.  But these jokes were in stark contrast to Stan’s usual grim demeanor.  It was a startling sense of hu...

Sometimes the question is not "Why do I want to accomplish this goal"?  Sometimes it's more like "Why shouldn't I just do whatever I feel like doing? Why do I want to bother myself with goals when I could just be relaxing instead?" You might then ask yourself, if I forget the goal what do I miss out on?  Am I ok with that?  Will I have regrets one day?  Which will cause me more stress - abandoning the goal or following through on it? What will my life look like next week, next month, next year if I do/don't accomplish the goal?  Sometimes when it's the desire for accomplishment that falters, it's the fear of loss that keeps you going. 

If "If I were an older man and met a younger woman I would have just wanted to be her friend I wouldn't have wanted to ruin her life" a haze of shock confusion and hurt descended upon her had it all been a mistake when they first met he even told her she should dance with the younger guys and because she didn't her life was ruined? if she danced with him night after night if his kindness washed over her in healing waves if he told her she wasn't crazy if he told her there was nothing wrong with her if she knew he would never leave her side if he called her out for being the jackass she was when she talked about giving up throwing all her dreams away believing the lies if he fulfilled every last vow if he should have been long gone but never quit her if he could always crack her up if that wacky humor still lived on through the Parkinson's if she knew the disease might take his body but never touch his love that none other could ever match if that's a rui...

the air is brisker as I walk from the dorm with the rooster weathervane on top it's time for dinner; students swarm through quadruple doors smells of mashed potatoes and chicken drift through the halls what table awaits me down below? will Christine make my head hurt with laughter? afterwards, the gaiety continues in her room draped with Egyptian tapestries as she serves spiced teas and biscotti and Joni Mitchell hoots sweetly from the cheap tapedeck later, men join the women to seek Christine's wisdom she beckons them into her romantic visions in which lovers sacrifice their souls for the glory of those brief moments in the dark within this mysterious haven, I find myself emerge amid the satirical banter and uproarious laughter where everyone is suddenly sensuous and desirable and where faded roses always yield to the softness of new petals

Each day we drove on to these stepping stones on our trip home back across the nation saw places too big to fathom desert which stretched on forever, unchanged for centuries occasional border patrol checkpoints along the highway vast skies over dry mountains then eventually the sand gave way to green the waters drew close again we heard 2013 arrive from our San Antonio room by the next night we walked the streets of the French Quarter observing the spoils of the night before lingered over a meal of Big Easy favorites the promised land was within our reach now we would tarry there until the next chapter began but the highways have never stretched away so vast, free and wild since

Los Angeles a mystical land I'd heard of mostly in song film poetry then that one day we were there gazing through the rain at the vast expanse of city far below stretching away for miles what is LA but a surreal place fashioned of dreams? As the streetwalker in Pretty Woman proclaims "Everyone who comes to Hollywood has a dream What's your dream?" Indeed Dream to walk the red carpet or the red light district So much about LA I could not see as I looked down from atop the hill surrounded by a theater of mountains yet as I took in the sand, desert, neighborhoods and mountains so unfamiliar to me stories of LA floated through my head similar to the Florida I know yet beyond comparison in so many ways Laurel Canyon a community of 1960s hippie love the juxtaposition between crudity, violence and death the drive-by shootings of Compton and South Central to the renaissances of art blooming in Venice Beach and the bastions of style throughout the city the opulence of Rodeo...