Leghorn/Foghorn and Jackie O

I have no idea why this popped into my head – true story

Accompanying, then husband on a business trip to Oscoda, Michigan (yes, there is a such place) a few decades ago, I was introduced to a business associate’s, wife – Janet. This woman was petite and extremely gorgeous from her scarlet spike high heels to her impeccability coiffed hair. Soft spoken, size 2 rings and cordial were her Jackie O attributes.  She presented herself as polished, refined and cosmopolitan.I knew her husband controlled a bunch of bucks due to the position he held for the trip’s purpose.

The purpose of my presence was to entertain Janet so the “men folk” could negotiate a multi million dollar agreement. It is a lot harder to ride a rocket when you are used to waiting for a bus, in the snow. This had to be an academy award performance.

Janet’s husband sounded like Leghorn/Foghorn when he spoke – and he talked LOUD. His suits were shark skin, cuff links were gold and his head was shiny bald. The shoes on his feet could’ve been traded in for a new Pontiac.His demeanor was southern drawl Atlanta (darlin’) and his appetite was top shelf double scotches, thrown down faster than a steel worker just off shift.

We were all staying in beautifully appointed homes on an upper echelon resort property. Activities for Janet and I included golf, tennis, the spa and salon while the wind bags blew smoke, kissed ass and impressed each other. This woman excelled, like a pro, on the courts and golf course and she never appeared aglow with sweat or had a hair out of place. I’m guessing she was approximately 15 years older than myself, at the time. My kids were toddlers and her 4 sons were in college. She informed me that their youngest son would be available to join us for dinner the last night on property.

The dinner was at the resort’s clubhouse – after-five attire – cleavage (if you have it), crystal chandeliers, lobster and champagne. Up until this point, Janet was the epitome of perfect business etiquette. Gracious with a goddamn!  In fact, my ass was aching from being such a “good business wife”. I was ready to drive my own car, eat peanut butter out of a jar, hold my kids, actually go back to work and cut loose into my usual wild child rants and antics.

During cocktails, a really ginormous young man entered the terrace. He was dressed in a golf shirt, couture’d by Omar the tent maker. This guy’s neck was bigger than both of my thighs – put together. He had to lean down and turn sideways to enter the doorway. If he wasn’t 6′ 7″ tall, I’m crazy. You could sail a family of six with cousins to Europe in his high ticket athletic shoes.

Janet stood up and in a clear and distinct voice,  proudly announced, “I’d like to introduce, my youngest child, the fruit of my loins, Joshua!”

From that point forward, all decorum got pitched. The deal got closed and I got a new set of golf clubs.

 

And the Oscar goes to……..

 

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Bowing my head in praise to Dads & Fathers:

schlepping sticky car seats

waiting for calls that never happen

wearing Lilly Pulitzer dresses

taking car keys away againFathers Day 2016

hauling bicycles state to state

counting missing quarters

driving dilapidated trucks

thinking their heads will explode

buying snow globes at the airport

singing kikker songs to the radio

paying for everything- every time- everywhere

100 degree camping with mosquitoes

never seeing their kids – missing them

reading the newspaper out loudMy Dad b

baking at the beach

sleeping on the chaotic couch

building soap box derby tracks & cars

handling the bossy orthodontist

fighting wars near and far

judging idiot boyfriends & girlfriends

living with a ticking clock

burning oatmeal, sandwiches to order

washing the red sweatshirt with the whites

dropping a panic stricken kid off at camp

creating furniture from nothingMy Dad

teaching art appreciation, writing stories

covering up a multitude of kid mistakes

sharing laughter at inappropriate times

wishing they were single-knowing they’re not

polishing old shoes

working second side jobs

giving up the Harley

listening, smiling, giving hell

shoveling tons of sand Dad-Joe-Jerod

vacations at Disney instead of Vegas

loving us, mine, theirs, ours………..

Pictures in my head

running like home movies

reverberate color slide shows

the associated event memory may be vacant

but the feelings remain analogous

 

 

I see:

a bewildered old man in a web lawn chair
sitting on steaming sand
where his beach house used to be

a yellow formica table with beveled
bright chrome around the edges
i'm kicking the table from a wooden
high chair - trying to touch the Wheaties box

myself crumbling as I pull my small daughter from the back seat
of a car to carry her into a funeral home but she
changes her mind and i put her back into the car.

my 5 year old niece building a goopy sandcastle on
   foggy Crystal Beach,
                    New Year's Day  

Wayne and I swinging on the new red swing set at sunrise drive
               surrounded
by vibrant purple irises, a fire barrel with stars and moons
cut into the sides and the red rock gravel in the drive.

myself running down the boardwalk in Virginia Beach wearing a 
green and blue itsy bitsy bikini, to chase down the canvas
cover that had blown off of my father's metal sculptures.

the grocery list written for Thanksgiving dinner last year -
french bread, onions, celery, mushrooms, scallions, flowers,
asparagus, turkey, butter, pecans, etc....

Dave holding my hand on top of his as we turned the key in
the lock of our new home for the first time - before he gallantly
picks me up into his proud arms and carries me over the threshold.

the bottom of every trash can in the Louvre museum as my bronchial 
pneumonia hacking cough echoes through each surreal gallery
           i drag my 
sick ass through each of the hallowed halls

the ginormous neighbor girl, Cindy Lou, throwing my skinny self
 down the rock path from school because i tell her Santa is real -
she doesn't believe me

a black Studebaker with red plaid seats, covered in
thick clear plastic. My face sticks to it as i sleep
in the back seat.

airports across the US - dirty old carpet in Newark, a glass
box smoke filled room in Chicago, La Guardia's modern new view,
soft snowflakes falling outside the floor to ceiling windows at Reagan,
crying in the parking lot at Daytona Beach International,
 holding on to my Sailor son at HOU,
             broken hearts left at PIT,
 holding precious grandson Andrew at Honolulu International, Lexi
  relaxing in the vibrating lounge chair in Nashville Airport,
              and glad the jet didn't land in
the water in San Francisco.

seven of us on a six man toboggan - flying down Sunny Slopes
     all night long  
beautiful red headed Moira, arms out stretched,
              scampering down the sidewalk to me  

Friday dance nights in the living room -
           two-step and d i s c o

myself walking our cocker spaniel into the Vet office
             for the last time

each of my children as I left them in those little
wooden school chairs for the first time 

my proud grandparents sitting in the bleachers
        in the sweltering auditorium for my
high school graduation. Wish I knew then, what i know
                    now

a hermetically sealed house and melting ice-cream as my lanky
frame fits through the little second floor bathroom window
to unlock the front door

the long frigid walk up Mt Washington after abandoning the
car at the bottom due to a blustery blizzard

Nancy, Diane, Kathy and I carrying on at South Park
pool trying to get the lifeguard's attention

the fire raging on top of my first Thanksgiving
turkey and the smoke detector sirens blaring

Happy Hour at John Q's - and finding out what I
thought was a french fry was a fried smelt.

glass enclosed candle lanterns swaying and fireworks
blaring from the top deck of the beach house

firing a shotgun at the deer lease in Ridge Texas

you talking to me in the car - in The Rose parking
                                        lot

the mother's day card with the upside down flower stem

my aunt, my mother and grandmother all screaming
at each other in the Arbor Lane kitchen

the horse stepping backwards onto my foot at the
country house - I, also see the reprimand

the rapids cascading over and over at the Ohiopyle
cabin - the water is crystal clear - dancing and
            cold

the students, hippies and old people sharing reefer
  on a smoke filled Greyhound bus 
     cruising through to State College, PA

the last run at Seven Springs ending up at the
bottom of the slope, on my stomach with my skis
over top of my head - in front of classmates


my kids holding onto my knees as I skate them around
the north and south ice-skating rinks
  
sitting at the glass top table in the screened-in back
porch on a hot January night. receiving the phone call
i had dreaded my whole life...

us walking all of the beaches
                       
words of wisdom, philosophy, god and care
      on a Christmas post as rain falls
             silently in the woods and drips
                  from the moss

you walking in my dreams



Christmas 2015 Nashville
     



 
            
                          
                                 

plangent thunder

an inescapable    plangent thunder

 

                                    Calling My Name

 

           O N E m o r e time

 

         two (2) phones ringing

revere ware off the slick granite onto the sticky tile

                     floor -

as another IPhone fatality – a $700.00

        symphony bounces the bank account

                          into a defeated deficit.

  a pager vibrating my last jagged nerve

                       as it flails and bounces

        into the commode from

        a couture black satin

            back- ass

                           pocket

    simply monogramming a designer dollar –

             a blaring billboard

             at my expense.

honk a  shrieking text

brake a profane IM

                     into Siri’s impervious

         ear as she directs me to Pittsburgh through

                              Mijas Spain

 

listen intently for the          most              missed

               maternal control

       faintly

          from the Bravado’s radio speakers.

 

Mute is stuck  

         “off” the cacophony blare of

   public

   address

   panic

 

waking me up

and

putting me to

bed



WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved.
 
plangent thunder 4-2016
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

be the difference

Aside



I remember

          being

   held by 

the sweet lullaby

of a loving mother’s

whisper on

the top of my wispy

head.

 

now

      I stare at

life’s finite hope

on the juvenescence 

playground-

jumping rope

riding the swings

round and round

and

         round

the May Day pole.

 

I’m holding my

head high

I’m soldier brave

I’m teflon tough and 

    rawhide strong

 

but

 

Hold my hand -

guide me through

this mercurial

journey.

 

use your words

to emery the

edges permitting

        me

the positive

self composure 

    i deserve

 

Witness my life.

 

infix laudable value

into who I will be - 
 

be the difference


WriteInSpace© worldwide rights reserved 2016

 

 

kites prominently up-swept

Kites-  you think of me
 when clocks are
 near your morning
 fingertips
 and sheets are tangled
 in between your legs
 shanghaied firmly
 on
 the other
 side
 of the bed

 you think of me
 when the
 keyboard is
 clicking your
 dives and highs
 in rapid fire
 promises of
 infamy.

 you think of me
 decorating your
 tree with brilliant
 adjectives and
 hyperboles star struck
 on powdery gauge
 strings harbored
 with silvery
 emotional
 anchors

 I think of you
 in the caliginous
 corners of my
 reposing eyes
 at dawn’s
 commencement-
 waiting for the
 email ping on
 my phone

 I think of you
 creating rules
 abeyant
 to your whim
 and heart as you
 telepathically
 and mechanically
 direct me to
 call you

 I think of you
 when I’m in
 need of
 your wisdom -
 modernism –
 literary philosophy
 to finely dress my
 infatuation in
 steadfast
 haute couture
 until the
 next heady
 investment

 I love the
 mystery
 and wonder why
 your actions speak
 differently than
 your unspoken fears?
 your honesty,
 while admirable,
 is a consternation
 to my knowing
 better

 the introspection
 keeps all of
 the
 kites
 prominently
 up-swept
 
 WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved. may not be reprinted without permission.

03122016

just before
dawn broke
your invisible
face
appeared in my
head while I was
sleeping.
the venue was blue
with the quiet complacency
of your demure voice
peacefully conveying –
prepossessing verses
to hold in my hand
but they float into
esoteric circles-
into the locked clubhouse
secured
for select members
only
 

WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved. may not be reprinted without permission.

I watch the
locomotion of oranges and limes
bobbing around a sunken
ladle
in a sea of grain alcohol-
realizing the more I refresh
the more intriguing the scene-

party fare disguised in a sticky garbage can
on the lawn crowned with red solos
each adorned with confident claws
lounging and laid on the
spring grass.
All the while:
consummate amateurs prey
upon the L’air du temps lambs
incessant with giggles
and Ultra Bright smiles
glow in the dark.
UnderclassMEN cannot resist
unfledged, fresh meat delivered at
their Levi draped feet.
Frat sweethearts dressed older
bolder a n d endowed
Frat brothers COCKsure,
rocked a n d cocked
BFF’s lust to view
Gamma Phi
the third brightest star
in the constellation
which takes me –
Not them
by the hand
leading
to a capricious ingénue envisage