Last night, January 28, 2015, I dreamt of my mother. We were in, of all places, New York's midtown and upper west side looking for my car on a beautiful sunny day. During our search for where I parked the car we came across a store that looked familiar to me from another dream I had years ago. It looked like a bakery since there were cakes and pies in the window but other items that were not bakery related were also sold there. We also watched some sort of parade that had Easter Bunnies in it. We didn't actually watch the parade, it was more like we were trying to cross the street and got caught in the parade. I held my mother's hand tight as we darted between the marchers to get to the other side of the street where this mysterious bakery was on a hill. When we walked passed the bakery, I could see my car at the top of the hill and squeezed my mother's hand, looked into her eyes and smiled. Then I woke up at 5:00 A.M. to go to the bathroom.
I awoke with a feeling of serenity. I felt tingly and euphoric and wanted desperately to return to the dream to be with her. Unfortunately, I could not return to sleep right away and the dream slipped away. This dream may have been triggered by my thoughts of my mother earlier that evening when I could not open a jar and reached for the jar opening cloth that has a tight grip. I remembered thinking to myself that I'm loosing my strength like Joyce did. I had a bowl of soup for dinner and thought my appetite is becoming like Joyce's was where I'm beginning to eat very little and mostly pretzels, Joyce's thing was chips. Dreams are your subconscious trying to tell you something. What is my mind trying to work out. Yes, there is that ache that I've had for the past five years since her death and the longing to have her with me here or there. Just thinking about it right this moment sent tingles through me and brought a smile to my face picturing us holding hands walking the streets of New York. Maybe we could stop in at the bakery and enjoy those treats we saw in the window...next dream, hopefully.
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Sharing Me With You
- ECagelove
- Amsterdam, New York, United States
- May 10, 2010 my RCA (right coronary artery) was blocked and I experienced a heart attack two days before my 49th birthday. Now I can add CAD to my list of living with diseases. Life is to short, it's time to live it. Sharing my escapades and life lessons.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Friday, January 9, 2015
Uptown Funk
Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars just blew me away. I haven't heard that funky sound in years.
Uptown Funk: Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars
Now, Bruno pulled off the rollers in his hair which just added to the funk. The performance brought me back to the artist of my younger days like George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic, Bootsy Collins, Gap Band, Prince, and of course James Brown. I'm not one for going to concerts but this performance has me itching to see Bruno Mars live.
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
Uptown Funk: Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars
Now, Bruno pulled off the rollers in his hair which just added to the funk. The performance brought me back to the artist of my younger days like George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic, Bootsy Collins, Gap Band, Prince, and of course James Brown. I'm not one for going to concerts but this performance has me itching to see Bruno Mars live.
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
New York, New York
Phillip and I hit it off on our camping trip that summer so well, that I was invited to spend a week in New York. Queens, New York that is but first the camping trip. I did not know there wouldn't be electricity for my blow dryer or a warm cabin. I thought the sleeping bag was to sleep on the floor of the cabin; not in a lean to. The sounds of nature at night kept me up and a raccoon ate my marshmallows. In the morning there wasn't a place to shower and the suggestion to dip in the dirty lake was not appealing at all. Not to mention I couldn't get my hair wet since there was no place to plug in my blow dryer. C'mon, a well structured MJ fro required high maintenance and heat to blow out the hair. I was styling a blow out before the "blow out" became a thing. Most guys my age (14) would wear their hair braided an occasionally sport the fro. I sported the fro everyday and viewed braids as curlers never to be sported in public. Fortunately, before moving to the suburbs I learned how to braid my own hair since my cousins would not braid it for me anymore. Shelly said, "I spent hours on your hair and you took it out already?" I took it out the next day. I think she expected me to wear my hair in braids for a few days. Most of the girls who couldn't wait to get their hands in my "good" hair, that's what they called it, were disappointed that I did not advertise their work. No one understood that my hair was my thing. It was something I had control over ever since my mom stopped taking me to get those Ceasar hair cuts at my request. How I hated the barber shop. She would take me or should I say drop me off after telling the barber how to cut my hair. I had to endure the barbershop environment alone since dad was nowhere to be found. Till this day, I am not a fan of the barbershop with the foul language, inappropriate conversations, degradation of women and anything that is considered unmanly. I sported my fro straight through my first year of college and I never went camping again. What was Joyce thinking. I never made it through two week summer day camp. It was just something about being in the woods I didn't like.
My mother waved goodbye as the Greyhound bus departed from Albany, NY bus station heading to New York Port Authority. It was my very first trip on my own and of course she ensured that I had everything I needed in my suitcase by asking me if I had things like a toothbrush, plenty of underwear, enough clothes for the week, lotion, and a thank you card for the family. She didn't ask about hair products like the blow dryer, hair food, pick, or comb. I guess she figured I had that covered which I did. Proper hair care was always at the top of my list. I had been to New York twice with my mom when I was younger for a dance workshop and a beauty pageant. My cousin was in the beauty pageant not me but all we saw of New York was the hotel that the workshop and pageant were held. The Broadway plays she took me to were day trips with just enough time to stand in line at the ticket booth on Broadway, grab a quick bite, catch the show, and catch the bus or train for the return trip home. No exploration of the hustle and bustle and with my sister in tow, I had to stay close to mother. We did go to a Greek restaurant and tried souvlaki which was the extent of my exposure to New York.
When I arrived in New York at the Port Authority, my instructions were to wait for Phillip and his parents to pick me up. I wasn't told where to wait and thought they would be at the terminal gate. I didn't see Phillip when I got off the bus and the crowd sort of steered me outside to 42nd and 8th Avenue. So there I was in New York City across the street from the Chock Full O Nuts shop. On the opposite corner was the Port Authority building and the fourth corner held a shop that had XXX on the window and a neon sign outline of a female form. The cars, busses and taxis were cruising past the intersection in all directions. Horns were honking, bells were ringing, venders were calling for customers, the smell of roasted nuts was in the air along with a foul smell funk. The buildings seemed so tall as I strained to see the top of them. While looking up I heard someone call my name, Eddie...
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
My mother waved goodbye as the Greyhound bus departed from Albany, NY bus station heading to New York Port Authority. It was my very first trip on my own and of course she ensured that I had everything I needed in my suitcase by asking me if I had things like a toothbrush, plenty of underwear, enough clothes for the week, lotion, and a thank you card for the family. She didn't ask about hair products like the blow dryer, hair food, pick, or comb. I guess she figured I had that covered which I did. Proper hair care was always at the top of my list. I had been to New York twice with my mom when I was younger for a dance workshop and a beauty pageant. My cousin was in the beauty pageant not me but all we saw of New York was the hotel that the workshop and pageant were held. The Broadway plays she took me to were day trips with just enough time to stand in line at the ticket booth on Broadway, grab a quick bite, catch the show, and catch the bus or train for the return trip home. No exploration of the hustle and bustle and with my sister in tow, I had to stay close to mother. We did go to a Greek restaurant and tried souvlaki which was the extent of my exposure to New York.
When I arrived in New York at the Port Authority, my instructions were to wait for Phillip and his parents to pick me up. I wasn't told where to wait and thought they would be at the terminal gate. I didn't see Phillip when I got off the bus and the crowd sort of steered me outside to 42nd and 8th Avenue. So there I was in New York City across the street from the Chock Full O Nuts shop. On the opposite corner was the Port Authority building and the fourth corner held a shop that had XXX on the window and a neon sign outline of a female form. The cars, busses and taxis were cruising past the intersection in all directions. Horns were honking, bells were ringing, venders were calling for customers, the smell of roasted nuts was in the air along with a foul smell funk. The buildings seemed so tall as I strained to see the top of them. While looking up I heard someone call my name, Eddie...
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Puppy Love
(continuation from June 5, 2013)
...It was the summer of 1975 and I needed a summer job to raise money for school clothing of my choice with my own funds. Joyce found out about a summer program at St. Rose College and somehow I was enrolled. I was more than happy to spend the day on a college campus as opposed to other summer jobs where I worked for Parks and Recreation clearing vacant lots, cutting down tree stumps from a golf course, and being outside in the blistering heat. Not my cup of tea. I often subjected myself to things that I wasn't particularly fond for the sake of my mother. For example I was in Little League for two seasons before Joyce realized (admitted) that baseball wasn't for her little Eddie. Don't get me wrong, I loved the hot dogs and pizza after the games but despised the practice. Throwing the ball in from the outfield was pointless, hitting the ball with a bat that was as tall as me was ridiculous, and the last straw was the fly ball in the face while trying to catch it in center field. I sucked and to top it off the uniform was way too big and I didn't like to get it dirty. During the games I preferred to sit the bench where I could go into the world in my head where I wasn't in a dugout hoping that the coach would not put me in. Can't a cute little boy in the bright white uniform get a break. Somehow the coach would manage to get me in the game to bat and to play the left field (I think), I don't know -- it's the outfield where most batters do not hit to unless of course I was there.
The summer at St. Rose was wonderful. The program provided me with a weekly stipend for basically attending a day camp on campus. We did arts and crafts, wrote and performed
a cabaret of sorts where I sang "If I Ruled The World", and I spent a lot of time with Mildred; my sweetheart from fourth grade. We talked, well she talked more since I was very shy with girls. My heart still raced in her presence and I was just as inept at fourteen as I was in the fourth grade. I had no rap or game. I was just a pretty boy with a Michael Jackson afro who was sweet and kind to the ladies. So ends the summer of '75 and my unrequited love for Mildred Jackson. The summer did introduce me to Phillip, the younger brother of my mother's co-worker Max, who shared his nude magazine collection with me when I spent a week with him and his family in Queens. Yes!
Phillip attended the cabaret along with his brother Max and sister-in-law Margretta. We were introduced after the show while I was receiving congratulatory pats on the back and well wishes for sleighing the song. Since Phillip and I were the same age, Max thought it would be a good idea to take us camping during Phillip's visit. Of course, Joyce thought it was a good idea. I swear she and Max cooked this up at work. Before Christian reparative therapy, there was my mother and her sending me out to do boy things like camping in the wild and playing baseball. The only sport I enjoyed was bowling. That is a sport right? Since I no longer participated on the bowling league since our move to suburbia, Joyce would try to balance my dance lessons -- couldn't give that up just yet, with some sort of boyish, butchy activity. God bless her, she new her son was a poof and never let on. I'm just realizing it now as I recall the time period I'm flooded with other examples throughout my childhood.
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
...It was the summer of 1975 and I needed a summer job to raise money for school clothing of my choice with my own funds. Joyce found out about a summer program at St. Rose College and somehow I was enrolled. I was more than happy to spend the day on a college campus as opposed to other summer jobs where I worked for Parks and Recreation clearing vacant lots, cutting down tree stumps from a golf course, and being outside in the blistering heat. Not my cup of tea. I often subjected myself to things that I wasn't particularly fond for the sake of my mother. For example I was in Little League for two seasons before Joyce realized (admitted) that baseball wasn't for her little Eddie. Don't get me wrong, I loved the hot dogs and pizza after the games but despised the practice. Throwing the ball in from the outfield was pointless, hitting the ball with a bat that was as tall as me was ridiculous, and the last straw was the fly ball in the face while trying to catch it in center field. I sucked and to top it off the uniform was way too big and I didn't like to get it dirty. During the games I preferred to sit the bench where I could go into the world in my head where I wasn't in a dugout hoping that the coach would not put me in. Can't a cute little boy in the bright white uniform get a break. Somehow the coach would manage to get me in the game to bat and to play the left field (I think), I don't know -- it's the outfield where most batters do not hit to unless of course I was there.
The summer at St. Rose was wonderful. The program provided me with a weekly stipend for basically attending a day camp on campus. We did arts and crafts, wrote and performed
a cabaret of sorts where I sang "If I Ruled The World", and I spent a lot of time with Mildred; my sweetheart from fourth grade. We talked, well she talked more since I was very shy with girls. My heart still raced in her presence and I was just as inept at fourteen as I was in the fourth grade. I had no rap or game. I was just a pretty boy with a Michael Jackson afro who was sweet and kind to the ladies. So ends the summer of '75 and my unrequited love for Mildred Jackson. The summer did introduce me to Phillip, the younger brother of my mother's co-worker Max, who shared his nude magazine collection with me when I spent a week with him and his family in Queens. Yes!
Phillip attended the cabaret along with his brother Max and sister-in-law Margretta. We were introduced after the show while I was receiving congratulatory pats on the back and well wishes for sleighing the song. Since Phillip and I were the same age, Max thought it would be a good idea to take us camping during Phillip's visit. Of course, Joyce thought it was a good idea. I swear she and Max cooked this up at work. Before Christian reparative therapy, there was my mother and her sending me out to do boy things like camping in the wild and playing baseball. The only sport I enjoyed was bowling. That is a sport right? Since I no longer participated on the bowling league since our move to suburbia, Joyce would try to balance my dance lessons -- couldn't give that up just yet, with some sort of boyish, butchy activity. God bless her, she new her son was a poof and never let on. I'm just realizing it now as I recall the time period I'm flooded with other examples throughout my childhood.
http://ecagelove.blogspot.com All rights reserved.
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