Category: Writing

Card Stories: Dolly Parton

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9 to 5 hit the airwaves in early 1981, & dolly parton entered my life for the first time, followed a couple of years later by islands in the stream with kenny rogers, then, for me, dolly disappeared, it really wasn’t until i moved to nashville in 2020 that i truly came to understand the power of dolly parton, i taught a three week course on women in country music, studying parton & her music, coat of many colors, i will always love you, jolene, these songs are peerless, not to mention her imagination library, which has donated over 100 million books to children all over world, her dollywood theme park, opened in 1981, employing over 4,000 people, from a one room cabin in sevier county, east tennessee, to dolly for president bumper stickers, she is the american dream incarnate.

This DOLLY PARTON card can be purchased here: https://www.ebay.com/itm/375325625121

Card Stories: Al Bumbry

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1980, Memorial Park, the Orioles, my first major league baseball game, & Al Bumbry is our leadoff hitter, best base stealer, and steady center fielder. What I didn’t know is that he, like my father, was a Vietnam War veteran. Bumbry was a tank platoon leader serving his country from 1969-1971. There were 12 MLB players who were in Vietnam, including: Garry Maddox, Chuck Goggin, and Jim Bibby. Maddox served in the Army and was exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam, which made his skin highly sensitive. As a result, he always wore a beard to protect his face. The Philadelphia Phillies had to waive their clean-shaven rule to accommodate Maddox. –Agent Orange was used to defoliate jungle vegetation, so that it was easier for the United States military to “see the enemy,” however, it was sometimes accidentally sprayed on our own soldiers. 

Instagram Influencer

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watch me applying tinted serum or wearing snake skin heels, i’m on the gram, insta, & luckily you pause to watch me, because i matter, this matters, my feet, my face, my expensive complexion, i look good, toes covered in dead reptiles, you make me happy with your likes & i make you happy as you ponder buying products to be like me, symbiotic, our relationship, me, wealthy, well-kept, well-dressed, you, trying to keep up, keep trying.

When I Used To Ski

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injured vertabrae is my reality, what do i miss? you ask in february, easy to answer, cross-country skiing, white snow, pine trees, vast mountains, i’m nothing & everything, expanse of time & space, gliding on undulating slopes, effort sweat spreads, limbs working hard, heartbeat, blood knows i’m at peace, no cellphone reception, only the next climb, one ski in front of the other, smooth swish, bits of ice crystal on boots, now just memories.

When The Holidays Are Over

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no more 8am waking up, dean martin really can’t stay, chestnuts stop roasting, the hallmark channel starts to countdown from 364, the radio quits playing it’s the most wonderful time of the year, dead christmas trees adorn city concrete, jimmy stewart disappears back into nostalgia, family says goodbye, credit card bills get paid, calories are cut, gym memberships rise, green & red sweaters go back into cedar chests, thank you cards are written, hot chocolate loses its luster, mistletoe romance becomes memory, new year’s resolutions begin, to do lists resurface, everyone gets a little older & 2023 says goodbye.

Listening To My Shortwave Radio

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you might think it was all tina turner, the cars, or tears for fears, but vinyl could only take me so far, same songs, over & over, flip to side 2, try to save allowance money for the new billy idol album, or listen to casey kasem, see if anyone fresh was in the top 40, but then i got my GE shortwave radio & became an auditory magellan, forget karma chameleon & all that pop sound, i now spent nights slowly turning the dial, on a quest to travel the airwaves, listening as the basketball play by play guy said, louisville has the ball, i added a marker dot to my map of cities: new orleans, pittsburgh, morgantown, buffalo, each night i tuned in to: games, preachers, news, weather, anything & everything, in search of a new locale, another mark for my map, of course it was more than this, i was a 1980’s lewis & clark kid, connecting with my country, & this is still what i’m doing today, except i’m the one broadcasting & you might be in croatia instead of cincinnati.

Working at the 30th Street Senior Center, 1996

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the elderly are grumpy, cloistered together in plastic chairs, waiting for their number to be called, i’m the guy with the microphone calling the numbers, the elevator can only take 8 people down to the cafeteria at a time, i’m so lonesome all the time, since i left my baby behind, on blue bayou, i’m crooning to the mostly spanish speaking geriatric crowd, entertainment for the hungry, they smile, call me young clin-ton, or danielito, charlie is my elevator operator, he gives me a shout when he’s ready for more people, send them my way danny boy, they shuffle their feet, eager to eat a free meal, i say hello to conchita, manuel, margarita, & maria vela, they are all so kind -i only worked at the senior center for 6 months, but they gave me a few hundred dollars & a nice card when i left, periodically i looked through obituaries over the years, one by one they disappeared.

Thinking About The Suburbs

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just read bukowski’s poem hello, how are you? he deftly takes down suburbia, little green lawns, little homes, like the beat writers, everyone loves to hate the suburbs, this has become a truism for some, make fun of the burbs, but my question is: post-world war 2, what should have happened instead? cram hundreds of thousands of returning veterans back into cities, stack floors up to the sky, no grass, just concrete? or should they have joined some sort of back to land movement? corporal jackson returning from iwo jima can enjoy 10 acres in bartlett, nebraska (population 176 in 1940) 3 hours away from omaha? no, suburbs seemed inevitable, near enough to urban areas for work, close enough to golf courses for leisure, artists are against the sameness of suburbs, but conformity is baked into all cultures, that is how they have survived, but just because i’m typing on a macbook pro, doesn’t mean that i can’t write whatever i want to.

White Christmas in Rochester, New York

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i’m dreaming of a white christmas, first sung by bing crosby, 1941, only a few weeks after pearl harbor was attacked, listened to by millions, but only a large handful have ever had a real white christmas, like the ones i used to know in the late 1970’s & early 1980’s, snow stacked high, fireplace crackling, tins & tins of homemade cookies, ham baking in the oven, neighbors stopping by for eggnog, my grandfather’s organ playing all the songs, rudolph, jingle bells, deck the halls, the fir tree with gifts under every branch, dozens of christmas cards on the mantle, tinsel draped below, at night tucked into my father’s childhood bed, i peeked out past the wooden bedposts & waited for santa, this was christmas. 

Humpty Dumpty & Row Your Boat

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humpty dumpty sat on a wall, you know the rest, but what does it mean? when you were a kid did you think humpty was an egg? a fat greedy person? a king? where was the wall? how high was it? why was humpty precariously perched up there? and why did mother goose share such things? then there is row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, strive, work hard, but not too hard, be happy, life is but a dream, what do these nursery rhymes mean? in one, life is a risky disaster, the pieces will never fit back together again, the other demonstrates utopian optimism, combined they explain human existence.