The Forgotten Book of the Bible (and the best one!)

Ecclesiastes Chapter One, Verse 2 "Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher.  "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

When an author blogs

I have major issues reading some other blogs. It's always about controlling and never about sharing.  Most blogs should be titled, "If I Ran the World".  Then people could rant about everything terrible every one ever did to them, near them, about them, and far away from them. It's enough to make me sick. So then I get on here and immediately start thinking, "How can I cure the world?"

Which of course makes me just as bad as everyone else, right?

If I think I can cure the world than I must believe that I am either morally, ethically, emotionally, spiritually or some way better than most everyone else. "They" are all doing it wrong, only "I" know how to do it right.
The nice thing is that here and there I meet people who agree with me on most things. But that's also the bad thing. These people who agree with me on MOST things are so close to perfection, but fall terribly short because they don't agree with ALL.

What's the point then?

If I feel this way YOU can feel this way THEY surely feel this way.

"I'm right Dammit!" we all scream.

"YOU have NEVER been right!"

"I was wrong BEFORE but NOW I am the only one right!"

Getting hung up on these thoughts when I was young is what made smoking pot such a relief.  I truly felt better when I was high. These thoughts would get expanded upon, or ignored and either way I was happy. We were happy. YOU were stoned, I was stoned, even THEY were stoned sometimes. It was peaceful.

But it really led nowhere.

Really. It didn't take long to realize that staying insulated from the world through THC was NOT the right answer, albeit a comfortable wrong answer, that's for sure.

Either way, that was a long time ago. Back then I only dreamed of writing and there was no Internet to begin Blogging on. Maybe back then I felt I had a universal answer. Maybe, if the question were possible, I would have been able to explain to whom the changes on FaceBook benefit.

You see, it's all a matter of perspective.  And here is my conclusion to What's Wrong With the World:

CONSIDER OTHER PERSPECTIVES

The Next Musician you will be "Into"

Tell Me Something (about Paul D'Adamo)

If Classic rock is your deal, especially if you lean towards the progressive rock like Genesis, Yes, etc... you will really dig Paul D'Adamo.  Granted, I have known Paul for a long time and would be tempted to to say great things about him anyway, but this goes a little deeper. He actually has a High Quality product out there and my ranking as a "musicologist" will go up quite a bit for introducing my friends to his CD Tell Me Something.  

So Check out this video and then run over to CD BABY http://www.cdbaby.com/Artist/PaulDAdamo to buy the DVD/CD Combo while there are still some left.  If they do run out, let me know and I'll see about getting you one, maybe even one signed by Paul himself.

Liam

Everyone I know knows that everyone I know knows everyone I know.

Sometimes when I get bored I make up little songs that stick with me all day. Little earworms that ride with me all day, until something better comes along.
Today I was going to write a story either including or based on the songs from the Bat out of Hell CD.  This idea has been with me for years, but I have never followed through with it.  Now, with nothing but time on my hands, I thought I'd get a jump on it.  But I just can't get it started. Maybe, I've overthought the whole thing and that's my deal. It's a minor dilemma, really, but it's still a dilemma.
Today I had little competition between myself, my lawn mower and Bob Marley. It was a hot morning, but the lawn needed mowing and, hey, thanks to the State of Minnesota, I'm home today to mow it. So I selected the Bob Marley "Legend" album on the ipod and filled up the mower with gas. The race was to see which one would finish first? Would I finish the yard, or run out of gas, or hear the whole album first? 
Well Bob won. I heard the first couple of songs a second time before I finished mowing the lawn. But even with the grass being quite wet, I still mowed the whole deal on one tank of gas.
So, I got a mowed yard, some exercise and this little tid-bit from the Wailers:

a tip from a gypsy

she said "man you gettin tipsy"
hiding from reality
in your world of hypocrisy

Mixed Tape Part 3 - Finale

“Through the sleepless nights, through each endless day, I want to hear you say, I Remember You” – Skid Row

“Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby?” Karen Carpenter



Karl couldn’t call Laura now. Maybe he would text Michelle, and tell her it’s over. Michelle never minded being the go-between. She loved gossip so much this would be like a present for her. If nothing else comes from this crazy tape, he was certain that his life was more about pain and regret than it was about love. Each time he thought he landed the one that was going to last, it failed. When he gave his heart again and again he got burned each time.

“I could start dreaming but it never ends
As long as you’re gone we may as well pretend
I’ve been dreaming, straight from the heart.”

He didn’t even bother looking over at the boom box. It was songs like this one that added to his pain. This song could have been on a tape for any of the girls, or women, he loved and lost. He laughed sardonically at himself. Maybe, the theme of him finding a woman, falling head over heels, and losing her became so familiar that he started making tapes beforehand. He went over to the Apartment Box and started digging around for other unmarked tapes.

‘This is what the world needs,’ he thought, ‘Premade mixed tapes.’ He could sell them on the counter at record stores. They’d be labeled by need. There’d be “CHEATER” with songs like Keep on Loving You by REO Speedwagon “And though I know all about the other men, still I don’t remember. Cause it was us baby way before them, and we’re still together.” And there’d be the “STALKER” Pack with songs like Every Breath You Take. Bryan Adams would find a place too, just like he did on this tape, “Straight from the heart, Tell me we can make one more start, You know I’ll never go, as long as I know, it’s coming straight from the heart.”

Whatever. There's still this mystery. WHO is this tape for? Karl couldn’t avoid the fact anymore that whoever he made this for was someone he loved very much. And there was a chance if he felt this way about her, maybe she felt this way about him. And if not her, maybe there was someone else. If he could have these feelings for several of his old flames, maybe there was someone out there who was still holding a torch for him. But how could he find her? How would he know? Well, with Laura gone, he’ll have plenty of time to find out.

This time the phone rang. He quickly looked at it before answering. It was Michelle. “What?” he yelled into it.

“Karl? Where are you? Laura’s been looking for you. Didn’t you get my texts?” she rattled off.

“Oh, so you were the one that texted me from her phone,” he said.

“Yeah. But she is trying to get you. Where are you? Where have you been?” She said.

“Oh, yeah. I stopped by my storage unit,” he said, “I thought I’d look for a few things.”

“What? You still have that?” she asked.

“Yeah, I found a lot of interesting things here,” he replied.

“Well, I’m going to let her know where you are.”

“Fine,” he said, “I guess I’ll talk to her when she gets here.”



He hung up the phone and wondered, briefly, what he was going to say to Laura when she got there. Did he really want to tell her that he spent the day thinking about old girlfriends? Or should he tell her that he finally came to terms with her decision to move out of state for her promotion? That he was ready to be single again?

Maybe Laura gave up just as much as he did when they got married. Her dreams were professional. She never pretended they weren’t. Her goals have always been climbing the corporate ladder. It was kind of odd that they would be the one’s to take it this far. Perhaps he was so sick of getting shots on the shoulder when he wore his heart on his sleeve that he went with someone who didn’t go there with him. Love stories, power ballads, poems, she had no interest in these things. He safely left his emotional side on a shelf and it never got hurt there.

But now that she was choosing this promotion and a move out of state over their marriage, that meant he would be back out there. He would be looking for someone to help him bring that off the shelf, and love him. It’s no wonder he never made a mixed tape for Laura. He would never know what songs to add. She was very calm, cool and collected. She never needed him to dramatically express his love for her. She never complained about not enough spice, or too much spice, in their life together.

Karl suddenly realized that the boom box had stopped playing. He went over and opened the cassette door. He found that the boom box was eating the tape. He thought maybe this was for the best. Wherever this tape came from, it seemed to bring up more painful issues then good feelings. Maybe these beautiful women who hurt him so badly were not the answer he was looking for. Love should be love, not pain, not drama.

He gently pulled the tape out of the machine and began unraveling what he could of it. Laura walked in just as he was placing the fixed tape back into the machine.

“Wow,” she said, “looks like there a lot of things we can throw out.”

“What?” he said, “Yeah, I guess.”

“What are you working on there?” she asked, pointing at the boom box.

“It’s an old tape I found,” he said, “with some…Interesting songs on it.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah. So I hear you want to talk.” He said.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “I’ve been running around talking to everybody today. I wanted to talk to you before you heard it from someone else.”

“What’s that?”

“I got that promotion,” she said.

“I know,” he said, confused, “haven’t we been talking about that for weeks?”

“Yeah, yeah, we have.” She said, “But what I mean is I got the promotion here at the local office. I don’t have to move.”

Karl, looked up at her. Just for good measure he hit the play button on the boom box. Without saying anything he walked over to her while the tape finished Bryan Adams’ song.

“That’s great news,” he said. “So we’re, you know, we’re good, right?”

“How can I convince you, that what you see is real?” she sang to him.

“What?” he asked, stepping back.

“The song you’re playing, silly. It’s Survivor ‘The Search is Over’.” She said, pulling him close to her. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good. You know this song?” He asked.

“Oh Yes. A boy once gave me a mixed tape that had this and all sorts of songs on it. I must have listened to it every night for a year.”

Karl looked back over his shoulder at the boom box, wondering if it could be. Then he decided it was best not to say anything. He walked with Laura to the door.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I need all of this junk anymore. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start cleaning it out.”

“Well let me know what I can do to help. Maybe I’ll find that old tape around here." Laura said.

“Yeah,” said Karl, “maybe.”



END

MIXED TAPE Part 2

"I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday" – Jim Steinman
"Memories may be beautiful and yet, what's too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget" –Barbra Streisand
***********************************************************************************

'This has to be a joke', Karl thought. 'Me? Rick rolled in my own storage unit? Now I know this isn't a tape I made.'

But, all alone, and in the sentimental mood he found himself in, he started singing along to the Rick Astley song that had become the surprise destination for many "must click" emailed links.

"Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you"

The song put him in a good mood. He figured whatever demons of relationships past he dug up from this tape, it was all over now. Who knows what it was about, but he was pretty sure this wasn't one of his mixed tapes.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket letting him know he had received a text. He pulled it out and read the text from Michelle, Laura's sister. Laura was looking for him, to talk. Oh yeah? He thought. 'If Laura is looking for me, why isn't she texting me?' But, of course, he knew the answer to that. Laura was not the texting type. Everyone knew that if they wanted to get a message to her, they would have to call, email, or text Karl. All of her friends became his friends on the Social Network sites because she never saw the need to be on them. It was a joke shared by many, she wasn't afraid of any of these forms of communication, and she was by no means too dumb to learn them, she just wasn't interested.

So she wanted to talk. Karl looked at the text for an answer. He cleared the screen and was about to give Laura a call. However, instead of dialing her number, he fell into the rocking chair and pushed his closed fists into his eyes.

"Swaying room as the music starts
Strangers making the most of the dark
Two by two, their bodies become one.
I see you through the smoky air
Can't you feel the weight of my stare?
You're so close, but still a world away…"

Now this was crazy. There was no way anyone would know about the meaning behind this song. If it weren't for the juke box in the ice cream place he worked in as a kid he probably wouldn't have even known this song.

It was the summer after senior year, and for the first time he felt truly alone. This town that meant so much to him growing up, wasn't big enough anymore. People were leaving. Friends were leaving. They were getting ready for college far away and he was staying behind. He believed that there would always be time to 'get his act together' but there was no more time. He missed it.

Now he would have to work twice as hard to survive. He'd have to find a way to save face and be respectable despite being left behind. He wanted to write, people always told him that Karl Ardsley sounded like a writer's name. He had shown some skill, both in school and writing poems to woo girls. But without college, without guidance, he had no idea where to go to get his writing career started. He had to find something to keep him busy and make some money while figuring this out. He was feeling terribly alone.

Serrano's Ice Cream Shoppe was a great place with a terrible location. It had the warm feeling of an old fashioned ice cream parlor. Mama Serrano decorated the place in a comfortable, stay-awhile fashion that made people love to do just that. Karl got into talking to Mama one afternoon and before he knew it she had hired him on.

As assistant manager it was Karl's job to open the store each day except Wednesday and Sunday. He would turn the ice cream machine on in the back, so it would be ready when Mama came in, and he would take the days flavors out of the walk in freezer for the front counter. He also plugged in the jukebox that kept all the kids happy while their parents waited in line to get their frozen concoctions.

Around 10:30 every morning a group of women would come in, still dressed in their country club tennis outfits and order coffee or iced tea and frozen yogurt. To Karl it was always funny how the same women came in everyday at the same time, but for the most part they hardly acknowledged each other. As if they had an unwritten rule, "I didn't see you and you didn't see me (at the ice cream place before noon)."

One woman in particular stood out among the rest. Hilda Woodbury was in her early forties and had been in a well publicized car wreck, which left her walking with a cane. Her unfortunate malady, however, only seemed to add an accessory to her wardrobe as she still appeared tremendously fit and was always in good spirits with Karl. Yet, there was a sort of aloofness to her, and she always sat apart from the other early morning visitors. Karl wondered why she still wore the tennis outfits when she obviously couldn't play anymore.

One rainy morning Karl was running late and still had not turned the jukebox on when he saw Hilda's Volvo pulling into the parking lot. Not that she would need it on, but he didn't want to deal with some whiny kid if they happened to come in while he was waiting on Hilda.
On his way over to the jukebox, he either tripped or slipped and ended up bumping the machine. This caused Mama Serrano's stuffed bunny, "Eddie Rabbit", to fall behind the jukebox. When he plugged in the jukebox it immediately began to play. Someone had obviously not gotten their moneys worth the night before. Karl picked up Eddie Rabbit and popped up so fast he startled Hilda who then took a misstep with her cane and fell into his arms. He held her tight and they began to sway, in the middle of a rain storm, listening to Madonna sing, "Crazy For You".

Karl couldn't believe his ears. His eyes, meanwhile, stole a glance at the motorcycle helmet he should have been wearing that fateful day he injured his brain. The doctors warned him that he might forget some things, or there might be changes in his behaviors or attitudes, but he's never noticed a thing. Now he was wondering; if he did make this tape, could he have just forgotten who he made it for? Was it possible that he meant to give it to someone and…and…but who?

If he found the tape in this boom box, which was in the apartment box, he would have had to have made it something like 20 years ago! How could he remember Gail's favorite perfume, or Hannah's blue earing that she gave him in his Good-bye book from Decatur House, but he can't remember who the intended recipient of this tape was?

His musing was once again distracted by his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and read the text. This time, to his unbelief, the text was from Laura herself.

It read: Call Me I need to talk to U

He wondered who she got to help her send it.

MIXED TAPE Part 1

By Liam Patrick Powell, Sr.


Dedicated to the givers and receivers of Mixed Tapes everywhere, especially those who have inspired me to make a tape.
******************************************************

"If I could keep time in a bottle," – Jim Croce
"What do memories bring but Diamonds and Rust?" Joan Baez (and Judas Priest)
**********************************************************************

Karl worked his way through the storage space he'd been renting. He stopped and stroked his golf bag. Spring could never arrive soon enough. But then, he could wait. This Spring held more change then he cared to face. If only it were as simple as getting the clubs ready. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
He looked around the space again, and was caught by a few other items that brought back memories. His motorcycle helmet was there, shiny and black, almost new. And that's how it would stay. Even five years after the accident that nearly took his life, he still couldn't get on a bike. He spun his head quickly even knowing that he wouldn't find what his mind sought. The Yamaha didn't survive the crash. The only things he had to memorialize his time as a 'motorcycle enthusiast' were the helmet he should have had on that day, and the box it sat on. The box was filled with classic Harley parts that he was no longer going to build but couldn't get rid of.
"Huh," he said. Thinking that's what most of these boxes contained. Things he gave up on but couldn't get rid of.

While he was disappointed that he did not start saving important things until his twenties, in the twenty years that followed, he managed to amass quite a collection. Some of the boxes were clearly marked "sports" or "CD's". Others were marked with places, "Townhome" referred to the townhome he and Laura owned when they moved in together. Chronologically, this box would fall between the box that read, "Lake St" for his apartment there and the box that had "Highland Dr." written on it in Laura's strict, straight letters.

It was to the box that held his apartment memorabilia that he now headed. The last time he was single these were the things he thought were so important. Maybe there will be a clue in here that will tell him how he should act going forward. It's been a long time; he might need a refresher course.

The box smelled of aged cardboard. Dust flew as he pulled the tape from the seam. Across the top of the contents was certificate with his name written on it.

On October 28, 1988 "Karl Ardsley" Has successfully

completed the Treatment Program at Decatur House.

He picked up the yellowing form and read it over a couple of times. It had been years since he'd even considered a drink or any kind of street drug, but somehow, this paper was not important. He didn't immediately want to toss it, but he just didn't identify with it. As far as significance, it could have had someone else's name on it.

Not that he didn't remember treatment. All things considered it was probably a good thing he went. Twenty years of sobriety later and it's hard to tell if he ever wanted what they had to offer or if he just wanted to be someplace where they fed him. One thing he was good at, was becoming whoever he needed to be when someone promised care in return. Is that how it was with Laura? Had he just put on a mask to please her? No. She once loved him exactly as he was, he just was never too sure who that was.

Under the certificate he found more treatment memorabilia. There were sobriety coins, his NA book, signed by people he met along away, and a small collection of letters from people he stayed in touch with after they all moved on. The first few letters showed the same curly handwriting. These were from Hannah, a girl who had been at Decatur at the same time as Karl. They had become very good friends while in the house together. Due to a "no relationship" rule in the house and a recent controversy where two members were kicked out of the program for having a relationship, Karl and Hannah decided to not let that happen to them. They grew to really enjoy each other without so much as holding hands. On his last day, as he left the house they only hugged briefly and he gently kissed her on the forehead, promising they would stay in touch.

They stayed in touch through these letters, and as he opened the top one he enjoyed reading it as much as he did when he recieved it. The letter said that she was getting ready to finish her time at Decatur and wondered if he would be able to see her before she was flying back to Kentucky. She had received the mixed tape he had sent her and listened to it every night in the common room with Shawn and Shelly. He smiled as he remembered that tape.  It was quite a variety of songs he had chosen to express his undying love for her. From "Cherish" by the Association to Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" appeared on this tape. The best part was that he had a dual deck boom box with a microphone. So between every song he could play DJ and let her know why each song was chosen, and how it said what he couldn't. He smiled at the letter in his hand, but suddenly winced as if hit by a terrible shock.

"That," he said to the empty space, "was a long time ago."

And it was true. Nearly 20 years. And it still hurt him a little to think about it. Sure there had been other girlfriends after Hannah, and some were damn serious, but she still hung on him. He'd found out recently that she had been married and divorced. He wondered heartily, if he were to blame.
They had one romantic week in between states when they both returned for a Decatur House reunion. Nervous, he called her the day before his flight was to land. He had only one question, and by the time he was able to get it out, she answered like she was prepared for it.

"Of course you can kiss me at the airport!" she laughed.

"Well, I wasn't sure," he stammered, "I mean, we've never kissed before and I don't want to think that I am being too pushy."

"Oh doll," she said. "You don't have to worry about being pushy. I love you so much."

"And I love you, Hannah. I can't wait to hold you. And finally kiss you. "

No longer controlled by the restriction that kept them apart while residents at the house, they used every free moment to be alone together. They moved like perfection. It was as if each letter and phone call had somehow revealed to them exactly what to do when they were at last together. But despite it all, it was only a week. All the promises they made to continue their love affair forever now looked foolish to Karl, sitting in the storage space looking at a letter from twenty years ago. What the recipient of that letter didn't know, that the older version did, was that he and Hannah would never see each other again.

Why? Why didn't he just get on a plane or a bus or hitchhike to Kentucky? They never officially "broke up". There were no fights or hurt feelings. Time just moved too fast. He moved in with some other residents of Decatur House and she left home in Kentucky to live with an aunt in Indiana. This was before the time of cell phones and email, and staying in touch was a lot more difficult. Eventually they just moved on. Whether either of them really wanted to or not.

Karl threw the stack of letters back inside the box. If this was what being single was like, it's no wonder that he chose Laura over this for so long. Like it or not, however, he was going to go back there. He hoped that age will give him better perspective and he thought, if he ever met another Hannah, he'd never let her go.

The rest of the box was filled with composition notebooks with there black and white marble covers, a couple of cassettes labeled "Guns and Roses" or "Ult. Manilow". He laughed at his eclectic taste. He had cassettes for every genre and taste. He loved Public Enemy and Hall and Oates. He often told his friends that there was a right time for every kind of music. "You know what I love?" Karl told his friends, "When Stairway to Heaven just comes on the radio. You know what I mean? I mean not part of any special or countdown or anything. You're just driving along and right after the Hardware Hank commercial you hear it come on. At that moment you are sharing the song with everyone else who just happens to have it on. That, to me, is more special than playing Stairway over and over again because I love Led Zeppelin and I don't listen to anything else."

Besides, he thought, having all this music around made it easier for him to find the right songs to put on a mixed tape. You never know when you're going to need a Barbara Streisand song, or L. L. Cool J rap, to get the point across. The truth is sometimes he couldn't find the right words. It was good enough if he could copy the guy or gal who did find the right words. "I'll be with you darling, soon, I'll be with you when the stars start falling." Not a lyric Karl would have thought up, and even if he did, he didn't have Eric Clapton accompanying him in the presentation. Yeah, you really needed a lot of songs around to make a good mixed tape.

Karl noticed an old boom box alongside the cardboard box he was digging through. With all these tapes around, he figured he'd plug in the boom box somewhere and listen to them while he worked. He carried the box over to the shelf they had built into the side of the storage unit and plugged it in. He found one of his favorite tapes in the box, Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell, but when he popped open the door to put it in, another tape was already in there.

Karl pulled the tape out of the door and looked at it. It was surely one of his mixed tapes, but it had no indication on the label. To avoid confusion, and mistakenly giving Carla a tape meant for Jessica, he always wrote their name on it, or in the least case initials. Something so he could keep it straight. But this label was very definitely blank. Finally, realizing that he must have lost his marbles a little bit, he figured that there was no name on it because he never made the tape and it was still blank. Just to be sure, he pushed the door closed and hit play. After the typical cassette hiss he heard a familiar bass line.

Straight from the Luther Vandross collection, Never Too Much began playing. Karl sat down and smiled, shaking his head. Oh yeah, he thought, Marissa. In fact she was the one who introduced him to Luther, a long, long time ago. They were friends that summer, the last one before he went to Decatur House. Marissa and Karl met through her brother who Karl hung out with often, even though they had known each other their whole life, Bradline was a small town compared to most of the suburbs, but Karl and Marissa never really spent time together before he got stranded at her house one day.

Her brother, Brian, and Karl were pooling together money they had found, swindled, borrowed or flat out stole from various sources to get some beer for that night. When Jinx, an older kid, came around to pick them up, Karl stayed back and waited for the two of them to bring the beer back. Karl walked out and saw Marissa tanning on the deck of their pool.

"Hey, you got a smoke?" he asked her.

"Another one of my brother's grubbing friends," she replied. "Yeah, go ahead and grab one. There on the table."

Then, as an after thought she added, "And bring me the suntan lotion."

While he was extremely timid at first, he could hardly say no when she just about told him to put the lotion on her shoulders and back. Even though nothing ever came of it, when Brian and Jinx failed to return with the beer, the two of them were talking like they had been friends forever.

When the subject of conversation turned to music, Karl felt like he was on very solid ground, but he hadn't listened to or heard of much of the music Marissa kept bringing up. Their friendship lasted for two weeks, until her boyfriend said that Karl was hanging around too much. While it wasn't much of a "break-up" they had truly never been more than friends, Marissa gave Karl the Luther Vandross tape and told him, "When you find that girl, just park someplace and put in this tape. Trust me." She smiled at him like an older sister giving away pearls of wisdom, and turned and walked away.

The whole time they were spending days together, Karl always felt she was preparing him for something, but was never quite sure what. He just loved being seen with an "older woman" and even with nothing going on between them, it was great for the rumor mill if people thought there was. He knew where he stood with her, but he never understood why.

After the "break-up" he started thinking more about her. Damn, she was beautiful. Did she always have that flirty, cute smile? He wondered how he could have spent so much time with her and not have noticed any of the things he noticed afterward. And, every time he played Luther he thought only of her. He would dream of one day when he'd say to her. . .

Well, who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar
I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holler
Love is a gamble and I'm so glad that I'm winnin'
We've come a long way and yet this is only the beginnin'

Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)
I just don't wanna stop

But – that wasn't really Karl's destiny. When she got pregnant during her Senior year of High School, no one was surprised. This alone didn't stop Karl's infatuation with her, but when she ended up marrying her boyfriend of a long time, Karl let her go. They ended up having a long, happy life together and raised some great kids. She might not have ever thought of it again, but to Karl, they always had Luther.

But all this was a couple years before the Lake Street apartment. Why would he have been thinking about a high school crush? No. Whoever this tape was for, it wasn't Marissa. Then who? He wondered.

The tape itself was willing to provide an answer with the next song, but instead of making things clearer it only became more confusing. As soon as it started, Karl smirked. "Every time I think of you, I always catch my breath," John Waite sang through the speakers of the boom box in the back of the storage unit. "And I'm still standing here, and your miles away. And I'm wondering why you left."

The smirk dissolved as the song went on. This was a very special song for Karl. Other then this mystery tape that he uncovered he had only used it on one mixed tape ever. At first he thought it might give the wrong impression. "What if Gail took it the wrong way? Like he was saying he was over her? 'I ain't missing you.'"  When Karl added it to the tape he meant it the same way of the song writer. He was missing Gail, his heart was broken.

When they met, Gail was dating Karl's friend. But they had not been dating long, and Karl was not the cause of the break up. Karl did think his friend was showing a great deal of weakness when he saw how distraught he was after the break up. From what Karl knew of Gail at the time, he surmised that she was a good-hearted person. The kind who would say, "Well still be friends," and you really would still be friends. As Karl got to know her, his admiration for her kindness, patience and care only grew.

After only a few dates, Karl was certain that this was the one. He never doubted that one day he would marry Gail. And she never gave him any reason to check that thought. They never went through typical romance. They gave each other their hearts so openly that there were never any fears to overcome or love to win or prove. It was simple and sustainable.

They quickly became the popular couple among their friends. Karl often heard friends say that they wanted something "like you and Gail have." And that admiration from their friends never grew into jealousy. Everyone was more likely to see the two of them through the success of the relationship than try to drag them down. In retrospect, Karl realized that maybe the fact that their relationship became such public property led to its ultimate demise.

Karl and some friends had rented a house for the summer of 1989. He and Gail continued to see each other often, but the house was not as close to hers as his apartment had been. With four men in their twenties living together, the house quickly became a nonstop party. Maybe their were too many girls around, or just the right girl wasn't around enough.

Karl had been trying to get a hold of Gail for several days with no luck. He left her countless messages, but they all went unreturned. He spent his time wondering if this Ideal Relationship wasn't so ideal after all. His roommates began encouraging him to move on. The very guys who envied his relationship with Gail were now telling him the healthy thing to do was throw it away.

He was hurting and confused. Maybe it wasn't so ideal. Maybe he was just lazy and didn't want to "play the field" anymore, so he decided this would be the last one. The lasting one. And now he had to realize that it wasn't. He wished Gail would call and let him know what happened, what changed. He wanted to know what he could do to bring her back. But he was feeling so broken and frightened that he thought she might tell him there is nothing he can do, or worse, that she found someone else.

He finally gave up trying to get in touch with her, and eventually succumbed to spending time with the constant party at the house. The first night he met a girl. She had bleached white hair and too much make up.
Leaning against the back wall of the storage unit he tried to remember her name, but he couldn't. It wasn't much, just a five minute kiss on the couch, but it was enough to ruin everything. Even if everything was ruined already.

The next morning, hobbled with guilt, Karl tried again to get in touch with Gail. This time she answered.

"H-Hey, we have to talk," he said.

"Yeah, we do. Are you guys going to the park tomorrow night?" she asked.

"Maybe. But Gail, we need to talk before then. Where have you been for two weeks?"

"Work. And school. I've been in school during the day and working every night."

"But for two weeks? We really need to talk." He began pacing back and forth.

"We will, I have a lot to say." She responded.

"Gail," he said desperately, "I guessed a girl last night! And I feel guilty as hell about it today! If you want it to be over, tell me, but don't just ignore me. I don't know what's going on!"

"You pig!" she screamed, "I'm not breaking up with you. I'm pregnant." And she slammed down the phone.

They met immediately and Karl was filled with hope and wanted to start a family right away. He moved to an apartment near her house, hoping to fix things with Gail and raise this baby together and make everything perfect. But he was sadly ill-prepared for this sort of undertaking. He hadn't had a job in a long time, he was living off the mercy of his friends, he was in a state far from any family, and he didn't even have a driver's license. No, despite this maddening dream he had to make everything right, he just didn't have what it took to fulfill it. Besides that, Gail wasn't so interested in following this path.

While explanations were given and apologies made, they never really reunited. In fact, while she was still pregnant she began dating another member of their group of friends. Karl began withdrawing more, always wondering why she left. Their friends were quickly her friends and he didn't know where to go or who to turn to. He sat out on the balcony of his apartment listening to her mixed tape. And whenever he'd see her coming across the parking lot he would turn it up loud.

"There's a message, in the wires
And I'm sending you this signal tonight
You don't know, how desperate I've become
And it looks like I'm losing this fight
In your world I have no meaning
Though I'm trying hard to understand
And it's my heart that's breaking
Down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all…"

But that tape was delivered. He assumed it was never listened to, but he knew it was delivered. He turned off the boom box in the storage unit and spun around looking at all the stuff he had there.

"WHAT?" he yelled at the boxes of memories. "Is this supposed to tell me something? Or is it just reminding me that failed relationships are the only kind I have ever had?"

He plopped down on an antique rocking chair that Laura bought once on a whim with the promise that one day they'd restore it. But that day never came.

He eyed the boom box, now sitting quietly on the shelf, as if it were an animal of some kind. Karl looked at it like he half expected the music player to jump up and attack him.

"Oh, man. This is crazy," he muttered, "I gotta get over this."

He approached the boom box and turned it on.

"What's next?" he asked as he pressed the play button.

Day Three for Me

When a major holiday like Christmas or the Fourth of July falls on a Friday or Monday, people are likely to try to get the following day or preceding day off.  They want to stretch out their three day weekend into a four or five day weekend.  After all, many of us do not go to work because we like to, we go to work to earn days off and, maybe, some money to spend on those extra days.
So, when the governing body of the State of Minnesota couldn't get it together enough to stay open, and closed on July first, I admit I looked at it as a "free day".  Sure it was bad not getting paid for that Friday, but it really seemed like just another day off. Not only that, but with the Fourth on Monday, it was like a 4 day weekend. Hooray! Right? But that was then.
Today is Wednesday the 6th. and while it is also the 6th day of the government shut down, it is only the third day I would have gone to work, if it were open.  Well, if it were open and I was feeling well and the kids didn't have any illnesses or appointments or we weren't using a vacation day to go to Valley Fair or visit Grandpa and Grandma at the lake.  I think the way to put it best is like this: Today is the third I would have chosen to go to work, if that choice were mine.  And that's the thing, isn't it?  They took that choice away from me and from 21,999 or so, other folks.
We still got paid. And we will again. Being that the state runs its paychecks two weeks behind, we got paid on July first and will again get paid on July 15th.  It's almost like getting paid to do nothing, right? WRONG. Because when they call us back to work and, hopefully, they call ALL OF US back to work, it will be like working for nothing until we get caught up again. Oh yeah, and since we were laid off on July 1st, we were technically NOT employees on July 4th, so we don't get holiday pay for that day.
This is not feeling like an extra-free-day-vacation anymore.  The shed is cleaned and organized. The garage is next. I've written, or at least started one story, and I've found my blog again. Big Deal. Believe it or not, I'd rather have gone to work and earned days off than be given days off. Choice is everything. I'd like to have mine back.  

My first mobile blog post