Green Papaya

New Year's Cowboy

2012-01-01T21:05:00.001-06:00

The last day of 2008 arrived with a brisk cold wind and bright azure skies. The weather report said to expect an arctic blast sweeping down from Canada later in the evening. As always the weather lady reminded us to observe the four P's. Take precaution with your pipes, plants, pets, and people. It was like a nursery rhyme in my head that I couldn't quite shake. I found myself saying it even during the summer months. Someday I'm going to write that weather lady and tell her to stop with the damn cute comments, but for now I had bigger plans to attend to.
You could say I'm in the golden years of my life. I spent the last thirty years married to my job. My business card read:
Jackson Hunt
Senior Petroleum Engineer/Technical Advisor
Gallant Oil Company
Houston, Texas
Working fifty to sixty hours each week as a petroleum engineer left me little time to become attached to anyone. I had passed up the chance for any long term relationship in exchange for a demanding job. Working my way up the ladder of success from the oil boom of the early 80's in the Texas panhandle to earn money for an engineering degree and finally retiring as senior engineer for a large oil company based out of Houston left me a single man. I had done well, made incredible money, but here I am lying in bed on the last day of 2008, and not wanting to crawl out from under the blanket to open the curtains and let in the morning sun. I realized soon after retirement that I wanted, actually needed someone to share my world. I longed for someone to love.
I thought about the weather report and the cold blast of air coming down from Canada, and for an instant almost talked myself out of plans that I had begrudgingly made for later in the evening. I really didn't like social gatherings, but I had promised Ray Porter, an old friend, that I would come to his New Year's party and stay over the night. Ray had done very well for himself in real estate, and he and his wife Barb had a beautiful oceanfront home in Galveston. It would be nice I thought to celebrate the new year overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, albeit no love interest to share it with. Well, enough with self pity I thought as I crawled out of bed and made my usual breakfast of coffee and cinnamon toast. At that moment the telephone rang. I could see from the call ID that it was Ray, probably calling to remind me of the party tonight. "Morning Jack, how are you this fine day?" "Ray, I was just thinking of you and Barb. How is your beautiful wife?" "Oh she is fine Jack, she just wanted me to remind you of the New Year's even bash we are having for a few of our closest friends tonight. You will coming aren't you?" Now was my chance to back out, but I thought that the least I should do would be to show up and greet the new year in style, so I replied, "I wouldn't miss it for the world Ray. By the way, you mentioned there were going to be other closest friends invited, that doesn't mean you and I aren't best friends anymore , does it?" "Oh, no Jack, it's Barb's friend from California. She recently divorced and she and Barb have been emailing each other lately and reconnecting. She was actually Barb's roommate for a couple of years when she attended the University of Texas in Austin. I thought I had mentioned her to you before Jack. Well it doesn't matter; you'll get to meet her tonight. I'll see you at seven, and remember you are our guest to stay over for the night." "OK Ray, I'll remember to bring my teddy bear and blanket, I'll see you at seven."
The drive from Houston to Galveston was quicker than usual. Not much traffic I thought, and then I realized it was the holidays, and most offices are closed. People are home with their loved ones today I thought. There I go again feeling sorry for myself. Arriving at the residence of Ray and Barb's I was impressed with the elegance of the Spanish architecture all the way from the private gate past the carefully manicured landscape, and up to the veranda of the grand home. Barbara met me at the door with a big hug and a kiss and called to her husband, "Raymond, some old cowboy dragged himself up to the door looking for a drink. You better get down here quick because he looks awful thirsty!" I couldn't recall the last time I had been kissed by a beautiful woman, and it reminded me of an empty space in my life. No time for melancholy moods I thought as I saw Ray coming down the stairway. "Hey Jack you old roustabout, come in and make yourself at home. It's been a long time, too long. Let me take you out to the back deck and show you a view of the Gulf that will leave you breathless. Oh, and by the way, there's someone I want you to meet." Barbara giggled with delight as she followed both of us outside.
"Jack, let me introduce you to Ms. Sophie Ribault. Sophie is the owner and operator of her own French bakery in San Diego...what is the name of your bakery Sophie? Oh yes, I remember now, 'La Patisserie'. Sophie, this is Mr. Jackson Hunt, the infamous Jackson Hunt!" Sophie took my hand and with a big grin said, "Jack, may I call you Jack? I have heard so many wonderful things about you from Barbara; I am so pleased to finally meet you." Sophie looked like an angel, with an elegance and ease that endeared me to her from the moment she said my name. All I could do now was not say anything stupid. "Sophie, please do call me Jack, and I am honored to make your acquaintance. Barbara tells me how much you mean to her, and any friend of Barbara's is a friend of mine. So tell me Sophie, what brings you to Texas if I may ask?" Jack, it's a long story of me needing to be with those who care about me. Barb and Ray always supported me emotionally and I need their support now. You see my husband decided he didn't want to be married any longer, so he found a young Spanish senorita and took off for Mexico. I guess I saw it coming. It hadn't been a good married for a very long time, but I was so busy with the bakery that his leaving kind of snuck up and bit me on the butt, I take partial blame for it, but I do believe things will work out for the best. I'm sorry for talking so much Jack." Actually I was glad Sophie opened up to me, although I was so enamored with her appearance that I probably only heard every other word she said. I'm sure she said something about a bakery. "Ms. Ribault, if I may be so forward, I would be pleased to take you on a walk along the beach if you are interested." Mr. Hunt, I would be honored. I'll be ready in five minutes, I'll just need to grab a sweater, it's cold out tonight." I took the next five minutes grabbing a bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and a blanket. By the time I had my essentials we were off to the beach.
Sophie and I walked and talked about silly things, and before I realized it, we had been walking and laughing for more than an hour. "You know Jack, we must be three miles or four miles from the house, I think we should turn around. We need to be back to usher in the New Year with our hosts." As we headed back towards the house Sophie said, "So if I said I was cold now would you mind lending me that blanket you have been carrying around for the past hour?" I laughed, wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, and casually put my arm around her waist. "You know there is room enough in this blanket for even a big cowboy like yourself Jack, that is if you are interested." I may be a cowboy, but I wasn't stupid. I could take a cue just like a city boy, and with that Sophie and I began to grow closer. We made it back to Ray's home just in time to welcome in 2009. A champagne toast with good friends, and now a romantic interest made me feel like this was going to be a great year.
As we prepared to retire for the night, I kissed Sophie on the cheek. We both knew it was too early in our relationship to take it to another level, although we both knew it would come soon enough. "I'll see you in the morning Sophie...sweet dreams." With a smile as big as Texas Sophie replied, "I'll see you in the morning cowboy."
Lying alone in bed that night I recalled a quote from an old friend of mine, a real cowboy. He told me when I was first getting involved in the oil business, "Don't be afraid to go after what you want, and what you want to be, but be willing to pay the price for it all." At that moment I told myself that Sophie was worth it before drifting off into sweet slumber. That night I dreamed of Ms. Ribault and cinnamon toast.

Flip Flop Christmas

2011-12-26T21:21:00.005-06:00

It's raining, and has been all day. That's OK...we need it here in Pensacola. There is plenty of good food to keep us warm and in the house today. Lots of left over Christmas turkey. Precisely why turkey and dumplings was planned and prepared for dinner tonight.

I started putting the meal together this morning by stripping the turkey meat from the bones, then cooking the carcass sans meat, slowly to arrive at a condensed dark brown consomme. By 3 p.m. it was perfect. Next a mirapois of carrots, onion and celery were added, and finally, carefully rolled home made dumplings were dropped into the bubbling pot of goodness. Now the turkey meat was introduced into the broth. By 6 p.m. it was done.
That's when it happened. My wife who has been 'under the weather' and napping most of the day said, "I feel like pizza."
You think a protest from me would be in order, but oh no. I've been married too long for that. 'That dog don't hunt' is how it would be said where I come from. "I'll go to Pizza Hut honey!" There, I said it. Simple, quick, albeit somewhat painful. I mean the meal I prepared...the rain! Hey, wait a minute. If I go out to Pizza Hut I can wear my new Christmas flip flops! There are flip flops, and then there are cool flip flops.
So out in the rain and the chill and the dark to Pizza Hut I go. I started singing this to the tune of 'Over the River and Through the Woods to Grandmother's house we go. There we go, I'm in the Christmas spirit once again. When I arrived at Pizza Hut I ordered her favorite, 'Super Supreme pan pizza.' That's when it happened for the second time in less than an hour. "I'm sorry Sir, we are all out of pan pizza."
I didn't let 5 seconds pass, and then asked, "You do serve beer here don't you?" After an affirmative nod from the pimple faced boy behind the counter I asked him to bring me 2 drafts and set them down next to me at the PacMan machine situated by the door.
Forty minutes and several quarters later I remembered why I took up this holy mission to Pizza Hut in the first place. I drained the last few swallows from my pilsner glass and immediately began formulating an excuse for coming home late without that pizza pie.
Luckily for me a McDonalds was en-route on my way back home, and surprisingly it still has McRib on the menu. My wife and McRib go way back. Picking up that pork patty would be my ticket to freedom!
I arrived home an hour later with no pizza. The inquisition began.
"Where have you been?" "You smell like pizza." "Do I smell beer?" It's funny how these statements always seem to run together without giving you time to even explain things. After a few more direct all knowing indictments I took a deep breath and said, "Well you see...I know how much you love the McRib. Unfortunately, McDonalds has a new pizza burger that just came out. It's making it's debut tonight. Such a line of people to buy one too. It's crazy baby! The whole place smells of pizza."
I'll be eating SPAM for the next few days. Oh...I did tell you I got a new pair of flip flops for Christmas didn't I?

My Choosing

2011-12-23T20:38:00.000-06:00

I’m flying my flag on Christmas day,

and let me tell you why.

The reason is because I can…

So let Old Glory fly!

It’s a gift to me from those who served…

for those who stood the line.

A gift I proudly fly with pride,

for those who fought and died.

The stars and stripes on Christmas day

will fly so high and proud.

So when you pass on Twin Lakes Lane

shout “Freedom” strong and loud!

So Santa, if you lose your way

as Pensacola passes south,

just look out for Old Glory

to guide you to my house.

Thankful I can celebrate the birth of Christ which is my choosing. God Bless us all.

Twelve Things I Learned in 2011

2011-12-18T21:03:00.000-06:00

Dont' tell me about your 'Prostrate', until you learn to spell it correctly. And then don't tell me about it until you are at least fifty years old. I don't want to know.

You can't drink three beers without excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Don't hold grudges. Please don't. People get older, some get sick, some die. If you are mad, just let it go. You'll be a better person for it.

Karma lives and is at your door. If it's good let it in. If it's not, it will bite you in the ass.

Be a child with a child. You know you want to.

Suck your stomach in when you go to Walmart. There are too many people who don't. Someone will thank you for it.

A good morning kiss will set the pace for the rest of the day. If your significant other isn't going to initiate it, then it's up to you.

Begin the day with a prayer to God.

Give to those less fortunate even if it's only a smile.

Be true to yourself first.

Do not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do.

Yes, Virginia...there is...keep it going.

Crossing to Benzaitendo

2011-09-12T10:37:00.001-05:00

Benzaitendo is a temple named after the Hindu goddess Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, and creative arts.

I had the opportunity while living in Okinawa and then again visiting Okinawa in 2011 to visit the temple.
The temple was built in 1502, and houses ancient manuscripts gifted by the King of Korea to the King of the Ryukyuan Islands.
I hope you enjoy the picture and the accompanying poetry.

Crossing to Benzaitendo

A leap of faith, a step of hope,

crossing to Benzaitendo.

A traverse of an ancient moat

along a bridge of stone I go.

In search of bygone manuscripts

gifted from a long dead king.

The words were whispered from his lips.

“Behold the truth” an angel sings.

What secret will the words unveil?

Will I return a different man?

My eyes will see, my mouth will tell

the mystery of this ancient land.

In the center of the temple

lay the book upon a stone,

it’s binding frayed and simple,

it’s pages brown and over-worn.

As I read aloud with every breath,

the words passed down spoke loud and clear;

the joy of love, the pain of death,

the knowledge of five thousand years.

The wisdom of the erudite king,

to follow in his righteous plan.

It’s love, it's trust, it's everything.

It's how we treat our fellow man.

A choice to make, yes you must know,

to do your best and lend a hand.

Crossing to Benziatendo…

my journey to a foreign land.

A Gift From Angkor Wat

2011-09-10T20:32:00.007-05:00

A simple Buddhist pendant to wear around my neck is a small part of this blog. I have requested it from my sister who is in Cambodia. Her destination is Angkor Wat, once a Hindu temple built within a city, and then later a Buddhist temple. Angkor Wat is the largest religious building in the world. A temple of the highest order, a religious mecca. From this temple a simple Buddhist pendant lays wait with my name upon it. That's the small part of this story.

The larger chapter of this story is my journey into Buddhism. The steps along the way for me personally to remember and live within the moment. To remember to breathe and exhale with purpose, and to pay it forward. I constantly remind myself to live in the present. The past cannot be changed, and the future is not to worry over, as only the present will guide my steps into the future.

A cup of tea, a clear mind, and living my life in a way that is beneficial to myself and the universe is my choosing. That is the larger chapter in my life. How many chapters I have left is unimportant. If asked what Zen is, I will reply Zen is now. Zen is the coolness of the air I breathe in. Zen is the warmth of the air as I breathe out.

The Buddha will travel a long distance to find my necklace, his new home. My wish is that he is happy with me, and I with him.

A poem perhaps to reflect upon and close my blog for tonight.

The Nothingness of Tea

Now is all I have

as tea is in the making

unimportant past and future

leave me recalling Zen

Quietly exhaling the day in to air

no words need be spoken

between friends

who met by chance

The tea cup offered

thick green froth

steaming hot

rejuvenating my soul

Bittersweet warmth

kindness between friends

I realize

now is all I have

Sentient

2011-09-07T14:58:00.007-05:00

A butterfly visited me this morning by the pool. He stopped long enough to let me take his picture, then I gently cupped him in my hands and released him from the enclosed pool. I think he was tired because he didn't resist his capture. As he flew away he looked beautiful against the blue sky. Our host, my sister in law who is a devout buddhist, heard about my encounter and was happy to learn I released him. "Something good will come of this," she said.

El Barrio

2011-08-31T21:52:00.001-05:00

My name is Maria Marisol Fuentes. I am fifteen years old, well almost. I'll be fifteen next month. My home is New York City, El Barrio. You may know it best as Spanish Harlem. If you haven't already guessed, I'm Puerto Rican. This is my story.
I dropped out of public school when I was twelve years old and started work in a garment factory located on East 113th Street. I live with my Papa, an unemployed alcoholic. My Mama left us two years ago, and I have not heard from her since. The money I earn at the factory helps pay rent for our tiny apartment on Marin Boulevard. Each day that passes, I find myself more depressed and resigned to the idea that I will live and die in the barrio. I want more, and I have a plan to get out, but I will need help.
"It's 6:47 am, I need to walk faster. I've got to clock in by 7:00 am. I can't be late again!" As I made my way down Marin Boulevard, turning South on 2nd Avenue, and then arriving at the factory on 113th street, my feet ached from the fast pace I set walking into work. I thought, I've got to buy some new shoes as I grabbed my time slip and shoved it into the clock. "Ahh, 6:59, I made it!" Still too close for comfort, I thought. As I took my position at my sewing machine my body switched to autopilot while my mind took me to faraway places, like Florida... maybe Puerto Rico. San Juan would be so beautiful this time of year. Anywhere away from this dreary existence that I call home.
So as soon as my shift would begin, it would end. My fingers always ached from the endless repetitious task of attaching collars to the endless supply of shirts that would be pushed my way by the team of seamstresses. I had a quota of one thousand shirts a day. Within two months on the job I could not only meet one thousand shirts a day, but I could surpass that quota by another thousand shirts. I was paid three cents per shirt over my quota. So on a typical day I could earn an extra thirty dollars. To me that was my ticket out of the barrio. I didn't tell Papa about the bonus money. If he knew about it, he would drink it up within a week or two. Yes, my money was safely hidden beneath the floorboard of my bedroom. The money I have saved over the past two years now totaled exactly $15,200. When I find a way to leave Papa and the barrio, I will be gone....just like Mama.
I know my story sounds so dark and hopeless, but there are bright spots in my day. There is a young man at the factory who has been asking about me. He smiles at me, and spoke to me last week. He said "Hola Maria. Mi nombre es Tito Vázquez ." Since then I have learned that he has asked a lot of questions about me. I also have asked about him. I know he is twenty one years old, drives a nice car, and works in quality control at the factory. I also found out that he thinks I am pretty, and wants to ask me out on a date. The older Puerto Rican ladies in the factory are telling me to stay away from him. "He's a playboy," they say. "He's no good...you'll only get hurt" But I like him and if he asks I will go out with him. Although I am fourteen, I have yet to go on a date, or even have a boyfriend, so Tito and his attention intrigued me. I thought possibly I would have a way out of the barrio.
A week later while I was at lunch, Tito sat at my table and asked me on a date. "You know Maria, I was thinking it would be nice to see a movie with you, or if you want to go for coffee we could do that. If you are interested, that is." I thought for only a minute and agreed to meet him. Not at my apartment, but at the corner of Marin and Second Avenue. Tito agree, and told me to watch for a candy apple red Porsche 911. "I'll pick you up at 7pm Maria, watch for me OK?"
That evening before our date I pulled up the floorboard to my bedroom hiding spot and took all $15,200 and stuffed it into an oversized purse. I packed an extra set of clothes. My Papa was passed out on the sofa in the living room. I bent down and kissed him on his forehead and whispered "Goodbye Papa". I knew that when I left the room and closed the door behind me that I would never be back, and would never see Papa again.
Tito pulled up in the Porsche at 7pm. He got out and opened the door for me to get into the passenger side. "Tito, do you believe in God?" "Si, Maria...I do believe. Why do you ask me this?" I opened the bag and showed Tito the money.
"Let's get the hell out of this city," I said. Tito replied, "Si mi amor, si. You should buckle up, I have a very fast car."

Breathe and Smile

2011-08-01T18:26:00.003-05:00

I read a bit of Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Breathe! You are Alive, recently. Thich Nhat Hanh is a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who teaches calmness in the face of adversity. He has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in the past for his opposition to the conflict in Vietnam vs USA, and he is a great proponent for world peace. One of his main focuses is upon breathing and meditation. "Just breathe, and go slowly" is one of his mantras. Lord, I did try this afternoon while waiting in the line at Walmart, but I'm only human.
The two ladies in front of me were using a combination of WIC, Foodstamps, Cash, and Credit. If WIC wouldn't purchase their 3 gallons of milk, and foodstamps had already been used, they relied on credit. Unfortunately their credit card was rejected, and unfortunately for the line backing up, they couldn't come up with enough cash to purchase that extra gallon. So let's call her Madam A takes the milk back to the rear of the store while we all stare down Madam B and tisk tisk her. 5 minutes later Madam A returns with two candy bars and a bottle of water. The check out goes smoothly from there and it's my turn to check out my items. All 12 of them. I thought it would be easy.
Millie with 15 years at WalMart was the cashier. She wore that button proudly folks. I made mention of it as I put my first item on the conveyor belt. "Fifteen years, I said...you should be proud!" "No melons on the conveyor", came her terse reply. "We have a skew for them melons!" Dammit, breathe I thought as I took the watermelon off the belt and put it in my cart. My next item wouldn't fare any better. "What's this?", she said looking inquisitively at my bagged fish I had selected from one of the aquariums in the store. "It's a fish," I said. "I know it's a fish sir, but what kind of fish is it? I can't read the code...is that a 113 or a 118"?
"It's a 3", I said not really knowing if it was or not. I just wanted out of WalMart before I lost my temper.
Now, an hour and a half later I can sit down and really take a deep breath while sitting at home. I know I just returned from vacation only a few days ago, but somehow I feel a need for a little Jimmy Buffet and an ice cold drink.

Insatiable

2011-07-25T17:59:00.005-05:00

I did it in Italy

and quite often in Spain.

I've done it in sunshine

and once in the rain.

Some were quite primitive

and a few were quite grand;

but the most uncomfortable time

was when I did it in sand.

The spread of desire

lying in front of my eyes;

like a moth to a flame

I'm too old to tell lies.

The lure of the sweetness

the wine of my youth...

this seafarer's story

is nothing but truth...hmm!

Yes, picnics are wonderful

so filled with good food!

What else were your thinking?

Now isn't that rude!

Deep Space Juno

2011-07-07T18:42:00.001-05:00

Cocoa Beach, Florida was feeling more like home each day. Throughout the summer I had surfed at least a few times each week and I had made my mark with the local surfers that hung out around the pier at the end of Meade Avenue waiting for that perfect set of waves. Late August was turning out to be a special season in my life. I wasn’t the best of the local surfers, but I was certainly the oldest. I wore my age of fifty four on my sleeve, and I was the first to let the young kids know I was old enough to be their grandfather. I think this endeared me to most of the locals. I felt welcomed whenever I came down to the beach to hang out and surf.

I still had an intense interest in the current operations at NASA, and I kept in contact with my old supervisor Wally Hunt on a weekly basis. Wally was like my Dad. He had been at NASA I guess going on forty years. I knew he planned to retire in the next couple of years, but he stayed on despite his age. He must be about seventy years old I thought, but there was not a sharper mind on the Cape. Wally had seen the Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, and Shuttle programs all come through NASA while serving in one position or another. He was now in charge of the Constellation program. The Constellation program came about to replace the space shuttle which was due for decommissioning later in the year. The Constellation program was the most aggressive undertaking NASA had ever attempted. That is exactly why I had a keen interest in the Cape. I wished silently that I was still with NASA as I walked back from the beach to my condominium. There was nothing keeping me here except the beach. No family, no significant other. There was someone once, but she had her own life in the space program, and I didn’t want to stand in her way and ask her to give up her dreams. I would admire her from afar I thought. After all I still had her name inked on my chest. So in a way, I carried her with me wherever I went….in a very personal way I thought to myself. Arriving back at the condo I gave Wally a call and arranged to meet with him for a quick lunch the following day. “Hello Wally, it’s Papa. Let’s do lunch tomorrow at the NASA cafeteria. Maybe you can fill me in on the Constellation program. I would love to hear about the new Orion capsule. I might even catch a glimpse of you know who and let her know how I have been.” I could hear frustration in Wally’s voice as he replied, “Sure Papa, let’s do lunch. See you about noon. I’ll fill you in on the current news here."

The following day, I drove in to the Cape. I passed by the smart salute of the gate guard who recognized me from when I worked at NASA. I greeted Wally at the employee’s cafeteria. That’s when he let me in on some privileged information.“Papa, the Constellation program is on line. We are going to go with an early morning launch from a single booster Ares 1 rocket in four weeks. The President of the United States put this mission at the top of his priority. The Senate has funded the program in secret due to the sensitive nature of the program’s mission. The Orion capsule that we will be sending into space will be commanded by one astronaut, Major Bud Knight. It’s a four year mission Papa. A mission to Jupiter and back….did you hear me Papa? Papa, I said JUPITER!” It’s a mission to map the planet's magnetic fields, measure the amount of water and ammonia in the Jovian atmosphere and observe the auroras. Papa, I know you still have your Top Secret clearance, so grab your sandwich and follow me to my office will you?” My mind went numb, and I was speechless for almost a minute until I comprehended the entirety of what Wally said. “Jupiter? Wally, we haven’t even been to Mars! For God’s sake Wally, who in their right mind would be willing to give up four years of their life to go to Jupiter?” Then just as soon as I had asked the question, the answer came to me…..I would. I would be willing to go! Yes, I mean what is holding me here? I have no one to come home to. “Send me Wally! Don’t you see? I would be perfect for the mission. I know all there is to know about mapping magnetic fields, measuring atmospheric gases. Wally you have to let me be a standby. Please!” Arriving at Wally’s office, he closed the door and then proceeded to tell me exactly why Jupiter was on the President’s list of top priorities. “Papa, I don’t have to tell you the devastation that the Shoemaker-Levy 9 comet left on the surface of Jupiter. If the same thing happened to our planet, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking of space travel I can assure you that. The Hubble telescope has picked up a comet travelling along a path in the outer edges of our galaxy, and if our guys in operations are correct with their math, there is a ninety three percent chance that earth will suffer the same consequences as Jupiter in the fall of 2045. You do remember what happened to Jupiter’s southern hemisphere don’t you Papa? I don’t have to remind you that a three kilometer fragment of the Levy comet impacted with the force of six hundred million tons of TNT. That was enough to send a plume of space debris three thousand kilometers into the Jovian atmosphere. That was just one of the hundreds of the fragments that struck Jupiter that day. It would mean the end of earth as we know it Papa. That’s why we are pushing ahead with our launch to Jupiter. There is not a minute to waste. We need to know everything we can about the impact, the gases that persist in the Jovian atmosphere, everything.” “Wally, I want to go, please….put me on standby.” “Papa, I do owe you that much for what you did for NASA with the recent rescue of Sam on her ill begotten mission to Mars. I’ll let you know what the council decides after our meeting this afternoon. Don’t hold your breathe Papa, although I hear you are pretty good at it.” “Very funny Wally. Get back to me as soon as you hear anything. You know my cell.” On my drive back to Cocoa Beach I felt sick at my stomach knowing that there was a good chance all life on earth would end in approximately 36 years. I got home and opened up a bottle of Tequila I had been saving for a special occasion. I drank half of the bottle and went to bed.

At approximately 0630 the following morning I was awakened by my cell phone. I was too hung over to answer and I allowed it to take a message. At 0800 I awoke and saw the missed call was from Wally at the Cape. The message said, “Papa, get down to the Cape as fast as you can. Major Knight has broken his ankle in a fall. You are going to Jupiter my friend.” I put on my best pair of old jeans, jumped into my car and sped to the Cape. I flew by the smart salute of the gate guard and headed straight to Bldg. 1 where Wally and his team were waiting for my arrival. I felt like an old warrior being recalled to active duty. This was my calling.

“Let’s get busy, Wally said. First, an orientation of the command module Orion. That should take a couple of days, then the orientation to the Ares 1 booster, and then the orientation to the upper and lower stages of the command modules J2X engine. That’s the engine you will depend upon to put you into an orbit around Jupiter, and then put you in a trajectory for your return back to Earth. One more thing I haven’t mentioned Papa. If anything goes wrong during your mission, you have the option of placing yourself in cryogenic suspension. Now at this time, there is no way for science to bring you back if you choose this option, but maybe in the future, well….we don’t know.” “Wally, let’s get busy. I have a lot of catching up to do. This is definitely not the Lapin Blanc I’m dealing with.”

The following few weeks went by quickly. I spent every available second of my day learning the intricacies of the Orion and the Constellation Program. The operation finally had a name. It was Deep Space Juno. I had already gone deeper than any man with my recent dive to Challenger Deep on board the Alvin-2. Now I would go farther than any man had gone. I felt like an Olympian, ‘Citius, Altius, Fortius’…I thought well at least I have kept my sense of humor about it all. I felt good about the launch and my knowledge to accomplish the mission that was set before me. The only regret I had was leaving Sam. If only I could see her one more time before I left the grip of earth’s hold tomorrow. It was time to get some rest and I headed back to my quarters at the pre-launch barracks; a place that I had called home for the past few weeks.
I awoke at 0400 and was transported to the pre-flight holding area. I was fitted into my space suit. Wally entered the room before my helmet was secured onto the suit and offered me a double shot of tequila. Downing the tequila in a single swallow, I thought this would be the last taste of my favorite nectar for the next four years. I didn’t know what my future held. My condo sold, all my belongings were placed in government storage. I hoped someday to be back and claim my life once again, but for now it was all about Jupiter. “Let’s get this helmet on gentlemen”, I said. With those simple words, I was enclosed into the suit, my life, my destiny. A three mile transport out to the launch pad and I was taken up by elevator to the crew module and strapped in. The hatch closed and locked from the outside. Radio communications opened to the control center, and I heard the countdown commence. “T minus one minute and counting, all systems are go for launch of Operation Deep Space Juno.” My thoughts turned to Sam as I heard the deliberate countdown continue. “Four, three, two, one….we have ignition. We have liftoff of the Orion module with Commander Papa K. Pennebaker, commanding. God’s speed Commander. We’ll see you back in 2013.” The strong and unfamiliar push of the Ares I rocket engine gave me a full seven G’s of force pushing me hard back into the seat of the Orion capsule. The heads up display quickly went from sky blue to the dark black of space, and then the stars appeared as bright as I ever remembered. I was back in the saddle. It would be a full two years until I reached my destination of Jupiter’s southern hemisphere.

Hours became days, days became weeks, then months, then the anniversary of the launch arrived. I celebrated with a squeeze tube of American cheddar and something we called a ‘space wafer’ at NASA. Not bad food I thought especially since I’m two hundred million miles from the nearest McDonald’s. I thought this might be a great time to start singing ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, but then reality set in and I knew I had real work to do. I would play the alliteration game. OK, how many words can I come up with? This was a favorite between Sam and me when we used to get together for dinner. I had come up with a winner once. It went like this: Argentineans asphyxiate alcoholics around August and agitate Alaska, although apathetic Americans allow aggressive Argentinean attacks against Albania Alcoholics Anonymous agents attempt assaults against Argentina; amusing assholes, apparently! Alabaster ain’t allowed around Argentina anymore. The boredom overcame me daily. The highlight of my day was being awakened by the sound of mission control playing a goofy song; then again each evening I would get another. As I readied for sleep this anniversary night anticipating my song I got quite a surprise. “Commander Papa….Papa can you hear me, over?” It was Sam. I had not heard her speak since the summer of 2009. “Yes, yes….I hear you Lieutenant Sam. It’s great to hear your voice, over.” “That’s Lieutenant Commander Sam to you Commander, over.” “Congratulations Lieutenant Commander. I am very proud of you and your accomplishments. Did you have a big party, over?” “No Papa, my husband and I just stayed at home and had a glass of wine and nice dinner, over.” Husband? I didn’t know she married. I had no idea she was in a relationship. I was crushed, but knew it was my fault for not allowing her to know my true feelings for her. “That’s wonderful, I said. Hey maybe we can get together, all of us when I get back and do lunch…uh…over.” “Papa, that would be great…are you OK, over?” "Oh yeah, yeah, I’m just great, couldn’t be better. Hey I should go. You know…gotta get my sleep…busy day tomorrow, over.” “Roger that Commander, I’ll see you when you return, over.” With that the communication ended and I drifted off into a lonely restless sleep. I awoke the following day knowing for certain I had nothing to come back home to. I would risk completing the task of surveying Jupiter and it’s atmosphere with daring abandon. As long as my data was transmitted back to earth, I really didn’t care if I made it back home. This would be my final mission, I was certain of that.

One year turned into eighteen months, then twenty, then finally Jupiter loomed large in the heads up display. Two full years had passed since I launched at the Cape. I was ready to get down to work. This is why I had become an astronaut, what I had trained all my life to do. “Mission control, I am approaching the gravitational pull of Jupiter, firing retrograde J2X engine to facilitate merge into Jovian orbit.” “Roger that Commander Pennebaker, fire J2X upon mark…three, two, one, mark.” “Roger mission control, firing J2X." As I flipped the switch to slow the Orion by retro engagement, nothing happened. Again, I flipped the control switch to engage the J2X retro rocket, and again nothing happened. “Mission control, I have a negative engagement on the J2X, be advised that I cannot control the rocket from Orion control. Please remotely attempt to engage, over.”

“Commander Pennebaker, this is mission control. The Orion does not have this fail-safe option built in to it’s system. You will have to engage the engine from your end.” “Get me Wally Hunt now. Do you hear me? I want Wally Hunt now!” Less than one minute later I had Wally on the other end of my communication channel.. Four hundred million miles separated me and the Cape. I had never felt farther away from home in my life.

Wally came on the line, “Papa, it’s Wally. You’ll need to do what you can from the Orion module. There wasn’t enough time to build a remote fail-safe ignition system into the Constellation program. We put a rush on this one I’m afraid to say. The President wanted this launch as soon as possible. The command remote ignition was an oversight.. I’m so sorry.” “Wally, what am I going to do? I’m passing Jupiter as we speak. If I don’t slow down into Jupiter’s orbit I’ll continue out into deep space and end up dying of old age inside this craft. Wally, what am I going to do?” “Papa, I know you will do what you have to do. You have been in dangerous situations before and have always found a way out. Papa, if all else fails, you know you have the cryogenic suspension system on board. I’m not telling you to use it, but if you find yourself in a no win situation, you know it’s available.” "Wally, I understand. I’ll keep in contact with you via mission control, but before I sign off, what is the date?" “It’s November 23rd, 2011. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, Papa. We’ll say a prayer for you.” "Thanks Wally. Send Sam my love. This is Commander Papa K. Pennebaker..out."

The following six months passed by slowly as I continued on a trip far past my intended target. I was now approaching the outer edges of Earth’s solar system. What lay beyond was only seen by the Hubble Space Telescope. Mapping of this zone had not even begun, and I knew that once I entered there would be no rescue. I had decided that if rescue had not come by the six month mark, I would put myself into cryo-suspension. I had gone to a class back at the Cape in preparation of the liftoff to Jupiter and had learned the basics of cryo-suspension. I had to wear a special undergarment, then slip into a special gold foil suit and cover my eyes with a special darkened lens. Oh, and no metal could be touching my skin. No rings, necklaces, etc. All this in hopes of a deep space rescue one day, and by that time cryo-resusitation and neural preservation might be a reality.

I gave it all another month, and then with no hesitation, I prepared the cryo module to accept my body for the remainder of time. My best guess was that I would go to sleep and never awaken. At this point in my life it almost sounded good. I disrobed from the routine module garment that I wore on a typical day, and slipped into the special suit I would wear until I was found. I almost forgot to remove the crucifix I wore around my neck in honor of my guardian angel, Natividad. Where was she when I needed her the most I thought? Maybe she was angry at me for not telling her granddaughter how I truly felt about her. Maybe she was angry at me because I was a Buddhist. Whatever the reason, it seemed I would not be rescued by her this time. Maybe it was finally my time, and I would meet with her on the other side. That’s it, I thought. It must be my time. I removed the crucifix from around my neck and tossed it into the module cabin. I figured I would never need it again. I lay down in the cryo module, flipped the switch to turn on the system, and went to sleep.

Star Date 2032. USS Regal Empress patrolling the outer quadrant of the Pegasus constellation, near the position of star Pegrasi-51. “Captain, you are wanted on the bridge. We are picking up a distinct rhythmic pulse coming from the orbit of Pegrasi-51.” “This is the Captain, I’ll be right up.” Within minutes, Captain John Kelly was on the bridge discussing the rhythmic signal with the watch officer. “Skipper, we have been picking up this audio signal for the past 20 minutes. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s probably nothing, but I would suggest a closer look.” “Good work Ensign Parker, takes us in closer and let’s see if the signal changes, and if we can get a visual on its origin.” “Aye-Aye, Sir. Navigation, thirty degrees port, half speed, quarterdeck up visual display." Within five minutes Captain Kelly knew exactly what the origin of the rhythmic ping was. “Come to dead speed. Maintain visual on craft”, came the orders from Captain Kelly. “Ensign Parker, hail NASA on secure clearance and put it through to my cabin.” “Aye-Aye Sir.” When the Captain reached his wardroom he had a shocking surprise for NASA. “This is Captain Kelly, Commanding Officer of the USS Regal Empress. Let me speak with whoever is in charge at NASA.” “This is Gus Crawford at NASA, you are speaking to him. What can we do for you Captain?” “Mr. Crawford, we have located the lost Orion capsule in the Pegasus constellation. It is intact, and emitting an audio signal. What do you want us to do with your spacecraft?” “Mother of God, Captain Kelly! It can’t be! That craft was lost on the initial Jupiter expedition in 2011. That was twenty one years ago.” “I know my history Mr. Crawford; I’m a graduate of the Naval Academy. The Constellation program and Commander Pennebaker are common names at Annapolis. Matter of fact, Commander Pennebaker was my instructor back in 2007 when I graduated from the Astronaut program. I both respected and admired him. Again Mr. Crawford, what do you want us to do with the craft?” “Bring it aboard Captain, and keep me posted on what you find.” Roger that Mr. Crawford, roger that.” Captain Kelly returned to the bridge with a sense of new found dedication. He would be the one to bring Papa home, albeit dead.

“Ensign Parker, put me on hailing frequency. USS Orion, this is the galactic warship USS Regal Empress, we are here to take you home. USS Orion, this is the galactic warship USS Regal Empress, we are here to take you home. Prepare to be transported aboard. Ensign open the cargo bay, engage tractor beams and bring aboard the USS Orion and Commander Pennebaker’s body.” “Aye-Aye Captain, tractor beams engaged.”

As the Orion was slowly pulled into the cargo hold of the Regal Empress the crew could make out hundreds of tiny pits in the metal of the Orion module. Years of micro space debris, years of subjection to damaging solar radiation had taken a toll on the craft. With due reverence, the hatch of the Orion was opened for the first time in twenty three years.

The audible electronic ping soon was found to be caused by a crucifix attached to a necklace that had wrapped against the communication pod of the Orion. In the recesses of the Orion was where the body of Commander Pennebaker solemnly lay in the cryo module. The module was still functioning and running all these years thanks to the solar panels located on the outside of the Orion. “Summon the ship’s doctor to the cargo bay Ensign Parker. Let’s not rush to assume anything until we get all the facts.” “Aye-Aye Captain. Dr. Kathryn Bartolome you are wanted in the cargo bay ASAP", came the announcement over the ship’s loudspeaker. Within minutes, Dr. Bartolome was examining the frozen body of Commander Pennebaker. “I don’t know Captain, we could try to resuscitate him and perform neural preservation if that’s needed. It’s been over two decades since he put himself into this state. We’ve never attempted to resuscitate someone who has been frozen this long.” “Dr. Bartolome, do everything you can. We owe Commander Pennebaker that. We have to give him at least a fighting chance.” “I’ll start immediately Captain. Let’s get the Commander to sick bay”, came the order from Dr. Bartolome.

Commander Pennebaker’s body was taken and placed in a slow warming regenerator. His body completely submerged inside a warming bath of isotonic fluids that were temperature controlled by Dr. Bartolome. The process of cryo-resusitation and neural regeneration which was developed by NASA only ten years earlier usually took twenty four hours. Papa had been in the isotonic warming bath for forty eight hours without any signs of life. It wasn’t until the sixtieth hour when Dr. Bartolome summoned Captain Kelly to sick bay. “Sir, we have a pulse, and brain wave activity. I think the Commander is going to make it.” “Good job Kathryn, I mean Dr. Bartolome. The country owes you one, I owe you one. Let me know if you see any significant changes. I’ll notify NASA.”

I awoke on the third day after being placed in cryo-resusitation. At least that’s what I was told. I had lost the last twenty years of my life, but for all practical purposes I still was in my mid fifties. I looked the same as I did when I launched back in 2009. I had so many questions to ask, but first the most important thing on my mind was asking Dr. Kathryn Bartolome to hold me to prove she was real. “Hold me please; let me know you are real.” For the first time in a long time I felt the touch of another person. I knew I was alive. “I’m so cold, please just never let go.” I see that my sense of humor remained intact. Anything for a hug I thought.

Captain Kelly entered the room with a smile and handshake. “So do you know where you are, who you are, what year it is, he asked?” Yes, I’m aboard the USS Regal Empress I’m told, it’s 2032, and I’m Commander Papa K. Pennebaker.” “Wrong”, came the skipper’s reply. You are not Commander Papa K. Pennebaker. You were promoted during your little vacation. You were never declared dead, only missing in action. Your new name is Captain Papa K. Pennebaker. Congratulations Captain!” I never thought I would live to see the day I would be a Naval Captain. Now I could buy me a real nice surf board I thought…just got to get myself back to Cocoa.

The voyage back to NASA took less than 1 month. Advances in string technology had pushed the time it took to travel from one constellation to the next into days instead of years. During the down time I had on the voyage home, I learned that my good friend Wally Hunt passed away some fifteen years earlier. I shed too many tears that night, but found strength in his friendship and his belief in me throughout our association at the Cape. I also found out that Sam was now Commander Abjelina. She lived in Pensacola, Florida, and was an instructor for new student aviators entering the naval service. Her marriage had fallen apart only after one year, and she never remarried. She would be fifty years old now I thought. I imagined that she was still as beautiful and full of life as ever. I wondered if this time we could have a chance? I did know one thing, and that was as soon as I got back to the Cape I was going to find that half bottle of Tequila I left in my gear back in 2009, and I was going to get drunk.

Upon arrival at the Cape I was greeted to a hero’s welcome. I never looked at it like that. I was doing a job I loved doing. The boys in operations who bet on a comet collision with earth were way off in their calculations. There was not a ninety three percent chance of a comet colliding with earth. There was a 9.3 percent chance of a comet colliding with earth in 2045. Those were the calculations back in 2009. Now in 2032 the odds were even less. There was a .00093 chance of a comet colliding with earth. You had a better chance of being struck by lightning while going over the Niagara Falls in a barrel while playing the kazoo than the earth being destroyed by this comet. Thanks guys in operations….what you don’t know can actually kill you, it almost killed me.

That night I was given VIP quarters at NASA. I had a drink, found a few blankets and lay down for a good sleep. I dreamed of the Regal Empress, I dreamed of what ifs and I dreamed of my guardian angel Natividad. It was the crucifix banging the communication pod that made that rhythmic ping. The necklace with the crucifix swinging back and forth upon the instrument panel. It was Natividad saving me once again. Then a knock on the door awoke me in the dark, and I heard her voice…”It’s your Regal Empress. I’m here to save you." Then another knock and again the voice said, "It’s your Regal Empress. I’m here to save you." The door suddenly opened and I knew it was Sam from the scent of the only perfume she ever wore. “Hold me please; let me know if you are real…just hold me and never let me go.”

Responsibility Of My Blessing

2011-07-02T10:25:00.005-05:00

As the fourth of July approaches I usually start thinking about barbeque, ice cold watermelon, a couple of beers, backyard parties, and flying the flag out front so all can see. I love flying the flag, and try to put it out daily, and not forget to bring it in at dusk. I have watched the flag for what seems like hours on occasion, and know how the red and white stripes flutter in the breeze and how the field of fifty white stars sit upon their dark blue background. Red, white and blue. Those three colors have come to represent not only our flag, but also an analogy for being a good citizen. “Yep, he’s red, white and blue through and through.” You have probably heard that many times in your life. It’s fitting that those colors represent someone’s loyalty to the United States. If you think about it, well it’s quite a compliment to be red, white and blue.
Blessed with citizenship, and not taken for granted. That’s what I wish for myself and my friends. I totally understand that this freedom I enjoy came with a huge price. The sacrifices of men and women before me, and those that will come after me have and will ensure this blessing for generations to come. Our present day responsibility collectively is to ensure that the younger generation realizes the prices paid, and the responsibility that is theirs in keeping our country free from tyranny.
I am very proud to be part of this great country. I am proud of each one of you who take citizenship seriously, and I am proud of those who come to our country legally and seek citizenship lawfully.
So this fourth of July, as I eat my barbeque, fly the stars and stripes, and listen to the kids laugh and play in the yard, I'll also remind myself of the responsibility of my blessing.....

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Ichariba chode

2011-06-04T12:32:00.005-05:00

Ichariba Chode

(as soon as we meet, we are as brothers and sisters)

White sand, coral

birds in flight

Palm trees, blue skies

starlit nights

Sea shells, children

sun above

Coconuts, Eisa

Island love

Warm smiles, handshakes

jing-jing tunes

Taiko drum beats

to an Obon moon

Crossing to Benzaitendo

2011-05-26T13:15:00.024-05:00

Benzaitendo is a temple named after the Hindu goddess Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, and creative arts.
I had the opportunity while living in Okinawa and then again visiting Okinawa in 2011 to visit the temple.
The temple was built in 1502, and houses ancient manuscripts gifted by the King of Korea to the King of the Ryukyuan Islands.
I hope you enjoy the picture and the accompanying poetry.

Crossing to Benzaitendo

A leap of faith, a step of hope,

crossing to Benzaitendo.

A traverse of an ancient moat

along a bridge of stone I go.

In search of bygone manuscripts

gifted from a long dead king.

The words were whispered from his lips.

“Behold the truth” an angel sings.

What secret will the words unveil?

Will I return a different man?

My eyes will see, my mouth will tell

the mystery of this ancient land.

In the center of the temple

lay the book upon a stone.

It’s binding worn and simple,

it’s pages brown and over-worn.

As I read aloud with every breath,

the words passed down spoke loud and clear;

the joy of love, the pain of death,

the knowledge of five thousand years.

The wisdom of the erudite king,

to follow in his righteous plan.

It’s love, it's trust, it's everything.

It's how we treat our fellow man.

A choice to make, yes you must know,

to do your best and lend a hand.

Crossing to Benziatendo…

my journey to a foreign land.

Shinjichi nu ada nayumi

Tragic Little Boy

2011-04-24T20:02:00.000-05:00

Tragic Little Boy

Tragic little boy with golden locks
Met your stepdad at the door with the pistol cocked
Aimed the gun right at his head
Pulled the trigger and now he’s dead

Tragic little boy all beat down
He turned your smile into a frown
Now he lies upon the floor
He’ll never beat you anymore

Tragic little boy forever scarred
One third your life spent behind steel bars
A crime of anger a life in wreck
When you get out your mommy’s next

“Paid my price to society? I don’t know. All I know is that I did what I had to do to survive. If I hadn’t killed the bastard, I would be dead and that’s what I know. Spending the last five years in Juvy has given me time to think about whether I did the right thing. I have to say I would do it again if I had to.” The warden looked at me and shook his head. He knew that he would have to release me upon my eighteenth birthday under state law that pertained to juveniles who committed murder before they reached the age of thirteen. I had deliberately kept my nose clean during my five years in confinement. I knew that a clean slate of good behavior would be my ticket to parole upon my birthday, which was tomorrow. I had spent one third of my life locked away. Tomorrow I would walk a free man. “John, I don’t hear any repentance in your voice, but I have no other choice than to release you back into society. I don’t want to see you back in confinement, do you understand me?” As I took a deep breath, and after a deliberate pause I said, “You won’t see me again warden, not in this lifetime."
As I was escorted back to my cell, little did anyone know the fury I felt in my heart. I was one angry son of a bitch. There was a debt that was going to be paid, and I was going to be the collector. Tonight would be the last night I would ever spend in confinement.
The next morning I was awakened by the change of prison guards at approximately 5:45 am. “John Reinmiller, rise up, collect your belongings and come with me. You’re being released." My day had come, and with those words I was issued my personal effects and declared a free man. I promised myself that I would never speak or think of this place again. Right now all I wanted to do was take a hot bath and to sleep in a soft bed. The evil that I had planned during the past five years in confinement would begin soon enough. The wrath of God would soon be upon the wicked I told myself. "John, don't you want to call your family and have them pick you up?" "No, I'd rather take a cab", I replied. I made a quick call to City Cab, and asked the driver to take me to the nearest cheap motel.
My Stepfather had beaten me routinely from the time I was five years old until I killed him when I was twelve. He was an alcoholic and a cruel bastard. Eugene Bettendorf, what an asshole. He would usually whip me with a shaving strap if he had the time to grab it, otherwise he would whip me with his belt. I was afraid of him and his anger and I did what he said until I reached the age of ten or eleven. I wised up at that age and would usually hide from him until he drank himself into unconsciousness. By the following morning he would generally forget why he was angry in the first place. I never called him Dad, I referred to him as Mr. Bettendorf, or privately as Eugene, and that’s the way it was. To him, I was nothing but an inconvenience, a mouth to feed, and a liability that came between himself and my Mother. I don’t know what hurt more, his beatings, or my Mother’s indifference to him beating me. It was always his word against mine, and my Mother would always side with Eugene. I don’t know if it was because she was afraid of him, or because she saw me as an inconvenience, just like that evil bastard. “John, get your ass over here”, he would say when he needed me. Or “John you lazy son of a bitch, if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have a pot to piss in.” I prayed at night for God to let him die in his drunken sleep. I cried myself to sleep many nights in fear of the next day’s beatings.
When I was 12 years old I recall leaving a ball point pen in the pocket of my shirt and putting it in the washing machine. When the washer cycle finished and my Mother took out the clothes, one of Eugene’s shirts was covered with ink. When he got home from work my Mother told him what had happened, and that’s the first time I was struck in the face by his closed fist. Eugene pushed me up against the wall and hit me so hard that I fell to the floor and almost lost consciousness, all the while being berated and called stupid for my mistake. I lost an upper tooth that day, and had to explain to my friends that a fall from my skateboard caused the mishap.
The beatings continued, but became much more severe in the following months. I entered puberty that summer, and I was soon as tall as Eugene, although not nearly as muscular. I knew I couldn’t defend myself from him physically, but there was a way I thought I could stop the beatings. I knew he kept a loaded silver and pearl revolver in the nightstand at the head of his bed. I also knew he would use it on me someday. It was only a matter of time until the alcohol destroyed enough of his mind that he would point it at me. I knew long before I took the gun that I would kill Eugene someday. It was just a question of when and summoning the courage to do it.
The day before I killed him, Eugene came home from work drunk and angry. I was mowing the lawn and didn’t hear him come up behind me. He grabbed me by my shoulders and slammed my head into the engine of the lawn mower causing a gash over my left eye. The mower continued to run which drowned out the verbal abuse that followed. I lay there in the grass and engine exhaust with blood flowing down my face as he walked away. He went inside, grabbed a beer and came back and looked at me with a look that only the devil knew. It was time I thought, it was time.
The next day I took his gun and waited for him to come home from work. I sat in the recliner and practiced aiming over and over at the front door. I would shoot him as soon as he entered the threshold. I waited and waited until finally I fell asleep in the chair. Then as suddenly as I had nodded off, I felt his hand upon my shoulders, shaking me. “Get up you lazy bastard, its 5 o’clock, go help your Mother make me some supper!” As I opened my eyes I pulled out the pistol and shot Eugene right above the bridge of his big ass protuberant nose. He slid off me and crumpled to the floor in one fluid motion. It was finished. Mom called the police, I was placed in juvy, and that is how the last five years of my life were spent, all the while dreaming up a scheme to kill Mom for her indifference to my beatings.
The first night of my new found freedom I slept peacefully and dreamed of Eugene and Mom. I dreamed how Eugene had manipulated Mom as much as he had manipulated and abused me. I saw Mom as a victim for the first time, and I understood that all too well. The following morning upon awakening I called Mom and told her I had been released. "Hello Mom, I'm out. Can I come home?" Mom started crying and told me she was sorry for letting Eugene abuse me. She told me that she missed me and loved me and would be a different Mom to me if I allowed her back into my life. As I waited in that dingy motel room for her to arrive, I knew my evil plan to kill her was no more.
What I had to do was going to be much more difficult than killing her. I had to forgive. I had come back to take a life, and now I was being asked to love. It was an epiphany from heaven, a birthday present from above. I wouldn’t let Eugene’s hatred contaminate my life anymore. That which doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger it's said. As I took a deep breath, and after a pause I reminded myself out loud how freedom tasted so much sweeter than revenge and hatred. We both have open wounds that need to heal. It was time I thought, it was time.

~Rocket Girl~

2011-04-14T15:01:00.006-05:00

My granddaughter in Japan. A bedtime story for my beautiful Sophie...and as you wish then it shall be. Love...

~Rocket Girl~

Au revoir petite fille...goodbye!

You've always had your wings to fly.

I will not stop you...au contraire!

Your place is in the stratosphere.

So begin the countdown, trois, deux, un!

Your rocket girl life has just begun.

Now blast off oui...we're all so proud!

As heart shaped contrails cut the clouds.

Please keep in touch, and count the stars

as you zip through space and pass by Mars.

Now close your eyes, it's time to sleep.

Buon nuit princesse, buon nuit...buon nuit.

A Daisy for Sendai

2011-04-08T18:19:00.007-05:00

What once was a field of daisies, then suddenly turned into a field of wreckage, is once again returning to nature.

Hinagiku, better known to English speakers as the common daisy is making it's return despite what's been thrown it's way. Not only returning, but returning with a vengeance. Did I expect less? This daisy as well as others is blooming in a field in Kitasendai, a field that once lay barren from the deadly tsunami of March, 2011 that devastated Sendai, Japan.

Japanese people, as with most things Japanese bounce back quickly from adversity. It's in their history, it's in their makeup, it's in their blood. They will survive, and if you look away...well they'll be in the lead and you'll be playing catch up.

The Hinagiku, pushing up through the salty sand of Kitasendai. The flower is telling the world "I am back, and ready to start anew!" Soon the residents of Sendai will be saying the same.

Just a thought as my pen glides across this paper and ink flows freely tonight.

The Meeting

2011-03-20T22:07:00.041-05:00

And so it was, as it was always meant to be...they finally met.
He didn't expect her to be quite as short in stature, and she didn't expect him to be quite as tall...yet somehow they were perfect for each other.
Oh, but the relationship was way past physical attributes...it was past sounds, time, heartbreak, and yes even past regrets. Each had their own regrets, but somehow regrets seemed trivial. It was about now, it was about them, it was about love...and they were in love. A dream played out to the brightest ending transcending into an even brighter beginning...a prayer answered, a gift, almost undeserving.
Now the couple who only knew one another at a distance embraced, pulled slightly apart, then their lips met for the first of many times to come in their life.
With that he spoke up, "Where do we start?"
"How about a cup of coffee and a table for two," she said. "We'll see where it leads." "I know a place near here...the locals call it PIP." "Point the way my little compass", he said, I'm right with you." "Did you just call me a little compass...maybe I don't like that!", she said. I'll explain it all later over a cup", he replied.
Maybe that's how it all started with a conversation about coffee. He couldn't remember. He only knew he called her Sam the first time they spoke online, and the name stuck. "Mind if I put a CD in while you drive? It's something I've wanted to share with you for a while," he said. "I was twenty four that year, and you were still waiting to make your arrival."
"Sam, how do you say 'you're my North star' in Tagalog?" Sam shifted the Rabbit into second gear and turned the corner onto Pinole Valley Road. "Yes, my moral compass you are" he said quietly under the sound of Billy's vocals and the Rabbit's engine.
His right hand found it's way to the necklace that he wore beneath his shirt, the one with the cross on it. "Natividad give me courage and wisdom...maraming salamat sa inyo."

Walk

2011-03-18T13:24:00.003-05:00

I cannot wish away what has occurred in Japan. But I can make a difference, and so can you.
If you look around the world, we really are a small community. Even though we are separated by languages, oceans, and ideologies...we are still our brother and sister's keeper. Isn't it true that we can make a difference? Won't you join me and let's do our part? Thank you.

Come Walk With Me

Come walk with me and breathe the air
where life is good and kind and fair
where children laugh and play their games
and gay and straight aren’t hateful names

Where a child can safely walk home from school
and neighbors heed the golden rule
where every person does their part
and love flows freely from the heart

No need for money in this place
we’re all part of the human race
when there’s a need we’ll all be there
to lend a hand and give our share

A dream perhaps, well maybe so
but if you don’t try you’ll never know
how truly beautiful life can be ...
so come and take a walk with me

Lonely Bed

2011-03-05T10:51:00.016-06:00

A goose down pillow

beneath my head

as I float upon
a feather bed

A patchwork quilt
my bed adorns

to ward off chill
and keep me warm

The doors all locked
and pillows fluffed

The curtains drawn
and candles snuffed

I float away
to dream in rhyme

and seek for you
in distant times

This empty space
within my bed

where you once lay
your loving head

A place where we
as lovers met

to speak in verse
as we caressed

My arms reach out
within the night

to pull you close
and hold you tight

But nothing’s there
just senseless space

where once was you...
perfume and lace

Release me Hypnos
light the fire

Let me awaken
to loves desire

then soon I’ll hold you
in the glow

and we'll make love
like long ago

Green Papaya Salad - Aridoi Restaurant, Okinawa Japan

2011-02-17T01:12:00.002-06:00

My favorite salad, namesake of my blog. Found at a wonderful restaurant in Okinawa, Japan. Dad cooks, Mom waits tables. I eat. Life is good.

The Rabbit Moon

2010-12-28T02:42:00.005-06:00

A long time ago

and so far, far away
lived a beautiful girl
in a town by the bay.

Eyes shaped like almonds
and skin tan and brown.
Her hair black as midnight,
and a face oh so round.

It was Sadako's duty
to gather the honey
to sell at the market
and help the family with money.

So early each morning
to the bee hives she went.
Such a sweet little girl,
such a gift heaven sent.

And each night after chores
she would dream and then sigh,
and stare at the moon
with the rabbit up high.

She dreamed she took flight
with the bees from the hive,
and flew up to the moon
even though she was five!

Well she took to the heavens
with the help of the bees,
and visited the rabbit
who was munching on cheese.

"What a beautiful world
to see with my eyes!
I'll just take a quick nap
and then home I will fly!"

She dreamed of rabbits and pinwheels
and cupcakes and poems.
Then the rabbit awoke her and said,
"You can never go home."

But Sadako pleaded.
She felt all alone.
She missed her dear family.
So she flew away home!

So off she did fly
and arrived at her home.
But something was different,
her home was now gone!

A stranger passed by
whom she asked with great fear,
"Where is my family?
Why aren't they here?"

"Who are you? What's your name",
the stranger then asked.
"I'm Sadako Sasaki!"
Then the stranger did gasp!

"Sadako Sasaki,
the legend has been told
left home at age five,
over three centuries ago!"

Sadako wept
because the rabbit was right.
You can never go home
if you fly away in the night.

So when you gaze at the moon
or dream of the stars,
remember home is where the heart is...
it's not all that far.

Senora Saturday

2010-11-02T22:07:00.006-05:00

A short story of family, tradition, pain, and finding the courage to love.

My name is Bart, well actually Rogelio Bartolome. San Francisco, California has been my home for most of my fifty nine years. My parents, God bless them, brought me here from Spain when I was two years old. My Papa was a baker, a wonderful baker. My Mother...she was an ángel.
Papa worked hard in the bakery business. Sixteen hour days, coming home covered in flour, smelling of warm bread from the ovens. That’s how I remember him. His smell...I could smell him before he walked in through the door of our tiny apartment. These are the memories I have of him over half a century later. His hard work and love for his craft helped us achieve the American dream. With his savings he bought his own bakery. Mama christened the bakery Dulce Día, and it was indeed a sweet day. A very successful bakery with a loyal Spanish customer base located in Berkeley. All the older Spanish señoras come by still. They show up every Saturday morning to be first in line to purchase the loaves of Pan de Horno as it comes out of the brick oven. No one made real Spanish bread better than Papa did, not even me. It’s my bakery now and its success continues with the work ethic I learned from him. Hard work, love for your fellow man, honest work. It all bought my beautiful home, nice cars, college education for the kids, my precious gold Rolex that Maria gave me for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. But I would trade it all away for just one more day with her. She’s been gone now for almost six years. I still wear a pink ribbon on my lapel and there’s one in the window of the bakery. It reminds me of her and brings me comfort. I miss her so. That’s why I’m ending it all. I have already decided. I’ll not live to see my sixtieth birthday. At approximately 4:27 pm on July 31, I will end my life.
How fitting my death will be. Rogelio ‘Bart’ Bartolome stepping in front of the Bay Area Rapid Transit 'BART' as it leaves Ashby station. Oh yes, I know the schedule. It’s on the internet. You can look it up yourself. The Richmond line leaves the station at approximately 4:12 pm, picks up passengers at Ashby station and departs at 4:27 pm. That’s when I’ll step in front of the speeding train, my ticket to heaven. I’m counting on a quick and not too painful death. It really doesn’t matter; the pain of life is greater. My only regret will be leaving my two children behind without their Papa. I do hope they will understand. They both will receive a very substantial inheritance and of course the bakery, which they will undoubtedly sell. Family first as I put away the thoughts of suicide for only a moment. The señoras will be angry I suppose. No more lovely Spanish bread, at least not from the Dulce Día.
The week passed by with the occasional thought of what Friday would bring, but it wasn’t a constant thought. I was resolute in my determination to do what I had to do. I still found pleasure in my work, and of course the daily telephone calls I would receive from my children. That was my pleasure in life, the kids. Little did either one of them know that by the end of the week they would both be without their Papa. I knew they would both grieve deeply.
My daughter, Valentina will be especially hurt. She was my little girl. She looks so much like her Mother. The dark wavy hair, the olive complexion, and that bright smile; it was what first attracted me to Maria. And her personality was Maria's to a fine point. My daughter, I miss her so much since she married and moved to Connecticut with her husband Mike. Another reason to be depressed I thought.
Friday arrives, and I am eager for it to end. Standing in the passenger queue of the Ashby station I look at my cell phone to check the time. The cell phone is my watch as I don't want my Rolex destroyed when the train rolls over my body. As I glance at the time I see it's 4:25 pm, a couple more minutes and I’ll be dead. As I start to put my cell into my pocket I notice an alert flashing on the screen...”You have one unread message”. OK, I thought as I dialed my voice mail. I’ve got a couple of minutes. One last message, and I laughed as it would definitely be the last. The message then began. “Hola Papa, it's Valentina. You’ll never guess what I have to tell you...I’m pregnant! Mike and I have known for three months, but we wanted to be sure I would make it through the first trimester before we told you. Papa, it’s a girl too…we want to have your blessing and name her after Mother; Maria Ysabel. Papa, I love you. Please call me when you get this message. Bye.”
That night I got down on my knees to talk to God, and I humbly apologized to him for being so selfish...so weak. I reminded myself that I’m a much stronger man than that...my Papa raised me to be stronger. Now I will be a Grandfather to Maria Ysabel and teach her about hard work, love for your fellow man, honesty, but above all that, I'll teach her about her beautiful Abuela Maria. Yes, Maria would like that. I should sleep now I thought...tomorrow is Saturday and the señoras will be hungry.

Seasons of Love

2010-10-13T12:27:00.006-05:00

For Nan...

Would you hold me now and comfort me

before the leaves fall from the maple tree

In the quietness of a moonlit glow

would you hold me near and not let go

Can you take me back to Summer's past

when our hearts were young and love was fast

Our pockets empty and life was grand

as we walked through life both hand in hand

So hold me now in our Autumn years

and warm my soul as Winter nears

We always knew our love would last

with dreams of lazy Summer's past

Warriors Wear Pink

2010-09-13T21:47:00.004-05:00

It's been four years since we learned. As always I accompanied my wife to her annual mammogram. We had been doing this for the past dozen years. I would sit in the waiting room while my wife would go into the radiology department and have her annual mammogram. I would typically read through a Readers Digest or whatever was available and before I could finish half of the book, my wife would be done. This time was different. I sat and read the book from cover to cover, then another, then another, then another. Finally my wife emerged and said "They found something." As soon as she told me, she was taken in to another room for an ultrasound, and I waited for what seemed like eternity. Then the doctor came out and said they found a lump the size of a dime, and we should make an appointment with a surgeon for a biopsy.

The biopsy was scheduled for the following week. And then we waited another week for the results. The follow up appointment confirmed our worst fears, yet we had prepared for the worst. It was breast cancer, and it would have to be removed. Two weeks of waiting and then the lumpectomy came along with sentinel lymph node biopsy. Another week and we knew it was in the lymph system. The terrible call came from her surgeon while we were shopping. We left the shopping cart in the aisle of the store and came home. Now came what we thought would be the hard part. Little did we know.

We were scheduled for a bilateral modified radical mastectomy. When it was done we thought "Wow, we made it!" Again, we had no clue. Chemotherapy was waiting for us behind the curtains.

Six months of chemotherapy followed. Loss of feminity, loss of hair, loss of appetite, energy, sexuality, being. Hospitalizations, pneumonia, anemia. The list was endless.

All together, I shaved my head at least a dozen times in support of my wife. I still wear a pink ribbon on my suit lapel to show support for those who have been affected by this horrible disease.
Now here we are four years later. We still see the oncologist every six months. I say we, because we are a team. Husband and wife. I have learned so much from my wife during this episode in our lives. I have learned strength beyond what I could have imagined. I have learned you can't run out of tears. I have learned to be humble. But most of all I have learned to accept what God gives you, and not be selfish, and to trust whatever hand you are dealt, and to play it to the best of your ability.
I have learned that I am stronger than I thought. I learned that warriors wear pink.

Cupcakes in Prayerville

2010-07-23T14:37:00.015-05:00

I had put this road trip on hold for such a long time. Ever since hearing all the rave reviews about a quaint patisserie in Prayerville, California, I have been eager to go there myself.

Karen Marie's Cupcake Shoppe was my destination this clear blue-skied Saturday morning. I soon found myself driving south along the Eastshore freeway headed toward a tiny little town situated between Pinole and Berkeley. My GPS programmed earlier in the morning with my destination input as 111 Pink Pinwheel Road, Prayerville, CA.

The cupcakes in this tiny bakery were said to be unequaled in taste and in texture. Some would argue that cupcakes of this standard could only be found in Lyon, France...maybe Paris. But to many who had visited Karen Marie's, well...these cupcakes were the best.

The owner and propriétaire, Ms Karen Marie had been taught her culinary and baking skills by the famed five star Michelin chef Henri Lapin, master baking chef of Le Cordon Bleu culinary academy in Paris. Mademoiselle Marie learned early in her career to use only the freshest and most seasonal ingredients in her preparations. In fact, her menu at the Cupcake Shoppe changed daily dependent on what ingredients were the freshest. Today, I hoped the famed Apricot cupcake with fresh vanilla sugar was on the menu, but certaily I would not be picky about anything prepared by Mlle Marie.

As I took the Pink Pinwheel Road exit off of the Eastshore freeway I immediately spotted my destination. It was a beautiful small pink cottage with peppermint canes uniquely displayed in the front of the building. Each one paired with another to form the shape of a heart. A large pink spiraled door invited me in. As I took a seat at a little table in the corner I noticed the cupcake du jour was Apricot! The Buddhist in me smiled. I once again was reminded by some inner knowledge from a past life that karma makes the world go around.

A beautiful princess dressed in a diaphanous Cinderella gown and sparkling diamond tiara approached my table and said, "How may I help you kind Sir?" "Oh, I will have the most splendid apricot cupcake with the vanilla sugar topping and a cup of your most wonderful house brewed coffee please." As princess Karen finished taking my order, she turned and walked toward the kitchen and I overheard her say in a hushed voice "The Commander has arrived!"

Oh, by the way you might think this is a fairy tale, but it really happened! Yes, it was yesterday while napping. After I read a story of a sweet little girl and her cupcakes. And today, I still recall the most delicious cupcake ever tasted. I remember pouring creme into my coffee from a white porcelain rabbit creamer. But most of all I remember an angel named Mademoiselle Karen Marie, owner/propriétaire of Karen's Cupcake Shoppe. If you ever are in Prayerville she'll be saving you a seat at the pink little table. Until then...au revoir.

In Due Time - Gracias Ernest

2010-07-15T19:46:00.018-05:00

I sat completely silent and motionless below the interstate overpass as rain fell and drenched my feet from the small riverlets of water that ran down the walls of my sanctuary. Thunder shook the earth, as streaks of lightning lit up the evening sky like an incandescent bulb being turned on in a darkened room. I understood why this was happening. I recognized God’s wrath. Oh yes, God was angry with me. I had been a glutton for many months since my wife left. I was mortally sinful of all things indulgent. I must make amends with God soon before my abhorrent life slips out of control...before it’s too late to salvage any goodness from my heart. But tonight I will wipe myself dry of the rain and drink wine. And with wine, she will find me. She will sing to me tonight I told myself. She will sing, and I will listen until we fall into each other’s embrace and become one. Afterwards I will sleep. Tomorrow she will be gone and I will speak to God if he is willing to listen I thought as I stood up from my spot deep inside the darkened santuary and found my way towards city lights once again.

Stellar Epiphany

2010-06-27T22:07:00.015-05:00

I know it shouldn't be, but it is. It's 9:45 p.m. and the thermometer on my front porch reads 87 degrees. I really didn't need to look, because I was perspiring from being outside only for a few minutes.

Each night before bedtime, my grandson Bobby and I go outside and look for the moon and any stars we can view from our front yard. We sing the same two songs each night. One song to the moon and the other song to the stars. Tonight we didn't see the moon, so it was with great abandon that 'twinkle twinkle little star' would be sung in near harmony, then I could soon again find my place upon the sofa, grateful for the comfort of a cooler environment. Regardless, our neighbors would thank us that tonight it would only be one song instead of two.

As we looked towards the west, Bobby picked out his star and began to sing as I followed in verse. As I focused upon the star and the beauty of the night, I lifted Bobby upon my shoulders as if I were trying to get him a little closer to heaven. That's when the stellar epiphany struck me. I stopped singing and listened as he completed the verse 'How I wonder what you are'. The moment overcame me, leaving me to question the enormity of what my grandson had just sung.

Yes, I do wonder what you are! I wonder what I am, and how it all fits together. Where in the continuum of the universe does our coexistence come into play? What do I bring to the table and how can I be a positive influence in my grandson's life? Tonight my three year old grandson asks the question "what are you?" in the simplest and most innocent of ways possible...through a child's song.

As I lowered Bobby from my shoulders I knew the answer before his feet touched the ground. The answer to my question was simple. It's all about love, family, ritual, and yes...sometimes it's about looking toward the heavens...even if it is 87 degrees outside.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

2010-06-18T19:10:00.024-05:00

My granddaughter was at the beach yesterday and noticed two sea shells at her feet. She told her mother that the shells were kissing. What a statement coming from a young girl not yet two years of age. Her acute observation gave me pause to write something that I hope she can read when she is old enough, and recall her youth.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

Look around, what do you see?

Two shells kissing at your feet!

Two shells meeting, sharing love,

as you watch them from above.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

taking time...a kiss to share.

If shells can do it, why can't we?

Oui ma petite-fille, ah oiu...ah oui!

Brave Princess

2010-06-17T18:06:00.002-05:00

My granddaughter moved to Okinawa, Japan this past January. I always knew she was a brave little girl, and this photo just reinforces my belief. Life on the beach is hard to beat. I see a lot of Pennebaker in her. Fearless, independent, and if I may say so blessed.

...and if you notice the sky above in the top picture...well there's a heart. Exactly where I asked God to leave it.

Don't Fear the Reaper

2010-06-04T22:53:00.003-05:00

I think it's quite insecure of oneself to fear aging. I recall turning thirty and thinking what a robust, intelligent person I was. Then forty came along, and those same feelings surged through my fiber, along with financial security, and feelings of grandeur and pomposity. And as I was busy feeling all the invincibilities of being king of the jungle, fifty hit me smack square in the gut.

Now fifty ain't forty by any means. Fifty brings on a whole set of circumstances that you slowly realize are new to you. You can't run as fast as you once did. You need glasses to read the paper. You take prescription medications for things you never thought you would be dealing with only a few years earlier. Getting out of bed, dressing, making coffee, and certain sundry tasks take an hour or more of your day. Oh well, I think I'll sit and take a nice nap, after all I've been up an hour by now.
The one thing that I do realize which gets better with age is a sense of humor. Finally I can laugh at my own misfortune. If the battery is dead in the family car, well at 30 I would have fumed over it. Now I just laugh and tell myself I'll have to get over to Sears today and have them check it out once the car is jumped by some kind neighbor.
Speaking of neighbors, I've got a great one. He's sixty nine years old, and full of spunk. That gives me hope that there are better things to come than just waking up, making coffee, and taking naps. I may after all be getting better with age, just like music. I don't like Usher, Beyonce, and Justin Timberlake. Give me a little Blue Oyster Cult. I got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell.

The Intimacy of Words

2010-05-17T16:57:00.005-05:00

Straight from the heart, then to the brain, and finally written down on paper. Better yet read to the one you love. The intimacy of words can peel away the exterior facade we all place around ourselves, opening our souls, revealing our vulnerabilities, secrets, and desires.

Words are those sparks of magic that our soul cries out for us to express in the purest way possible. Irresistable and joyous feelings that money can't buy. Let the concerns of the world keep mounting, and the philosophies of mankind keep drifting further apart.

I'll simply keep using words to communicate and express my feelings.Thoughts of love, friendship and gratitude bleed off my pen to all of you that I call friend.

Uruma-shi

2010-05-14T19:06:00.012-05:00

Far to the east, the brown earth yields

to towering stands of bamboo fields.

Where women walk in silken gowns

and karma makes their world go 'round.

Jasmine scent wafts through the air.

Children play without a care.

The sun sets low and dusk is nigh,

as elders chat of days gone by.

This village known as Uruma-shi

between the Pacific and China Sea,

and on a hill high up above

lives a little girl I dearly love.

I'll look to the east when all is quiet,

like I do most every night.

And of course you know I'll send my love...

straight to that hill high up above.

Deep Space Juno

2010-05-11T18:08:00.011-05:00

The following day, I drove in to the Cape. I passed by the smart salute of the gate guard who recognized me from when I worked at NASA. I greeted Wally at the employee’s cafeteria. That’s when he let me in on some privileged information. “Papa, the Constellation program is on line. We are going to go with an early morning launch from a single booster Ares 1 rocket in four weeks. The President of the United States put this mission at the top of his priority. The Senate has funded the program in secret due to the sensitive nature of the program’s mission. The Orion capsule that we will be sending into space will be commanded by one astronaut, Major Bud Knight. It’s a four year mission Papa. A mission to Jupiter and back….did you hear me Papa? Papa, I said JUPITER!” It’s a mission to map the planet's magnetic fields, measure the amount of water and ammonia in the Jovian atmosphere and observe the auroras. Papa, I know you still have your Top Secret clearance, so grab your sandwich and follow me to my office will you?” My mind went numb, and I was speechless for almost a minute until I comprehended the entirety of what Wally said. “Jupiter? Wally, we haven’t even been to Mars! For God’s sake Wally, who in their right mind would be willing to give up four years of their life to go to Jupiter?” Then just as soon as I had asked the question, the answer came to me…..I would. I would be willing to go! Yes, I mean what is holding me here? I have no one to come home to. “Send me Wally! Don’t you see? I would be perfect for the mission. I know all there is to know about mapping magnetic fields, measuring atmospheric gases. Wally you have to let me be a standby. Please!” Arriving at Wally’s office, he closed the door and then proceeded to tell me exactly why Jupiter was on the President’s list of top priorities. “Papa, I don’t have to tell you the devastation that the Shoemaker-Levy 9 comet left on the surface of Jupiter. If the same thing happened to our planet, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking of space travel I can assure you that. The Hubble telescope has picked up a comet travelling along a path in the outer edges of our galaxy, and if our guys in operations are correct with their math, there is a ninety three percent chance that earth will suffer the same consequences as Jupiter in the fall of 2045. You do remember what happened to Jupiter’s southern hemisphere don’t you Papa? I don’t have to remind you that a three kilometer fragment of the Levy comet impacted with the force of six hundred million tons of TNT. That was enough to send a plume of space debris three thousand kilometers into the Jovian atmosphere. That was just one of the hundreds of the fragments that struck Jupiter that day. It would mean the end of earth as we know it Papa. That’s why we are pushing ahead with our launch to Jupiter. There is not a minute to waste. We need to know everything we can about the impact, the gases that persist in the Jovian atmosphere, everything.” “Wally, I want to go, please….put me on standby.” “Papa, I do owe you that much for what you did for NASA with the recent rescue of Sam on her ill begotten mission to Mars. I’ll let you know what the council decides after our meeting this afternoon. Don’t hold your breathe Papa, although I hear you are pretty good at it.” “Very funny Wally. Get back to me as soon as you hear anything. You know my cell.” On my drive back to Cocoa Beach I felt sick at my stomach knowing that there was a good chance all life on earth would end in approximately 36 years. I got home and opened up a bottle of Tequila I had been saving for a special occasion. I drank half of the bottle and went to bed.

One year turned into eighteen months, then twenty, then finally Jupiter loomed large in the heads up display. Two full years had passed since I launched at the Cape. I was ready to get down to work. This is why I had become an astronaut, what I had trained all my life to do. “Mission control, I am approaching the gravitational pull of Jupiter, firing retrograde J2X engine to facilitate merge into Jovian orbit.” “Roger that Commander Pennebaker, fire J2X upon mark…three two, one, mark.” “Roger mission control, firing J2X." As I flipped the switch to slow the Orion by retro engagement, nothing happened. Again, I flipped the control switch to engage the J2X retro rocket, and again nothing happened. “Mission control, I have a negative engagement on the J2X, be advised that I cannot control the rocket from Orion control. Please remotely attempt to engage, over.”

The Nothingness of Tea

2010-01-23T12:54:00.006-06:00

Now is all I have
as tea is in the making
unimportant past and future
leave me recalling Zen

Quietly exhaling the day in to air
no words need be spoken
between friends
who met by chance

The Ochawan offered
thick green froth
steaming hot
rejuvenating my soul

Bittersweet warmth
kindness between friends
I realize
now is all I have

Sonny Boy's Blues

2009-12-18T09:23:00.041-06:00

It was another hot summer morning in south Mississippi when I got the call from my features editor Ed Bates at the Hattiesburg American to work my day off. July of 1976 would go down in the record books as one of the hottest summer months Mississippi had seen in the past thirty years. I had covered the Forrest county city council meeting until 11 p.m. the night before. At least I think it was the night before. My job as a newspaper reporter tends to blend night into day with its demands of working whenever there is a story to tell. I submitted my piece to the paper at midnight and had come home and gone right to bed. Another mundane article by me, Rick Jacobs, feature reporter. As I picked up the telephone I looked at the clock. It was 6:30 a.m. “Hello, I’m not even going to guess who it is. I know it’s you Ed. What do you want, it’s my day off remember?” Whatever Ed wanted, he usually got, he was my boss, and I needed the job. Remember to be nice I said to myself, as I tried to recall why I got a journalism degree from USM instead of an engineering degree from Mississippi State like my parents would have liked. “Rick, you need to get down to the Glen Oaks Nursing Home in Lucedale, Mississippi right away. Aldous Ray wants to talk.” “Aldous Ray? Are you referring to Aldous ‘Sonny Boy’ Ray I excitedly asked?” “You know him Rick?” Ed asked. “Do I know him? Do I know him? For God’s sakes Ed, he’s just one of the most influential blues guitarists to have ever breathed! I’m on my way. Wait, where is he, did you say Lucedale? Oh my God, I’m going to interview Aldous Ray!” Ed knew I would take this assignment. I was a student of the blues having played guitar throughout my college days, paying tuition with any gig I could score. From coffee houses, bars, pool halls…I had done them all. I knew the music of ‘Sonny Boy’ Ray from his contribution to Mississippi delta blues. He had never agreed to an interview until now, and I was going to be sitting in the same room with one of my idols.
I jumped into the cleanest pair of clothes I had, got into my car and headed south. The sun would be my companion today as I took the drive down highway 98 to Lucedale. I would pass through sleepy small towns with names of New Augusta, and McLain. I would cross bridges with rivers flowing beneath by the names of Leaf, and Chickasawhay. It was a welcome assignment in more ways than one. Being out on the open road was a respite from a stuffy office, or sitting in on a boring city council meeting. Meeting Mr. Aldous ‘Sonny Boy’ Ray would be the highlight of my career. Whatever Mr. Ray wanted to say, I would be the one to record it all.
Plenty of time to take pause on the trip and think of the questions I would pose to Mr. Ray. I’ll ask him who influenced his music. I’ll ask him why he left Mississippi in the 1940’s and moved to Chicago. I’ll ask him about playing in Memphis in the 1950’s. As a student of the Mississippi delta blues, I knew all too well his music, where he played, his hit songs, even the name of his beloved guitar. He affectionately named his 1945 Martin 00-18 guitar ‘Sweetness’. This famous guitar was built with an Adirondack spruce top and scalloped braces, mahogany back and sides and Brazilian fingerboard and bridge. It was a lovely guitar that had been featured on the cover of several magazines in the past twenty years. Most recently, Guitar Magazine had featured ‘Sweetness’ on its cover page, calling it "the purest sounding guitar ever manufactured by man.” How I would love to hold that guitar in my hands if only for a moment!
As my mind went over the questions I would ask, the town of Lucedale slowly came into view. With directions offered at the local Texaco station on Main Street, I found my way to Glen Oaks nursing home. As I walked down the hallway to the nursing station, I was greeted by the charge nurse, a Mrs. Jake Rounsaville. Nurse Rounsaville escorted me to the room of the man who I had come to see, the world’s greatest living blue’s guitarist. “Mr. Ray…Mr. Ray you have a visitor from the paper. He says his name is Mr. Jacobs.” Mr. Ray raised his head up from his pillow and looked towards the door. “Do come in Mr. Jacobs.” I’ve been expecting you all mornin’, I hope your drive from Hattiesburg was enjoyable.” “Yes sir, it was quite enjoyable. Getting out of the office once in a while is a delight,” I replied. With pleasantries aside I retrieved my notepad from my briefcase and took a seat next to Mr. Ray’s bedside and began to do like any good reporter and ask the five basic questions of Who, What, When, Where and Why. “Tell me Mr. Ray, who was it that taught you how to play the blues?" Mr. Ray lay silent for a full minute before he spoke.
“Young man, stand up!” I did as Mr. Ray said not quite understanding what he wanted. “Now turn around and face the door.” OK, I thought this a little strange but again, I had a story to write and I assumed this would all be a part of it. “Now, young man, you can show yourself out the door, and close it as you leave.” “I’m sorry, you want me to leave?” I asked. “What I want you to do is get the hell out of my room Mr. Jacobs! You young people nowadays. Ain't nobody teaches nobody how to play the blues. You either got it or you don't. It's given to you when you born. I happened to be blessed. Just show yourself out the door.” I was stunned. I had offended Mr. 'Sonny Boy' Ray. I had committed the ultimate sin for a reporter! Had I not shown enough respect? I had asked the wrong question. I failed in my job. The only thing I could do now was apologize to one of my idols, so I did. “Mr. Ray, I’m very sorry I offended you. I suppose I started on the wrong foot, and I humbly apologize to you and 'Sweetness'. I best be getting back to Hattiesburg. Good day, Sir.” As soon as the word ‘Sweetness’ came out of my mouth, I had my interview. “Hold on there young man…how do you know ‘Sweetness’? Now you just come back in here and pull up a chair and let me tell you all about the blues.” I had my hook set, now all I needed to do was start reeling. I smelled a Pulitzer wafting in the air.
“You know son, ‘Sweetness’ is my guitar. A fine guitar she is too; a 1945 Martin, model 00-18. She’s a beauty, and never let me down. I played her on my biggest hit Walkin’ in High Cotton. You’ve heard that haven’t you son? I still sings those lyrics in my head ever now and then...'Oh you pick cotton fifty cent a day, tote that cotton that's what I say...what I see when I look down...ain't no money in this ground'." Indeed I had heard of Walkin’ in High Cotton. It was only the biggest selling blue’s piece in history. “Well, ‘Sweetness’ was a gift to me from a very special friend by the name of Muddy Waters. I guess you probably heard of him. Make yourself comfortable, this story don’t go nowhere fast and I probably need to tell it before I pass. I was born in Sunflower county Mississippi in 1910. My world was cotton, cotton, and mo’ cotton. We used to say they would bury us neath the cotton gin when we was gone, and I believed it. Me and my brothers would pick cotton from daylight until late afternoon six days a week. I did that until I was old enough to be on my own and look for work elsewhere. I did try to join the army when I was of age, but got turned down because of my big flat feet. I finally found a job as a truck driver hauling pigs from Chicago to Memphis in the 1940’s. Chicago was a fine town in the 40’s. There were blues clubs all up and down Michigan Avenue. That’s where I met Muddy Waters. Muddy was the real deal. He would play his set and then still hang around the club until 3 or 4 in the morning and just jam with the local cats. That’s when I was introduced to him. I played a little guitar from my days growing up in the delta. Muddy said I had a unique delta blues sound to my licks. One thing led to another and before I knew it, every time I was in Chicago, we would hook up and jam after his gig. It wasn’t long before I was playing sets of blues with him on stage at the clubs in Chicago. We became good friends. I didn’t have enough money to afford a real nice guitar, so Muddy gave me ‘Sweetness’ that beautiful Martin 6 string before I moved on to Memphis in 1953. ‘Sweetness’ has been my only true love.” I sat there at the side of the bed and didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. Mr. Ray was telling it all, and I wasn’t about to interrupt.
“Let’s see, where was I? Oh yes, I moved on down to Memphis in 1953. I gave up the truck driving. I was making a name for myself in the music business by that time. I played almost every club on Beale Street. You know Beale Street, now don’t you son? I remember meeting a young Elvis Presley in 1954. He was driving a truck then too. He was always coming into the black clubs and listening to the blues that was played. That boy was always asking about the songs we played, the chords we played. He wanted to know everything he could learn. Elvis had a lot of questions. A real nice young man that Elvis. I remember giving him a little bit of advice one night after a hard set of the blues. I told him ‘always keep yo’ hands clean Elvis’. Muddy used to say that to me. He would say 'Don’t wash yo’ hands in Muddy Waters'. Who would have thought that Elvis would have a hit with that title? Washed my hands in Muddy Waters! Now if that don’t beat all! Now Mr. Jacobs, excuse me if I get a little excited with all this talking ‘bout the past. The doctor gots me on a pressure pill to keeps my blood down. He tell me not to get too excited.” As Mr. Ray took a break, a knock on the door sounded and a woman with a plate of rice and beans came into the room. “Mr. Ray, it’s Miss Nettie. I brought you that red beans and rice. I cooked them up special just like you asked.” “Come on in Miss Nettie,” Mr. Ray said. “I could smell you coming down the hall child.” I could tell it was time for me to leave. Mr Ray looked tired from our interview, and I didn’t want to keep him from his meal, so I bid him a farewell with the promise to come back the following week and continue where we had left off. I told Mr. Ray that I would get his story in the Hattiesburg American the next morning. As I was packing up my notepad and papers to leave, Mr. Ray asked me, “Rick, when you come back next week could you sneak me a small bottle of Jack Daniels? I know it’s against the rules here, but I won’t tell if you won’t.” I promised to bring him a small bottle, but it was just between the two of us. “Two peas in a pod” I said. “It’s a Mississippi delta blues thing,” was his comeback. We both laughed as I parted. I was already looking forward to next week.
I got back to Hattiesburg at 6 that evening and had my story in for print by 9 p.m. After a late supper I fell asleep on the couch. It only seemed like a few moments before the telephone rang, it was my editor Ed Bates. I looked up at the clock, it was already 7 a.m. Immediately I thought he was calling me to congratulate me on the stellar piece I wrote on Aldous Ray. Instead, I got jolted off of the couch with these words. “Rick, I’m sorry to tell you this. Aldous Ray passed away late last night. He had a stroke around midnight and died in the Emergency Room at the George County Hospital in Lucedale. By the way, your article on Mr. Ray was just what this paper needed. I hope that helps…take the next couple of days off. I’ll see you then.”
I was speechless, and with that news delivered, Ed hung up the telephone and I lay my head back down on the couch cushion and wept. The world had lost a living legend.
I awoke again at 10 a.m. to the ring of the telephone. It was the charge nurse of the Glen Oaks nursing home, Mrs. Jake Rounsaville. She asked if I would attend the funeral of Mr. Ray. The funeral was set for Saturday afternoon at the George County Funeral Home with burial to follow at the George County Memorial Gardens at 2 p.m. “Of course I will be there, Mrs. Rounsaville.” Yes, of course I would. Although having only met ‘Sonny Boy’ the day before, I undeniably felt a common bond with this man. A man who would be remembered as a pioneer of a style of music that was purely American.
I drove down to Lucedale the following Saturday morning. I didn’t attend the eulogy. I came as the burial service was concluding. I stood far in the back of the thirty or so people that had come out to pay their last respects to this remarkable gentleman. I recognized Mrs. Rounsaville in the crowd, and also Miss Nettie was there in her finest Sunday hat. After the service when everyone had gone their way I walked up to the gravesite. Freshly dug red dirt still moist from the earth awaited the shovel of the grave digger to cover the simple pine casket. Little did that soil know that it could never cover a legend. A legend indeed as I read the names inscribed on the numerous floral wreathes surrounding the open grave. Names like B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Muddy Waters, Elvis A. Presley, Eric Clapton. I went back to my car and retrieved the pint of Jack Daniels that I brought from Hattiesburg. I stood above his grave, opened the bottle and took a sip, then poured the remainder into the final resting place of my new friend.
I made it back home late that evening and slept until late Sunday morning. I spent most of Sunday evening listening to ‘Sonny Boy’s music. I had lost a friend. I considered myself blessed to have known him.
As I readied for work the next morning, I heard a knock on the front door. UPS had delivered a large package and set it on my front porch. A letter came with the delivery. It was from Mrs. Jake Rounsaville. It read, “Mr. Jacobs, before Mr. Ray passed away, he made it very clear to the attending nurse that he wanted you to have this. I am not sure of its worth, but I think it only proper to send it to you. You can certainly do with it as you please.” Sincerely, Mrs. Jake Rounsaville, Charge Nurse, Glen Oaks Nursing Home.
As I opened the large package, I realized I was staring at what I once wished that I could only hold. It had an Adirondack spruce top with scalloped braces, a Mahogany back and sides, and a Brazilian Rosewood fingerboard and bridge. It was ‘Sweetness’. It was high cotton indeed... 'Oh you pick cotton fifty cent a day, tote that cotton that's what I say...what I see when I look down...ain't no money in this ground'.

Life With Sophie

2009-12-13T17:13:00.014-06:00

My granddaughter Sophie will be moving to Okinawa,Japan in a month. She will be away for at least two years. I have certainly enjoyed being around her for the past year. She's now about 17 months old, and so fun to be with.
Today while looking through the photos of our day at the park this past Thanksgiving I got quite sentimental. We had a great time on the slide, and the merry go round. After the park we went down to see the horses. The horses actually came up to her. They knew she was special, just like everyone who meets her knows. I've become quite enamored with her cute laugh, her sweet smile and her trusting hugs. Life is so wonderful and full of surprises around every corner...just wish this corner didn't lead to Japan.

Biscuits By The Grace of God

2009-12-11T10:39:00.014-06:00

Following in the footsteps of those who came before me is no easy task. Words like commitment, sacrifice, and love are all qualities that I learned growing up in Lucedale, Mississippi as a child in the Pennebaker household. I saw it played out daily in my home. My parents were my teachers, and I am blessed that they taught me those principles. I learned what mattered was not what you have, but rather what you have to offer. I can remember my daddy inviting door to door traveling salesmen into the home and feeding them dinner because they were either young and scared or looked hungry. I recall stories of my grandfather leaving thanksgiving turkeys on the doorsteps of needy families during the night. Granddaddy wouldn’t even stay around for a thank you. He would just knock on the door and walk away. I can remember Mama and the breakfast she made everyday for the family. Mama would get up before anyone else and have the table set before waking us to come and eat. I really miss the smell of biscuits coming from that tiny kitchen. That smell brings me to the reason I’m writing this.
This morning before climbing out of bed I thought for sure I smelled those biscuits. I was in that unique state between wakefulness and sleep, somewhere between Lucedale, Mississippi and Pensacola, Florida. I was again ten years old and my stomach was growling. As the smell of those biscuits made its way down the hall and finally into my bedroom, I couldn’t take it another second. I sat up in bed, put my feet on the floor, and with the aches and pains of a bad knee remembered that I was fifty four, and it was all a dream. Bittersweet memories of home, of my parents now gone, an aging body, and an empty table awaiting me downstairs was suddenly my reality. I immediately realized I had a choice to make. I could either fall back into bed, which I was heavily in favor of, or I could make that breakfast myself. With all the enthusiasm I could muster, I chose to do what Mama would have done. This Southern boy was going to have his biscuits.
Jimmy Dean pure pork sausage, check. Pillsbury buttermilk biscuits, yes! Fig preserves! Oh, God is so good. Everything I need sitting before me in the refrigerator. A bag of Starbucks coffee in the cupboard was a plus. 450 degrees and a cup of coffee later I was sitting down at the table with my breakfast. The phrase ‘southern ambrosia’, passed through my head as I readied that biscuit like a Marine would ready his uniform before an inspection. I made two for myself. One with fig preserves. Not just fig preserves, but fig preserves that I had made earlier in the summer from our own fig tree. The other I prepared ala ‘Steven Martinez’ style. Steven and I were combat medics attached to a Marine unit stationed out of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Steven taught me how to make the combat MRE’s more appealing by adding Tabasco sauce to everything. I grew to like it quite a bit. So the second biscuit was smothered in that piquant hot sauce from New Iberia, Louisiana. Now it was time to eat. I stopped an inch short of putting that biscuit to my mouth and remembered why all this busy work began in the first place.
As I put the biscuit back down in the plate, I bowed my head and thanked God for giving me my family, for giving me the food set before me, and also for giving me the parents I had growing up in south Mississippi. I realized that it was much deeper than just putting food on the table. It was also about love, accountability, and tradition. I almost wished for a moment that a young hungry salesman would knock on the door. How I would love to share this second biscuit with him. Even if he gets the one smothered in Tabasco sauce.

Come A Rose

2009-12-06T16:06:00.021-06:00

Come a Rose, come around
and chance I gaze into your eyes.
Let me hear the tender sound
of lover's songs and sinful sighs.

Anxious winged seraphs
I beg you hear my fervent plea.
Take flight quickly...blaze a path
and bring my lover here to me.

Come a Rose, come around
and knock upon my waiting door.
I ache to hear the steps you bound
upon my bedroom's wooden floor.

Dieu Est Un Poisson

2009-11-23T20:31:00.010-06:00

My name is constantly coming up as a matter of contention to some. My friends know me as Kim, my business associates call me David, and God knows what others call me. I tend to like Papa to be used by those who love me. As for anyone else, it really doesn’t matter.
So here I am driving up to Rhode Island from Virginia to be with my family at Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. Nan, my wife has invited the parish priest to come by and deliver blessings and have a taste of true Vietnamese/Rhode Island/Southern cuisine. Nan and the kids have really taken to being active in the local church since coming to Albion. I suppose it’s a credit to her that our children are all being raised Catholic. If it was left up to me, I really don’t know what sort of religious upbringing they would have.
So Stafford, Virginia has been my home for the past six weeks while I have been overseeing a military contract. Another month and I’ll be done, but for now I can only get home every other weekend to be with family. As I cranked up the Landcruiser, and headed north I noticed the first snowflake. Just my luck I thought as I headed home to the ‘Hope’ state. Yep, that’s our motto. I preferred the motto, “Rhode Island…Where Size Doesn’t Matter”. I had that on the bumper of the SUV until my wife made me take it off. It seems like we got too many stares, finger pointing, and giggles from passing motorists. That embarrassed Nan, but I liked the attention. Regardless, I agreed to take it off the bumper to make her happy. As I exited the military gate and went through the traffic signal, my world came to a stop…a dead stop. There will be no Thanksgiving in Albion, Rhode Island tomorrow.
As I opened my eyes I was surrounded by the most beautiful light anyone could imagine; a bright light emanating from a large white room. “Where am I? What happened? How did I…?” As soon as I uttered those words, a fat man with a chewed up cigar in the corner of his mouth answered. “You’re in Heaven Mack. Nice to finally meet you, I’m Gabe. Welcome to heaven where all is good, and the chow hall is always open. Now I suppose I should introduce you to God, you are expected.” As we walked down row upon row of aquariums filled with goldfish, there positioned in the center of the room was a huge octagonal aquarium filled with beautiful colored gravel. Swimming alone inside the aquarium was a goggle eyed fancy finned goldfish of impeccable quality. Gabe turned toward the fancy fish and said, “God this is Kim. Now I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.” Gabe turned and disappeared, and God spoke. “Surprised? Don’t worry, everyone is. You didn’t think God was a fish did you? Well, go ahead…say something.”
“Oh my God, I mean Sir, I didn’t…know!” “You presume much by calling me Sir", replied the Almighty. And don’t be too hard on yourself about using the name in vane, everyone has, and I'm a forgiving God if you haven't been told. Everyone gets into heaven. I should let you in on a little known secret...hell is what you make of your life on earth. You didn’t think I would love you so little that I would create you in my own image and then cast you into a burning sulfurous eternity to suffer endlessly did you?" I thought about what I was seeing and hearing and then said, “God, what do you mean created me in your own image? You’re a fish for God’s sake….I’m sorry again.” Oh Jesus!” “Everyone is a goldfish, God replied. You may see yourself differently on earth, but believe me…you are a goldfish. Go ahead look at your reflection in the aquarium and see for yourself…you’re a goldfish.” You don’t have to go to confession, you don’t have to eat fish on Fridays….please don’t eat fish, God reiterated. You don’t have to tithe ten percent of your earnings. All you have to do is love your fellow man as you would have them love you. That’s as simple as it gets. Obey the golden rule. And if you get it wrong a few times, I’ll make an exception, you see…everyone gets a ticket into heaven. Now, it’s your turn to take your place among the school of souls where you will be fed fancy tropical flakes for eternity.” “But I don’t want to be here. I want to be with my wife and family. I want to go back!” At that moment I felt Gabe’s hand on my shoulder leading me out of the great aquarium room and pointing me towards Virginia.
I spent the next two weeks in intensive care at the Bethesda Navy Medical Center. The morning of my fifteenth day in the ICU, I awoke from my coma to see my wife sitting by my bedside knitting a blanket; a blanket monogrammed with the following; Commander ‘Papa’ Pennebaker…My Hero.
I had incurred a broken T-6 vertebrae but no spinal cord damage. I had traumatic brain injury, and had a broken left femur, but I was going to be OK. I knew where I had been, and I knew where I was going. My life on earth from this moment on would be different I thought. I was going to make a difference in my life and the lives of those I dealt with on a daily basis.
I finally made it home to Albion just in time for Christmas. We called it our Thanksgiving dinner at Christmas. The importance of the word Thanksgiving was not overlooked. As the family gathered around the table and held hands I wanted to tell them that we are all going to heaven. God loves us all. But I just couldn’t help but let out a huge laugh seeing them all as goldfish.
Thanks Gabe for leading me back home, and save some of those fancy tropical flakes for me would you? I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, though hopefully not too soon.

The Patti Duvel

2009-11-12T20:18:00.014-06:00

Gather 'round mates and hear ye this tale
of the fateful voyage of the Patti Duvel.
A sixty foot trawler with a beam of blue spruce,
an old weathered Captain and a rough hardened crew.

The call for the crew went out about one
to gather at the docks by the rise of the sun.
With lightening quick speed the boat was all readied;
the lines were hauled in and the sails were all steadied.

The tuna were deep running out on the ledge
and the Captain set sail with this God solemn pledge,
“We’ll work ‘til we fill the hull of this trawl,
then it’s back to homeport and whiskey for all!”

The boat was offshore closing in on its mark,
as the winds picked up force and the sky turned slate dark.
Waves of ten feet were breaking over the rails,
arriving in sets of three and four swells.

Well, the best laid plans do oft go awry,
as the winds were now howling with seas twelve feet high.
The wooden deck groaned, and mates cried for their mother,
as the Patti Duvel listed then started taking on water.

The Captain and crew hung on to their ship,
but after an hour all loosened their grip.
As one after the other slipped in to their grave;
home to past sailors, some cowards, some brave.

When word reached back to their port the next night
that the Captain and crew had lost in their plight,
the men all drank whiskey and the women drank tea,
and remembered their friends who returned to the sea.

Sixteen Minutes With Mary

2009-11-10T17:59:00.010-06:00

I promised a friend I would talk with you tonight. I know you listened because I slept peacefully.

Are my shoulders strong enough
to lift you from the mire?
Can they endure the strain and burn
to lift you even higher?

Can my presence give to you
a friendship you can trust?
A knowing in your heart and soul
that tells you that you must.

Reach out my friend and take my hand
if ever you are wronged.
I'll be there to lift you up
my shoulders they are strong.

My Granddaughter

2009-10-29T18:54:00.004-05:00

What a blessing it is to be alive and involved in a child's life. Especially if they are your Grandchild. Life just keeps getting better. I promise that I will be such a positive influence in her life.
One hundred years from now, it will not matter what kind of car I drove, how much money I had in the bank, or what kind of house I lived in. What will matter is that I made a difference in the life of my Granddaughter.
That is all that is important to me.

Little girl, little girl

ribbons and lace

soft little fingers

and a beautiful face

pink little ears

and wiggly toes

pouty little lips

and a wee tiny nose

a cute little laugh

and a delicate smile

you've captured my heart

my sweet little child

The Boneyard Bangers

2009-10-20T19:48:00.003-05:00

My life in 1968 seemed as though it was spiraling out of control since Mom and Dad decided to divorce. I was a happy thirteen year old that year living a normal life in Montana with good friends and backyard football games. As soon as the divorce was finalized, Mom and I left our little town of Lavina and headed down south to Mississippi. Mom and I were moving in with her brother, Uncle Smitty. The only silver lining of the move was that he lived on a piece of land that had a lake on it. I had played there a few times when we had visited him in the past. I tried to remember the name of the Lake, was it Bonefield? No, that wasn’t it, maybe ..oh yeah, Boneyard Lake. Creepy sounding name but I wasn’t scared of anything. I looked forward to fishing, exploring, and maybe Uncle Smitty would teach me to hunt.

Fall was in the air when we arrived at our new home, at least our home for the time being. Mom enrolled me in school, I made a few friends, and a couple of boys were coming over to the house in the afternoons to play football in the back yard. One boy I liked was Billy Wilson. We became buddies and soon we were what Uncle Smitty would call “a couple of River Rats”, because we played down by the water so much. We took Uncle Smitty’s reference as a badge of courage. We weren’t afraid of anything and Boneyard Lake, albeit spooky at night, was our haven away from being stuck inside the house or doing chores.

Halloween was only a week away when Billy asked me “John Boy, can you keep a secret?” My real name was John Reinmiller, but I guess John Boy was sort of like a southern thing so I didn’t object. “Sure I can keep a secret. You can trust me I swear.” “You’ll have to swear with your blood John Boy. You’ll have to. Tonight I’ll take you to a place you won’t believe. You meet me after supper by the dirt road that runs down to the lake. Tell your Mama you are coming over to my house to plan for Halloween. I’ll see you tonight, and don’t be late.”

After supper I met up with Billy and we both took a trail guided by our flashlights to the edge of Boneyard Lake. As we came upon the boat launch I saw a small fire and heard the chanting.

“Black and Orange, Yellow and Red

We call on you to come back from the dead

Return we ask and visit us

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust”

Ok, maybe I wasn’t so brave after all. My throat lumped up and I was shaking so hard my flashlight beam was shining on the surrounding trees like a prison spotlight searching for an escaped convict. “Chill out John Boy, it’s OK. I know these people. This is what I brought you here for.” Billy gave out a whistle and we were acknowledged by the group of kids sitting around the fire pit in a circle. We took a seat on the grass and the chanting continued.

“Spirits past and spirits new

Lead us now we’ll follow you

We sacrifice our blood to take

Upon these grounds of Boneyard Lake”

“What’s going on Billy”, I asked “It’s the secret clan of the Boneyard Bangers, and now that you know about us, you are one. You’ll be tested in the next week, and you better not let us down, or something bad will come your way, I guarantee you that”, Billy said. With that I was asked to cut my middle finger and drop seven drops of blood into the fire pit. The cut was superficial. I was so scared I didn’t even feel the blade of the knife as it opened up my flesh. Seven drops of blood, a pact to the Boneyard Bangers, and an impending test of my courage within the week. Somehow I longed for Montana. I got back home to Uncle Smitty’s within an hour and went right to the shower, cleaned up, and went to bed. I didn’t sleep much that night.

Billy met me after school the next day and told me the Boneyard Bangers had decided what my initiation would be. “John Boy, you’ve been given your orders from the high priest of the group. You have to break into Old lady Smith’s house on Halloween night and steal her pistol that she keeps in the gun rack next to the fireplace.” “I won’t do it, I said. You’re kidding right? I’ll talk to this high priest and tell him I won’t do it!” “You’re talking to him John Boy, and you will do it, otherwise you’re a dead man.” Billy had an intense look of evil in his eyes. I believed he would actually kill me if I didn't do what he said.

Halloween night came quickly and I found myself wishing I had never heard of the Boneyard Bangers, had never left Montana, and had never met Billy. I wanted my Dad. I wanted out. I knew if I was caught I probably wouldn’t go to jail, being only thirteen years old, but I would be from that point on an outcast in this small community we lived in. I was afraid of Billy and his threat if I didn't do as he instructed, so I did exactly what he told me to do. I snuck up the stairs to old lady Smith’s as soon as her lights went out. It was 9 pm and I had to make it quick, as it was time for me to be home and Mom would be looking for me. I opened her unlocked door, quietly entered her living room and found the gun case and took what wasn’t mine. I took her pistol, a Smith & Wesson 357 Magnum revolver, fully loaded. I silently left her house and hid the pistol underneath a pile of wood at Uncle Smitty’s. Billy would ask me about it the next day, and I would have to show him the gun, or give it to him if that is what he ordered.

I met Billy at the boat launch at Boneyard Lake the next afternoon. I took the pistol along with me hoping that this would all be over within the next few minutes. “Did you get it John Boy? Did you get the pistol?” I pulled out the 357 magnum, but having second thoughts, I put it back in my coat pocket. “Give me the gun John!” Billy had never called me John before. His eyes were pure evil. “Give me the damn gun!” Billy struggled with me to grab the gun. As I grabbed the handle of the pistol, it went off with a loud bang. Billy looked at me with surprise as he still tightly held the barrel of the pistol. His eyes were no longer filled with evil. Now all I saw was fear. His grip loosened on the gun and he fell to the ground at my feet with a bullet hole in his chest. I dropped the gun and ran home.

Billy’s Dad called that night looking for him. Uncle Smitty shouted out to me “John have you seen that other River Rat today?” “No Uncle Smitty, haven’t seen him all day.” That night his Dad went looking for him and found him lying in a pool of blood, dead from a gunshot wound to the chest. The police were called, the weapon recovered and traced back to old lady Smith’s home. She didn’t even know it was missing. The police determined that young Billy Wilson had stolen the weapon, and either accidently or intentionally shot himself. I never said a word about it.

Rose Upon A Wisp

2009-10-19T21:14:00.005-05:00

My wife was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006. After undergoing a double mastectomy, and a very difficult time with chemotherapy including a hospitalization with pneumonia I found myself deep in depression.
At a point in time during the chemotherapy we both were at the point of accepting she might not live and having to accept whatever the consequences were. It was so difficult. This poem was written by me at a very low point in my life when I just had to live on faith. I hope you enjoy.

Rose Upon A Wisp

Shall I cast your love with open hand
and let it catch the breeze?
Shall I turn my back upon your name
and fall upon my knees?

The wind shall lift your love ahigh
to take it where it blows,
and land it soft upon a cloud
to change into a rose.

To free you from your earthly bond
is to free you from your gloom.
Then I'll chance to view your love
transformed into a bloom.

Let It Rain

2009-10-12T21:50:00.027-05:00

I thirst for your coming
sitting alone as if anticipating
a lover to call upon me
not knowing when or where

Waiting for you to wash away
the dust that has settled upon my skin
since we last parted
so long ago

When you come
let me be awake to welcome
your arrival
and bathe in your presence

Immerse me in your love
Saturate me in your element
Delight me with your company
Let it rain

El Barrio

2009-09-30T11:18:00.016-05:00

Sweatman's Barbeque

2009-09-25T19:49:00.003-05:00

Located way off the beaten track is where they come to get that hundred mile barbecue. A good fifty miles from Charleston, SC, is Sweatman's Barbeque in Holly Hill. Holly Hill, South Carolina to be exact. Never heard of it? You should have.
A tiny wooden building which serves as the restaurant is where cars start crowding in on the dirt parking lot at 11:30 am. Open only on Friday and Saturday. Come early if you want a table. Come early if you want the skin. There won't be any if you arrive late. Be sure to bring cash. That's right, Sweatman's Barbeque doesn't take credit cards, or checks. And be sure to bring your appetite.
The buffet offers only a few items. Rice, liver hash, cole slaw, pulled pork which comes in the choices of dark or white meat, and ribs. All served with your choice of a vinegar sauce, or a mustard based vinegar sauce. If you are lucky there will be pork skin. Sweet tea or water.
That's it.
Was it good? Absolutely worth the drive from Charleston. Will I be back? Undoubtedly I will. When Anthony Bourdain visited Sweatman's BBQ he said, "Barbecue with it's mixture of heart, science, and magic is a high calling in the South."
Yep, whole hog barbeque is a whole different world.

Challenger Deep

2009-09-19T21:17:00.008-05:00

“Papa, Wally Hunt at the Cape. How long can you hold your breath under water? Call me back when you get my message. It’s urgent.” That was the message I received when I got back from my daily surf at the beach, and found my cell where I had left it on the kitchen countertop. As soon as I got the message I returned the call. “Hello Wally, it’s Papa. Your message sounded important. What’s going on at the Cape?” “It’s not the Cape Papa; it’s what’s going on in the world. I guess you haven’t heard? North Korea launched a long range ICBM, a Taepodong-3 towards California about two hours ago. It was intercepted by a surface to air missile fired from the USS Port Royal (CG 73) fifteen minutes into flight. The rocket and its payload dropped into the Pacific Ocean somewhere southeast of the Marianas Islands. We need you at the Cape as soon as you can get here.” I put the cell in my pocket without even saying goodbye. Wally would know I was on my way. I sped by the security gate and straight to Building 1. Wally and his staff were gathered and I was briefed.
“Commander Pennebaker, the President of the United States has asked you to do your country a great favor. The President knows you are retired, and that you are only one of a handful of people in the world who can navigate the United States Navy bathyscaphe, Alvin-2, to the bottom of the ocean in search of the Korean missile that was intercepted today. Your knowledge of the Alvin-2 would be invaluable in a search and recovery mission of the Taepodong-3 if you will accept the challenge.” Alvin-2, I thought to myself? Why the Alvin-2? It’s only function is to dive to depths unattainable by any other form of submersible. “Wally, are you telling me that the Korean missile is in the Marianas Trench?” “Yes, I’m afraid that’s correct Papa. Our sounding instruments have placed it in a crater of the Marianas Trench. Not only that, it’s in the deepest recesses of the trench. It’s at the bottom of Challenger Deep.” I knew the Challenger Deep. It is thirty six thousand feet below sea level…the deepest surveyed point in the ocean. Pressures there are over one thousand times greater than at sea level. I had worked in the development of the Alvin-2 at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution before entering the space program in the late 1970’s. That is precisely why I was summoned.
I knew all about the quirkiness of the submersible, the groaning sounds it makes when it drops below twenty thousand feet, its functional capabilities, and the danger of a mishap. “OK, Wally, but why retrieve the missile? “Papa, U.S. satellite images and CIA intelligence indicates the North had transported its most advanced long-range missile to the new Dongchang-ni facility near China. Those same satellite images show the North fitted the ICBM with a questionable nuclear payload. We think the intent of the North Korean government was to start a nuclear war with the United States. The trajectory of the missile would have had it landing somewhere just east of San Francisco. Our Navy intercepted it before it slammed into the bay area of California. If that had occurred, hundreds of thousands of innocent people would have died. Of course North Korea is denying it was a nuclear payload. It is imperative that our government retrieve the missile and its nuclear payload intact before the Koreans and their Chinese allies do. Are you clear?” “I’m as clear as the waters off of Cocoa Beach Wally. Count me in.”
With no time to waste I found myself suited up and being escorted to the runway where the Lapin Blanc was waiting for me to climb aboard. Oh yeah…the Lapin Blanc; that sweet little lady with the twin Kretchmar turbo boosters. I would find myself at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam within half an hour. This was going to be a wickedly cool ride.
Three, two, one…blastoff. The familiar five G’s of crush…being pushed back into the form fitting leather seat of the Lapin, then the familiar blue to black of space and the stars in the heads up display were so déjà vu as I had just done this same type liftoff only three weeks prior on a search and rescue trip to the Van Allen Belt to assist in bringing home Sam. Sam…I wonder how she is and what NASA has her doing now? She’s probably getting a little rest and relaxation after that near disaster in space. She would be jealous as hell if she knew I was behind the throttle of this magnificent machine. I could still feel her in the seat sitting next to me. Her scent, her amber color still lingering in the confines of the Lapin’s cockpit. Just as soon as those thoughts began to fade I started my descent. I could see the entire island of Guam come into view with its runways approaching at two thousand miles per hour. Then the sound of the air traffic control came through, “Commander, welcome to Guam. You are clear for runway seven. A CH-47 Chinook is waiting to take you out to the USS Port Royal.” The screech of the Lapin’s tires upon the hot asphalt runway brought me back to reality. I suddenly wished I was back in the seat as a fighter pilot. I kissed the Lapin goodbye and boarded the Chinook for a fifteen minute flight out to the deck of the Port Royal which was on station. The US Survey Ship Kilo Moana was also standing by carrying with it the bathyscaphe Alvin-2. The Chinook set me down upon the fantail of the USS Port Royal, and from there I was escorted to the ready room where the Captain and his officers were anxious to brief me on the operation.
“Commander Pennebaker, you’ll be guided by radio and sonar transmission to the Taepodong-3 from the communication station on board the Kilo Moana. Your communications officer will be one of your NASA counterparts. I believe you know Lieutenant Sam Abjelina?” My mind went numb. Could it have been the quick flight over in the Lapin, maybe pulling too many G’s in such a short period of time? No…it’s Sam. That’s what it was. Her name coming up again and again in my life, it was more than kismet I thought, it was destined to be.
“Yes sir Skipper, I know Lieutenant Abjelina well. We go way back, all the way back to her college days at UC Berkeley. I would be honored to have her navigate me down to the Challenger Deep and back.” With that Sam entered the ready room and we gave each other that ‘keep the rabbit going’ smile. 'KTRG', short for 'keep the rabbit going'. It's a phrase I used with Sam when I was her flight instructor at NASA. I used it to push her past what she thought she could handle, and it worked. As the Skipper stood to exit the room, the junior officer attending shouted “Attention on deck.” Everyone sharply stood at attention as the Skipper exited. As the door to the room closed, I gave Sam a hug and then I was quickly escorted to the Alvin-2 to prepare for my dive to the Challenger Deep.
Suiting up for a dive in the Alvin was much different that readying for a space flight. At NASA it took at least one hour to put on a space suit, check for air compromise, and go through all the system checks of the suit itself. Suiting up for a deep dive was a matter of slipping into a one piece body suit. A suit made of lightweight gortex that zipped up the front. So lightweight in fact that it felt as though you were wearing nothing. Simple, functional, heat conserving; it reminded me of my body suit that I used for surfing the waters off of Cocoa Beach.
As I climbed into the Alvin and re-familiarized myself with its instrumentation and robotic arm, I got my first sound test from my navigator who was on board the Kilo Moana.
“Papa, it’s Sam. Are you ready to get this done?” Her words settled my uneasiness. If there was anyone that I would have chosen for this job, it would be her. She was smart, and tough as nails. I don’t know where she got her toughness from, but I’m guessing she had something happen in her younger years that developed that toughness. I never asked, but someday if she wants to tell me I would be there for her to listen. I owe her that. I wonder what she would think if she knew about the tattoo? “I’m ready Sam, let’s begin the descent.”
Thirty six thousand feet to go I thought as the Alvin was lowered into the water by the massive steel crane and steel cable that was my lifeline to the research ship Kilo Moana.
The tether cable’s rate of ascent and descent is approximately 10 miles per hour. That meant in 42 minutes the Alvin would be on the bottom of the ocean, a depth of thirty six thousand feet. Hopefully Sam will guide me right on top of the Taepodong-3. From there I would simply connect a retrieval cable to the missile with the help of the Alvin’s robotic arm and then the missile and its payload would be raised from the Challenger Deep.
“Papa, you are at one thousand feet and descending. Give me a systems check please.” "All systems are functioning properly Sam. Depth indicator checks at one thousand feet, submersible lighting system is turning on now.” As the submersible dropped silently deeper still, I could make out the faint groans of the metal plates compressing against each other as the atmospheric pressure of the ocean began to crush against Alvin’s steel hull. “Papa, ten thousand feet.” “Roger, Sam, ten thousand feet and all systems go for search and retrieval.” The surrounding environment was pitch black outside the range of the submersible’s lighting system. Occasionally a squid or small strange looking fish would come up to peer at the Alvin. I’m sure they thought I was just as curious looking as I thought they were.
“Papa you are at twenty thousand feet and descending. How is everything aboard?” “All systems are go Sam.” Then it happened. A loud groan from the Alvin, and then a deafening BANG! “Sam, come in Sam. Did you get that on your end? Did you hear that Bang?” “Papa, what happened? Yes, I heard it, as did almost everyone in the communications room. Are you OK?” Surveying the Alvin quickly for damage I could immediately see what caused the sound. “Sam, the glass porthole to the starboard side has cracked. No water intrusion, just a linear crack from top to bottom” “Papa, I don’t know if the mission needs to be aborted. Let me consult with the Skipper. I’ll be back to you within the minute. Papa, the mission is a go, but if you begin getting water intrusion into the cabin, the mission will be scrubbed and the Alvin will be raised. Do you copy?” “Roger that Sam. I’m all in. We only have twenty more minutes until we reach the floor. Let’s roll.”
Within fifteen minutes I was twenty feet off the lowest point on earth. Sam had guided me safely to within feet of the missile. The Alvin’s submersible lighting system illuminated the floor of the trench, and I was right on top of the Taepodong-3 and its payload. “Sam, good work girl…you put the Alvin smack square on target. Don’t let me forget to take you to dinner in Manila when I get back.” I heard Sam laugh from almost seven miles above me. For me that was worth the whole mission, even better than getting back into the Lapin’s saddle. That laugh was my reward.
“OK, let’s get down to business. USS Port Royal, this is Commander Papa K. Pennebaker. Robotic arm deployed and retrieval cable connected to payload and missile. Navy research ship Kilo Moana, you are go to retrieve, I repeat you are go to retrieve and begin the ascent of the Alvin-2.” “Roger that Commander Pennebaker, initiating ascent of the Alvin. We’ll see you on board the Kilo Moana in forty one minutes.” “I’m coming home Sam, hope to see you on deck when I return.” “I wouldn’t miss it for the world Papa, see you there.”
As the Alvin started slowly surfacing my ears were glued to the headphones, my connection to Sam, and my depth status. “Papa you are at twenty thousand feet and all is go. Please give me a status check.” Roger that Sam. System check good, wait….Sam, I see a tiny stream of water intrusion from the porthole crack. Looks like it’s a slow deliberate stream, nothing to worry about, but get me out of here as soon as possible. I don’t like the looks of it.” “Papa, I’ll keep constant communication with you for the remainder of the ascent. Let me know if anything unusual happens. You are within fifteen minutes of surfacing. “OK Sam, I’ll keep you on constant audio.” The next ten thousand feet was uneventful, Sam and I remained silent throughout those minutes then came Sam’s voice though the headphones. “Papa you are at ten thousand feet and ascending, please give me a status check, over.” A little more than ten minutes and I’ll be home I thought, and then the water began to pour in through the cracked porthole. “Sam! Sam! I’m in trouble, I don’t know if I’ll make it out of this one. Water coming in fast. Up to my knees…I can’t stop the water…Sam.” “Papa! Hold on! We’ll have you out of there in ten minutes. I know you can do it! Remember how you used to tell us when you were our instructor back at NASA that you could hold your breath for a full five minutes? Papa, I promise to get you out of this…I promise!”
“Engineering, crank up the retrieval. We need to get Papa to the surface. Dammit engineering, just do it!” The last words I said to Sam before the water entered my lungs were…..KTRG.”
The Alvin-2 surfaced seven minutes later, Alvin's cabin was filled with sea water, and I was strapped into the submersible's seat. I thought how strange it was that I was hovering above my body watching as the safety crew of the Kilo Moana unharnessed me from my chair and brought my body out and laid it on the deck. I could see Sam standing over me being very stoic, yet I knew she would cry later. I could see the ship’s medical officer unzip my body suit and expose my chest. That’s when Sam saw my tattoo. It read ~ELVIS IS KING~SAM IS MY HERO~ I wish she hadn’t seen it under these circumstances. I honestly had plans to show it to her someday. I got 'inked' right after the rescue three weeks ago. It was surprising to me that I could be embarrassed and dead all at the same time. This was really all a rather peaceful state I was in until the medic put the paddles to my chest and BAM! Hey, now that hurt! Then BAM! I heard him say “Stand back”, then BAM! Another jolt of electricity coursed through my body. Then simultaneously I heard Sam's dear departed Grandmother Natividad say, "Go back, you are not ready", and the medic shout "I have a pulse. Get Papa to medical ASAP!”
I awoke the following morning, back in my aging body with Sam standing over me crying. “Hello Gorgeous”, I said. “Welcome back Papa”, came her reply. “So are we still on for that dinner in Manila Papa? Well as soon as I get this IV out of my arm Lieutenant.” "Papa, I would have missed you badly. Thanks for keeping the date, I might even introduce you to family if you want to meet them.” "I'm up for about anything Sam, even family."
One week later, the Korean government was forced back to the six party non nuclear proliferation talks. Indeed they had armed the Taepodong-3 with a 20 megaton uranium warhead. The retrieval proved beyond dispute that their government was corrupt. The Chinese government was forced to make an international apology for their part in the denial of the missile launch and its payload. The UN sanctioned a formal censorship of both countries, and the rest of the world, well they knew the real truth.
As for me, I had a great meal with my friend on the beautiful Island home of two great women. A new national hero, Navy Lieutenant Sam Abjelina, and my new guardian angel Natividad Bartolome.
If you need me, just leave a message. I’ll be holding my breath in anticipation that it’s Sam.

Rebirth

The placental waters of the Pacific filled my lungs. Maternally cushioning, drowning me inside the confines of my uterine tomb...and I have returned to an embryo awaiting a rebirth and a new life reincarnate from 360 joules of electricity passing through my chest.

Night Songs

2009-09-11T19:55:00.012-05:00

Darkness nears and stars come out.
The sun sets low, coyotes shout.
Crickets chirp into the night,
and fireflies glow as birds take flight.

I sit and watch the dance in rhyme
then all around me stops in time.
As all God’s creatures give their praise
to be alive just one more day

And just as soon as it began,
the moon lends light upon the land.
I bow my head and say a prayer
to all God’s creatures kind and fair.

The Gift Of My Father

2009-09-11T16:40:00.010-05:00

Camp Shelby Mississippi

Is where it all began,

the transformation to a soldier

from an unassuming man.

Soon thrust into a battle

to preserve our way of life;

enduring cold, fear, hunger,

and distance from his wife.

He stood tall when called upon,

and always did his best,

and never once you heard him brag

about the medals on his chest.

Honor, comittment, loyalty,

and the courage to stand tall.

I reflect upon my Father

and the gift he gave us all.

The Day Duke Exploded

2009-09-09T20:59:00.004-05:00

It was one of those sweltering summer days in the South. July of 1960 was proving to be a month that would go down in the record books. I didn't know much about the weather, being only five, but I did know what hot was. The attic fan in our home ran non stop that summer. We had been sleeping with the windows open since early May. Waking up damp with perspiration was our badge of courage for making Mississippi our home. That's what my Daddy would say. The heat and my youthful ignorance would soon prove to be my undoing.

The day started like any other day. Mama arose early and started breakfast. That was her duty. Southern women, especially Mothers, had duties. Unmarried young women had dreams of someday having duties. It didn't make too much sense to me. I just wanted to be outside playing, or fishing with my friends. I crawled out of bed soon after Mama from the smell of sausage and biscuits on the table. Daddy would be up and to the table after his morning bath. Showers hadn't been invented yet, at least not in our town. It was a bath where you got to lie down in a tub of tepid water to wash away the dirt and sweat from the day before. The night before when I said my prayers I promised God that I would tell my big secret today, a secret that had been troubling me all week. I didn't know if I could go another day feeling such guilt without telling Mama and Daddy what I did, and where I hid the body. I planned to tell them tonight when we sat and talked before bedtime. Just then I heard Daddy raise his voice so Mama would answer quickly. "What's that God awful smell? Did you clean some catfish last night and forget to put the garbage out Mama?" I sank low in my chair hoping he wouldn't see the guilt on my face, but it was much too late to fix things now.

Five days earlier, it had rained hard. Enough rain to leave what looked like a lake in our yard, and a river along the ditch that lined our dirt road. Just the kind of rain that Duke, my Labrador, and I liked playing in. As I pulled on my galoshes I thought about how much I loved my dog. We were good buddies. I called out loud for Duke, but there was no answer. I called for him again a little louder. He should be running up to me and jumping on my chest. That was his typical greeting. It was a ritual, and for a moment I was worried. After all I was five years old, and rituals were important to me. I had rituals for almost everything. When I met up with my friend Glen each day, our ritual was to punch each other as hard as we could. It hurt, but it was our ritual. If I didn't get slugged in the arm I felt unacknowledged, I needed that to validate our bond. I needed Duke's presence, but he was no where to be found. I had to go look for him. I hurriedly put on my Hopalong Cassidy cowboy hat and gloves and set out in search of my buddy.

The rain had turned the dirt road in front of our house into a gumbo of red and yellow clay. I slipped with almost every step I took, hoping to find Duke at the next turn in the road. As I approached the intersection of where our road met up with the county highway I saw Duke. He had been hit by a car, and he lay motionless in the rain. I knelt down and opened his mouth out of curiosity. His tongue was swollen, and his jaw was rigid. Even at my young age, I knew he was dead. I felt ashamed. I should have taken better care of Duke and protected him from all the bad things in life. He was more than my friend, he was my responsibility. I wasn't going to let him lie out here in the rain. I grabbed him tight by the tail with my cowboy gloves and dragged him towards home. Back home I found a place to hide his body in the garage which adjoins the main house. Somehow hiding his body relieved me of some of the shame I felt for not caring and watching out for him better. I had failed Duke, and now he was dead.

The next few days passed uneventfully, although questions of Duke's whereabouts came up nightly. Mama and Daddy would say Duke probably found a girlfriend, and was out "sowing his oats". I wished they would stop talking about him. My guilt was tremendous, and I became more and more ashamed each time Duke was mentioned during our family discussions. I knew exactly what happened to Duke. I felt awful. For the first time in my young life I didn't like myself. I felt I had not only let Duke down, but my family as well.

That brings me back to the breakfast table. As I slid down in my chair, I was promptly snatched back to reality with a stern look from my Daddy's all knowing eyes. I couldn't take it anymore. I had no choice but to reveal my secret now. With a cathartic release of pent up emotion I wailed, “I did it, I know what happened to Duke!” I led Daddy out to the garage, and in behind a stack of old worn out tires, and a swarm of flies rested the body of our family dog. Duke in all his glory had decomposed, and some time during the night, for lack of a better word, had exploded. Daddy said a very bad word, before slowly composing himself. Gently he took me by the hand and walked me back inside the house. We all took our breakfast out to the back yard and sat at the picnic table. We cried, laughed, and remembered our Duke. Although Daddy punished me by having me clean up the mess I helped create, I finally understood unconditional parental love, the price of keeping secrets from the family, and the meaning of a dog day afternoon.

When the Rain Falls

I'd play a muted trumpet if I could
on my front door steps
If my neighbors heard it they'd know
that it was raining

Cheeks buldging like Dizzy's
smiling like Satchmo
in between clouds
of soulful riffs

Smooth notes like the rain
falling by the bucket full
from a tarnished old horn
and a young boy’s fancy

Mo Anam Cara

2009-08-28T12:58:00.004-05:00

Out to the West so many miles
she walks in bare feet by the bay.
Raven hair and loving smile
sipping lattes through the day.
So young in age but wise in style
linked to my soul in special ways.

The Gaelic bond that we both share
Mo Anam Cara is its call.
Whatever burden we may bare
is always taken without stall.
To uplift each in loving prayer
and share the pain if either falls.

A kindred soul; a co-joined heart
a willingness to always share.
To know the other does their part
no need to say we'll always care.
Mo Anam Cara, let us start,
Mo Anam Cara....kind and fair.

Bringing Home Sam

2009-07-03T20:38:00.060-05:00

The last days of June were unusually hot, although I really didn't mind the heat as I spent most of my free time in the water. Learning to surf Cocoa Beach Florida at the sweet age of 53 was out of the ordinary, but I was quite the un-ordinary guy. Ron Jon’s surf shop had come to know me well in the past year as this was my usual hangout on any given weekend before I would head to the local beach.

My background up until a year ago was in the space program. My business card read Commander K. 'Papa' Pennebaker/Shuttle Commander/ NASA Flight Program Coordinator. I had flown missions out of Cape Kennedy with the shuttle program dating back to the 1980’s, and most recently held the position of officer in charge of new recruits indoctrinating into the astronaut program. Flying by the seat of my pants was what I really enjoyed, but working with the ‘new blood’ coming into the flight program gave me a great sense of satisfaction. I had decided recently that I had done all I could do and had seen it all, so last July I met with my good friend and supervisor, Wally Hunt, and told him of my plans to retire. It was time I thought to start thinking about a new life, and enjoy the fruits of my labor. If I had prepared the new recruits thoroughly I could leave the program without any reservation. That is when my cell phone rang.

“Papa, it’s Wally. We need you at the Cape. We have a Galactic Code 4.” As soon as his words were transmitted to my cell I was in my car and heading toward Cape Kennedy. I passed by security and drove straight to Building 1. That's where Wally was waiting with the news.

“It looks bad Papa. Sam has gotten herself into a real nasty situation. She was flying her first solo mission to Jupiter. While maneuvering though the Van Allen belt, her craft was struck by a meteorite. Our sensors indicate her oxygen pressure is very low. We believe it’s only a matter of time until she runs out of breathable oxygen, and then …well you know what that means.”

Sam was the top cadet that had come through the astronaut training program under my direction. She was a summa cum laude grad from UC Berkeley with a double major in physics and aerospace studies. She made it through the space program despite having two young children to take care for, and the death of her namesake Grandmother Natividad. Her hard work and professionalism impressed me above all the other students I had instructed. After she graduated the program at NASA we became good friends, and she even once took me to her favorite coffee house and also introduced me to her Mother's Filipino cooking. “What do you need me to do Wally? I’m in. I’ll do anything for Sam.”

“Papa, NASA needs you to go back into space and rescue Sam. Do you think you can do it? Can you reach into your gut and pull out the courage to fly again?” “Just show me the way to the launch pad Wally. The surf can wait a day or two; I’ve got a rendezvous with Sam.”

Wally and the pre-launch crew led me to the hangar where I was introduced to the Lapin Blanc. A prototype rescue craft, small, two-seater, white, sleek, awesome. “Why the name Lapin Blanc, Wally?” "It's French for White Rabbit", Wally replied. "A quick rescue vehicle developed in collaboration with the French Space Administration for just this purpose. This craft flies like a Ferrari with its two twin Kretchmar solid fuel booster rockets."

“What do you think Papa? Can you can fly it?” “For Sam, hell yeah I can... start the countdown!” “Countdown starts in 1 hour Papa, better suit up. Sam needs you.”

After a quick two fingers of tequila in the preparation room, and getting into my flight suit I was ready. I was going to bring Sam home in one piece or my name wasn’t Papa K.

3,2,1 blastoff. My body pushed back onto the leather seat of the sleek white rabbit as it rocketed through the clouds and within seconds blue turned to dark black space. As the twin Kretchmars disengaged I could see stars through the heads up display and I could feel myself go weightless. It had been years since I had experienced weightlessness, and now I understood why surfing appealed to me. It was that same kind of feeling.

My rendezvous with Sam would be in an hour as I familiarized myself with the robotic arm that I would use in pulling her to the Lapin.

Out of the dark Sam’s craft came into view. I could see it had been struck by space debris, as it wobbled out of control and gaseous vapor spewed from its port side. I sent a message to Sam by radio and was successful upon the first attempt. “Sam, it’s Big Papa K. I’m here to take you home.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard her beautiful voice. “How did you know where to find me Big Papa?” “I listened to your guardian angel Natividad. She showed me the way. Now let’s get the hell out of here and back to Karen and Mikey, what do you say?” As I grabbed her with the Lapin's robotic arm and pulled her inside the two seater she took a deep breathe of fresh oxygen and then smelled the coffee. “Yeah, I brought you one. It's a caff'e caramel macchiato from Peets. You didn’t think I would forget, did you?” We had both reconnected after all this time. Sam was still the bright Filipina Berkeley girl I had come to admire. The one who first gave me the name ‘Big Papa K’, the name that had stuck.

As we re-entered earth’s atmosphere, the sky was colored an unusual flush apricot sway. At that moment I turned to Sam and said, “You remember the song? Our song from long ago? Wanna sing it again?" We both laughed and started singing that silly song I wrote about my trip out to California to visit her once. As our little white Lapin sliced through the clouds, Cape Kennedy's runway came into view.

Filipino pride, Filipino pride...
Going back to earth in my little white ride.
Top down crusin' here comes the mornin' sun.
Becha I’ll be brown before this trip is done…

to be continued.....

The Responsibility of Our Blessing

2009-07-02T16:14:00.030-05:00

As the fourth of July approaches I usually start thinking about barbeque, ice cold watermelon, a couple of beers, backyard parties, and flying the flag out front so all can see. I love flying the flag, and try to put it out daily, and not forget to bring it in at dusk. I have watched the flag for what seems like hours on occasion, and know how the red and white stripes flutter in the breeze and how the field of fifty white stars sit upon their dark blue background. Red, white and blue. Those three colors have come to represent not only our flag, but also an analogy for being a good citizen. “Yep, he’s red, white and blue through and through.” You have probably heard that many times in your life. It’s fitting that those colors represent someone’s loyalty to the United States. If you think about it, well it’s quite a compliment to be red, white and blue.

Blessed with citizenship, and not taken for granted. That’s what I wish for myself and my friends. I totally understand that this freedom I enjoy came with a huge price. The sacrifices of men and women before me, and those that will come after me have and will ensure this blessing for generations to come. Our present day responsibility collectively is to ensure that the younger generation realizes the prices paid, and the responsibility that is theirs in keeping our country free from tyranny.

I am very proud to be part of this great country. I am proud of each one of you who take citizenship seriously, and I am proud of those who come to our country legally and seek citizenship lawfully.

So this fourth of July, as I eat my barbeque, fly the stars and stripes, and listen to the kids laugh and play in the yard, I'll also remind myself of the responsibility of my blessing.....

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Untouchable

2009-06-30T21:55:00.017-05:00

I took along a few dollars worth of quarters in my pocket while walking the beach with my wife in Naples Florida this past Sunday evening. I knew that Steven Spielberg lived in one of the homes located along this stretch of beach. I had hoped to throw a few of the quarters onto his property. Actually I had hoped that he would notice and ask me what I was doing. When Steven was a young man he would ask for a quarter admission to view one of his home movies. I thought it only appropriate that a quarter be my token homage to this great film maker. I did get near his home, but the quarters remained in my pocket as I didn't get within throwing distance.
My wife and I still had a great walk along the beach. I guess it's all for the best that we didn't run into him. It gave me more time to be with the woman I love and reflect on how lucky a guy can be...now back to the future.

Little Bunny

2009-06-20T15:07:00.020-05:00

This bunch of daisies I picked them for you
from a field full of flowers of yellow and blue.
A magic green field where pink bunnies speak
and little girls kiss their Moms on the cheek.

A bubblegum fountain that can actually talk,
and gingerbread sidewalks with lots of pink chalk.
Tall peppermint trees where the bluebirds all sing.
Imagine the fun you can have with such things!

And out in the distance a mountain so dandy
with a sea of red licorice and all sorts of candy.
Where mommies and daddies paddle in a canoe.
I see a white one, a green one, and one that's bright blue.

So remember to smile and sing your favorite songs,
and when you give hugs make them last oh so long.
Forever stay young while you live in this world.
These things I wish for you...my sweet little girl.

Cherry Mambo #1

2009-06-13T16:40:00.026-05:00

Sixteen Cherries all lined up.
Sweet little cherries in a Chinese cup.
Plump red cherries by the piano keys,
cherry mambo madness with a cup of tea.

Dark red cherries on a cherry stem.
Sweet red cherries on a cherry-whim.
Fresh cut flowers and the time is now,
cherry mambo madness pops in my mouth.

Free falling cherries from a cherry tree.
Sweet cherry poems to you from me.
The taste of cherries is what I send,
cherry mambo madness to you my friend.

Basin Blues

2009-06-08T15:37:00.016-05:00

I was asked to repost this short story with the additional poem that was included in my book Twelve Tall Tales published in February 2009.

Basin, Mississippi in 1975 was like any small river settlement in the deep South along the Pascagoula River. The brown water of the Pascagoula flowed southward to the Gulf of Mexico as it passed by the two hundred or so homes located along the sand bars of the "Singing River". Old timers called the river the "Singing River" named that for the Pascagoula Indian tribe that lived along the waterway until the early 1800's. The fate of the Pascagoula Indians is in dispute but a story of their demise persists to this day. It appears the Pascagoula Indians rather than face death and imprisonment from an opposing warlike tribe chose instead to march into the river and drown. If you believe this story you can almost hear the death songs of the Indian men, women and children as they took their own lives rather than face dishonor.

I turned 20 years of age that year. Two years at a junior college did nothing for me except make me question who I was, and where I was heading. It would have been easy to blame my sense of uncertainty on drugs, as it was the 70's, but I never did fall into that scene. It was an uncertainty I still don't seem to quite have an answer for. My longing for direction told me to find myself that year. I quit school, joined the Navy on a delayed entry program, and bought a boat. I had always wanted to be the captain of my own boat, and now I was going to be. Would I hear the singing of the river and experience what so many of the old timers speak of? Would buying a boat be a failure? I didn't know, but I did understand that I needed a change and this was how I was going to express myself, at least for the summer of 1975.

With all my uncertainty in navigating a boat on a mighty river like the Pascagoula, I set off on a Saturday morning to test the used boat that I had purchased. After launching the boat at Smith's Landing I headed south for about ten miles before I heard the clunk, clunk, clunk of the engine. I could see the next bend in the river coming up as my motor shut down and I drifted with the current. After this bend in the river there were no other homes until it emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. It was by sheer luck that I spotted a cabin through the thick stand of scrub oaks, and river willows. A barking dog ran out from the lone cabin and stopped just short of the water's edge as if to say, "Don't even think of coming here." As I considered my options of making a landing or not, an old man appeared out of the cabin, waved off the dog, and signaled me to paddle ashore. It was a man I had always been told to avoid. I had heard stories about him from my parents and friends. It was Wes Gibson. A man who was known throughout the county as a recluse and scoundrel.

Old Wes Gibson had lived along the river since 1959. He built his own cabin that year on the banks of the Pascagoula. With no electricity, and no running water, he had lived a life of chosen seclusion for 16 years. The only time he had come into town was to complain to the health department that they should come out to his home and spray for mosquitoes. I only know this from direct conversation with someone who worked at the health department. Yes, Wes Gibson was a quirky individual, and I was afraid when I saw him.

I had no choice but to come ashore. If I didn't I would be floating into the Gulf of Mexico within a few hours. This was not acceptable. How would I explain to my Navy recruiter that I wouldn't be there for duty in November? How could I tell my family that I chose not to face my fears and try, at least try to rescue myself from drifting out to sea? I chose to drift toward Wes Gibson and as I threw him my line, I asked him to tie me off so I could come ashore.

Wes was a man who stood about five feet five and weighed around one hundred and thirty pounds. Not an intimidating persona, but a rough looking sort of man. His face was weathered and wrinkled and he sported a beard that reached down to the middle of his chest. As he called me ashore I could see from his open mouth that all of his front teeth, top and bottom, were missing. I wondered if that was from neglect or from the many stories I had heard about him from his younger days as a boxer and a scrapper. Needless to say, I was afraid.

I jumped out onto the river bank as soon as Wes had tied off the boat to a tree along the river. I was surprised that he offered his hand in friendship. He greeted me kindly and said that he hadn't seen another person for over a month. When I asked him if he had a telephone he smiled, and I knew the answer, of course he didn't. After all I was in the presence of Wes Gibson. I was in Mississippi. It was 1975. I felt more at ease from his greeting as we spoke about my need for finding a mechanic to fix my motor. He knew I wouldn't be finding any mechanic here. Inviting me to come inside his cabin, I felt a little anxious, but something drew me towards the house. Walking up the bank of the river towards his cabin, I could see smoke coming from the chimney. My sense of fear eased slightly as the smell of coffee wafted from the open door.

As I walked inside his cabin, my first sense was that of dirt below my feet. The dog had since taken a place near the stove and was eerily eyeing me. Wes offered me his cot to rest, and after drinking a cup of hot coffee I lay down and slept. It rained hard while I napped. I would never have guessed I would be sleeping inside a dirt floor cabin in the presence of such a much maligned individual. Upon awakening I realized that if Wes would have meant harm to me it would have happened while I slept. At that moment I heard the sputtering sound of my outboard motor running in the background. As I walked down to the river's edge, I saw Wes in my boat. He had the motor running like new. Wes smiled a toothless grin. When he saw me he said, "Neighbor, you better git before your Pappy thinks your dead."

As Wes untied my boat from the tree that he had hitched me to earlier that morning I gave him a nod and a smile. I think that is all that he wanted. To be acknowledged as a person. Someone who had value. I was beginning to see the larger picture. Everyone has a purpose and need in this life. It didn't matter if you were a banker, or a hermit. It didn't matter if you were a successful University student, or someone going off to the Navy in search of identity. We all have purpose and needs.

Gunning the motor towards Smith's Landing I broke into a wide smile and began singing out loud. I sang an impromptu song of my meeting the hermit Wan Gibson. I wonder if my voice would be heard over the drone of my outboard, over the song of the Pascagoula Indian’s death march? History was repeating itself; the song was back on the water. I will forever remember this moment and the link I felt to the river and its history, and maybe, just maybe, a little understanding of friendship, acceptance, and purpose of life.

River Chant

I heard Wes Gibson was a mighty mean man
a lazy right eye and lightening quick hands.
He’ll drop you down upon your knees,
spit mud in your eye then do as he pleases.

The tale has been told for at least twenty years
of how old Wes Gibson ain’t got no fears.
He lives on the river in a tiny wood shack,
eats fish for breakfast and squirrels for snacks.

Well I don’t care what the town folk say
I’m gonna shake hands with Wes someday.
They say please don’t go, don’t take that chance,
but listen to me sing my river chant.

The song’s on the water back where it belongs,
from the Pascagoula Indians long since gone.
To the young man singing ‘round the river bend,
old Wes Gibson is now my friend.

Feng Shui For Lovers

2009-05-31T21:42:00.022-05:00

Yin and Yang, Wang and Wong,
I’ll move the sofa if it doesn’t take too long.
But first I’ll have to finish the chore
of cleaning up the beer I spilled on the floor.

My wife says the flat-screen would look good over there…
behind the pink sofa and that god ugly chair.
She said it will promote good health and well being,
But I think it would be damn difficult seeing.

Prosperity will follow with this type of Feng Shui.
“You’ll see," she said "just give it a day.”
“And good luck and happiness will soon be just right!”
But my mind was set on a little loving tonight.

“So the head of the bed should always face south?”
As I mumbled some curse words under a semi closed mouth.
“And the foot of the bed must be by the window right here,
so the neighbors can catch a quick glimpse of my rear?”

Feng Shui is about throwing out clutter,
but all I could think about were her hips soft as butter.
As she lay on the bed and I asked what she was feeling,
she said “Before we get going would you fix that crack in the ceiling?”

So I spackled and painted and straightened the mantle,
then lit up the incense and burned a big candle.
Then she whispered so softly, “Now I’m ready to play!”
But I was far too exhausted from the move to Feng Shui.

Kisses Yet Tasted

2009-05-22T06:08:00.031-05:00

It's 6 a.m. Friday morning, and I've been awake since 3 a.m. Awakening in the middle of the night with an idea for a story that would take me to a higher level in my writing, one that would undoubtedly give me great satisfaction; and that's truly what I write for...to find satisfaction within myself. Telling a story, and conveying its meaning to those who read my words is just icing. The real cake is being happy with who I am and what I write. So I came downstairs, set up my cozy writing nook, and then I read one sentence that changed my morning. It read "Listening to Helen Jane Long, Echo" What is one more minute going to hurt as I googled 'Helen Jane Long'? A quick review, then to playlist.com, and I found one song entitled "Stars" from Miss Long.
The delicate touch of the piano begins, and the silence of the quiet morning awakens into a melodic rhapsody. As the sun breaks through the window and the beauty of the Japanese maple outside the kitchen window catches my eye, I recall why I chose this piece of land to settle upon, and now know why I awoke early. It wasn't about writing, it was more. It was something or someone pulling me out of bed saying, "Hey, you're going to miss something wonderful if you sleep in! Wake up, experience life! It's not too late!"
As the music faded into a decrescendo, I was left awakening to an inner peace. A new day had dawned with all its wonders and kisses yet tasted. And the coffee...the coffee. Oh yes, I think I shall have another sip from this cup of life....

A Visit To My Father's Home

2009-05-15T22:05:00.035-05:00

The rose had shed its petals along the walkway leading up to the home
as if welcoming a wedding party
on this early May morning,
but those who once lived here are either dead or scattered.

The lock still opened with the same key.
A familiar turn of the knob as the
door scraped against the threshold
and a creaking floor welcomed my footstep.

This was where I was born,
suffered angst, grew rebellious and
walked out that same front door,
leaving it for granted.

Now all that is left is the structure
with no foundation of family.
As a rose strewn walkway lays wait
with no cause for celebration.