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Tell-ya ’bout my glabella

Glabella: the space between two human eyebrows. The picture is mine. Cool, huh? I learned what it is called by reading Reader’s Digest today – the June, 2019, edition. When I was younger, this space was occupied and I had to maintain it (’nuff said) … age has taken care of that problem for me lately.

You have a glabella, I assume; otherwise, you’d have no nose and your eyes would be … well … cycloptic. I’m not anatomist, or a facial features fanatic, so I can’t “really” say 100% for sure you “should” have a glabella, but odds are …. you do. If I ever do meet a glabella-less human, I will update this post and then call Ripley. Until then … off to the point:

My grandfather collected Reader’s Digests. When he passed in early 2010, I had the pleasure of gathering up all of them for the sole purpose of saving the LAUGHTER is the best MEDICINE, HUMOR in UNIFORM, and miscellaneous other quips and quirky other stuff. Still have them saved in a folder.

I did this for two reasons. First, I like humor. Even the old jokes from the 70’s are good. Now, granted, gas-shortage and Nixon humor doesn’t resonate like it did back then. “Why did Henry Kissinger cross the road?” … “He was ‘Begin’ for a ride” .. for example, isn’t top 40 material. It kinda hits file thirteen with a soft thud now days. Kissinger who, right? The puns and word play, however, I store away in my head-file and use as necessary.

Second, and more importantly, these are memories. Memories of my grandfather who – for all intents and purposes – lived to be one-hundred years old. He lived a long life. Outliving his wife and all of his friends, he went to Silver Sneakers at the gym (probably because the guy to gal ratio was 1:25). He was a pretty simple guy.

Strange that I am now the age he was the year I was born. Oh, man, that’s such a goofy thought. Weird even to type. Almost as strange as typing the word, “glabella”.

Memories of my grandfather boil down to one thing: humor. That’s why I carefully cut out all the stuff I did. He was fun. His humor took the form of stories … I often think of him telling me about the Russians (so unfortunate that I can’t re-tell the story for you … day and age issues … insert sad face emoji here) It was so funny, original, and didn’t take offensive stabs at anyone “of the time”..

So, with an unwrinkled glabella, I close. This guy, now of a grandfather’s age, remembers a wonderful grandfather gone, now, nine years … but still alive in some silly pages clipped from Reader’s Digests.

Glabella greatness in eternity, PapPap.

The Magic in Life

I had the pleasure of working today with this guy. To give you some context, here is my business …

I’ve owned a mobile food business since 2005, “Doug’s Dawgs”, which affords me the opportunity to work side-by-side with vendors, artists, …. and magicians. Like, David Wayne. Fascinating. Magical.

I was steady today. He didn’t have much opportunity to show off his talent, however. The crowd wasn’t formed in his favor … more leaning my way. That said, in my down time I had the time to talk with David.

To start, he knows the early -lesser known – history of Houdini, is past President of the National Society of Magicians (I may not remember the exact society name), lives in Chambersburg, and does 100 shows a year. In addition, he is a retired salesman, married a long time, and, most importantly, has inner joy when performing his craft.

You wouldn’t know my great uncle was a professional magician – “Geinger, the Magician”. Also, you wouldn’t know I dabbled as well … mostly card sleight-of-hands because of my pianist background … the cards felt soooo good in my hands. Double-lifts, Svengali decks, etc. All this to say David and I hit it off right away. Unfortunately, but necessarily so, I had to wait on customers. Otherwise, the four hours would have been spent talking David Copperfield, Mark Wilson, Dunninger’s, Houdini, and …. magic without interruption.

I woke up this morning expecting un-magical things to happen. A normal day in the heat, behind a grill, turning over my “nth+” hot dawg, smiling at my “nth+” customer, tearing down my business for the “nth+” time…

And then there was this spiritually levitating event – one which made the minutes disappear … the universe picked the right card for me today. I turned it over. It was David.

I have a feeling it knew the trick all along.

The Warmth of Ice Cream

This is about 2/3 of a gallon. Neapolitan: strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla.

Mmmmmm

Three weeks ago it was a full tub. I’m surprised only 1/3 is gone considering the speed at which sweets disappear around here. This tub takes up a lot of room in the freezer. Sorry to say, the healthy fish and veggies have been sacrificed, albeit temporarily, to accommodate this rather large tub of deliciousness.

A few spoonfuls at a time – just a spoonful of sugar – helps the medicine of life go down (right, Julie?)… and the pink, brown, and white together are, simply, perfect.

I didn’t buy this tub. The man that did always buys too much. He means well. He really, really does. I think he either expects everyone to eat a bigger portion of ice cream than they ever did at any point in their life, or, he wasn’t good at math in school. Whatever the case, the intent is sincere – and my ever increasing waist line thanks him, sarcastically, for it…

I’m was chocolate only guy ’cause mom was. She never strayed from that dedication. Very seldom did she make, say, neapolitan cookies, or black-and-white cookies. It was always chocolate chip. Period. Chocolate no bakes. Period. Etc….

She was all-in life. Probably too much so. Neapolitan ice cream – even one spoonful – would not have crossed her lips, though.

I got my “all-in” life personality from her for sure… and it has created some problems … and some wonderful moments, too. Good and bad.

I’m living a neapolitan life for me ….. in way she never wanted to live for herself. This life I have made for myself is probably the best way for me to honor her memory.

…and that’s worth another spoonful of deliciousness.

Dougie Daju

    “The Daju people are a group of seven distinct ethnicities speaking related languages living on both sides of the Chad-Sudan border and in the Nuba Mountains.”

    So says Wikipedia.

    I did not know this when I was six years old. Christmas that year was magical. I named him, “Orangie” but couldn’t quite pronounce it…so, I said “Daju”. Simple, easy.

    This past summer, I found some old 8mm films from my grandfather’s estate. As fate would have it, one small reel flickered frames of me opening the very package when Orangie arrived. Oh, the joy in my eyes that Christmas morning! In color, nonetheless!

    Above is my cherished Daju today. My pal throughout everything from toddler, youth, and teen, to life as a reflecting adult.

    He’s worn out. Hole in his throat, fur tattered and battered, face rubbed raw, and seams a bit loose. Not sure why I tied the yarn or stitched the patch, though? 🤷🏻‍♂️

    I used to say – as I came down the stairs – “Dougie, Daju, dump dump down” (as recalled later by my dear mother) She loved that. I’d love to have her laugh at me one more time. Even at my age, I’d say it again…. for her.

    And I guess that’s the meaning of Orangie, Daju, or Life.

    Never stop smiling. Tell jokes. Laugh. Have fun.

    He never stops smiling. From day one – so many years ago – that smile has not stopped. It is what drew me to him from the start. It was the joy I saw at six years old. Not a surprise at all that it was a present from my mom.

    I can be tattered, worn, and battered. So can you.

    Keep smiling. Keep the joy. Somehow keep your Daju around.

    Sagittarius Santa

    Perhaps I bought a local paper because I like working the crossword puzzle for a few minutes, or, was so bored for fifteen minutes and had nothing better to do over a ham sandwich…and wanted to read the obits. Regardless, my eyes roamed over to the horoscope page …. and there it was. Sagittarius. My hopes, dreams, and future all nicely wrapped up in around thirty-five words.

    How cool.

    Someone somewhere, somehow, knew my destiny. I’ll bet they even foresaw light mayo on my ham sandwich as well. How fortuitously fortunate for me, right?

      So. That’s that. Settling up with my waitress and horoscope read, I headed out across town to test the theory. Looking for cats, waves, and talking flowers… I guess. Onward I went to translate sensations.

      My first encounter was a man on a bench. Let’s just say that didn’t go well. He didn’t want his sensations translated.

      Next vision? A half-used cigarette crunched against the curb. Flicked, apparently, in haste as it seemed an unfinished, unsatisfactory drag by the user. Again, didn’t seem like my “fate” for the day…

      A few paces ahead … a beat up Ford parked the wrong way facing south in a space beside a north bound lane. Wow! That’s exciting!!

      Once more – my fate dashed aside in the trash bin of hopelessness – mulch strewn, out of place across the sidewalk. Ugh. Despair .. and then I saw it. I mean “I SAW IT”!!!

      “Santa” baby! My miracle. In chalk (or some permanent inkish-whitish scrawly stuff) ..etched on the pavement; Presumably from nine months prior to the day tomorrow? Who the hell knows?

      Don’t care. It’s SANTA BABY. My fate. My cat. My wave. My parlance of posies. Well, for today anyway. Tomorrow it’ll be trolls, oranges, or female robots. But, I digress.

      Now, to interpret as my horoscope demands I do.🤔

      Santa gives gifts. Love that!

      Santa wears red and is jolly. Love that!

      Santa has lots and lots of toys. Love that!

      Santa works only one day a year. Love, love, LOVE that!!

      Santa uses no CO2 emissions to pollute the air, but his reindeer fart. Kinda on the fence about this one…

      Santa loves children of all ages, races, nationalities, disabilities, etc… Love that!

      Santa lets us use our imaginations. Love that!

      And…

      Santa lasted over two-hundred days on the pavement so a Sagittarian could write a blog about how wonderful reading a horoscope could be. Even a random newspaper purchase – while eating a ham sandwich – could turn into something to love.

      Thanks, Santa. I’ll set out some cookies (or maybe a ham sandwich with mayo for you) because I think you wrote the horoscope after all.

      Rocky

      A family I know had to put down their dog today. Really nice family. Really hard day.
      The end of anything special is difficult to handle almost all the time. Special lives of special pets are no exception. Relationships with our pets live within smaller spans of time relative to our human lifetimes. Because of this, we feel a special bond, a tighter connection, a sense of urgency…to make every moment count.
      And then the day comes. The really hard day.
      No more urgency.
      But yet, the bond and connection still remain. They will always be here.
      And so will Rocky. He was a good dog.

      Life – All at Once

      “I want to open my body, reach in, and hold my heart.
      Just one time
      Feel the warmth like a campfire on a cool, crisp evening.
      Just one time….
      ….to experience s’more of that inner glow from sparks sitting around with me.
      Just one time
      To re-ember my happy life and watch the small lights lift into the night sky one by one.
      Just one time
      Fall into the marsh – mellow out, relax. Melt. Drip into the arms of log I sit upon.
      Just one time.

      With my heart on my flannel sleeve.”

      That was then. A slow burn. Male depression. An unrecognized b-light.
      Bleak, bitter cold. Sadness, regret, pain, hurt, tears and unknown … tossed into the campfire. These memories – and everything my held heart felt – kindred kindling for generations to come. Others will visit. Others will see.

      It is no longer just one time. I thought it was, but the path was not to take alone.

      In the shadows of each flicker was a friend … and, some damn great friends. In their own experiences, bringing joy to light.

      Behind each tree was a spirit of hope. I swung on each branch as a child would on a gleeful summer day… massaging the universe for a miracle.

      Along the trail was a counselor willing to listen, guide, and teach. From such knowledge comes humility in self.

      Waiting in the smoky residue were the hands of my mother – reaching out. I needed her grace.

      At the end, just one time was not my fall.

      It was the rise of a new Phoenix out of the ashes.

      I held my heart.

      I reached my campsite, looked into the fire, felt the intense heat, and walked away. That one time.

      And I’m glad I did.

      Centerville

      I adore appropriately named towns. Just passed “Centerville” – almost halfway between Bedford, Pa and Cumberland, Md…

      It’s a ville – in the center of somewhere. Never mind where I’m headed. Those familiar with these parts know the destination.

      Centerville has an intersection / gas station / ice cream stop place. Today?… a dog in an open jeep looking at me. Happy to be seatbelted in because he knows his owner loves him enough to keep him safe.

      That’s pretty much it. Centerville. A place … momentarily…for me to be centered. I guess that’s why it’s appropriately named such… and why I adore places like it.