The sum of our part

He hated long beach more than he loved me.

And he loved himself more than anything else.

But he was troubled so hated himself half the time.

By all accounts, I shouldn’t have counted on his love.

#mathfail #breakuppoetry #wordproblem

RED: Loving from the inside out

SOLITUDE, Acrylic on canvas

It was a time of infatuation. So desperate to be adored. Fixated on romance, that would never bloom. Sadness. Solitude. The anger of red. The color of love. Swept up in blue until I knew: you need to love yourself first. 

The song written back then is "The Spell:"

In a cowardly shape

I drew a cape

To fly a farther field

And in my escape

A dulling ache

Convincing me to yield

All day here

All day long

All day here

All day long

The powerful dust

And tranquil lust

Is ready for a fight

But the glamorous red

Won’t match the color

Of my appetite

All day here

All day long

All day here

All day long

On a dangerous road

You came to hold

A fragile honesty

In a shadow it took

A healthy look

To cast a spell on me

All day here

All day long

All day here

All day long

Once upon a long time

I drew a line

Connecting you to me

In a desperate approach

I grew the hope

You’d love me endlessly

Fast Friends

The traffic light was green, but the pedestrian signal said "Do Not Walk." As I debated whether or not to cross (sometimes the goody-good in me is unshakeable), a tall black man approached behind me, mumbling something. As he got to the corner, this tower of a man greeted me with a clear, "good morning sweetie," and stepped into the crosswalk.

I decided to join him, figuring if anyone could stop traffic it would be this guy, so I took full advantage of the situation. Whew! We made it. His mumbling, it turned out, was a low humming melody, most likely improvised as the lyrics didn't seem defined, just varying notes and an occasional "Jesus."

His stroll and my march ended up being about the same pace, so we walked together to the next corner and as we neared the second "Do Not Walk," I waited to see what the plan would be. He stepped into the crosswalk, and I again followed along beside him. Now we were true partners in crime, fellow jaywalkers along Ocean Boulevard, marching and strolling and singing about Jesus.

The sidewalk thinned and up ahead was a woman and her dog, who both seemed unaware that others might be traveling on the same thoroughfare. My friend and I slowed to a stop until the woman realized she and her pup were in our way. "Excuse us," I asserted with a smile, and she moved apologizing for her indecisive doggy.

We continued together until we reached the mini-market. He stopped and asked if I wanted a drink. I politely said, "No, thank you," and he went into the store. Other than the "good morning sweetie," these were the only words exchanged.

But there was an unspoken friendship formed in those few blocks. It made me realize that people come in and out of our lives at different times, for different reasons. And the length of time we know someone does not diminish their significance in our journey. Sometimes you have acquaintances for years, other times a best friend for only a few months. And sometimes you meet a stranger on the street, from a seemingly different walk of life, who walks beside you with a serenade on your way to work.

People come and go. We ebb and flow through closeness and distance. The trick is to enjoy the company while it lasts.

Thomas' Guys, good vs. nice

It happened about 20 years ago while my sister and her family were living with my parents. I went to grab a coffee mug and noticed a baggy in the cupboard. The baggy was filled with little action figures. I held the baggy up with some confusion and Granny assured me they were put there intentionally.

My nephew Thomas who was about 3 at the time saw the baggy and excitedly asked, “Ooh! Can I play with my guys?” 

Granny said, “You know the rules,” and Thomas propped himself up at the dining room table.

“And not for too long; lunch is almost ready.”

The reason the guys had to be checked out like a library book and only played with at the table, was because they were so small they were in the “choke-able” category and we wouldn’t want their baby sister to find it. Plus, what adult would enjoy finding a hard plastic guy in the carpet with a bare foot? Ouch.

Thomas set up his guys. I sat with my coffee and watched. He explained, “These are the bad guys, and these are the nice guys.” And of course a battle between them ensued, complete with sound effects at which little boys are so adept.

Notice: He said, bad guys and nice guys. Not bad guys and good guys. At the age of learning opposites, maybe Thomas couldn’t differentiate the two.

Nice.

Good.

But there is a difference. I mean, how many times do we hear, “Oh, but he was such a nice guy…”? (Meanwhile, there are 12 bodies rotting under the floorboards).

According to many sources, one of the top traits of a sociopath is “charm.” Sociopaths are extra talented at being “nice” because they have perfected the act of being nice... doesn’t necessarily mean they’re good.

But don’t we fake niceties in our daily lives? We smile. We’re polite (sometimes when we don’t want to be). But when we're acting nice, it’s called being professional.

Here’s a picture of my cousin.

Here’s a picture of him a few years back.

And even farther back.

Not much has changed. Some folks might not describe him as “nice,” because he skips the pretend talk and just takes care of business. Maybe he's not always polite. BUT, he has a heart of gold. Would do anything for anybody. Might not smile while doing it, but, good man.

So, which is better?

Good?

Or Nice?

And my story ends here because it was time to set the table for lunch. Thomas scooped up his guys, put them in the baggy, and back in the cupboard they went.