Paddy's Wanderings

Ianus Temporis

This past weekend I went to a video game tournament with middle-son. The tourney was being held at a local video game store and we were playing the Wii Sports Bowling Game. It was five smackeroos to sign up for the double elimination tournament. Saturday evening was the time, I had to practice. Well, I really did not have to practice to win in as much as to not look totally foolish in front of the youngsters.

After a couple of hours of practice I was ready and off we went. Middle-son was eliminated after just two rounds, but I did manage to win the first game, then lost the next two. More importantly, I did not make a fool of myself. There were plenty of parents there with their kids and to be honest, the old folks did pretty well.

The most important thing was we had fun and I got to do a video game tournament with my son. We went, we played and we had fun, all for a measly five bucks. Really, how can you go wrong? Besides, I got to relive my youth.

All of thirty years ago at the ripe age of thirteen, I went to the local arcade and played in a tournament. Back then it was on the original arcade games. I was pretty good at the old original Star Wars game, I could put the bomb down the hole almost every time. I was a destroyer of Death Stars man, look out. But like everything else, there is always someone better and that day I ran into that kid.

I had pretty good time and did not even place, but that was okay. I got to hang out at the arcade all day and play games for the price of admission, which I think was around three bucks. I got my monies worth just watching. A guy I went to school with plunked his quarter into Pac-Man and hogged the machine the whole day, he was that good. That was just flat out cool.

Over the years, the arcade has been slowly replaced with all the home consoles. Oh sure, you can play on-line and what not, but it is just not the same. The sounds, the people and the atmosphere are not the same. Maybe I am looking at it from the wrong point of view, or maybe just through rose colored glasses, but I miss those old arcades. I miss playing pinball and the plunk of quarters and the sirens and buzzers and what not.

I do like playing games on the Wii and all the new graphics. Gaming has advanced and gets better year after year, no doubt about it. Bottom line, the games are fun and entertaining and the tournaments are still just as fun. The new school is a tad different then old school but not so much as one would think. I am still playing games, jumping barrels and running across the screen, just doing it in the living room, not the mall.

Sometimes though, I would like to go plunk some quarters in a machine, set my big gulp on the floor and make some noise. Sometimes, when you wander, you find your self in a big loop, but that is just fine by me.

September Junk Drawer

Let me take a look at the drawer for the month, it seems kind of bare and uninteresting. I guess it has been an uneventful month in the realm of wandering so far, been kind of quiet. With the crazy work schedule and everything, I have been writing in the middle of the night and not posting much.

I did read The Martians by Kim Stanley Robinson and really enjoyed the short stories. I will admit I read the Mars series three times and can never seem to get enough of Mars. The one story that was excellent was about climbing Olympus Mons and made me say man, I wish I had wrote that story. It was something I had thought would be cool when I read the original series and I got to read it. It was a good book and well worth the read.

I am reading Angels & Demons by Dan Brown right now, and like all of his books, I am totally enthralled. I can't put my finger on it, but his novels just do it for me. I read Digital Fortress back when all the hoopla was going on about The Da Vinci Code. I had no idea it was the same author until later, strange but true, and I did not read Da Vinci Code until this past summer. Behind the times like always.

I have been reading some very entertaining blogs lately. I think it is kind of neat that some of my friends are blogging and doing some good stuff. I do know a lot of creative people who do some pretty cool stuff, not rich and famous mind you, but good stuff none the less. And of course I follow some writers blogs and other such more notable stuff. But it is all good and informative and most of all entertaining.

That is about it for September in the drawer. I am working away on stories and poems, doing the work thing and just cruising along in general, following the wandering road.

Turning a Corner

At the close of the Fashion Challenged Seventies I was turning fourteen years old. It was a time of change in many ways. We had moved from our little house in town out into the country into a big house during the last school year. I was in eighth grade and changing pretty fast. The happy go lucky kid was becoming a teenager and all that entails.

I enrolled in a hunter safety course in September so that I could get my Deer Hunting License. It was a big deal, no doubt about that, my birthday is opening day of Deer Season. The day of all days here in the Mitten. The day the woman folk are left home and the men go forth up the Great Road and into the woods to hunt deer. This day is the day young boys go to become men, a right of passage as old as time itself.

As it happens, this would be the first year I could actually get a license and hunt deer and I was excited. I took the course and studied and worked as hard as I could. I passed and I was off to get my first license. My parents bought me a twenty gauge shotgun and an orange jacket for my birthday. I was ready.

That first weekend of the season we drove up to my grandparents farm. It was November and cold, but I was so excited I could have lived in the woods. That first morning before sun up we were out into the woods. I had already picked out a stump to sit on right where the hardwoods, the swamp, and the corn field meet. I sat there all morning, waiting for a deer to pass by, but I saw nothing at all.

After warming up and eating lunch, I went back out into the woods with my dad and brother. The afternoon was cold but I was too excited to care. I sat down on my stump and tried to be patient and quiet. And you know what, I did pretty good but the sun was going down and I had yet to see a deer. I had a good spot and saw plenty of deer before but today there was nothing. Until my dad whispered at me from over by the fence. He was looking out into the field and pointing.

I could not see anything so I went over to stand by him. He gave me his rifle and told me to look through the scope. There they were, about two hundred yards out in the field. I confidently told my dad I would sneak down the fence line and shoot the big buck I saw. Well he just shook his head and told me to use his gun, shoot from there. I did not want to, I wanted to use my new gun. But I knew he was right, so I took careful aim.

I will admit, I was nervous, it was my dad's gun that I was not allowed to touch. Oh sure I shot a twenty two and a 4-10 and even shot my new shot gun a few times, but this was the big gun. I could see about a dozen deer and one was a pretty big buck. I took aim again and I fired. The herd just stood there, and my dad said shoot again!. So I pulled the bolt back and racked home a shell and shot again, then again. The third shot rang out and the deer scattered to the swamp. I was sure I had missed.

I gave the gun back to my dad and picked up my shot gun. I was pretty disappointed. I looked over at my dad and he was looking through the scope. He said here, take a look. I looked through the scope and sure enough, I could see a deer on the ground near the swamp. Whoa! I was ready to run right down there and look! First rule of hunting is patience but I wanted to go look at that big buck I was shooting at, heck yeah.

After what seemed an eternity, we walked down the field toward the brown hump laying in the field. I was shaking from excitement. When we got about twenty yards away the deer tried to stand and looked at us. It was not the big buck I was aiming for, but the small spike horn that was standing next to it. I missed the big buck and shot the smaller one.

The spike horn could not stand, it's back was broken. I took careful aim with my shot gun and shot it in the neck. It fell back down, then tried to pull itself toward the fence. I could not believe it, so I shot it again in the neck and it fell down. I walked closer and the buck was still alive and just looking at me. Shot twice in the neck and once in the back and it still would not die.

Finally it did die, bled right out as I watched with tears in my eyes. I sat down on the ground as they went up to the barn and got the tractor so we could carry it back to gut it. This was not the first animal I had seen die or had killed, but I could not help feeling sad. I was ok when they got back and we took that small deer, hung it up in the barn and gutted it. Then my grandma cut it up and wrapped it. I had helped with this before and it was not new, but it seemed that way.

I still remember that day, thirty years later, like it was yesterday. I still hunt on occasion, and fish and enjoy the outdoors, but that day was the day that all changed. I grew up a pinch that day, got a new perspective on some things. I can say that now, then I just felt wrong. I felt a lot of things like sadness and loss that I had thought I should not be feeling. It may be I was feeling the pain of growing up more acutely that day then before, I don't know. 

I do know this. I like hunting and I have a healthy respect for all that entails. I think, looking back, that I just did not want to grow up, but deep down I knew that, at that moment, I did. I liked being a kid and in a lot of ways, i am just an older, bigger kid now. Hey, it is all part of the journey ya know? And in the end, that is just fine by me.

Back in the Saddle

Before I get to gabbing about my wanderings in regards to poetry and publishing, let me cut to the chase. I have had some poems published over at eMuse , so go check out the latest issue.

Okay you read at least my stuff right? Well read the other stuff too, and go look at back issues, it is a good magazine. I will admit I am excited that I had some poems accepted and sad to learn that this issue is the last. I’ll admit I have read all the past issues and found eMuse entertaining and a very good magazine and that was why I had sent them some poetry in the hopes I would get published there.

Also, this is a first for me in my wandering publishing career. I have had poetry published in the small print press over the years and I even had a small chapbook of poems published by Wordsmith Publishing way back in the early nineties. This is the first time I have ever had anything published electronically, my first e-zine publishing credit. That’s pretty exciting for me.

So much has changed over the years it is hard to believe it. For so long I use to hand write notes, then break out the old electronic typewriter and do a finish copy. Then stuff all of that with a cover letter into an envelope, stamp it, and snail mail it away. I have done a lot of that over the years and it can be a painfully slow process. Sometimes I would get poetry accepted, sometimes a rejection letter, sometimes just nothing. The stories have never even gotten published.

Now I have gone digital and broke through to the other side. Is this a first? Oh yeah. The last you may ask? No way man, I am in it for the long haul and not stopping or slowing down ever again. I am going to keep writing poetry because I like to do that.

I am also going to really start pushing the short stories, get ‘em polished and send ‘em on their merry way. Will I get rejection letters? Oh yeah. Will it stop me this time? No! I figure I have finally gotten a tough enough skin and the right attitude that I am just going to keep trying and go for it. It has taken me many years to get this far, a lot of half -measures and maybes and I’ll get around to it. Honestly? A helluva a lot of self-doubt and writers block as well.

This past spring I banished the mighty demon known to so many as writers block. Oh it still lurks in the corner, whispering all those nasty things that keep people from just doing it. I have stopped listening and caring about all that.  So today was an affirmation that I can still keep doing, still keep up the good fight. I’ll add that fuel to the fire and keep on going.

I’ll be blogging about all kinds of stuff and in the background writing those stories, those poems and sending them out. Once in awhile I’ll do the happy dance and the demon will cower. Stick around as I wander along.

River Front Buildings

CraneBldg, originally uploaded by paddy's wandering.

When the toddler and I were wandering around, I stopped and took a picture of the old American Hoist building. It seems strange to me that the building is still there after all of these years. I believe they closed in the early seventies.

I will say this, Bay City has done wonders renovating the city and making the waterfront attractive. But still, that old building stands.

I remember as a kid the waterfront was full of industrial buildings and was not all that great. The water was filled with waste and you would never want to fish or boat on it, at least I would not.

But that has all changed now. The river actually freezes and people fish and boat on it without fear of any industrial waste. Of course that is not to say the river is pristine, far from it. After all the Saginaw river basin is huge and everything in the valley flows to that river. But, it is a whole lot better.

Hey it is a good thing those old buildings are still there, it gives me and toddler a chance to go shoot some interesting pictures. Oh and of course we need to make a stop for a root beer or dash in for a piece of candy. Wandering is hard work!

Breakdown, Shakedown

A couple days ago while running errands for the day job, I broke down on the Great Road. The truck stalled at the top of the Z-Bridge, and luckily for me, I was able to coast down the exit ramp. The last thing I needed was being stranded on the top of that bridge. I don't think anyone wants to be stranded up there. That bridge has been a thorn in too many people's side over the years. A school friend's pops worked on that bridge and got hurt way back in the Hazy Eighties and I swear that bridge is cursed.

At the time of construction it was the bees knees. There was a drawbridge there and it was the last place on the Great Road where you may have to stop. A big bridge was built so lake freighters could pass underneath and the Sheeple could speed along without delay. After many construction problems, like sinking the pillars into the swamp surrounding the river, it was finished. Ever since then, anyone who can avoid it, does so.

So I am at the bottom of the exit ramp and using some colorful language. The truck will not start and I can smell gas, great. So I peek underneath and there is a puddle and more colorful language ensues. Of course it is not just any errand run, I have parts for three customers and parts for the shop that everyone is waiting on me to deliver. Well then, I pull out the dreaded cell, take a calming breath and call the shop with the wonderful news. They come and get the parts and send a tow truck, so there I sit waiting on a tow, and more inventive language ensues.

Then it dawned on me that this wasn't the first time, probably not gonna be the last time either. I had twenty minutes to wait on the roadside and that old mind started to wander. I thought, hey it could be worse. I have broken down on the Great Road and a couple of tributaries before and without the ability to use a cell to call for help, so I guess it isn't so bad.

On one Sheeple Migration I got a flat tire on a Sunday afternoon UpNorth as we were heading back from a Fudge Run. Okay then, a Fudge Run is a trip to Mackinac to get some of that world famous fudge and that weekend we decided to do just that and head back Sunday. Well we blew a tire with the Grammy Sheeple and the two big brother Sheeples in the back seat. Well I can change a tire right? Sure, after the car fell off the jack three times because you know, I had to stop on the downside of a hill and eighteen wheelers were going by so fast the rushing October air would make the car rock off the jack that I had so successfully planted in the gravel, I got the blasted donut on.

So we are a hundred miles from home on a crappy donut. Well we drive into Gaylord looking for a tire and nothing is open except a gas station. Thankfully this was a good old service station, you know, the kind that changes oil and has...tires! Time moves a little slow UpNorth and I was thankful there was still a place like that. The guy working was great, he put a new tire on the car while I took money from customers that were getting gas, what a deal. So for about forty minutes I got to play gas station attendant and got a new tire for sixty clams. Crisis averted.

So being broken down two days ago did not seem so bad then. I got towed and got back to the shop and went about my work day. The good news was I didn't wreck the truck, it was just a fuel line that had come off and the guys fixed it in a jiffy. Not a big deal I guess.

Today I am sitting here and kind of just joking around, laughing about my car escapades, because well, they can be funny. I love cars and have the worse luck with breakdowns and what not and I always get a little crazy about it. But you know what? It can always be a whole lot worse. I have to keep reminding myself about that. Today is day that for a a lot of folks, it was a whole lot worse. I won't forget that day.

Time to wander.

Sheeple Spring Break, 1985

Back in the Hazy Eighties, while I was attending the University of Tennessee as a freshman, I had a good friend named Dave. He had an orange Pinto and we drove the daylights out of that little car everywhere. Spring Break came along and we decided to do a Road Trip.

So we packed the essentials into the back of the Pinto, a bit of clothes, some chips, and beer and whiskey. The first day of spring break dawned, we got up early, a rare feat for us, and prepared for the adventure. We really had no idea what we were going to do or where we were going to go. So we let the wind decide. I grabbed a handful of grass, tossed it into the air, and wherever it blew, that was our direction.

The grass headed west and so did we. Leaving Knoxville we headed down the Great Road (yes my friends, the Great Road goes through Volunteer Town) and took the I-40 tributary toward western Tennessee. We were on the road to Nashville.

Our first minor annoyance was the tape player. It ate Dave’s tape of Simon & Garfunkle’s Greatest Hits. But the radio still worked, so we were good to go until we got to the greater Nashville area. Now if you are a fan of Country Music then you would have been in heaven. There was forty some Country radio stations and one rock station that kept cutting out. We were tuneless. I offered to lead us in traveling songs but Dave wisely declined, we hadn’t got into the hatchback yet and he figured sober was no way to do road songs.

We met up with a college friend of ours and he took us to his Grandparents restaurant for dinner. It was very much a Southern style place. Servants, as Rob put it, wore white and said yes sir, no sir. We had to wear the dreaded tie. It was taking a step back in time to the Old South, which I will admit made me feel a little strange. But the food was excellent, the service superb, and the whiskey was very, very expensive. For us college kids, it was free.

So after crashing that night in Nashville, the next morning feeling the weight of steak, whiskey, and cigars like I have never since, we made our way to the west. At Jackson, we headed north to Martin to pay a visit to some fraternity friends. I say friends in the sense that they had paid a visit to us back in the fall and made off with one of our sports trophies. Oh sure they returned it at Christmas time, but a rivalry was born.

So Dave and I made our way to their campus house and found two very hung over fraternity brothers. We asked if we could stop, use the bathroom, we were headed home and thought we would say hi. They waved us in and promptly passed out. We casually took them to the cleaners. We took their trophies, their flag and a half-barrel of beer. We would have taken more but we had run out of room in the Pinto. We left a note expressing our gratitude for the use of the bathroom and the chance for payback, then we were off to Dyersburg.

Dave hailed form the great city of Dyserburg and we stopped in to say hi to his parents. Dave acquired more money of course, and we had a chance to drink that barrel with some of his old friends and sleep. After his mom stuffed us with pancakes and sausage and grits (well no grits for me, I never developed a taste for ‘em) we headed to the great city of Memphis.

Arriving in Memphis, we stopped in to pick up our friend Shari from her parents house. We got to meet her dad and mom before whisking their daughter off on the town. Her dad was a great guy who was a haberdasher specializing in neckware and dress hosiery. He sold ties and socks my friends, but not just any old stuff. We are talking high end merchandise here, very upper-class, read expensive stuff. Of course he had to pass along some beautiful silk ties and socks to Dave and I. Strange but true, the people you meet when you wander.

Any who, we took off with Shari and headed downtown looking for music after a brief drive by of Graceland. I was disappointed because I could not take a tour, but I did see it from the road. Shari said we had to go to the Antenna Club, we said sure, why not. Talk about a dive! The stage was boards nailed over pallets and the bar consisted of four banquet tables holding warm bottles of cheap beer and a punch bowl of screwdrivers and whiskey sour. All of which was in a building in a what appeared to be a very bad part of town that looked like it had been bombed out. The good news was the music was great, got to here some good local bands playing that eighties sound.

The next day, after crashing in Shari's guest room in the garage, we headed south, down to New Orleans. We couldn't get there fast enough for me. We found a cheap room in an old building above an art dealer with a nightclub in the basement. Well I exaggerate a pinch. The room was filthy, the art work terrible and the bar in the basement reeked, but it was in New Orleans!

We spent the next two days soaking in some great music, and drinking and eating some of the finest food I have ever had. I absolutely fell in love with Cajun food. True we did not go sight seeing or any of the other normal tourist stuff, but we did hear some great jazz and had a whole ton of fun bar hopping and just being there. I could have stayed forever but two days was it. The next day, we headed toward Huntsville.

A couple friends of ours from school were doing work/study with NASA and were currently working in Huntsville. So we decided to stop in and say hello. I can honestly say I know of two folks who were and may still be rocket scientists. Dave was an engineering major and was contemplating going to work for NASA. As a side note, in the end, he went and made candy. What I mean is he went to work for M&M Mars, and yes they do use engineers for production, believe it or not. So I got a sneak peek at the operations there, but alas, without security clearance I did not get to see any rockets or other cool stuff, just a couple of labs.

The final day, we headed back to Knoxville and arrived broke and thirsty. A college road trip ends when the money dries up and the last beer bottle is empty. You may say that is not much of a spring break, as in the traditional hedonistic foray onto a Florida beach or some such. I disagree. We were very hedonistic and had more fun wandering the south and had some interesting experiences. It was the only spring break trip I ever took, but it was a lot of fun.

Paddy's Poetry Corner (Sept Edition)

I have yet another too long poem that I originally published in a small chapbook back in 1991. Once again, it is a poem that has kicked around in the Briefcase of Old Poems. So I figured I would dust it off and transcribe it from the old typewriter version to a more modern, digital existence.

Silent Rage

A soft blue sky
merges with the bay
on the distant horizon.

A cool, refreshing breeze
blows through my hair,
rustling the grassy shore.

I step into the water
that reluctantly clings
to a Michigan winter.

In the distant bay,
a single, white sail
catches the morning sun.

I'm far away from the river
spilling city sewage
and relentless factory fog.

But this deserted beach
still holds back human
civilization and spoilage.

I can almost imagine
a simple time of wonder,
when Indians lived with nature.

A small reflection catches
my eye below the water,
in the sand at my feet.

From the bottom silt,
I pull out a syringe
covered with algae.

How could this be?
I kick through sand
and find more refuse.

An old Indian Chief
crying on television,
explodes from my memory.

Below serenity,
is a wasteland,
washed upon beauty.

Now I understand the tears
and the loss of sacredness;
Living with the silent rage.