Paddy's Wanderings

To The Moon!

Yeap, I was 3 1/2 years old when humans landed on the moon. Hard to imagine its been 41 years, but there it is. This is one of my first memories and I have no doubt is the beginning of my fascination with space. But that is cool because, it has never been just about space, or the moon, but about technology, exploration, science and dreams as well.

It still is and I have no doubt the moon will always fascinate me. Science Fiction has fueled that fire over the years starting way back with Jules Verne, and still going strong today. I still want to strap a rocket on and fly to the moon, even if science has made those early dreams seem silly. After all, it is rocket science.

The moon was groovy in the seventies and I read science and SF in equal doses to get all there was to know about the moon. I was a kid, but I thought someday we would have a moon base and I could go live there, maybe by the time I got out of college! Then along came the Eighties, and the moon was super cool!

I wanted my MTV almost as much as I wanted my moon house. Looks like I was going to have to settle for music videos and no moon base. Well.. that was okay, for a bit. Madonna was no where near as cool as the moon. There was hope we may get there by Y2K right? Well.. no..

Scientists have discovered water on the moon, which makes it easier to live there in a sustainable habitat, woot! But it is now forty one years after the first lunar landing and its Y2K10!! Where is my moon house?

Now that is groovy! Celebrate the past accomplishments and dream of the future. Kinda how space exploration has been in my lifetime. Except.. we are running out of new stuff to celebrate and I may stomp a foot if my moon house is not ready for my retirement. After all, its just a winter home, the Mars house is the summer villa, and we won't even go down that path..

Construction delays are the pits!

Hooray for an awesome achievement many.. moons.. ago. Time to go back.

On this Day

Today is a day to remember and honor friends and family who have served our Nation. I like to fancy myself a budding writer, been doing that for years, and I would like to take a minute and try to put into words, what their service means to me. The depth of emotion is very difficult to plumb and often times hard to express. I always fall short, saying thank you never seems enough. Flying the flag never seems enough. Sending care packages, doing the online support system with cards and such, always seems too little to truly express my gratitude.

I have friends in the National Guard who have been serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have friends and family who served in the 80's up to now in the active service. I have had co-workers who have served. My father-in-law served in Viet Nam. I know a lot of folks and their families, who have served and sacrificed a great deal.

Everyone knows a Veteran, had a family member who served. Drop a line, give em call, remember. Say thank you, but however small a thing, DO something. These folks and their families served you and continue to serve everyday. And If I may, not just today, but whenever you get a chance, do something to show you care.

Let me tell you a story..

My uncle, Dean Borrousch, served in Viet Nam the winter of 1969-1970. He was just a country boy, a farmer from Upper Michigan on the other side of the world in South Viet Nam. That fall, my parents went to the farm and cut a small pine tree down. They put it in a cardboard box and filled it with ornaments and presents. You know the usual soldier stuff for everyone in his squad, cigarettes, chocolate, 45's of Stones and Doors, that kind of thing. Heck they even put in a string of lights. They shipped it over to those fellas so they could have a Christmas.

From the letter I read, they had one helluva party. There is polaroid picture somewhere, I have seen it, of those fellas standing around the tree. Maybe that day wasn't so bad.

Dean Borrousch was killed in action Feb 19th, 1970. He was my uncle.

Paddy's Poetry Corner -Hollow

Welcome to a special edition of the corner. This is actually part one of a two part corner. Before I have a seat, I would like to tell you a story about poetry.

Last night I went to a meeting of The River Junction Poets. This is a local group, based in Saginaw, that has been meeting for a very long time. When I joined the group in 1989 they were known as the Saginaw Poets Workshop, shortly after the name was changed. How I found them is a story in itself.

Back then I called for more info on the group, talked to a nice lady named Rosemary. She told me to bring a poem to share, this month's theme was roses. I did that and for about 5 yrs I went every month. Then Rosemary and a couple of other 'poetry ladies' moved away and I lost touch.. and I stopped going. Last night I started going again.

They were great. They never stopped meeting, fourth Wednesday of every month at the library. Last night was a special critique meeting. I remembered them, they remembered me, and then we started catching up fifteen years. It was cool. Then I asked if anyone stayed in contact with Rosemary. Marion looked at me and said.. 'You have not?' Well no.. I had lost track and never tried as hard as I should have to stay in touch.

Marion told me Rosemary had passed about six years ago. I did not know..

She was mentor, friend and poetry lady extraordinary. She published my poetry chapbook Unfinished Portrait. She taught me a world of stuff about publishing, poetry and writing. And I lost contact with her, I was lost in the wilderness. I do not have the words today, maybe another day.

This was her favorite poem of mine, it just so happens to be the rose poem from that first day...

Hollow

I give you a symbol
of our love and devotion;
a holographic image
of a long stem, crimson rose.

You will never feel
the pain of thorns,
or the gentle caress
of delicate petals.

You can never inhale
the fragrance of nature,
or treasure the perfume
of the blossoms in spring.

You will never understand
the simple perfection,
or experience the life
that flows from within.

You will never forget
my final, parting gift,
and never fully realize
what love truly means.

A Spirit of Radio

Today, Ernie Harwell, beloved broadcaster of the Detroit Tigers has passed away. He died at home after a long bout of cancer. Ernie Harwell was the voice of the Tigers for over 30 years. Those are the simple facts of an amazing individual. I did not know Mr. Harwell personally, but he played an important part in my childhood.

When I was a young lad, I played Little League Baseball. As a matter of fact, I was baseball crazy in the late seventies until I got into high school in the eighties. I collected baseball cards, I played organized ball and I spent countless summer afternoons playing in the back yard. During that time, I listened to the radio to catch every single game that was not on Television.

Ernie Harwell was right there, in my ear every night and on long summer afternoons. I would stay up late to catch the west coast games when the Tigers played the Angels or the A's. As a kid, I loved baseball and baseball was that distinctive voice of Ernie, every night. Until I saw my first game at Tiger Stadium, I had Ernie and the games I could catch on TV.

It was during that first game, that I truly understood the power of radio.

We were sitting behind home plate and it was a cold spring Saturday afternoon. The Tigers were playing the Orioles and I was in awe of everything. The field was huge, the stadium an old, damp concrete structure that seemed ready to fall down any minute. The grass was perfect, the uniforms crisp and white. There were the vendors selling peanuts and big hot dogs smothered in yellow mustard. It was heaven to a baseball kid like myself.

Then there was this guy sitting a couple rows over, not too many seats were taken behind the plate and I could see him fiddling with something. He kept adjusting a set of earphones and then I saw him start moving an antenna, back and forth. He was trying to get reception on his radio. I was amazed! Why would he listen to the ballgame on the radio when the game was right there in front of him? It was strange, but I went back to keeping my box score that I got when we entered the stadium, caught up in the game.

I kept an eye on the guy though, he was strange, and I have to admit, fascinating. He must have caught me peaking at him because he stood up and came over a couple of seats and said hello. Not so strange in '78 and we, the family, said hi back. But, he was looking at me while he adjusted his antenna.

Well I could not keep quiet, even at 12 yrs old. So I asked him. 'Why you listening to the radio when the game is right there, you can see everything.'

He looked at me and smiled. 'Don't you listen to Ernie on the radio?'

I nodded yes and he smiled. 'What can be better then listening to the game on the radio AND watching it at the stadium. No one can call a ball game like Ernie.'

He went back to his ear phones and we all watched the rest of the game. I did not really appreciate the wisdom I was handed that day. I knew, deep down, what he meant about listening to the game on the radio, but it took many years to really understand. I figured it out when I was a decade older, and he was right.

Thank you for being a voice in my childhood. Thank you for whispering in my ear of baseball dreams and telling bedtime stories as I fell asleep, all those years ago. I never met Ernie Harwell, but I will carry his memories always. That was the power of radio, and that, my fellow wanders, was the power of Ernie Harwell.

A Matter of Halftone

There is nothing like the smell of a page, freshly grabbed from an off-set printer. I miss those days of helping out in ye olde print shop, I really do. My fingers would get ink stained, it was hotter then Hades and I so often would acquire a paper cut or two. All worth the price of admission. Most afternoons it was a labor of love and I never earned a paycheck, but I did earn so much more.

It started with me going to work for my Dad. I had been helping him off and on for a few years before that, just pitching in when he built a car wash, or delivering parts. It was the spring of '92 and jobs were hard to find, more or less, and I needed a job. The company was going to expand out, do more then just build car wash facilities. They needed a parts catalog and who better then the kid who went to college? I had no idea what I was doing, but they wanted me to do the catalog, use what I know, use my education.

As an important side note, I was spending time with the poetry gals, working on the mag and printing chapbooks and the like at the time. I was the junior assistant gopher guy. I was doing it to learn about poetry, printing, making books and the like, just to learn. I even did a chapbook for myself, a real labor of love but I am rather fond of it.

My Dad knew this guy, name of Frank, who had a small printing place down by the river. He did menus, business cards, floppy disk covers, the whole range of small print stuff. He also did catalogs for a few, select customers. Frank said he would do the catalog, but I had to do the work and help him in the shop, a trade of services to keep the catalog price reasonable. Seemed like a deal. We got a nice catalog and we did several more with Frank, all at a reasonable price with me learning to do the bulk of the work and helping out as a trade for better pricing. It worked rather well. It was a big time bonus for me.

I learned a lot helping Frank. He was a tough old guy, cranky and pretty rough around the edges, but smart as a whip. He knew his stuff, and the harder I worked, the more he taught. I learned a lot about the off-set press, how to use it, even helped fix it a few times. I also got to dig out the big printer trays and hunt for blocks and help set that up. Got a lot of ink on my hands, spent many a sweaty afternoon lugging boxes of paper and shipping out/delivering stuff. He also had a computer with all the bells and whistles for design that was the best of the best in 1992. He taught me how to use that as well.

Today, I am trying to lay out a small chapbook of my own poetry that I want to self publish. I got to thinking about Frank and the poetry gals and how they helped a kid learn something about it all. They were the pioneers twenty years ago, making little to no money. But what a wealth of creativity, hard work, and knowledge they possessed! I was thinking I better do something grand, use what I learned, do it right, not only for my self, but for them as well. Time to get back.

I wonder what they would have thought about electronic books?

Watching Stuart, Remembering Childhood

Lately, I have watched Stuart Little, The Movie, about a gajillion times with the tyke. It is his latest much watch movie, over and over. I admit I like the movie, but it is getting a tad bit.. old. It is kind of funny though, all of our kids have gone through that stage of watching a movie repeatedly. But it brings to mine all those cool stories I read as a kid, like Stuart Little.

E.B. White, what an interesting fellow in many ways. As a kid, I loved Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web and I think it is safe to say that I still do. Both stories are part of that vast array of books I have read over the years that have been influential in my desire to tell my own stories. Stuart and Charlotte are two characters I love and the world they live in will always be part of my own.

A. A. Milne and Dr. Suess also should be mentioned in this ramble. After all, Pooh and The Cat in the Hat were favorite friends of mine as a wee lad, and I still look back fondly on them. I have read many a book to the young lads and watched a a lot of TV shows and movies about those two.

I also like to mention The Pearl and The Red Pony, by John Steinbeck. I read both books in junior high and they had a big impact on me, much more so then The Grapes of Wrath or Of Mice and Men. Then again, Steinbeck in general was a big influence to me in those formative years. I find Steinbeck's stories to be sad, but really good and a must read for anyone.

I have no idea where I was going with all of this. I started out in children's stories and ended in my young teen years. I guess what I am trying to say is that, those stories, those characters, have burned into my brain and I still carry them with me. I loved those stories and it is with great pleasure I can share them with my own kids. That, to me, is fine reading and good story telling.

Maybe when the tyke gets older, we can explore Steinbeck together, I hope so. Maybe I can tell a story or two myself that someone, somewhere, will think fondly upon. Well.. besides me.

Happy Reading!

Flame of Youth

Time sucks. What else can I say? After watching the remnants of The Who last night on the Super Bowl, I can firmly say, time sucks. It is unfair of me to think so, and very much unfair of me to even speak it aloud, but there it is.

Where has the time gone? I remember the flame of youth as if it were yesterday. The first time I watched the Kids are All Right back in the days of high school, I was amazed, astounded. The raw energy of The Who is what drew me into their music. It is what keeps me there. Some of their performances, way back in the Fashioned Challenged Seventies, are pure energy, wrapped in awesome. The primal scream of Roger Daltrey still gives me goosebumps. Where has it gone?

Oh yeah, Roger and Pete are my dad's age, I forget that. Well so what? Like my dad, those guys still rock. Last night was bitter sweet in so many ways. Every note hammered into me, every misplaced sound punctuated into my nervous system. I could not even sing along. You see, I am still trapped in the past. Those crazy days of youth are still uppermost in my wee mind. I was sadden.

Today though, I can see that it is okay. You see, being of a certain age, you get smarter. I understand the passage of time, I think it sucks, but yeah, I get it. I understand that those old guys still got it, they still can produce, and can still rock. Pete and Roger, even last night, out perform most everyone out there, even now.

Those old guys still got a lot of balls. They still produce, and even if the raging fires of youth are a bit banked, its still there. You can see it in their eyes, feel it in their presence. They still got it, even if the younger generation thinks of them as those guys who do the CSI songs (shudders). I was born under the sign of The Who, and still cheer 'em on. I almost grabbed my guitar and smashed it on the living room floor.. almost. There's that age thing again.

The burning edge of time slips by before you know it. Time is the enemy, embrace it and you'll go far.

The Transporter Tale

Way back in the Roaring Nineties when the bigger brothers were just wee lads, better 1/2 and I saved and saved for Christmas. We had a few extra bucks, Santa knew the boys had been good, and all of us were huge Star Trek fans.We were excited, we had found the coolest present.

The boys, and their crazy parents, had been collecting the action figures and even had an Enterprise. This year the boys had asked Santa for phasers and tricorders, and I was pretty sure Santa was gonna come through. Like I said, we had saved some extra cash so we splurged on a transporter. It was the cool present.

Hello people. It made the cool transporter swoosh sound, the lights flashed and with the flick of magic, your action figure transported. Whoo hoo! I loved it and could not wait to play with it.. I mean have the kids play with it. This was gonna be cool. Apparently. someone, somewhere, forgot to tell the kiddos that it was a toy!

Well it was cool, for about an hour. Then they figured out it was not real and could not 'really' transport things. The little.. devils.. tested it out and figured out it was just a mirror with light and sound and it did not transport anything, anywhere. They said Dad, this toy is stupid and fake. I knew how it worked, but how in the world did a five and six year old figure it out? They got an hour of play and that was it.

Well then, not to be outdone by the children, I showed them how to transport Captain Picard and they laughed at me. Oh Dad, your silly, he doesn't go anywhere. I had to ask, I just had to ask. My two small boys sat there and showed me just how it was fake and how they could not transport their hand or anything else, it was not real. They had figured it out.

I'll admit, I was impressed with their ability to figure it out. i was sad too. Oh not because we had spent so much on a toy that the cool factor lasted only an hour, but because my little boys did not seem so little anymore. i just never wanted them to lose their sense of wonder, and that day, they did, just a little bit.

The good thing is, that even after all of these years, they still retain a bit of wonder at things, and to me, that is important. That is something you should never lose. In fact, I think you should cultivate that, it is a spice that makes life fun.When you wander, it is important to wonder.

The Creature Corner and That Girl

Back in the Hazy Eighties I met this girl. She wasn't just any girl either. As fortune and fate would have it, I was taking some college courses at the local community college, just trying to get some credits and do my thing. A few friends of mine were taking classes and they talked me in to going down to the cafeteria and hanging out. Now I don't mind hanging out, and really I had nothing else to do, but I was reluctant because my over riding thoughts had centered around heading back to Knoxville and back to the big school. My plan was to get all the messy details sorted, and go back and get a masters in English. Well that day was the beginning of some major changes.

With my dark shades, black leather coat and cowboy boots, and half Yankee, half East Tennessee drawl, I wandered down in to the cafeteria. There was a large group of folks who had pushed together several tables in one corner, all chatting, playing cards and being, to put it bluntly, nerdy. I stood in line, bought a cheeseburger, fries and coke and set down. The Tim was there, and being the social butterfly he is, introduced me to everyone, then informed me there would be a quiz later. At that point, I had joined the Creature Corner. I haven't been the same since.

Now the corner was the place to be, it really was. All the preppy kids and their dumb jock friends and the popular kids from their assorted high schools stayed together and avoided the corner. The corner had D&D playin', Commodore 64 packing, geekoids of the highest order. We are talking late eighties geekdom, where conversation ranged from building computers to the latest RPG. This was a group, if I may so myself, of highly intelligent, introverted people, who as luck would have it, had banded together into their very own group. After a couple of days, I was hooked.

Back to the girl. I was playing cards a couple of afternoons later, feeling restless and bored. The band was going nowhere and my bass playing days seemed numbered. My literary endeavors were mired in a sink hole and I was feeling pretty much lost. I was partied out, tired of chasing girls and, to put it mildly, tired of pretty much everything. In walked the girl. A couple of friends of mine had befriended this young lass and had invited her down to the Corner. Why she agreed is a mystery, but it may be she was a bit bored with her boyfriend and, like all of us in the corner, needed to find some real people to hang out with, I don't know.

She sat down, and she could play cards, no doubt about it. Then The Tim made some smart ass comment, as he is wont to do, and she zinged him. Okay then, card playing girl with razor wit, and not bad looking either. I think the fog I was in lifted a pinch that day. Amazingly enough, she came back the next day. The Tim, being his usual charmingly funny self, with razor wit in hand, waited for her to take a drink and zing! got her to snort coke out her nose. She was not embarrassed. Not only that but she gave it right back. I also noticed she actually ate in front of us, unlike so many other young ladies of the day. She also talked just like us, liked computers and conned us into letting her play a session in our D&D group. The fog lifted a bit more.

A couple of weeks later, she was going out with a bunch of friends and celebrating her birthday by bowling a few frames. I was invited along. I dug out ye olde bowling bowl, dusted it off and joined the group. That girl and I kept score, apparently the only two capable of such a feat. We chatted and bowled and dude! she was a Scorpio too. As a matter of fact, our birthdays are four days apart. That was pretty fun and time flies ya know.

Next thing you know, I am taking this other girl to this Christmas party a friend is throwing. She shows up with a new friend. We sat at the kitchen table and talked all night long to the exclusion of our 'dates'. That was very cool. She still had that 'other friend' and I was dodging my 'friend' and then I went to L.A. with my parents over the holidays to visit my brother. That was the worse Sheeple trip ever. I did send that girl a postcard, and I borrowed a couple of books from her for the trip, yeah she liked to read more then me. I still wanted get back home.

I got back and school is starting and that first day, down in the cafeteria, in she walks wearing a business suit for a class. It was the gray skirt. I formally asked her out on a date. I then stood her up, as I am still in a fog. She called me the next day and we talked until the batteries died on the phone and she gave me a second chance to take her out. This time, I got with it, the fog finally lifted completely, and I showed up early and was a good date. Must have been. That was over twenty two years ago. Today, it is official. Today is the twenty second anniversary.

That girl is better 1/2.

A New Band

After twenty two Christmases, better 1/2 still surprises me. She saved and scrimped and was very secretive for the past couple months. I was totally oblivious(I am often accused of that, not so much not caring or the like, but as in unaware and absent minded). She surprised us all with Beatles Rockband on the big morning.

With the release of Beatles Rockband a few months ago, the kiddos have been, we should get it. Come on dad, you'll like it, it is the Beatles. Me being me, I was skeptical. I got commercials in my email, I got the whole, oh come see this, isn't it cool when ads were on TV. We like the Beatles, you love the Beatles and its RockBand dude. You tried the game over at The Tim's house and you liked it, come on dad. I was not budging one bit. They were relentless in their pursuit and I just shrugged it off. Better 1/2 said we should consider buying it, I said no, not interested, not really.

Don't get me wrong, I think it is cool that they did a version with the Beatles and I think it is a neat game, but that was where I stopped. See, I just don't get it, I sorta do now, but I really am showing my age by not getting with it. I think it is a cool video game and I am impressed with the technology used to create it and to play it. I'm kinda boring huh? But the idea of playing a video game, playing pretend I am in a rock band.. I don't get it. It's cool, but lacking I had thought.

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be in a rock band. I wanted to go out, get a guitar, play all the cool music I love and be a in a rock band. What I did, was go out and mow yards, shovel snow and scrimped and saved and finally got a bass. Then I got together with some friends and we played in basements and garages and the like. We played until our fingers bled, constantly saving to buy new strings, walking around with sore fingers. We actually played music, we learned, we practiced, we did all the crazy things teenagers do when it comes to being in a rock band.

I even played in a band in college. A little more professional maybe, a step up from the basement into a dive in front of drunken college students, but hey it was cool. I never did get anywhere with it, that is fine too. After all, it was being in a band, playing and having a good time. Heck, most of us did it to pick up girls and score free beer. It was a time of AM radio and pre-video when I started. Then there was videos and that whole thing and still, it was about going out and trying it, just doing it.

Then somewhere along the way I grew up a bit and haven't done that kinda thing since the Hazy Eighties, but that is just fine too. Then along comes Guitar Hero and RockBand and it seemed too much pretend for me. It's like the whole I walked to school twelve miles uphill, in snow, both ways when I was a kid, kinda thing. It seemed kinda lame to me, again my age showing through. Then along came those pesky Beatles..

So here I am last night, after playing the bass a bit and trying the guitar and drums, with a microphone in my hand. Tyke says you sing, I drum. Everyone says come on dad, sing some Beatles, you know you want too. I have a cold, my throat is feeling raw and I am tired, all kinds of excuses popped up in my head, even if that was all true, it was just an excuse. So what the hell, I gave it a go. It's not like I have stage fright or have never sang in front of people, how bad can it be right?

I am here to tell ya, I was trying to follow the screen and pitch my voice to the bar and I sounded horrible, flat and toneless and horrible. So I said lets do I Saw Her Standing There, I know this song pretty well. I stopped trying to follow the screen, just sang while watching the tyke drum and it sounded a whole lot better, still kinda squishy and eww, but better.

In the end, we all had fun, even Grammie played the drums and better 1/2 played guitar. The boyos played a bunch and we even got biggest boyo's girlfriend Melissa to play drums, and she was good. Our friend Chris was awesome at the drums as well. I guess I get it now. It was fun for everyone to just play and have a good time. Some days I am a pouty artist type jerk and forget that it's all about having fun.

Wanna guess what I'll be doing later? You got it, having fun with the fam, pretending to be a rock star. I guess I'll have to go buy a bus and paint some flowers on it, you just never know..

Happy Wanderings!