Born a poor young country boy

I think I should dedicate my blog to something. All great pieces of literature have some sort of dedication in the front of them and my blog should be no exception.

Wait a minute? My blog, great literature? Surely you jest. Nope, my blog is nothing short of a masterpiece. So now you know.

Anyway, I would like to dedicate this blog to all the people who died in the Peloponnesian War. Those brave Greeks deserve our praise for fighting a war that in the grand scheme of things had little effect on the outcome of Civilization. Thanks!

Being unemployed I am trying to find ways to fill my time semi-constructively. I have always fancied myself a writer, so, I started writing my memoirs with the premise of "Places I Remember". I write about places the stories and memories they create. Here is brief section.

Places I Remember.

“There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better. Some have gone, and some remain. All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living, in my life, I have loved them all.”

The Beatles had it right. It is funny how you remember different places. Some of the only memories I have of my departed grandmother came from her house in Virginia. Musty old place, but still clean. In the kitchen there was a plastic cup with the dinosaurs from “A Land Before Time” on it. That was my favorite cup to use when I came to visit. I remember so little about her, but she was a former Benedictine Nun. I remember going to bed as a young child in her house. I could not sleep. I just stayed awake and stared at the wall. Jesus Christ himself was looking back at me, hanging from his cross. Every room in the house had a crucifix in it.

I could not tell you about the sound of her voice. If she came back to life and committed a crime I could not even describe her face to a police sketch artist. They would take my description and haul in every grandmother in the nursing home. But that house with the crucifixes in every room I remember with great detail. I remember sitting in my room reading a book of Batman related jokes. The last joke in the book went something like this: “What do you call the Joker in outer space? An astronut!”
After reading got boring my brother and I would torment my sisters. Please understand, there is not much to do in this house. I remember there was this closet that connected two rooms. In one room my brother and I slept and in the other my two sisters. We would sneak through the closet, rubbing against old cloths permeated with the smell of mothballs. Finding that closet was like discovering a cave connecting two cities. It was like our own little wardrobe from The Chronicles of Narnia. That closet is one of my fonder memories of the house. My brother would knock on the closet door and by the time they opened it would have both scurried back to our room.

The only conversation I remember having with Nanna Mary was an argument. She made us some fried chicken, which she did every time we came over. She said that is was skinless chicken. Me, being the young enlightened person that I was, said it wasn’t. Nanna Mary was not happy, but I stubbornly defended myself. She was right, of course. I thought the breading outside the chicken was the skin. Ooops.

Am I a bad person for not remembering my grandmother’s voice? I remember the layout of the dollar store we used to go to. Not in the sense that I could describe it to you, but if I walked in there right now I could still find what I wanted. Nana Mary would give us each a dollar to buy something each time we visited. I would rush off and find my toy with utter delight. One year I got this big red yo-yo. Another I got a small bag of dinosaurs. I remember standing in front of the register as my parents dug change out of their pockets. Nana Mary would never give us the tax for the toys. Just the dollar.

During the day we would visit this air and space museum in town. I could not tell you what is inside the damn the thing or where it was. I could not tell you the name to save my life. I can, however, tell you that in the parking lot the light poles had a concrete ring around them. Well, one year water filled in this ring and it froze. Running, full of excitement to see the museum, I ran over this icy trap and fell. I was fine, but maybe that is why I do not remember the museum.

At least once per trip we would go to this fish restaurant. Naturally I always got chicken. The wood paneling of the restaurant placed on an old pier over the water. Probably a thousands of restaurants exactly like this one. I remember going to Fort Monroe in the evening and walking along the sea wall. During the summer trips we would feel the gentle mist from the waves as the splashed up onto the wall. I remember the wall being solid brick, but I could be wrong. Still, that does not matter because that is how I remember it. Even if I go back and I am proven wrong I will still remember this way.
Throughout the Fort there would be statues and cannons and other monuments. My imagination soared as I would run behind a cannon and shoot at far off ships invading my native soil. What drove me crazy about the trip is my parents enjoyed driving around and looking at all the old buildings and houses in the Fort. They seemed to enjoy it, me? Well, not so much. Nana Mary would never accompany us on these trips. Not sure why.

I remember the hotel that we stayed in for her funeral. Old Fantastic Four reruns on the television. I was furious because there was a swimming pool and Mom would not let me go swimming. Could not tell you anything about the service, but I remember sitting in the hotel room watching the Fantastic Four and sulking while my mom trimmed my hair with her clippers. I kept asking myself, “why is the man with the metal face so angry?”

It is these places that I remember that allow me to have a connection to my departed Nanna Mary. Am I a bad person for not remembering the other things? Well, I am sure as hell not going to let you be the judge of that, but I do not think so. I learned life lessons from my trips: the value of dollar, watch out for ice, chicken tastes good, and Mom is always right. I learned to respect my elders.

So, I have been jogging alot lately to get ready for the summer. By alot I mean I am on my second consecutive day, but still, pretty good for an unemployed guy.

Anyway, I run on the left side of the road because that is the side that safety demands you to run on. Since I am running on the left side of the road that means as I approach my house on my way home I am on the wrong side of the street. So, a few houses up I go ahead and cross the street. These past two days there has been someone walking on the right side of the street.

The result is kind of hilarious. I cross the street and almost immediately they cross the street. Yesterday it was some guy in his late teens-early twenties. Today it was an old lady with her dog. It is funny, so, laugh.

Part of the reason I started up my blog was as a creative outlet where nobody that I actually know would look, but I haven't done anything creative on here. Time to fix that.

Here is a poem:
I will never…
…save the world…
…be a great philosopher…
…find hope…
…live my dreams…
…but I might…
…save someone…
…teach someone…
…give to someone…
…show someone…
…who will.

Got thirteen teams correct for the sweet sixteen. Get on my level.

Green=right. Red=WRONG!
Full Size Bracket.