It Never Stopped Ringing Or Is It Burning

I’d take you to Stonehenge and ask you if you remember telling me we are inextricably linked together forever. I’d point out we are in a place of magic where druids and witches tapped into the magic of the earth and used its majesty to create a place of wonder.

‘Cuz some fires never burn out and remain lit forever with the temperature varying solely based upon whether the flames are tended or not.

The plan was never to go to the Asian buffet for dinner tonight, especially not at an hour that is as close to lunch time as to dinner.

But given the two slices of toast for breakfast and the lack of lunch because we weren’t going to pay to buy the junk at the soccer game hunger dictated an earlier meal.

Of course the stop at the new Buc-ees in Denton chewed up a solid 45 minutes inside, not to mention the stop for gas at one of the 100 pumps outside.

Those that haven’t been might think that is an exaggeration but it isn’t, because the real number is something like 96 or 120 so splitting the difference seems minor.

I had no idea they would only charge $2.16 to a gall0n to fill my tank so I was grateful because the stop last week at the Costco in Southlake was more like $2.39.

Still the buffet probably wouldn’t have happened had hunger not been so aggressive in making its presence known, but it did and the buffet is right off of the freeway.

What hadn’t crossed my mind was how the walk from the parking lot to the front would trigger me.


Because the last time I was there was in January with the folks and during that walk dad yelled at me when I asked if he needed a hand.

That was before we knew about the cancer but given how he was then I knew something was happening, just not what.

It Never Stopped Ringing Or Is It Burning

There is no punctuation at the end of the subhead. No punctuation to help decipher whether we are commenting or questioning.

All that we have are the words hanging in the air.

Kind of reminds me of how you can hug someone you haven’t spent time with in forever and catch their scent.

If the right chemical mix is there you can feel your synapses fire and get an instant answer to questions you may or may not be conscious of.

You can hear a bell go off and know there is connection or you can hear an alarm and break the union because your unconscious rejects it.

Maybe Freud or some other scientist can explain the the who, how, what and why in terms that are clearer and more easily understood than I can, but then again maybe I intentionally do not spend real time trying to do so.

Maybe it is because it is similar to holding water in your hand. You hold your palm steady and try not to squeeze because if you do the drops will leak from between your fingers and run away.

Or maybe there are people whose tears you kiss away and others whose tears you cause.


During the middle of the visit I ask dad to go to work with me and he obliges.

It is probably forty some years since the last time we did this but this time mom we don’t carry lunch boxes filled with sandwiches mom made.

This time I won’t sit on the couch outside his office while he is on an important call or fall asleep during the drive back from downtown LA to 0ur home in Encino.

Dad will fall asleep as I drive a few times never knowing how much I liked hearing sounds he makes while he sleeps, sleep noises.

The mix of snoring and breathing has been with me as long as I can remember and provides a familiar comfort.

The shooting at the shul in Pittsburgh has made me think about him for all kinds of reasons, not just because he was Bar Mitzvahed in Pittsburgh but because blatant antisemitism is something we absolutely would have discussed.

He would have pushed to go to Shabbat services to make a point to the community and to those who wish us ill.

I had intended to go last night and then something I ate declared mutiny so I didn’t, but I feel guilty about it.

‘Cuz I can hear dad tell me it is important to make sure we show the community we are not afraid, that it will lend courage to those who are frightened. And because those antisemites should know we say ‘fuck em.”

The Lighthouse

There is a boy who got lost on the road and wandered well off the path into bushes and brush.

For a long while he was so far away he couldn’t hear me calling and even though he knew I jumped off of the cliff and dove in after him it didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that I fought the monsters of the deep and those of the light. Didn’t see that where once there were no wrinkles or lines there are now plenty and that is ok because it I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

I built a lighthouse and set up beacons all around the mountain range and islands upon the sea. Set fires upon the islands and tried to find a way turn the stars in the night into a flashing neon like sign to help him find his way back.

When I dove in the water I didn’t bring anything along or stop to plan. I didn’t do as I taught, I acted without thinking and went based upon instinct.

Sometimes I feel like Odysseus after the Trojan war and wonder will it take 10 years to find my way home. Will the lighthouse and beacons still be lit so that I can figure out where to point my sail or will I just keep going and hope.

Sometimes the outstretched hand is taken and sometimes it remains empty.

Whither Goes The Blog…s

The hosting company I have used for a number of years has been sold and now I need to make some decisions.

Need to decide if I want to hang my hat with the new company, go elsewhere or just close up shop.

Sometimes I think about shutting it all down and letting the words get a rest.

Fourteen years is a long run and I wonder if I am saying things that need to be said or just retelling the same stories.

I can make a case to support either side. Can make a case to take time off and maybe come back.

Sometimes I think about starting over.

Give myself a clean slate and see what I can create, see what I can build.

Start over where there is no preconceived notion about who I am and what I am about and just go.

Make like Bruce and see if I can avoid going down the darker paths and just enjoy the wandering.


I keep thinking about the last time dad was really awake and the moment we shared.

He didn’t say much, just looked at me, smiled and squeezed my hand. There were a couple of moments after that where we made eye contact and I knew we connected, but they don’t match this one.

Bright blue eyes that could see right through you were soft, but sharp enough for me to see the clarity and awareness there.

I’d tell him I know what I am doing because I do.

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