23:15 18/11/2008
Questions of Dreams
dreams what are they?
what do they hold?
why is it important to have them?
where do they lead?
what becomes of them?
and the question among everyones lips
can they become true?
can they leed somewhere?
are they meant to show us the path?
are they are destiny?
or are they just meant to be slept on?
12 August 2009 21:44:37 sometimes i raise a qusetion to myself , doesn't anyone look for me, does anyone know who i am, do not get me wrong im grateful for what i have and got, but i would prefer the love, no-one answers me, no-one calls for me, i have begun to think that, what am i here for? a change? a difference? to help someone or something? or even a message? i put my hands up, i am guitly for the hope of someone too listen and talk to me, is anyone going to reply to my calls of despert help and pleds of advice. a pled of help! im not sure if anyone is going too.
12 August 2009 21:33:05 i wish upon people no pain, no matter what they have gained, in this world there is pain no matter where i walk or be, the hardest thing for me, is to see others in pain, i would rather it me, just leave them be, in this world there is madness and despear, people do not relizes nor even care, i could never have that thought, i could never embrace that evil, i will allways care and allways live with a dare, i would give my live for another, i would give my life for you, that is my dare, thats my wish, and that is my thought's, just to be with you.
Fun!
We sat there on the patio of St. Arbuck's on the Pacific Garden Mall in downtown Santa Cruz, California enjoying a blissful fall morning that was low on stress and high on relaxation.
We typically find our way to Santa Cruz sometime in early October.
It's a homing instinct thing as much as anything else.
We--that is my beloved and myself--had our beginnings in Santa Cruz.
It was a two-bedroom apartment on Washington street just a couple of blocks from the Nickelodeon Theater (now called "The Nick") that we outfitted sparsely with bits and pieces of mismatched, used furniture and an overabundance of love.
Come December 18th we will have been "us" for thirty-eight years.
I glanced up from reading the San Jose Mercury News and allowed my gaze to fall upon my wife whose beauty can still stop my heart in its tracks, even after all these years.
She was drinking a mocha.
It is a drink she learned to enjoy at that selfsame St. Arbuck's two years previously.
"What?" she said lightly.
"Oh, nothing," said I. "I was just remembering the two of us sitting at that little Deli that used to be by the Del Mar Theater, what was it called--"
"The Del Marette?" she provided.
"Yes! We sat there after opening our first bank account at B of A."
She smiled at the memory, "We thought we were so grown-up."
"Well, we were. Married; our own apartment; bank account; dreams to dream; life to live."
Our eyes locked in a memory transference that encompassed all that we've experienced throughout our marriage...good times, bad times, tragic times, all streamed together in a few seconds.
"And here we are," I said.
She reached for my hand, "Here we are."
Our focus was broken by a woman's voice saying quite loudly, "You're a good boy, yes you are. Oh, you're just my big, beautiful boy."
Turning toward the sidewalk, which was about twenty feet from where we sat we saw a young woman, nicely dressed with stylish brown hair bending down and hugging a black Lab service dog while he returned her affection in typical doggie style by slathering her face with doggie kisses.
She raised up, her sightless eyes fixed, listening, as if awaiting a particular sound.
It was then that a young man of similar age approached from directly in front of her, his white cane extended, tap-tap-tapping the sidewalk in a delicate pattern.
He seemed to purposely run into her exclaiming in faux protest, "What's the matter? You blind or something?"
She threw back her head and laughed loudly, as did most of us gathered on the patio that fine morning.
"Oh, very funny," she replied. "But you're still buying the coffee."
Together they carefully made their way up the ramp leading to the entrance, their love brilliantly on display for all to see.
I dabbed at a tear that had managed to escape an ever-ready reservoir as my wife said lightly, "Let me guess, that brought a tear to your one good eye."
I nodded, laughing...she knows me so well.
She said, "So, what was there about that scene that touched you?"
"I think it was the way he loved her."
"How do you know how he loves her, we saw them for all of two minutes," she replied.
I smiled, "It was long enough."
Growing thoughtful she said, "I wonder if they'll be sitting here some future morning musing about their beginnings?"
"Laughing about his silly joke," I filled in. "And how it made everyone laugh."
Grinning broadly she said, "Wanna go look at the old apartment?"
"Let's."
And so we did.
We looked at all of our old stuff; drove all of our old routes; had lunch on the pier...just remembering.
Like we do every single time we go home.
You see, sometimes you cannot know where you are or where you're going until you remember where you've been.
