I dreamed about you this morning. Again. After so long, now, it seems my mind just can’t let you go.
It was a different setting, but the usual scenario. If memory doesn’t fail me, as it can with such dreams, this time you were working in the office to where I had traveled in the process of doing my job. That’s how it always is: the chance meeting some place where I’d never imagine finding you.
You were cordial, nice. You acknowledged that you knew who I was after so many years, seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see you.
It was the moment I’ve been waiting 25 years for, yet I couldn’t blurt out in front of your co-workers, nor in front of mine, the words that I want to say to you. We know our history; they don’t need to know about it.
And yet you seemed keen to avoid getting into a situation where you would be alone with me. Was it in my eyes? Did I telegraph to you that I had something to say?
You left the room and were gone so long I feared I wouldn’t get the chance to say it to you. Why do I wish to say it? Is it a hope for getting you back? Of course not. We’ve each lived a lifetime since we last saw each other, and our lives have followed their courses. It didn’t work 25 years ago; why would I ever think it could work now?
Is it to save face? No. What I did then was so stupid, even I am disgusted with myself. Maybe I’d let you have your say about it. Do you still care?
What is it then? Why do you still haunt my thoughts and dreams?
I think I know. In this morning’s dream I said it aloud to someone in the room, told her why I wanted to see you, why you animate my waking thoughts so often, why I fantasize about the moment.
It’s because I want to tell you that I’m sorry for my actions on that day 25 years ago. I know; no one was hurt or damaged, but I sure didn’t shine in my best light then. That’s not who I am, or was, or aspire to be. It couldn’t possibly be.
I want to tell you that I hope your life has turned out as you hoped it would and, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, with whomever you’re doing it, I hope you have found the happiness I couldn’t bring you.
Maybe then, if I knew that you knew, maybe then I could go through a day without thinking about you at least once, wondering if you ever think about me, if you ever wonder what I’m doing at this very moment, just as I wonder about you. Maybe, if I could close that door that’s swung open for 25 years, maybe you wouldn’t visit my sleep any more.
And then you appeared in the hallway. In the psychedelia that is a dream, now you wore what resembled a wedding gown. You were alone. It was my chance. I approached you from behind. I spoke your name. Your cell-phone rang. You held up a finger and took the call.
And then my wife’s alarm clock sounded, and you faded into the murk.
The dream was over, but you’ve haunted my thoughts all day. Again.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Rhymes With Time
"Eenie meenie minie moe
Catch a tiger by the toe
If he hollers let him go
Eenie meenie minie moe..."
That is about the extent of my memory of playground rhymes employed to choose team members or first player or whatever, “randomly.”
Even as a grade-schooler I could never remember any of the other ones, and there were some I thought were really neat. Some of the other boys remembered some of them and we used them to pick who would be “it” first, but the more mathematically adept kids knew how to manipulate the rhyme and willfully affect the outcome to pick one of the slower runners (me) who would then be “it” for the entire recess period. And there were some girls I went to school with who could remember and recite vast libraries of them. And, for whatever others I could remember then, “Eenie meenie minie moe” is the only one left with me.
Well, there’s just part of another:
“One banana, two banana, three banana, four
Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more.”
Oops! Wrong playground! I meant:
“One potato, two potato, three potato, four…”
…and that’s it.
On this past Christmas morning Mrs. Farrago and I went out for breakfast at a local 24/7 place. Being The Holiday, we were delighted to be seated immediately in a calm, quiet, peaceful restaurant. As we ate (no, I did not conduct any research that morning), a family was seated in the booth across from ours. Well, it was portions of a family. It was a somewhat older couple with a small child – their granddaughter, I’m guessing. She was a cute, chatty little thing and her adult companions seemed to delight in her every word. Then the child spoke in a rhyme that brought back a flood of …not memories, necessarily, but the sense of being a vibrant child on the playground at school, with one foot jammed into a circle of feet, while one kid rhythmically tapped each toe consecutively to the beat of the rhyme, a rhyme I hadn’t heard since at least the sixth grade:
“Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish
How many pieces do you wish?”
“Seven.”
“One, two, three…..”
I seem to recall there was more to it than just that, but it has all escaped me again. How enthralling that something so simple could spark so sharp a feeling in my gut!
I tried to remember to Mrs. Farrago any of the others I used to hear, but “Eenie meenie” was all that came to me.
I know I have a few of you who pop in from time to time. I couldn’t have reached 1500 hits just by posting and editing (…or could I?). Dig deep into your memories and share with me the rhymes you used to employ to build playground teams or who had to sit with the ugly kid (me again!)
I’ll follow up by letting you know which ones bring me back, and which ones I never heard – or don’t remember.
Catch a tiger by the toe
If he hollers let him go
Eenie meenie minie moe..."
That is about the extent of my memory of playground rhymes employed to choose team members or first player or whatever, “randomly.”
Even as a grade-schooler I could never remember any of the other ones, and there were some I thought were really neat. Some of the other boys remembered some of them and we used them to pick who would be “it” first, but the more mathematically adept kids knew how to manipulate the rhyme and willfully affect the outcome to pick one of the slower runners (me) who would then be “it” for the entire recess period. And there were some girls I went to school with who could remember and recite vast libraries of them. And, for whatever others I could remember then, “Eenie meenie minie moe” is the only one left with me.
Well, there’s just part of another:
“One banana, two banana, three banana, four
Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more.”
Oops! Wrong playground! I meant:
“One potato, two potato, three potato, four…”
…and that’s it.
On this past Christmas morning Mrs. Farrago and I went out for breakfast at a local 24/7 place. Being The Holiday, we were delighted to be seated immediately in a calm, quiet, peaceful restaurant. As we ate (no, I did not conduct any research that morning), a family was seated in the booth across from ours. Well, it was portions of a family. It was a somewhat older couple with a small child – their granddaughter, I’m guessing. She was a cute, chatty little thing and her adult companions seemed to delight in her every word. Then the child spoke in a rhyme that brought back a flood of …not memories, necessarily, but the sense of being a vibrant child on the playground at school, with one foot jammed into a circle of feet, while one kid rhythmically tapped each toe consecutively to the beat of the rhyme, a rhyme I hadn’t heard since at least the sixth grade:
“Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish
How many pieces do you wish?”
“Seven.”
“One, two, three…..”
I seem to recall there was more to it than just that, but it has all escaped me again. How enthralling that something so simple could spark so sharp a feeling in my gut!
I tried to remember to Mrs. Farrago any of the others I used to hear, but “Eenie meenie” was all that came to me.
I know I have a few of you who pop in from time to time. I couldn’t have reached 1500 hits just by posting and editing (…or could I?). Dig deep into your memories and share with me the rhymes you used to employ to build playground teams or who had to sit with the ugly kid (me again!)
I’ll follow up by letting you know which ones bring me back, and which ones I never heard – or don’t remember.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Back To The Grind
Well, the party is over. Barely a week into the new year and I’m back on the road.
It was a nice break over the holidays; a much unexpected one, at that. One year ago today, I was just a few days back in the States after the company I work for took its employees to Paris for a week. This year October went by, November went by, and there was no announcement of a week-between-the-holidays trip. And that’s okay: a gift should never be expected.
Instead, this holiday season we were treated to the usual holiday dinner for the employees and their spouses at a French-themed restaurant. On the evening of December 21, we played a silly little grab-bag game where the owner of the company read “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” with a few phrases added, that had us passing gifts around the room left and right around a circle. It was wacky and fun, and Mrs. Farrago and I came away with a bottle of Glögg and a bottle of a very nice, tasty Spanish red wine.
Shortly after dessert, the party was over. Some were heading to a bar across the street, but Mrs. Farrago and I had a 25 mile trip in the rain ahead of us, so we opted just to go home. The owner of the company was handing out gift bags to everyone, and with holiday wishes and hugs and handshakes, we took our bag and headed home for the welcome, eleven-day break until January 2.
We arrived home and, almost as an afterthought, we opened the gift bag to see what was inside. By the weight of it I expected a bottle or two of wine, as is a frequent gift from The Big Boss. Instead there was a bottle of Young’s Old English Ale. We unwrapped the next, and it was a bottle of Bottle-Aged Vintage Ale. Another wrapped bottle was another English Ale. I like beer, but this seemed a little ridiculous. There were a couple of other wrapped items in the bag, but we got to the holiday card and opened it. It was a fairly bland greeting that read “Happy Holidays from everyone at” the company. But there was a printed piece of paper inside the card, and it was a doozy of a surprise, a gift that was NOT expected.
“You are invited to join us and your co-workers in London…!” (If you missed it, like I did, the ales were A Clue.) He did it again! He managed to catch us all off guard! This time we’re traveling sometime around the end of July or early August. Dates are pending on a possible client commitment that has yet to be confirmed.
LONDON! WOW!
So, that was our big, generous, fantastic gift from The Big Boss. Christmas in July, indeed! In the meantime it’s business as usual, with that big, juicy carrot dangling from the end of a seven month long stick! And business as usual means tonight I’m writing in a hotel room, this time in a far distant suburb of Detroit. Tuesday I’m in Joplin, Missouri. Wednesday, Miami. Thursday, Los Angeles. Friday, Denver.
And the wheel keeps turning…
It was a nice break over the holidays; a much unexpected one, at that. One year ago today, I was just a few days back in the States after the company I work for took its employees to Paris for a week. This year October went by, November went by, and there was no announcement of a week-between-the-holidays trip. And that’s okay: a gift should never be expected.
Instead, this holiday season we were treated to the usual holiday dinner for the employees and their spouses at a French-themed restaurant. On the evening of December 21, we played a silly little grab-bag game where the owner of the company read “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” with a few phrases added, that had us passing gifts around the room left and right around a circle. It was wacky and fun, and Mrs. Farrago and I came away with a bottle of Glögg and a bottle of a very nice, tasty Spanish red wine.
Shortly after dessert, the party was over. Some were heading to a bar across the street, but Mrs. Farrago and I had a 25 mile trip in the rain ahead of us, so we opted just to go home. The owner of the company was handing out gift bags to everyone, and with holiday wishes and hugs and handshakes, we took our bag and headed home for the welcome, eleven-day break until January 2.
We arrived home and, almost as an afterthought, we opened the gift bag to see what was inside. By the weight of it I expected a bottle or two of wine, as is a frequent gift from The Big Boss. Instead there was a bottle of Young’s Old English Ale. We unwrapped the next, and it was a bottle of Bottle-Aged Vintage Ale. Another wrapped bottle was another English Ale. I like beer, but this seemed a little ridiculous. There were a couple of other wrapped items in the bag, but we got to the holiday card and opened it. It was a fairly bland greeting that read “Happy Holidays from everyone at” the company. But there was a printed piece of paper inside the card, and it was a doozy of a surprise, a gift that was NOT expected.
“You are invited to join us and your co-workers in London…!” (If you missed it, like I did, the ales were A Clue.) He did it again! He managed to catch us all off guard! This time we’re traveling sometime around the end of July or early August. Dates are pending on a possible client commitment that has yet to be confirmed.
LONDON! WOW!
So, that was our big, generous, fantastic gift from The Big Boss. Christmas in July, indeed! In the meantime it’s business as usual, with that big, juicy carrot dangling from the end of a seven month long stick! And business as usual means tonight I’m writing in a hotel room, this time in a far distant suburb of Detroit. Tuesday I’m in Joplin, Missouri. Wednesday, Miami. Thursday, Los Angeles. Friday, Denver.
And the wheel keeps turning…
Monday, January 01, 2007
Occupant
I've witnessed the passing of 2006 and, unlike so many other bloggers and TV networks and countless online entities, I have nothing much to say about it, really. Lots of other bloggers are fantastic chroniclers of their lives and can look back on the year that was and see the progress they’ve made, or the ground they’ve lost. TV networks concern themselves with the big news stories that shook their respective corners of the world. The web world concerns itself with whatever niches their people care about and what the year meant to them.
Not me. Nothing happened that seems to matter to my progress from womb to tomb. I started 2006 married to the wonderful Mrs. Farrago, and I ended it with the wonderful Mrs. Farrago…and yes, it’s the same woman.
Oh, lots of stuff happened, but where am I now that I wasn’t one year ago? I traveled to Europe twice (thrice if you count the Paris trip that ended January 2, 2006); Canada twice; Costa Rica once; The Bahamas once; and dozens of other places I’ve likely been to a dozen times before.
We got a new bird – a lineolated parakeet – that’s the cutest little bird you ever saw…if you like little birds.
Mrs. Farrago and I finally took a proper vacation to San Francisco and the wine country of Napa Valley.
Mrs. Farrago’s father moved out of our house. And I did finally manage to sell his car, just a few days before Christmas.
Mrs. Farrago was laid off from her job, and we spent a frugal three weeks on a tight budget, eating through our freezers. But she’s since landed a nice freelance gig that challenges her and pays her a better hourly wage.
I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t meet a supermodel and subsequently jeopardize my marriage with a torrid affair. And I didn’t spiral out of control and ruin my career in a haze of booze, drugs and hookers. But I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or AIDS or erectile dysfunction, either.
Nope. I just conspicuously consumed air, food, water and beer from the world, and I conspicuously added my own share of pollution to it.
In short, I occupied space for a year, and I have nothing to show for it...except for that disgusting, huge pile of garbage.
So, here’s to 2007. May I move an inch forward; may I climb an inch upward; may I accomplish something toward doing something that matters to someone.
And may you, dear reader, do the same.
Happy New Year!
Not me. Nothing happened that seems to matter to my progress from womb to tomb. I started 2006 married to the wonderful Mrs. Farrago, and I ended it with the wonderful Mrs. Farrago…and yes, it’s the same woman.
Oh, lots of stuff happened, but where am I now that I wasn’t one year ago? I traveled to Europe twice (thrice if you count the Paris trip that ended January 2, 2006); Canada twice; Costa Rica once; The Bahamas once; and dozens of other places I’ve likely been to a dozen times before.
We got a new bird – a lineolated parakeet – that’s the cutest little bird you ever saw…if you like little birds.
Mrs. Farrago and I finally took a proper vacation to San Francisco and the wine country of Napa Valley.
Mrs. Farrago’s father moved out of our house. And I did finally manage to sell his car, just a few days before Christmas.
Mrs. Farrago was laid off from her job, and we spent a frugal three weeks on a tight budget, eating through our freezers. But she’s since landed a nice freelance gig that challenges her and pays her a better hourly wage.
I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t meet a supermodel and subsequently jeopardize my marriage with a torrid affair. And I didn’t spiral out of control and ruin my career in a haze of booze, drugs and hookers. But I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or AIDS or erectile dysfunction, either.
Nope. I just conspicuously consumed air, food, water and beer from the world, and I conspicuously added my own share of pollution to it.
In short, I occupied space for a year, and I have nothing to show for it...except for that disgusting, huge pile of garbage.
So, here’s to 2007. May I move an inch forward; may I climb an inch upward; may I accomplish something toward doing something that matters to someone.
And may you, dear reader, do the same.
Happy New Year!
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