Angel food
You can't let her all the way in
She couldn't be there all the time
Only when the time is right.
Yearning makes you want her more
driving you crazy
Putting you in that spot
a crumbing heap
anytime she says words like
stop, enough,can't take it anymore,
that life you had,
Is gone, no turning back,
you're just too much for her,
Then the door opens,
You're thrown out
of the speeding car of a realationship,
Floating along side for a while
but it's inevitable
crashing to the ground
Left to pick up the pieces
of your torn body
finished with another dessert
of angel food cake
with whipped cream frosting
oh how it melts in your mouth
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Up at the lake
Chunks of ice, floating yesterday afternoon, lay locked in the sidewalks after early morning cold returned them to slippery steps on the way to the coffee shop. Cardinals sing their song of this season blended with the chimes of the bell tower as he finally gets to the dry pavement. Lifting his head looking forward to see farther ahead than just the next step. In the neighborhood of the city, remnants of organic sounds try to hold on, interacting with the tires on the Saturn, or 100000 mile Volvo. The winter bicyclist passes, he’s ridden through the depths of the cold of January, clatters and clunks down the street, hat on but jacket open, as he heads toward 30 degrees.
Wonder if Andy will call today for lunch? No limo runs in the middle of the day means it could happen. They never meet more than a couple times per week otherwise, how could you answer the question, “What’s new?”
Last of the boxes are placed on the luggage rack fastened to the roof of the 55 Pontiac station wagon. His mom and her neighbor friend loaded up all the kids for a week up on Bluefish. Ellie, mother of a traditionally untraditional catholic family, was close friends with her priest; father Hibbs, who owned a family cabin on the lake. No room, except for the two families, fit into the seats inside. A tarp covered the carrier, protecting the luggage. Ropes crisscrossed the canvas securing it so rain and dirt stayed off its content. No one gave a second thought if it would still be there after the 150 mile trip.
Jesse and Willie stood alone as the males of the party of nine. You could hardly say the two of them had any influence being only 9 and 11. Blonde haired, blue eyed, Jesse was the cute little mamma’s boy of the group. Cuteness, a card he played many times around his older sister’s friends, made it comfortable for him to be around. Little did any of them know his innocence was melting away like ice on a warm sunny day.
“I want to sit in the back”
“No I don’t want to sit next to him”
“You sit up front with mom, your small enough to sit in the middle”
Jesse ended up having the adventure of the third seat, it faced back rather than forward, so you viewed where you’ve been, not where you’re going.
After an hour, a little over half way, the canvas tarp began flapping, 60 mile an hour wind began pulling it from its tie downs.
“Mom the tarp is flapping”
Each comment put little stress on the mothers in the front seat; they hoped it would make it the few miles to their destination.
Looking out, Jesse saw the corners of the cover, snapping from the wave of wind traveling down its length, each mile, more of it, crept down the back window.
Lifting himself out of his seat he turned around looking up front to see if anyone was paying attention to what was going on outside. No one seemed to notice. For an hour the racket continued, everyone ignored the noise.
An unfamiliar thud made Ellie look in the side mirror, catching a glimpse of one of the boxes in the carrier, flying up into the air. Jesse looked up in time to see the box of clothes deploy like a parachute once you pull the rip cord, each piece dispersing into a cloud of shirts, shorts and underwear, floating to the ground, covering both lanes of the highway.
“Mom a box flew off the top.” He said.
Heads twisted to see who won the box flying contest.
“Oh my gosh, those are my clothes” said his sister Janet.
Cranking the wheel, the car hit the gravel shoulder, the brakes stopped the tires as they grumbled over the stones to a stop. All the doors flew open, the kids piled out to collect the scattered pieces. Embarrassed beyond belief, Janet hurried to retrieve her wardrobe she would wear for the week.
“Get out the highway” both moms screamed, as a truck approached.
Standing on the side, everyone watched as the big black tired truck passed by, running over the scattered array, lifting a few pieces into the air from the back draft as it passed.
Willie, pinching the elastic waistband between the tips of his thumb and forefinger,
held up one of her white panties yelling,
“Look at the tire mark on this one.”
Humiliated, Janet ran over to him, disgustingly grabbing it out of his hands, turning away, and returning to collecting what still lay on the road.
Looking on; Jesse thought about the garments flying into the air, realizing he had never noticed the white panties before, always hidden away in her underwear drawer.
After stuffing everything back in the tattered windblown box, Janet held it on her lap for the completion of the trip. The moms tied down the tarp, then loaded up the car and headed back down the road.
15 minutes later, turning left off the main highway; they headed up the last hill before the lake. All eyes were fixed on the crest, yelling and cheering as the blue of the water capped the top of the tree, once they went over the top.
Overjoyed and relieved the trip was over, Jesse jumped out the back window before anyone could open the back hatch door. Janet couldn’t wait to get her clothes out to see what were ruined.
Oldest of the Anderson girls, Trudy worked the day they left, so she drove up on her own the next day. While down at the lake playing in the water, Jesse saw her descend the 70 stairs down the hill from the cabin. Looking at her, dressed in short white shorts, dark brown hair and round dark sunglasses, he couldn’t hold back his excitement for her arrival. Running over, he stood next to her to listen as she told her mom about the trip from home.
Bending down to look him straight in the eye, she said “Hi! Jesse have you been having fun at the lake?”
With a big smile he said “yes!”
Deciding it was time for lunch, everyone headed back up. Next to the back door of the log cabin Trudy parked her car, a red 56’ Thunderbird.
Shiny, reflecting the few rays of sun that snuck around the branches of the pine trees, Jesse couldn’t resist dragging his fingertips over the smooth surface, from the rounded tail fins to the front headlights.
Watching him do this ogling, she said, “After lunch, do you want to go for a ride?”
Imagining how cool it would be to cruise down the road, with the top down, wind blowing past, he replied, “Yes”
Time moved so slowly during lunch. He never lost contact with the image of the T bird or him riding down the road in it. His attraction for what she could do for him, lingered. Enthusiastically sitting close to her, he watched her every move. She knew the control she had over him.
Once everyone pushed their chairs out from the lunch table, he asked, “Can we go now.”
Looking over at him she smiled, “let’s go”
Simultaneously they opened their doors; he watched as she slid into her low seat, behind the red steering wheel. Between them sat a chrome shifter topped by a black round ball. His eyes couldn’t move off its strange location coming out of the floor. Turning the key the roar of the engine caused his eyes to lift to her bare foot toes with the bright red nail polish, stretching to reach the gas pedal, pressing down to rev the engine. Childish enthusiasm tickled every nerve in his body as they pulled out onto the road.
Long tanned legs, red nail polish, pointed toes, red sports cars and parachuting panties were burned into the synapse of his brain forever.
Wonder if Andy will call today for lunch? No limo runs in the middle of the day means it could happen. They never meet more than a couple times per week otherwise, how could you answer the question, “What’s new?”
Last of the boxes are placed on the luggage rack fastened to the roof of the 55 Pontiac station wagon. His mom and her neighbor friend loaded up all the kids for a week up on Bluefish. Ellie, mother of a traditionally untraditional catholic family, was close friends with her priest; father Hibbs, who owned a family cabin on the lake. No room, except for the two families, fit into the seats inside. A tarp covered the carrier, protecting the luggage. Ropes crisscrossed the canvas securing it so rain and dirt stayed off its content. No one gave a second thought if it would still be there after the 150 mile trip.
Jesse and Willie stood alone as the males of the party of nine. You could hardly say the two of them had any influence being only 9 and 11. Blonde haired, blue eyed, Jesse was the cute little mamma’s boy of the group. Cuteness, a card he played many times around his older sister’s friends, made it comfortable for him to be around. Little did any of them know his innocence was melting away like ice on a warm sunny day.
“I want to sit in the back”
“No I don’t want to sit next to him”
“You sit up front with mom, your small enough to sit in the middle”
Jesse ended up having the adventure of the third seat, it faced back rather than forward, so you viewed where you’ve been, not where you’re going.
After an hour, a little over half way, the canvas tarp began flapping, 60 mile an hour wind began pulling it from its tie downs.
“Mom the tarp is flapping”
Each comment put little stress on the mothers in the front seat; they hoped it would make it the few miles to their destination.
Looking out, Jesse saw the corners of the cover, snapping from the wave of wind traveling down its length, each mile, more of it, crept down the back window.
Lifting himself out of his seat he turned around looking up front to see if anyone was paying attention to what was going on outside. No one seemed to notice. For an hour the racket continued, everyone ignored the noise.
An unfamiliar thud made Ellie look in the side mirror, catching a glimpse of one of the boxes in the carrier, flying up into the air. Jesse looked up in time to see the box of clothes deploy like a parachute once you pull the rip cord, each piece dispersing into a cloud of shirts, shorts and underwear, floating to the ground, covering both lanes of the highway.
“Mom a box flew off the top.” He said.
Heads twisted to see who won the box flying contest.
“Oh my gosh, those are my clothes” said his sister Janet.
Cranking the wheel, the car hit the gravel shoulder, the brakes stopped the tires as they grumbled over the stones to a stop. All the doors flew open, the kids piled out to collect the scattered pieces. Embarrassed beyond belief, Janet hurried to retrieve her wardrobe she would wear for the week.
“Get out the highway” both moms screamed, as a truck approached.
Standing on the side, everyone watched as the big black tired truck passed by, running over the scattered array, lifting a few pieces into the air from the back draft as it passed.
Willie, pinching the elastic waistband between the tips of his thumb and forefinger,
held up one of her white panties yelling,
“Look at the tire mark on this one.”
Humiliated, Janet ran over to him, disgustingly grabbing it out of his hands, turning away, and returning to collecting what still lay on the road.
Looking on; Jesse thought about the garments flying into the air, realizing he had never noticed the white panties before, always hidden away in her underwear drawer.
After stuffing everything back in the tattered windblown box, Janet held it on her lap for the completion of the trip. The moms tied down the tarp, then loaded up the car and headed back down the road.
15 minutes later, turning left off the main highway; they headed up the last hill before the lake. All eyes were fixed on the crest, yelling and cheering as the blue of the water capped the top of the tree, once they went over the top.
Overjoyed and relieved the trip was over, Jesse jumped out the back window before anyone could open the back hatch door. Janet couldn’t wait to get her clothes out to see what were ruined.
Oldest of the Anderson girls, Trudy worked the day they left, so she drove up on her own the next day. While down at the lake playing in the water, Jesse saw her descend the 70 stairs down the hill from the cabin. Looking at her, dressed in short white shorts, dark brown hair and round dark sunglasses, he couldn’t hold back his excitement for her arrival. Running over, he stood next to her to listen as she told her mom about the trip from home.
Bending down to look him straight in the eye, she said “Hi! Jesse have you been having fun at the lake?”
With a big smile he said “yes!”
Deciding it was time for lunch, everyone headed back up. Next to the back door of the log cabin Trudy parked her car, a red 56’ Thunderbird.
Shiny, reflecting the few rays of sun that snuck around the branches of the pine trees, Jesse couldn’t resist dragging his fingertips over the smooth surface, from the rounded tail fins to the front headlights.
Watching him do this ogling, she said, “After lunch, do you want to go for a ride?”
Imagining how cool it would be to cruise down the road, with the top down, wind blowing past, he replied, “Yes”
Time moved so slowly during lunch. He never lost contact with the image of the T bird or him riding down the road in it. His attraction for what she could do for him, lingered. Enthusiastically sitting close to her, he watched her every move. She knew the control she had over him.
Once everyone pushed their chairs out from the lunch table, he asked, “Can we go now.”
Looking over at him she smiled, “let’s go”
Simultaneously they opened their doors; he watched as she slid into her low seat, behind the red steering wheel. Between them sat a chrome shifter topped by a black round ball. His eyes couldn’t move off its strange location coming out of the floor. Turning the key the roar of the engine caused his eyes to lift to her bare foot toes with the bright red nail polish, stretching to reach the gas pedal, pressing down to rev the engine. Childish enthusiasm tickled every nerve in his body as they pulled out onto the road.
Long tanned legs, red nail polish, pointed toes, red sports cars and parachuting panties were burned into the synapse of his brain forever.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
River of Beauty
How deep does your river of beauty flow?
For I would love to swim and go
Below where few have been
And take the time to grow
Currents and eddys change within
My soul would brightly gleam to win
Just one moment next to you
Would fill life full not thin
Eyes seeing a swan that's too
Consumed with minutes so few
Just one word could satisfy me
For a lifetime would do
I pray your shiny surface be
as bright below what I see
A life with you and me
Could be perfect to a tee
For I would love to swim and go
Below where few have been
And take the time to grow
Currents and eddys change within
My soul would brightly gleam to win
Just one moment next to you
Would fill life full not thin
Eyes seeing a swan that's too
Consumed with minutes so few
Just one word could satisfy me
For a lifetime would do
I pray your shiny surface be
as bright below what I see
A life with you and me
Could be perfect to a tee
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Day 14486 Father’s Day Evening at Como Lake
Back on this date I wrote this story. It is a linear story in that it all took place while writing it. I have edited it a bit but not much. I included the time so you may have a better idea of how long this all took.
June 18, 1989 6:58pm Fathers Day
I had a chance to spend time with Matt and Melissa today. Had a swim meet at St. Louis Park and they went along. Afterwards we went for dinner to Pepitos. It probably wasn't too fun for them but they seemed to enjoy it.
Sitting at Como Lake after dropping off the kids, I first stopped by the pavilion. Didn’t feel the privacy I needed so have moved south around the lake. Lying on the grass just off the walking path, 30 feet from a bench, ducks are rearing up their behinds searching for food on the bottom. Shadows of the sun are casting lines on the surroundings. The harsh intensity of the summers long hot sun is cooling its glare as it sets to the west. Returning to this place brings back memories of previous visit. It beckoned me back. The wind of the day, strong enough for kite flying is dying down causing the tranquil blue water to act as a mirror. Soft quacks of the ducks contentment with the moment can be heard ever so faintly.
Streams of people walk the path around the lake, nary a gap is found as the procession travels in front of me. A band warms up, readying itself for a concert at the Pavilion. A surprise to me. Paddleboats no longer sit along the docks below the pavilion, only fishermen can be found. Green algae covers the surface just off shore, the sight is not pleasant but from the size of the ducks, they don’t mind it. You can only guess this is caused by the run off of fertilizer making its way into the lake during the rains. The state insect is starting to make its presents known, just received a bite.
Mother duck has just brought out her clan; they make their way out into open water. Ten in all swim gently along never getting to far apart.
Four ducks show their stuff not far away, two white, and two mallards. Popping up out of the water paddling their legs, they appear to be standing on the surface, flapping their wings, strutting their stuff. The mallards jump on board a white one, stacked two high, then yet another mounts up and rides high. Must be too late for more eggs to be hatched but they can still enjoy.
A gray squirrel jumps through the cool green grass in front of me, along the shore. Cautiously he digs, looks, digs, looks, making sure I don’t move in on him. His front legs and mouth are black from the moist dirt he works in off the lake. A dinner must be his reason for searching so hard. All at once his prize is found. The large nut now clasped in his mouth is carried away to be feasted upon, perched on a branch of a lofty tree, safe from intruders.
A jubilant march plays as a kite tries to stay aloft over the lake. Higher and higher it goes making its way above the calming effect of the tree line. Suddenly the string appears to go free; the flyer has let out its line. Travelling over head, it has no anchor to call home. The setting sun lights up the line as it passes overhead, shimmering as it moves away from me. Knots have been made in it, making the line longer. The kite loses altitude, the string that was so high now comes down. The end drags in the water as the kite attempts to stay aloft. It would be a shame to let its flight end. Getting up, I grab this thread of life’s flight. Instantly the wind tugs on the string as the kite goes up. I have stopped its run away path. Up, up, it goes higher and higher. Now what do I do? There doesn’t seem to be anybody to claim ownership to its flight. Nobody on the distant shore is gesturing their dissatisfaction with my capture. Seconds fly by. What do I do? Wait and enjoy the flight, seems to feel alright.
In the distance I hear a man call out, “Do you have a hold of the kite”. He says. I answer with a yes. Walking up, he tells me of the periless journey of our lofty kite. It all started with a Father’s Day celebration at a church picnic. All the kids enjoyed its flight early in the afternoon. Interest waned so the kite was moved while in flight to the deck of its owner’s house where the length of string was increased . Fish line, tied to the end gave it altitude, going higher and higher. Time went by and more excitement was needed. A bottle was tied to the line and allowed to go above the trees. The weight of the bottle pulled on the string too much, snapping it sending the kite on its free flying journey. The bottle helped keep the kite up until it hit a churches brick wall breaking all but the neck. Up and down it went; several times the pursuer came within feet of the lose end but missed their chance to nab its flight. Then came my turn.
They were both grateful for helping them end their journey. It had taken them from HarMar to Como Lake. As they reeled in hundreds of feet of line this story was told to me. It will be a dads day neither one of us will ever forget. 8:11 all of this occurred in this moment in time.
A family paddles their way across the lake. Suns reflection blares off the silver side of the canoe. Starting at the front it travels down to its stern as it passes by out of sight. The lake mirrors the image of the distant shore. Walkers double their impression on the picturesque scene. Lone movements add life to the stillness. Dark shadows cast on the background, through the trees that set on the shore. Moments remain before the shadows of the horizon become evident on the view across the lake. Contrast is so great, the brightness of the sun on the shore, lights up the people who watch it set. Some, say it is so nice to watch it go down. Not many look at the other side. Brightness must be filtered by the dust in the atmosphere as it sets. Longer and longer the shadows get. Light and dark, the shades of green.
Hurry run by, walk fast, tell your stories, young and old walk, couples, married, dating, never two men, only women, some holding hands, some not, all working off that extra piece of strawberry pie. Kids ride their bikes with dad and the dog. Short shorts on women that shouldn’t, hot pink, hot green, fluorescent is in. Trombones slur their notes as the music is still being played. I should walk to hear the band from across the lake. I’ll miss the sun set. Behind me the darkness moves its cool, musty damp fingers over my back. Patience, patience it’s hard to wait. All in a line the little ducklings make their way behind their mom. Bumping up to the green blanket that covers their lake. The tallest tree is still in full brightness. Its top will be the first to sink into darkness of light. Blue sky drifts down to white then ever so gentle pink, blue, white, pink – strong lines of green.
Surprise it does not go from top to bottom but bottom to top. Now it is almost half way up the tall oak. 8:41.
No ripples are found anywhere on the lake. Almost perfect reflections now seen across the lake.
Mother and ducklings break into the green muck; stirring it up for an evening meal. Have seen enough for today. I think so.
June 18, 1989 6:58pm Fathers Day
I had a chance to spend time with Matt and Melissa today. Had a swim meet at St. Louis Park and they went along. Afterwards we went for dinner to Pepitos. It probably wasn't too fun for them but they seemed to enjoy it.
Sitting at Como Lake after dropping off the kids, I first stopped by the pavilion. Didn’t feel the privacy I needed so have moved south around the lake. Lying on the grass just off the walking path, 30 feet from a bench, ducks are rearing up their behinds searching for food on the bottom. Shadows of the sun are casting lines on the surroundings. The harsh intensity of the summers long hot sun is cooling its glare as it sets to the west. Returning to this place brings back memories of previous visit. It beckoned me back. The wind of the day, strong enough for kite flying is dying down causing the tranquil blue water to act as a mirror. Soft quacks of the ducks contentment with the moment can be heard ever so faintly.
Streams of people walk the path around the lake, nary a gap is found as the procession travels in front of me. A band warms up, readying itself for a concert at the Pavilion. A surprise to me. Paddleboats no longer sit along the docks below the pavilion, only fishermen can be found. Green algae covers the surface just off shore, the sight is not pleasant but from the size of the ducks, they don’t mind it. You can only guess this is caused by the run off of fertilizer making its way into the lake during the rains. The state insect is starting to make its presents known, just received a bite.
Mother duck has just brought out her clan; they make their way out into open water. Ten in all swim gently along never getting to far apart.
Four ducks show their stuff not far away, two white, and two mallards. Popping up out of the water paddling their legs, they appear to be standing on the surface, flapping their wings, strutting their stuff. The mallards jump on board a white one, stacked two high, then yet another mounts up and rides high. Must be too late for more eggs to be hatched but they can still enjoy.
A gray squirrel jumps through the cool green grass in front of me, along the shore. Cautiously he digs, looks, digs, looks, making sure I don’t move in on him. His front legs and mouth are black from the moist dirt he works in off the lake. A dinner must be his reason for searching so hard. All at once his prize is found. The large nut now clasped in his mouth is carried away to be feasted upon, perched on a branch of a lofty tree, safe from intruders.
A jubilant march plays as a kite tries to stay aloft over the lake. Higher and higher it goes making its way above the calming effect of the tree line. Suddenly the string appears to go free; the flyer has let out its line. Travelling over head, it has no anchor to call home. The setting sun lights up the line as it passes overhead, shimmering as it moves away from me. Knots have been made in it, making the line longer. The kite loses altitude, the string that was so high now comes down. The end drags in the water as the kite attempts to stay aloft. It would be a shame to let its flight end. Getting up, I grab this thread of life’s flight. Instantly the wind tugs on the string as the kite goes up. I have stopped its run away path. Up, up, it goes higher and higher. Now what do I do? There doesn’t seem to be anybody to claim ownership to its flight. Nobody on the distant shore is gesturing their dissatisfaction with my capture. Seconds fly by. What do I do? Wait and enjoy the flight, seems to feel alright.
In the distance I hear a man call out, “Do you have a hold of the kite”. He says. I answer with a yes. Walking up, he tells me of the periless journey of our lofty kite. It all started with a Father’s Day celebration at a church picnic. All the kids enjoyed its flight early in the afternoon. Interest waned so the kite was moved while in flight to the deck of its owner’s house where the length of string was increased . Fish line, tied to the end gave it altitude, going higher and higher. Time went by and more excitement was needed. A bottle was tied to the line and allowed to go above the trees. The weight of the bottle pulled on the string too much, snapping it sending the kite on its free flying journey. The bottle helped keep the kite up until it hit a churches brick wall breaking all but the neck. Up and down it went; several times the pursuer came within feet of the lose end but missed their chance to nab its flight. Then came my turn.
They were both grateful for helping them end their journey. It had taken them from HarMar to Como Lake. As they reeled in hundreds of feet of line this story was told to me. It will be a dads day neither one of us will ever forget. 8:11 all of this occurred in this moment in time.
A family paddles their way across the lake. Suns reflection blares off the silver side of the canoe. Starting at the front it travels down to its stern as it passes by out of sight. The lake mirrors the image of the distant shore. Walkers double their impression on the picturesque scene. Lone movements add life to the stillness. Dark shadows cast on the background, through the trees that set on the shore. Moments remain before the shadows of the horizon become evident on the view across the lake. Contrast is so great, the brightness of the sun on the shore, lights up the people who watch it set. Some, say it is so nice to watch it go down. Not many look at the other side. Brightness must be filtered by the dust in the atmosphere as it sets. Longer and longer the shadows get. Light and dark, the shades of green.
Hurry run by, walk fast, tell your stories, young and old walk, couples, married, dating, never two men, only women, some holding hands, some not, all working off that extra piece of strawberry pie. Kids ride their bikes with dad and the dog. Short shorts on women that shouldn’t, hot pink, hot green, fluorescent is in. Trombones slur their notes as the music is still being played. I should walk to hear the band from across the lake. I’ll miss the sun set. Behind me the darkness moves its cool, musty damp fingers over my back. Patience, patience it’s hard to wait. All in a line the little ducklings make their way behind their mom. Bumping up to the green blanket that covers their lake. The tallest tree is still in full brightness. Its top will be the first to sink into darkness of light. Blue sky drifts down to white then ever so gentle pink, blue, white, pink – strong lines of green.
Surprise it does not go from top to bottom but bottom to top. Now it is almost half way up the tall oak. 8:41.
No ripples are found anywhere on the lake. Almost perfect reflections now seen across the lake.
Mother and ducklings break into the green muck; stirring it up for an evening meal. Have seen enough for today. I think so.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Day 16494 Meeting James Ingram
December 17, 1994
Last Wednesday had an interesting episode with a celebrity in the hotel. Laurianne was in the Grill having a drink and reading the newspaper after work. With only one car, she was waiting for me. As I walked in I noticed James Ingram sitting at a table in the corner alone. I had met him a couple days earlier. He was performing with Peobo Bryson, Roberta Flack and Melissa Manchester in “The Colors of Christmas”, at the Ordway. Looking over to him I said hello and introduced him to Lauriane. He said, “Would like to join me for a drink.”. I first said no, thinking it was late but Laurianne said why not.
For the next 45 minutes we drank, ate and talked. He is originally from Akron, Ohio, now lives in LA. Married to the same gal for 20 years, he has 6 children 19-2. I was most impressed with his down to earth attitude. A son of a deacon he was very religious. Many times he spoke of his gift and talent, truly enjoys using them for the pleasure of others.
Mentioning that I had met a person who owned one of the recording studios in LA, I wondered if he knew him. Telling me a few names, I thought I recognized one. He had worked with Disney on the movie sound track for Cinderella, singing one of the songs in it. Asking him which song, I wasn’t sure which one it was so he sang me a little of it. We were thrilled.
He had just been in Toronto with the tour, a representative from Disney met him and presented him with the golden record. Cinderella sound track had been out only a month. He said, “Disney doesn’t miss on much.”
We talked athletics; he received a track scholarship for college but chose to go into music instead. Still working out doing training to do the quarter mile. Still can turn out a 58 sec time.
I had a greyhound, so did he. His chicken club came but it was too much for him. Insisting that we both take part of it, we picked away. He paid the bill. Laurianne was asked by him to figure out the tip. He signed his check James Edwards.
Last Thursday we were given tickets and back stage passes to see the show. After enjoying a wonderful performance we went backstage, got our picture taken with Melissa Manchester. Didn’t have a chance to see James. I sent a card to all of them thanking them for the special time.
For the next 45 minutes we drank, ate and talked. He is originally from Akron, Ohio, now lives in LA. Married to the same gal for 20 years, he has 6 children 19-2. I was most impressed with his down to earth attitude. A son of a deacon he was very religious. Many times he spoke of his gift and talent, truly enjoys using them for the pleasure of others.
Mentioning that I had met a person who owned one of the recording studios in LA, I wondered if he knew him. Telling me a few names, I thought I recognized one. He had worked with Disney on the movie sound track for Cinderella, singing one of the songs in it. Asking him which song, I wasn’t sure which one it was so he sang me a little of it. We were thrilled.
He had just been in Toronto with the tour, a representative from Disney met him and presented him with the golden record. Cinderella sound track had been out only a month. He said, “Disney doesn’t miss on much.”
We talked athletics; he received a track scholarship for college but chose to go into music instead. Still working out doing training to do the quarter mile. Still can turn out a 58 sec time.
I had a greyhound, so did he. His chicken club came but it was too much for him. Insisting that we both take part of it, we picked away. He paid the bill. Laurianne was asked by him to figure out the tip. He signed his check James Edwards.
Last Thursday we were given tickets and back stage passes to see the show. After enjoying a wonderful performance we went backstage, got our picture taken with Melissa Manchester. Didn’t have a chance to see James. I sent a card to all of them thanking them for the special time.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Family Blueprint
By Don Boxmeyer, staff writer for the St. Paul Pioneer Press
When John Thomas began a construction project last summer, it was like shaking hands with his grandfather, a gifted home builder who has been gone for more than half a century.
John is the chef concierge at the Saint Paul Hotel, a fresh white shirt and polished wing tip job if ever there was one. In fact john is the only Minnesota member of Les Clefs dor, an international association of hotel concierge.
But John also has this thing in him, this aspiration, this necessity, that makes him want to build homes. The grandfather he never knew built some of the finest and most durable homes in St. Paul and it a strange but beautiful quirk of fate last summer that allowed john to “meet “his father’s father on the job.
I knew his elation because my grandfathers were also builders. One was a carpenter and the other a stone mason. When I was a high school student, I had an opportunity to work with the mason, to use his tools and begin to learn how to lay brick and set stone, an artistic pursuit I could never get enough of. I still have his old steel wheeled mud buggy, an ancient wheelbarrow that I know he helped me push.
I was very young when my other grandfather died, but I have many of his carpenter tools in my woodworking shop. While modern power tools are more convenient for making furniture, I seize on any chance to the ancient wood mallet with my grandfathers initials carved on it, his chisels and beveled squares and the series of old Stanley block planes that were passed to me. I work with these tools even if I don’t have to because it gives me a chance to communicate with Christian Frederick Boxmeyer, the carpenter. His hand guides mine, I know they do.
So when John began telling me last summer, I knew there had to be a reunion between this modern builder and the late Franklin Holman Thomas.
John, 49 never knew his grandfather who died in 1943. But John was always fascinated with the life of Franklin Holman Thomas, a machinist by trade who also got a college education and became the first principal of the St. Paul Boys Vocational School at 14th and Jackson streets, the long gone predecessor of the St. Paul Technical College.
Grandpa was also a skilled carpenter, John says, and during the summer vacations he would lead a crew of students in the construction of homes primarily in the Macalester-Groveland area. He was so good that he sometimes built two or even three homes in a summer.
Between 1922 and 1930 Franklin built at least a dozen homes on Berkeley, Stanford, Wellesley, St. Clair , Randolph, Cleveland and Niles . Thomas’ trademarks of the homes were their “one drop” stone floors in the kitchen , fashioned from tile and marble from Drake Marble Co. in St. Paul.
John knew this because when he was very young he took an interest in architectural drafting and building, later becoming a home builder himself. He painstakingly researched the home his grandfather built , visiting many times and even duplicating the original plans for a few of them, including his favorite , a two story home on the 2100 block of Berkeley.
Last summer, John left the concierge business to go into sales and then construction, succumbing, he says, to the old “seven Year itch”. The Saint Paul Hotel called him back this December , but one of his first building jobs last summer was an assignment to build a three season porch on a home on Berkeley just off Cleveland Avenue.
How far off, John wanted to know. His boss told him.
Is that house blue? John asked and his surprised boss said, “Why yes. It is a blue house. “
One of his grandfathers houses, John thought. It was his favorite of all the houses his grandfather had built.
“It was very special to work on that house. “ John said. “Even though the work I did was on the far side of an addition built after my grandfather completed the original house, I could see there were certain trademark touches, such as some elaborate cornices that made his house really special”
This home has a delicately carved fascia decoration over the front entry that John is even duplicating on his own house. John’s grandfather used the carving, done by a vocational school instructor, sparingly but effectively elsewhere in the house; around the fireplace and framing the pillars of the front entry.
“We are fortunate there is such a good record of his building” says John, who is back to being a full time concierge at the Saint Paul Hotel. In his spare time he is rebuilding a 1970’s home he and his family live in on Juno Ave. in St. Paul.
Yes, he says, Franklin Holman Thomas is his inspiration. He is there when John needs him.
Here is a video I did on the addition of a second story to my house. During this work we lived in the house. This part of the project took just over a year from July 1999 until December 2000, moving into the space by Christmas.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Day 6953 Jimi Hendrix Concert Minneapolis Auditorium, November 2nd, 1968
Raucous Anthem Ends "Experience"
A raucous rendition of the Star Spangled Banner in this year of the rejuvenation of the anthem brought to a crashing close an electronically charged Jimi Hendrix Experience concert in the Minneapolis Auditorium Saturday night. What an experience it was listening to and watching Jimi Hendrix!
His biggest hangup is that he creates so much excitement that he must compete for attention with the audience and all the security measures to protect him from the audience. There were more than 80 ushers, about 20 police officers, 10 of Hendrix's own security men, some Hennepin County deputy marshals, and according to a crack from Hendrix, some narcotics agents, "enjoying" the Experience. And some of the loudest sounds in a night of mighty amplification were the sighs of relief heard from the officers when the concert ended and the estimated 7,500 persons in the audience did not charge the stage.
From the moment he appeared onstage with drummer Mitch Mitchell and bassist Noel Redding, the 22 year-old Seattle-born Hendrix had the audience with him. Mostly youngsters, the audience surged to the stage-front as soon as Hendrix appeared, and this move chased us backstage from where we watched and listened to the one hour performance. Fire marshals tried to get the audience back to their seats ... so did a local radio station disc jockey, who sounded as if he would cry if the concert could not continue. "We'll never be able to get great talent like this back in the Twin Cities if we don't sit down. Please sit down," he pleaded. No one budged. Hendrix made a half-hearted appeal. No one moved. Guess who won the struggle?
So with kids - thousands of them - jammed against the stage, Hendrix and cohorts rocked into their program (after some delays because of trouble with amplifiers, a source of difficulty for nearly all acid rock groups): "Are You Experienced?" "Foxy spangled spectacular. As if to rub it into those who have made an issue of the singing of the anthem by Aretha Franklin and Jose Feliciano in recent months, the Hendrix Experience charged wildly into the song.
Drummer Mitchell, a 24 year-old Londoner, went off on his own on a smashing solo; 23 year-old bassist Redding (also from England) set the pulsating pace; and Hendrix hurled himself into an atonal, quavering improvisation - barely touching upon the melody of the anthem. This version made those of Aretha and Jose sound like a Sunday school class sing-a-long.
Hendrix, often an exciting guitarist and a good blues vocalist, ended things with his biggie, "Purple Haze," and the throng of kids - their appetites apparently satisfied - stood silently, seemingly stunned for awhile, before trudging slowly from the auditorium.
A raucous rendition of the Star Spangled Banner in this year of the rejuvenation of the anthem brought to a crashing close an electronically charged Jimi Hendrix Experience concert in the Minneapolis Auditorium Saturday night. What an experience it was listening to and watching Jimi Hendrix!
His biggest hangup is that he creates so much excitement that he must compete for attention with the audience and all the security measures to protect him from the audience. There were more than 80 ushers, about 20 police officers, 10 of Hendrix's own security men, some Hennepin County deputy marshals, and according to a crack from Hendrix, some narcotics agents, "enjoying" the Experience. And some of the loudest sounds in a night of mighty amplification were the sighs of relief heard from the officers when the concert ended and the estimated 7,500 persons in the audience did not charge the stage.
From the moment he appeared onstage with drummer Mitch Mitchell and bassist Noel Redding, the 22 year-old Seattle-born Hendrix had the audience with him. Mostly youngsters, the audience surged to the stage-front as soon as Hendrix appeared, and this move chased us backstage from where we watched and listened to the one hour performance. Fire marshals tried to get the audience back to their seats ... so did a local radio station disc jockey, who sounded as if he would cry if the concert could not continue. "We'll never be able to get great talent like this back in the Twin Cities if we don't sit down. Please sit down," he pleaded. No one budged. Hendrix made a half-hearted appeal. No one moved. Guess who won the struggle?
So with kids - thousands of them - jammed against the stage, Hendrix and cohorts rocked into their program (after some delays because of trouble with amplifiers, a source of difficulty for nearly all acid rock groups): "Are You Experienced?" "Foxy spangled spectacular. As if to rub it into those who have made an issue of the singing of the anthem by Aretha Franklin and Jose Feliciano in recent months, the Hendrix Experience charged wildly into the song.
Drummer Mitchell, a 24 year-old Londoner, went off on his own on a smashing solo; 23 year-old bassist Redding (also from England) set the pulsating pace; and Hendrix hurled himself into an atonal, quavering improvisation - barely touching upon the melody of the anthem. This version made those of Aretha and Jose sound like a Sunday school class sing-a-long.
Hendrix, often an exciting guitarist and a good blues vocalist, ended things with his biggie, "Purple Haze," and the throng of kids - their appetites apparently satisfied - stood silently, seemingly stunned for awhile, before trudging slowly from the auditorium.
P.S. Jannie said "Let's run the stage". Couldn't say no since the great seats we were suppose to have in the front row of the balcony ended up in the back of the auditorium, what seemed like miles from the stage. As we approached the front others in the room thought the same, by the time we reached our destination for the total concert we were behind 3 people, feet from Jimi. Our ears missed none of his music, highlighted by seeing him play and sing all of his famous songs. Every lick he played caused excitement to course through the crowd that was standing in front of him. By the end and for hours after the essence of his music became part of all of us. An Amazing Memory.
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