Chapter 6 - The Catfish Revelation

                                                    10/2/13 - "Chapter 6 - The Catfish Revelation"

     Blogger's Note:  October will be Polish grandparents month.  On Thursday, October 10th, DJ and I will be heading to O'Hare International Airport in Chicago, IL to pick up Joanna's parents.  They'll be staying with us for a month.  We can't wait.  They are a big help with their grandchildren.  They stayed with us right after Roman was born, and I don't think I realized at the time exactly how much help they were!
     If you're just tuning in, this feature is the next chapter in our "How We Fell in Love" story.  If you'd like to really understand what's going on, then I'd suggest scrolling through the archives until you come across "Chapter 1 - The Tea Monster" where our story begins.
     And now...  let's be clear about something...
     This story is a romantic comedy.
     People tune in for various reasons.  Some (I really hope) tune in to see what silly thing I'm posting about this week.  Some (as my viewership graph indicates) tune in solely to read this story (...and that's okay because information like this tells me in which direction to lean if I'm going to keep people coming back.)  Some tune in because I've managed to solicit my post cleverly enough to make people wonder what exactly it is that I'm writing about.  And some tune in to see if they will be making a cameo appearance...  especially in our "How We Fell in Love" story.
     And any of these reasons is perfectly fine with me.  I'm just glad you tuned in.
     I haven't really had the chance to include everyone that I'd like to...  yet.  But, please, stay tuned and bear with me.
     Our story isn't just about "How We Fell in Love".  But, also about how our friends helped us every step of the way.  You will see this especially during Phase 3 of our journey.
     But, now it's time for the romantic part of our romantic comedy.  So I'll begin with a "mushy" warning in this chapter and the next.  I hope you'll endure these steps with me, so we can get back to our regularly scheduled program as painlessly as possible...

     113... 115... 117...
     I knew I was at the right room because I could hear Joanna speaking Polish through the door.  I gently knocked and waited.
     "Już mu wysłałam papiery, może się odczepi!"  Her anxious voice grew louder just before the door opened.  She was holding her cell phone to her ear while waving a stack of papers in her free hand.
     "Come in..."  She pulled the phone away from her mouth long enough to encourage me inside.  I quietly obliged.
     "Nie przejmuj się, jest dupek i tyle!"  I could distinguish a female voice coming through the phone's speaker sounding just as passionate as Joanna.
     "Hej muszę kończyć.  Kumpel właśnie przyszedł."  Joanna must have said goodbye as she ended the call and stuck the phone in her purse which sat on a table near the window.  She afforded me a smile as she put the papers in a file that was sitting on the lone table.
     "Are you really a spy?" I quipped.
     "Don't tell anyone or I must kill you," she responded with playful, suspicious eyes.  She busied herself by appropriating some of the paperwork to various files.  "That was Wiola, my friend in Destin.  Our boss is driving us crazy!"
     "Raul the Irishman?"
     "Yes.  Neither of us can stand him.  The students are crammed into rooms.  Some of them sleep on the floor.  Now, he wants me to let one of them stay with me.  I tell him 'hell no.'  That was not part of contract agreement.  And we have no car, and the students need things.  I need things.  I tell him to quit being cheap and pay for another room.  You should know how much money this company makes, and you would know why I am so angry that he won't help us."
     The room had two beds.  One was made up nicely; the other was obviously her desk as it was covered with stacks of folders and papers.  In the corner, a stack of clothes was neatly folded and stacked in a large, open suitcase.  A nice blouse lounged from a hanger that was clinging to an edge of the mirror.  I noticed that there was neither a refrigerator nor a microwave.
     "No microwave?  How do you eat?" I inquired.
     "There's one in the lobby," she explained.
     I spotted an off-duty bottle of vodka resting on the dresser's edge.  Beside it, another vodka bottle was filled with a thick custard-like substance.  "What's that?" I asked.
     "Adwokat.  My dad makes it; he sent me some for Christmas.  It is illegal to ship an open container of alcohol internationally.  So he puts it in vodka bottle and puts plastic over the lid so that it look like it has never opened," Joanna resolved.  "Here, try some..."
     She opened one of the dresser drawers and retrieved two shot glasses.
     After pouring, she handed me one of the glasses and toasted, "na zdrowie."
     "Na zdrowie," I echoed.
     The adwokat tasted a bit like egg nog, just not as sweet.  I could feel heat from the vodka warming me from my core to my head.  "Nice..." I complimented.  Given the opportunity, I could have happily sat there and finished the bottle myself.
     "Ready?" Joanna asked as she took our empty glasses to the bathroom sink to wash out.
     "Now I am," I joshed.
     She bundled herself in a long coat and freed her pony tail from a scarf that she loosely draped around her neck.
     We headed out the door.  "You'll have to excuse my piece of shit car," I apologized as I jingled my keys out of my pocket.
     "I do not care about that sort of thing.  At least you have a car..." she smiled at me.
     I jerked the passenger-side door open partially because I thought the gesture would be polite and partially because I was afraid she wouldn't be able to do it.  The door was compromised by a dent and rusty hinges.  She smiled her appreciation as she sat in the passenger seat.  I slammed the door shut hoping it would latch on the first try.  Thankfully, it did.
     We escaped the hotel parking lot and slowly accelerated into a cold, Spring night making small talk about work.  I listened uncharacteristically well because I liked hearing her talk.
     Whaler's Catch was busy, but we didn't have to wait long for a table.  An engaging Zydeco band was crooning from overhead speakers giving a taste of New Orleans to nautical decorations.  A pretty, young hostess carrying two menus led us through a labyrinth of candlelit tables to a corner where a red-and-white checkered tablecloth was being caressed by lantern-light.  Chivalrous, wooden chairs softly rapped across the floor with personality as we found our seats.
     "Our special tonight is all-you-can-eat crab legs," the girl explained as she handed us our menus.
     "Yay!" I said as my grin widened.  Joanna gave me a well-all-righty-then smile as she started reading the menu's massive selection.
     "There's so many choices," she commented as she scanned the options.
     "Can I get you something to drink?"  A middle-aged lady wearing a business smile politely interrupted.
     "What do you suggest?" Joanna looked over her menu to address me.
     "I don't normally drink Foster's, but they have it on draught here.  I've discovered that I like it on draught."
     "I'll try that."  The Polish girl ordered.
     "Bring us two tall ones," I simplified.
     Once the waitress had left, Joanna returned to the menu.
     "You don't like shellfish, right?  This is regular fish," I indicated by waving my hand over the correct section.
     A quiet time elapsed as she read the options, apparently struggling with the strange English words.  Suddenly, she made a face.
     "Catfish?  What's that?"
     "Really?  You've never had catfish?"  I reflected on that a moment.  Catfish was a staple of American cuisine.  I had never considered the possibility that there were people in the world that didn't know what it was.
     "I don't believe we have catfish in Poland," Joanna responded.
     "It's very common here.  There's some swimming in the river right over there," I gestured towards the Ohio River which was just a block away.  "It's called catfish because it looks like it has whiskers like a cat," I explained.  "And it meows when you bite into it."
     She gave me that look, so I regressed with a chuckle.  "Ok, ok.  But it really does have whiskers like a cat."
     "What does it taste like," she asked.
     "It has a very mild flavor.  If you like fish, I think you would like it.  Most people around here eat it fried."
     "I will try it," she decided as she folded the menu and sat it on the table.
     After the waitress returned, she placed our mammoth beers in front of us and took our orders.
     "You look happy.  You must like crab legs," Joanna surmised.
     "They're my favorite food," I beamed.  "I hope you're patient.  They take a while to eat."
     She just smiled and took a sip from the gigantic, frosty mug.
     "What's wrong?" I asked.  "You don't seem yourself tonight..."
     "This job.  I want to tell Raul what I think of him."
     "Why don't you?"
     "I'm under contract."  Joanna's default response resurfaced.
     "What does that mean?"
     "It means that if I quit I lose my visa."
     "So you lose your visa, and you go back to Poland?  Sounds like a win/win if you hate your job," I submitted.
     Industrious restaurant noises substituted her silence and bridged her retort.  My gaze mercifully broke when I recognized a furlough into memory as indicated by her hollow stare.  I took a drink of Australian beer and patiently waited.
     "I love my parents, my family..." she commenced the explanation only to pause again, but this time only briefly.  "I love them.  I lived with them.  I worked as a secretary for a furniture warehouse.  One day, I see an advertisement on the bulletin board to 'see the world.'  I go to work every day, and I see the same advertisement.  And I wonder what it is.  So I called the number on it.  It was this job.  They were looking for people like me to supervise these foreign exchange students.  They mail me the contract, and I sign it.  I did not tell my parents until I had a plane ticket in my hand.  They were so angry and worried...
     "You see, they are very controlling.  Because they love me.  They don't mean to be.  But they make all of my decisions, because I am their daughter.  And they wish the best for me.  And they think they know what is best for me.  The day I leave, my mother cry so hard that I almost didn't go.  And when I landed in New York I realized I didn't know English as well as I think.  I didn't understand them at all.  I was so scared..."
     The pretty, Polish girl looked like she was about to start crying.  Hell, I was about to start crying.  I respected her need for composure.
     "You have coch or pessy?"
     An Asian lady at a table near us was talking to a tall, slender young man with dark hair.  He was apparently her server.  He looked as flabbergasted as we were.
     "Coch.  or.  Pessy??" the Asian lady reiterated.
     Joanna and I shared a humored glance and sat up to hear the response from the confused waiter.
     When a look of sudden understanding dawned on the employee's face, he finally responded.  "Oh.  We have Coke products!" he exhaled the answer with a sigh of relief.
     "Ok..  I have a Coch no ass!"
     With a smug visage of comprehension, the server wrote on his pad of tickets.  "A Coke, no ice.  Got it.  Anything else?"
     "I give you ress of orduh when you comuh back with Coch!"
     Joanna and I just started laughing.  The ice breaker that we needed came from another table, but we welcomed it nevertheless.
     After we regained our composure, Joanna was the first to invest in conversation.  "You know, Enrique doesn't like that we are hanging out."
     "So I noticed.  What's up with that?" I asked.
     "He and I go on a date.  One date.  That's all it take before I realize he an idiot."
     I chuckled as our server came back with a large plate of snow crab legs that she sat in front of me; a nice portion of catfish was placed at Joanna's setting.
     "Anything else for now?" the waitress asked.
     "I think we're set.  Thank you," I answered.
     After the lady walked away, Joanna pointed at her hushpuppies and asked, "what's that?"
     "Hushpuppies," I explained.  "They're balls of fried cornmeal with pieces of onion in them."
     She tried a bite.  "Not bad," she declared.
     I fell into a thought as I cracked open my first crab leg.  I considered all of the places and things around here that Joanna might not have seen before.  Without meaning to, I began creating a mental checklist of things she should see and do while she was here.  And each item that I'd think of would branch two more items until I suddenly felt like I had a mission.  Catfish and hushpuppies were the tip of a very large iceberg that I was going to introduce her to.
     She finished her meal long before me, but she sat there patiently while I put away plate after plate of crab legs.  She drank her beer, and we talked.  Then I drank my beer, and we talked some more.  We never struggled for conversation; we talked about everything.
     Something had nudged my lion's heart awake.  It stretched, then yawned.  And then winked open an eye.
                                                        (to be continued...)

Continue our "How We Fell in Love" story:
                                                       Chapter 7 - Spring
     
   
   
   
     

The Sound of Life

9/26/13 - "The Sound of Life"

Blogger's Note:  First, some business.  I've been paying attention to the "viewership" 

and I noticed that people tend to tune in on Wednesday's or Thursday's which is

understandable considering that that's when I promised new episodes to be published.

I posted one on a Saturday a couple of weeks ago, and I noticed that the majority 

of views still came on Thursday.  And something similar occurred on my next post.  So...

I'm going to go back to the original plan and shoot for a Wednesday release but settle for a 

Thursday release.  It seems to have the best reception.

     

Now on to today's feature.  

The other night, while I was still considering the blog subject for this week, I received an

amazing email.  DJ had sent me something that he had written for a school assignment that

he wanted to share with me.  I cannot put into words all of the emotions that I was feeling

as I read this.  Pride was pretty damn high on the list.  

Someday, I will write about our pre-Joanna days.  They were stormy.  The times shared with

DJ were rays of sunshine. 

I recall teaching him how to play chess when he was five years old.  He picked it right up.  He actually beat one of my friends one day.  And, of course, the piano...

DJ truly flatters me in his prose.  But, the truth is, he is much better at playing than I am.  He plays guitar, piano, and saxophone much better than I could at his age.  He has a much stronger grasp for melody than I do; he has taken everything that I have taught him and ran further than I ever could.  I listen to him play when he is here, and often times I will come into his room and ask him "what was that?"  And now he teaches me...

     This narrative was the first sampling of prose that he has ever shared with me.  I see in it another talent that I didn't know he had.  I hope he continues to sharpen this tool as well, because it is already formidable.

He is a young man now.  Almost in college.   A good person.  A talented person.  We are fortunate that he is such a good soul, because he has a deadly mind.   

Thank you for sharing this with us, son.  I love you.

The Sound of Life

Everyone has those moments in their life. The ones they just can't forget. Those moments are special to them. But what is special? Most would categorize it as an adjective that gives something a meaning of closeness, or the feeling of comfort. Someone may have a special teddy bear. They may have a special blanket. But in every one of those items, special exists. I believe special is not something so simple as an adjective to describe such things. It is a feeling derived from passion or love of something one may not understand completely. Special is a feeling I use to describe the first memory I have of my dad playing piano for me. From this first memory onward begins my adventure into the world of music, which would mold and shape my life to where it is today, and I am very glad it was there for me.

One fall evening my Dad pulls up to my house. “Hey! What's up little man? Ready to go to the Gray Cabin?” he asks. “Of course I am dad! Let's go!” Me being 6 years old I was always eager to hang out with my dad. He and my mom divorced when I was 8 months old and I got to see him every other weekend since. He isn't just my dad, he's one of my best friends. I think that came from me not being around him all the time. I got to see him only ever so often, and those moments were great. We never fought, we played sega and nintendo together, we did so many things back then I can't remember them all. But the most intriguing memories I have with my dad are those from the Gray Cabin.

Down by Kentucky lake you can rent houses to stay in, and pay rent like an apartment. This place was down a gravel road and it goes down into a bowl shaped with little gray houses lining the sides. My dad lived in one of these, and this is where my love for music began. My dad has played piano for over 25 years now, and every time I go to his house I hear something new. He knows every scale, every interchangeable chord, and every note top to bottom. Back in the Gray Cabin he had a 50-60 dollar keyboard, a small synthesizer if you will. It played all kinds of sounds from normal piano to guitar. One sound, though, was always on. It was a funkadelic laser kinda sound, and it made my ears tingle. This is what interested me the most.

After eating a bowl of chef boyardee ravioli, I would scurry back to “my room” (a little side room where my games were located) and play nintendo. My dad would then sit in the living room playing piano. I don't know what it was that day, but I wasn't paying attention to the game anymore. Something about what my dad was playing, the way it sounded, the way the notes rolled off his fingers, through the circuits, and out the speakers, or just the way it lit up the house, but I was hooked. I dropped my game and ran into the living room, watching him play. The sight was amazing! His hands were a blur, moving up and down, his fingers moving into positions I didn't even know were possible! I had to try this, I had to see what I could do.

“Dad let me try! Let me!” he moved over and I sat down. I pressed a few keys and I knew something was different. I knew this would affect me in so many ways. I just didn't think about it at the time. All I could do was press random keys until my dad finally gave in and decided to show me a simple song he had learned a long time ago. Most people know it as chopsticks, but I've always called it Heart and Soul, and it will always be that to me. The song was a lot more simple than it looked, left hand playing a repeating bass line and the right playing the melody. However, me being 6 didn't add any easiness to the process of learning. My hands were small and it was hard for me to understand at first. But I never gave up.

Time after time, I would get to my dad's house and go straight to the piano, sometimes even skipping my routine bowl of ravioli. Piano started meaning more and more to me. My dad kept showing me the keys, and how to press them. Timing and rhythm were no problem for me, I had a natural ability for it. Music comes to me naturally, and learning the piano proved it. I was able to use my ear to find the notes after a while, my dad sitting back and watching instead of showing me where to place my hands. I got increasingly better at the right hand part, being able to go for a few notes without messing up.

After about a month of playing I got it down completely. The right hand was no problem, I could play it with my eyes closed. But then the dreaded left hand came along. What was I going to do? All my 6 years of living I had used my right hand, and then this? This was worse than fear. It was worse than not knowing. This was not being able to do it. Being a 6 year old piano player that JUST learned one part of a song, you know I was happy. But when faced with the left hand monster... I got discouraged. The more I tried, the better I got. Of course right? But the catch was HOW MUCH better I got. Never too much, and I only was able to practice every other weekend. However, one day, with my belly full of ravioli and a mind full of imagination, I walk to the piano and do it. Out of nowhere, I do it. The left hand monster left me, and I have no clue how it happened. Was it magic ravioli? Or my mind matured over the weeks I wasn't at my dads? No clue. But hey, it worked!

That day was a very happy day indeed. I could play each part with the respective hands. Great for a 6 year old right? Impress some people, hear the praise from your family. But I didn't stop there, oh no. What was left? Putting the two together. How was it possible? This song was COMPLETELY different on each respective hand, and putting the two together? HA! Good one. But wait, something in my 6 year old brain was telling me to do it. Something... clicked. It was like, I saw the piano in a whole new way. I was able to determine positions of each note respectively, and using the next note as an indicator, could move my fingers to the right notes each time. Is a 6 year old supposed to be able to do that? I dunno, but I did. And it was amazing.

Doing what I (and probably a lot of people) thought was impossible, was out-of-the-park amazing. I mean, I wasn't playing Bach or Mozart, but realizing I can play with 2 hands? That is a HUGE step in the music world. After that, I was able to learn things by my dad showing me once. He taught me “the jazz scale” and “the circle of fifths”. These things helped me later on and I am now able to create a song on the fly. But have you ever heard of a gateway drug? Something that you get addicted to, or like a lot, and it makes you wanna try more? Piano was this. It was MY gateway drug. In 6^th grade I joined band. Alto sax. The sound that instrument made soothed my ears to the point of passing out from the amazing feeling. But there was a problem... I never practiced.

I was always able to pick things up, and I've never read music before. I mean sure, I could identify certain notes on a staff, but that was about it. In band, everything changed when the playbook attacked. All these notes and lines on the staff were supposed to match up with the buttons on my sax! How in the world did that work? I don't know, but I made it work. I was able to associate the notes with hand positions on the sax, and so I wasn't really reading music, but memorizing where my hands go. In other words, I could spot-read very well. That means I could take a piece of music and play it right off the bat. That's why I didn't practice, but my mom didn't understand that. So at the end of 6^th grade, she made me return my saxophone because she wouldn't pay for something I didn't do. And while I can't blame her, I still knew how to do it. Things come and go I suppose.

Then came high school. It was everything people said it wasn't. So many bullies, people who hate you for no reason... etc etc. But still, I had music for me, and lo and behold! There was an acoustic guitar class! WOAH! I've never played guitar! Lets do it! So begins my journey of learning guitar. Getting one, teaching myself to play from youtube videos, and meeting a GREAT friend who would teach me things while I could teach him others. The mutual feeling there greatly helped me through freshman year, and that friend taught me much more than any teacher could. He would later move, and we parted ways, never to speak again... so far that I know.

So it's been 3 years since I've started guitar, and I must say I've gotten pretty darn good. I got my first good electric a few christmases back, and I've started learning solo's and rock songs. Life's been good. I've never met another person that can play piano like I can, because everytime I hear or watch someone play, the timing always sounds off, which is a blessing and a curse. I've met plenty of people better at guitar than me, and I LOVE learning from them. I've even helped a few people get started on their musical career and it's made me feel a lot better about my ability as a musician. You know that if you can influence others, good things will come your way... eventually....

                                                                            "DJ"- Harold Duane Edwards III

Chapter 5 - Flowers

                                                       9/13/13 - "Chapter 5 - Flowers"

     Blogger's Note:  In 2011, DC Comics relaunched its universe.  They wanted to re-imagine the characters and to modernize their personalities and their costumes.  When the announcement was made, I wondered how they were going to pull off this stunt.  They have 52 titles in their "universe", and I didn't understand how they were going to start all of these superheroes off at ground zero.  How could Batman put on his cape and cowl for the first time in his comic, while Superman was just getting settled into his new job at the Daily Planet, and yet, somehow or another, they were both fighting side-by-side with other heroes as a team in the Justice League?  Did that mean that the comics weren't running concurrent?  How could they manage some epic crossovers if these titles weren't happening at the same time?
     But they did something that I thought was ingenious.  They started all of the titles five years later.  Such a resourceful idea would solve so many problems for us obsessed with continuity.  DC purposefully left a gap.  The missing time could be filled with all manner of problematic scenarios.  How did Green Lantern know that Superman was weak to kryptonite?  oh... he learned that during the missing 5 years.  How did the Flash and Batman know where the Fortress of Solitude was?  oh.... they learned that during the missing 5 years.  And so on and so forth...
     Not only did this give them a back door to some of the toughest connivances, this ruse also left open a surplus of "flashback" stories.  Now, I need an idea like this.
     Our story has topped the first hill on our trek.  Our "How We Met" story has already told "How We Met."  Phase 1 is complete.  So now on to Phase 2 which I think I'll call our "How We Fell in Love" story.  So I have to narratively shift gears.
     And shifting gears isn't easy.  I mean I could pick up the story right where we left off.  But the day after "The Pollock Joke" would just be the drab lethargy of nursing a hangover.  Even if I were to pick up at our first "healthy" day after the last chapter, you'd still just be watching the grass grow.  I just don't think I'm creative enough to make those early days interesting or humorous.
     For the first time since I started writing this story, I literally pulled out a pen and paper.  I started outlining Phase 2.  And I started with the last chapter in this segment and worked backwards because I know how this part is going to end.  I just don't know how in the hell it's going to begin.  Not to mention, this happened nearly seven years ago (damn, has it been that long already?).  I needed to get things chronologically ordered lest I'm guilty of one of those continuity fouls that I'm always preaching against.
     I've already used so many of my good ideas during Phase 1 that I feel I've raised the bar beyond my capabilities.  I've got the keys to this bird jingling in my head, and I'm approaching the runway with childlike uncertainty.  So, strap in and hang on.  I know where we're going, and I'll get us there if I can just get this damn thing off the ground.  I'm just going to push this and pull that.. ..what's that?  I'm not clear for take off?  And turn this thing off.  Who's that out there on the wing?  Oh, it's those luggage guys!  They sure look excited about something!  Guess I'll hit the throttle now...  hold my beer and watch this...

     "What do you want?"
     Lisa always yelled on the phone.  As comfortable as she could be in social situations, she could be just as uncomfortable with modern technology.  She had a blunt way about her that could leave you laughing and tormented with a single sentence.  Lisa was usually so loud and boisterous that it was impossible not to trust her.  When she answered her phone with a snappy question, I wasn't offended.  I knew that Lisa was just being Lisa.
     "Could you do me a favor?" I asked meekly.
     "Well, I knew you weren't calling to chitchat.  Like I said... what do you want?"  I could detect the humor in her voice and proceeded accordingly.
     "Could you stop at Huck's on your way to work?" I asked.
     "What do you need from Huck's?"
     "You know those flowers they sell up by the register?  Could you pick up a bouquet of those, and I'll pay you back when you get to work.  I'm running late or I'd get them myself."  I glanced at my watch to affirm the information; once I saw the time, my gas pedal foot got heavier.
     "Who're the flowers for?" Lisa prodded.  I knew that one was coming.  I decided avoiding an answer would be futile.
     "They're for Joanna.  She was telling me yesterday that today is International Women's Day.  Apparently, they celebrate in Poland by buying women flowers.  I figure since she's so far from home, it'd be a nice gesture."
     "Awww, Duane.  That's nice.  Of course I will!" she yelled.
     "Hey, thanks Lisa.  I owe you one."
     When I hung up, my mind wandered to the night before.  Stacey had suggested that Joanna make us a typical Polish dinner; she wanted to see what their food was like.  We all gathered at Stacey's house where we anxiously sampled Polish cuisine.
     She had started the evening with barszcz which is a brothy, beet soup.  I'm not a picky eater; however, beets are just about the only food I don't like.  I never told her that.  Instead, I politely thanked her for the soup and ironed myself to the task of swallowing the starter.  Neon purple liquid pooled onto my spoon and laboriously traveled to my mouth like a dose of reptile blood.  I held the sampling behind a gritted smile as she asked me what I thought of it...
     ...and much to my pleasant surprise, I liked it.
     Now, truth is, I wouldn't go so far as to say I liked it, but I could eat it.  It wasn't horrible.  New potatoes and a smokey, bacon flavor masked the wretched taste of beets and made the job of finishing the appetizer much easier.
     The main course was much better than the kickoff.  A pork kotlet is basically what it sounds like.  It's a pork cutlet hammered thin and fried.  She had teamed it with mizeria, which is a salad of cucumbers and sour cream, and mashed potatoes.  Once I had finished off the last morsel of food on my plate, I looked around and saw that Stacey and her husband had done the same.  The Polish girl could cook!
     After dinner, we all sat around drinking beer and doing random shots of tequila.  It was two o'clock in the morning by the time we had adjourned, and the realization that I was going to be headed to work in a few hours dreadfully strummed on my responsibility chords.
     We had been doing a lot of this sort of thing over the past couple of weeks.  Joanna and I would rendezvous after work with any combination of Matt, Stacey, Crystal, or Chris or anyone else from the buffet that might be up for effervescent beer or barmy laughter or stoic conversation.
     "When I was in Puerto Rico, I did banquets of two thousand people every day.  This is nothing."  Like sludge in my spokes, the bane of Enrique's voice cut through my pleasant thoughts as I drifted from the clouds to my work station.  The screech of a sliding table was followed by the clap of chair legs striking a wood floor.  Apparently, he was busy in the adjoining steakhouse restaurant setting up for a large volume of expected business.    
     "Who do you think you're talking to?"  I recognized the rebuttal as belonging to Ralph, the lead steward.  Ralph was the only person in the buffet that stood as tall as Enrique; he was well respected as a hard worker and for having little tolerance for bullshit.  The deep resonance of his voice was followed by his trademark, hearty laughter.  "How about you get your lazy ass out of Dream Land and help me move these tables?  You can't even set up for two hundred without taking five breaks and you think I'm gonna believe you can handle two thousand?  Now, that's good!"
     "Pfft!"  Enrique rounded the corner from the steakhouse into my work station carrying a mostly empty glass.  Obviously headed to the Mountain Dew, I ducked out of his way.  I smiled to myself as I could still hear Ralph laughing at Enrique's spurious claim.
     After filling his glass, Enrique began returning to the steak house with his refreshment.  He paused as he passed me.  In a low, dagger voice, he addressed me.  "You and Joanna sure are hanging out a lot," he said.
     I nodded and smiled politely, but didn't say anything.  I swung around him and busied myself by adding sugar to the tea urn.  Peripherally, I could still see him standing there debating on pursuing the conversation.  After an awkward moment, he continued back to the steakhouse where Ralph greeted him with a sarcastic, "Two thousand!  Now that's good..."
     "Here you go, Duane!"  Lisa's rambunctious announcement paired with her arrival detoured me from potential ire.  She handed me a colorful bouquet of flowers; I reached for my wallet.  "How much was it?" I asked her.
     As I pulled my wallet out, she pushed my arm away.  "Don't worry about it," she challenged.
     "You can't be serious.  They're from me!" I rebuked.
     "That's right.  They're from you."  Reluctantly, I returned my wallet to my back pocket.  I could have countered, but I knew Lisa well enough to know how fruitless that would have been.  She smiled triumphantly and went to work.
     I didn't waste any time.  Peeking around the corner, I spotted Joanna concentrating on her opening duties at the hostess station.  Poised and winsome, I held the flowers behind my back and energetically strode to the Polish girl.
     She looked up from her work.  Innocent of any conspiracies, she could see by my mischievous expression that I was up to something.  "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.
     "Aw, nothin'," I coyly uttered.
     She appeared unbelieving.  Incapable of maintaining the ruse, I produced my surprise from behind my back wearing a cheesy smile.  "Happy Women's Day," I offered.
     In this day and age of modern fashion and flashy jewelry, where name-brand handbags and clothes with glamorous labels adorn the trend-setters, I possess one pearl of wisdom that I'll share with any man that hasn't already learned this lesson.  Never, ever, ever underestimate the power and influence that a simple bouquet of flowers has over women.
     Joanna's face brightened like the sun after a storm.  A smile that I had grown to love stretched across her face and illuminated her features with a breath of joy and gratitude.  Her blue eyes, focusing from the flowers to me, were now brilliantly hued by the arrangement.  "Thank you," she said at last.
    I beamed with pride, suddenly realizing exactly how great an idea this had been.  Turning around, I spotted Lisa peeking around the corner of the station, delightfully beaming.  We shared a smile of collusion as I returned to the station.
    Later that day, after the lunch rush dissipated, I spotted Joanna busy rolling silverware.  I took the opportunity to explain to her how I had special ordered the rare flowers from Italy, and I had been hoping that the courier would be able to safely extract them without killing them.  She continued to smile as her eyes clearly stated that she knew that I was full of shit.
     "You picked a good day to bring me flowers," she finally said.
     "Oh, yeah?  Why's that?" I asked.
     "My boss is being a jerk.  He's pissed because I'm behind on some of my paperwork.  He doesn't like me; I can't stand him," she explained.
     "What's his name?  I'll have him killed," I joked.
     "Raul.  He's from Ireland.  I can't even stand to hear him talk.  He's the reason I had to come here while all of my friends are in Destin.  I cried when he tell me I have to come here," Joanna confessed.
     "An Irishman named Raul?  Even sounds like a jerk!" I consoled.
     "Usually he gives me shit because of nothing.  For the first time, I actually am behind on some paperwork.  Oh, well, I'll get it done tomorrow..." Joanna continued.
     "Oh yeah, speaking of tomorrow, I was gonna ask you if you'd eat with me tomorrow night..." I began.
     "Eat with you?"
     "Yeah.  Do you like crab legs?" I asked.
     "Eww, not really.  I do not eat seafood."
     "Well, come with me anyway.  It's all-you-can-eat crab legs on Wednesday nights at Whaler's Catch; I hate eating by myself.  Come with me and I'll buy you dinner.  They have other things besides crab legs.  Oh, and they have beer."
     "Oh.  Ok.  Well, then I come."
                                                   (to be continued...)
   
Continue our "How We Fell in Love" story:
                                        Chapter 6 - The Catfish Revelation
   
   

     

Fitzky Kabitzky the Stupid Dog

                                                  9/7/13 - "Fitzky Kabitzky the Stupid Dog"

     Blogger's Note:  I have a cohort.
     Between posts, I mentally outline how I'm going to present certain topics or crank out another chapter in the "How We Met" story.  I like to be original; I like to be creative.  I emphasize the importance of structuring the links between features so that continuity and cohesion flow.  I'm bothered to no end when I realize after posting something that I left out a particular point or a chronologically-critical happening that I'll have to somehow correct in the next post.  Which is why I sometimes zone out at work or in my car, especially when I catch a whiff of prolific clarity from a bubbling stew of ideas.  Then, the process moves into the "seasoning" stage.
     The "seasoning" stage occurs once I've already settled on a particular course of delivery and need a dash or two of anecdotes or outrageous hyperbole or pedestrian dialogue.  The difference between acceptable prose and good writing swings from the arms of the mundane, and striking this wily pendulum requires a finesse and articulate grasp of character which often leaps just out of my reach.  And that's when I call on my cohort.
     You may remember Matt from the "How We Met" story?  That's him.  Matthew Reynolds.  He is a co-worker, a friend, and a neighbor.  And today he will be getting married.  But more on that in a minute...
     Matt has this remarkable grasp of people and their mannerisms.  He does some eerily accurate impressions and possesses a genuine understanding of which gear a particular storyboard is shifting from or to.  He knows the value of comedic timing and the necessity of commonplace dialogue.
     So, once I feel that I've comfortably outlined a post-worthy notion, I taste the brew at conceptualization before putting pen to paper.  And if it tastes a little too drab, I'll add some "Matt" to it.
     "Hey man, what's something that Enrique might say in Situation A?  What's something that might have been tossed around in a conversation with a customer?  What's a typical response from Character B in Situation C?"  And so on and so forth...
     Matt always delivers when I need fillers for the gaps.  Sometimes, we'll literally be practicing dialogue when someone will walk into the station wondering 'what the hell are these two going on about?'
     I told Matt a few weeks ago that I had an idea for a feature about our dog, Fitz.  Or maybe about kids and pets.  Or maybe about the pro's and con's of animals around babies.  And then, he gave me the idea for this particular feature.  And, in return, I promised to give him credit for the idea.  Now, I can't say yet exactly what that idea is lest it ruin this week's post before you even read it.  But, after discussing the subject with him, Matt gave me a winner of an approach.
     Before I get to that however, I want to point out that in a couple of hours, I'll be getting ready to go to the much anticipated wedding of Matthew Reynolds and Taylor Ann Holley.  I'm not usually a big fan of weddings, because I usually sit there thinking, 'this sucks.  these assholes will be divorced by next year.'  But, I can gladly and honestly say that I don't feel that way with these two.  Matt is one of the most responsible people I know, and Taylor is one of the sweetest.  She is a major advocate of pet adoption and a ferocious hater of animal cruelty.  I can happily say that I wish them both the brightest of futures; tonight I'll merrily raise a beer in celebration of you both.

     Oh my God!!!!!!!!!   What's that!?!?!?  Who's out there???
     It's that guy that puts papers and things in the box that's attached to the house!  I'm going to yell at him like I did yesterday and the day before that and the day before that and... what's that?
     Oh my God!!!!!!!!  IT'S A CAT!!!!!!
     I'm going to yell even louder now!!!  Whoops, my claw just ripped the back of the couch.. oh, well, the Human Man will pay to fix it.  That's the good th...  oh, shit.. I fell off the couch.
     What's that smell??
     It's coming from the food room.  Oh.. OH... OH!!!  It's coming from the box with the lid where they put the smelliest food.  I got to get in there.  It's a new box now!!  It has a lid on it that doesn't come open easy... but if I grab the bag where it sticks out with my teeth.. and pull.. like this.. and yank.. it falls over!!! yes!!!  now.. to just rip this thing that way and pull this thing that way.. and now I'm back in the couch room and one of the chairs in the food room fell over and finally....
     I got inside the smelly food box!!!
     WOOOHOOOO!!!!!  There's old meat and moldy bread and cracker crumbs and candy wrappers!!!  JACKPOT!!!!  
     Well, shit.. wasn't as much to eat there as I thought there'd be.  And now this place is a mess!  Human Man is going to be pissed!  I hate when he gets like that!  Like that time I ate the food he'd just brought in and he put me in the food box and closed the lid.  Thankfully, Human Woman got me out of there!  Whew!!
     Guess I'll go back to the window and yell at things now.  Hopefully, Human Woman gets home first.  If Human Man sees this...
     Hell, I don't know what's worse Human Man or that Human Boy.  He pulls my tail and chases me and just when I get comfortable and he jumps and scares me and throws his toys and they'll hit me so I'll go in the other room but he'll follow me....  the only thing good about him is I can grab the food that's in his hand before he even gets a chance to take a bite!  Sucker!!  That's what you get!!
     And then there's that Human Baby Girl thing.  She screams a lot.  A whole lot.  In fact, she never quits screaming.  Must be some complicated Human speech that's beyond me.
     Human Woman's all right though.  She'll pet me and feed me and take me for walks.  But  the best one... is Human Grandma!!  She gives me Human food ALL THE TIME!!!  Even when I'm full and can hardly walk, she'll give me MORE FOOD!!!  It's like a party the whole time she's here!!!
     Oh look!!!  Somebody's pulling in the driveway!!!!  Oh, how I hope it's Human Grandma.. I just can't wait until...
     Oh shit.
     It's Human Man.
     Oh shit.  And look at this place.
     I know!  I'll jump on him and claw him and yell and claw him some more and then he's sure not to be mad!
     "Hi Human Man!!!  It's me!!!!!!  It's me!!!!!  It's me!!!!!!"
     Well , shit he still looks pretty angry.  I know!  I'll take his shoe and put it way, way under the bed in the bedroom.. then he's sure to think I'm the greatest!!!
     Well, fuck.  He still looks pissed.  "Blah, Blah, Blah!!!"  Human Man yelled something at me!!!
     Think I'll just hide behind the couch.
     *cough*  *hack*  he's dragging me by my neck-piece.  He's gonna put me outside again.  Dammit.  I hate it out there.  Oh well, maybe it'll give him time to cool off.
     Damn.. it's hot out here.  Think I'll take a shit.  I can see Human Man looking at me from the window.
     Maybe if I bug my eyes out and stare at Human Man while I'm taking a shit then he'll feel badly about throwing me out and let me back in...
     I can't believe it!!  It didn't work!!!
     Oh well.. guess I'll lick my ass.
     Oh, look Human Woman's home!!!  Woohoo!!!  She'll let me back in!!!!
     Sure enough, thanks girlfriend!!!  Much nicer inside!!  I'll go and run and jump on the couch and off the couch and jump on your knee and claw your leg!!!!   WOOOOOHOOOOO!!!!!
     Human Baby Girl thing is screaming again.  Think I'll go to the bedroom.  Oh, look, there's a light on in the water chair room and the door's not completely closed.  What's in there?
     Oh, it's Human Man.  He's sitting on the water chair and looking at one of those paper toys that have pictures in it.  What's that smell?  Mmmm...  I'll just stare at Human Man...  Oh, he sees me!  Maybe if I just maintain eye contact, it'll make him happy.  Maybe I should say something...  something like...
     "You gonna eat that?"

  

Chapter 4 - The Pollock Joke

                                                     8/27/13 - "Chapter 4 - The Pollock Joke"

     Blogger's Note:  I've been putting this one off.
     Writing our "How We Met" story has kept my brain percolating with ideas, plot points, outlines, and strategies.  Some of which I will share with you now.
     As you may have already figured out, I have taken some liberties with the re-telling of this story.  Now, I can only promise you, this story is as true as I can make it while still keeping it interesting enough to read.  Everything really did happen as I have described, but I have used several of my modest writing talents to mold them into serial "episodes" that contain the following:  a new character, something funny, and something to tug at your heart-strings.  I wanted each chapter to be a story in itself; so, sometimes I re-arrange the events to keep the pulse rhythmic and healthy.  And, sometimes I encounter problems along the way...
     One of these problems is that the setting for much of this story is where I work.  And I obviously have to be careful there.  I've tried to tiptoe just to be safe, but I don't want to write anything that might shine any negative light on my place of employment or on any of its employees.  I love my job, and I respect both my co-workers and the rules of social media.  So, to circumvent this problem (and just to be safe), in some of the future chapters, I will take some artistic license and move the setting when I feel it appropriate to do so.
     Another of these problems is the naming of the characters.  Sometimes, I have kept their real names; sometimes, I have changed them.  If I keep their name, that's because I feel like I can safely say that they are/were/will be a protagonist throughout the story.  In fact, there's only one antagonist in this story, and you may have already figured out who that is (hell, every good story needs a villain, right?)  Now, whether that is/was a real person is for you to decide (perhaps you can read between the lines...)  And sometimes, I change the name simply because I don't feel total confidence that this person would feel that what I was writing would be material that I should be freely sharing.  I try not to even use this type of "material"; but, when I find it very necessary for the story, I do so by changing that person's identity.
     As I was mentally structuring the outline for our story, I put a shiny, yellow star beside certain plot points.  Everything else is just connecting the dots to these points.  I fill in the gaps to these major events by creatively introducing the characters and devices necessary to tell the bigger story.  Today's chapter is the first of those special pinnacles.  And I want to do it right.  Nearly all of the characters are present here, even some of which you haven't met yet, but I can put off this chapter no longer.  I will try to incorporate them as best I can while keeping true to the pattern.  I hope you enjoy...

     I could hear club music illuminating the lonely, winter parking lot.  It seeped through walls and windows as it pulsed its way into the night's freedom.  Cut by the screech of my closing, car door, it muffled my foot falls and promised to escort me to the party inside.
    Through the gaps in the neon, beer signs I could see some people I recognized inside.  Randy, still in his suit and tie, must have just gotten off work.  He was sitting across the bar laughing at something or someone that was beyond my sight.  He was another of our supervisors and fun to hang out with.  Kristin and Crystal were sitting with their backs to me, toasting a shot, and sharing a joke.  A couple of the foreign exchange students walked by in conversation and happily infused in the Americana.
     When I opened the door, the music engulfed me.
     "Duane!"  Randy hollered from across the bar.  At Ernies' people didn't yell things, they hollered.
     I smiled as I made my way to the bar stool next to him.  Along the way, I passed a group of the students gathered in a circle.  Among them, Joanna and Stacey were apparently in some cosmic dialogue.
    "Happy Birthday!"  I shouted at Joanna as I passed.
    "Hey!"  She shouted back.  "Come here!  I buy you a shot!"
    "I'll be right there," I smiled as I continued past.
     At the bar's only arcade game, Kristin's husband, Jason, and Enrique were competing in a game of video golf.  I watched as Jason pulled back and lurched forward to drive the ball admirably over the fairway to land on the green by rolling a metallic ball with the palm of his hand.  He stood back to allow Enrique to step forward for his turn.
     "That's nothing..."  The Puerto Rican said as he stepped up to tee off.  "Yesterday, I hit the flag pole on this hole.  Let me show you how to do it..."
     I continued past, uninterested.
     "What's up, man?"  Randy asked as I sat down next to him.  The bartender was pointing at me questioningly.
     "A Coors Light," I ordered with a smile, understanding the language.  "Not much, man," I then replied to Randy, "looks like the bar is hopping tonight."
     "Yeah, pretty much everyone from the buffet is here," he responded.
     I threw a couple of bucks down for the beer and another one for a tip, took a drink, and relaxed.
     I spent a few minutes shooting the shit with Randy, getting my bearings in all the excitement before I meandered to socialize with the various cliques.  I gestured to the bartender for another beer and then added, "...and two shots of vodka, please."
     "What kind?" the bartender asked.
     I chuckled in response, "I don't know.  Whatever kind she's drinking."  I pointed at Joanna, and the drink-maker nodded.  She grabbed a bottle off the shelf and sat my order in front of me on the bar.  I paid, included a tip, and brought the drinks to the circle that included the Polish girl, Stacey, and some of the foreign exchange students.
     "So you don't consider the term pollock to be an insult?" Stacey was inquiring.
     "Not really... I mean, that's what we call ourselves.  Not sure why everyone gets so upset by that word," Joanna replied.
     "But what about Pollock jokes?" Stacey continued.
     "I like them.  We take them back to Poland, and turn them into American jokes," Joanna laughed.
     "Here..."  I interrupted the conference by handing Joanna one of the shots of vodka.  "Happy Birthday!"
     "You're doing a shot with me?"  Joanna appeared impressed.
     "Cheers," I answered by raising my shot glass.
     "Na zdrowie," Joanna corrected.  "That's how we say cheers in Polish."  She raised her glass and toasted me.
     "Na zdrowie," I echoed as I somehow managed to down the devilish swill.  "I know a pollock joke..." I coughed as I wiped a stray drop of vodka from my chin.
     "Tell it," she encouraged.  Our circle tightened as everyone tuned in.
     "Well, there was this guy that was throwing bricks in the air at the park," I paused, assessing Joanna's reaction and deeming it reassuring, I continued.  "He was really good at throwing bricks.  He could throw a brick and make it land, pinpoint, wherever he wanted.  He'd say, 'I'm gonna make this brick land on that bench over there.'  He'd throw it up; and, sure enough, it'd land on the bench.  He'd say, 'I'm gonna make it land on that candy wrapper on the ground.'  He'd throw it up; it'd soar twenty feet into the air; and, sure enough, it'd land smack dab on the wrapper.
     "So, there's this Pollock who was watching the feat.  He got really excited watching the brick-thrower and decided that he could do the same thing.  He ran up and grabbed one of the man's bricks.  Before anyone could even react, the Pollock shouted, 'I'm gonna make this brick land over there on that tree root.'  He pointed at the root of a large, oak tree about twenty yards away.  He cradled the brick in both hands; and, before anyone could even react, he tossed it, granny-style, high into the air...
     "...and the brick never came down."
     I looked around expectantly at my audience, looking for a promising reaction.  Everyone was just looking at me dumbly and expressionless.  Jukebox music droned, and someone across the room coughed.  Finally, Stacey broke the silence with a merciful laugh, "ok... that joke sucked."  The rest of the group exhaled, and Joanna started laughing as well.
     "That was really bad," the Polish girl confessed with a grin.
     A familiar, cumbersome voice interrupted our gathering.  "What's going on here?"  The circle widened to make space for Enrique who didn't mind making room for himself.
     "Let's get another shot," Stacey proposed insistently, grabbing Joanna's arm and leading her to the bar.  Joanna looked relieved.  Everyone else began pairing off in different directions.  One Brazilian boy, left alone with myself and Enrique, began swatting an invisible fly.  He shuffled uncomfortably before heading in the direction of the restroom.  Enrique and I were the only two remaining.
     "How you doing?" He asked me in his thick accent as he extended his hand for a handshake.  I shook it awkwardly and tried to smile.
     "Oh, pretty good," I said as I looked over his shoulder to where Randy was sitting.  "Oh, hey man..." I nodded at Randy, who was entirely preoccupied in conversation with the bartender to even notice me.  "Yeah!"  I nodded and gestured Randy's way and then said to Enrique, "...guess Randy's wanting something.  Who knows!  I'll see what he wants.  Holler at ya later man..."
     I escaped Enrique and made my way to the bar stool where I had been stationed earlier.  It was still empty.  Randy acknowledged me by saying, "I was about to order one.  You need one?"
     "Always."  I responded with my trademark, goofy laugh and planted myself at my locus beside my friend.
Once my beer arrived, Randy paid for it; and, we'd rotate this routine for awhile as we conferred on matters of video games or talk of work or women or sports or beer.  Time skipped away past gas lights of dialogue and through the playful shadows of debate.  The sound of shattering beer bottles tallied in the trash were our marks of the passing night.
     Once I attained the recess of inebriation, I happily reexamined the room.  Somebody had gotten the karaoke machine out.  Jason was singing "Epic" by Faith No More and doing a rather nice job of it.  Kristin and Crystal were thumbing through the song catalogue, searching for a song they could perform as a duet.  Chris, the other busser from the buffet, was taking a shot with some girl I didn't recognize.  Enrique was playing video golf with that Brazilian fly-swatter.  And across the bar from me and Randy, Joanna and Stacey were volleying conversation.
     Stacey was wrapping up a piece of dialogue as she excused herself and stood to head to, most likely, the restroom.  Joanna sat there by herself, charmingly sipping away at a shot of vodka that was sitting in front of her.
     "I'll be right back," I explained to Randy as I stood, grabbed my beer, and made my way over to where the Polish girl was now sitting by herself.
     When I arrived at her spot, I asked, "Wanna hear a joke?"
     She looked up; and, upon recognizing me, she responded with, "oh, God, no...  no thank you..."  She was laughing as she said it, and I noticed how blue her eyes were when she smiled.
     "Oh, c'mon... just one more...  I'll leave you alone after this one..." I pulled the stool beside her away from the bar so that I could sit.  Feeling a bit drunk and cocky, I leaned my elbow on the bar and smiled as I turned to face her.
     "If you insist..." she acquiesced uncertainly.
     I cleared my throat dramatically and settled into my chair before I began.  "Ok, well, see, there was this guy..." I drunkenly slurred my words, but somehow managed to continue.  She didn't mind as she seemed to be in a similar state.  "He had a pet duck.  He'd had this duck for a long time, and he was crazy about it..."
     I took a sip of Coors Light before continuing.  I could see Stacey from the corner of my eye. She had apparently been sidetracked returning from the restroom by running into someone that liked to talk.  I felt regal in my new-found role of keeping the birthday girl entertained.
     "So one day, he was taking a trip to see his mother in New York.  He brought his pet duck on the plane with him and sat it in the seat next to him.  Content, he sat back and lit a cigar.  Once the plane took off, the stewardess began making her rounds and noticed the duck sitting next to the man.  'Ummm, sir, I'm sorry.  But you can't have a duck on this plane!  We have a strict No Pets policy on board.  You're going to have to give me the duck.'  Before the man could even respond, the lady grabbed the duck and briskly walked to the front of the cabin.  The man was outraged!  He leaped from his seat and chased after the cruel stewardess.  She brought the duck to the cargo bay door, opened it, and, before the man could even react, tossed the duck from the plane.  Infuriated, he shouted at the lady and furiously tossed his cigar out the cargo bay door, as well.  He and the stewardess yelled at each other for a while before the man began to realize that shouting at her wasn't going to bring his beloved duck back.  Heartbroken, he returned to his seat to sulk.  Distraught, he looked out the plane window and, to his surprise, he saw the duck flying alongside the plane!  And, you'll never guess what was in its mouth..." I rhetorically spoke the last part with a questioning look at Joanna.
     Totally engrossed in the story, she jumped to realize that I was wanting her to say it.  She shrugged and then smiled, "the cigar?" .
     I relaxed in my bar stool as I corrected her.  "Nope.  It was the brick that that Pollock threw up."
     And then she laughed.  Only this time, she was really laughing.  The kind of laugh that jerks tears from your eyes.  And, seeing her laugh, and absolutely proud of my two-part orchestration, I, too, began to laugh.  And, she saw that I was laughing, and this made her laugh harder.  And, seeing her laugh even harder made me laugh even harder.  Until...
     Half of the bar had turned to see what all the hysteria was about.  Funny how infectious laughter is.  Some of them began to laugh at watching us laugh.
     Eventually, we pulled it together.  "Ok, that was a good one," Joanna praised.
     After that, we just talked.  We passed the night with casual conversation.  Of Poland.  Of America.  Of movies and books and pet peeves and beer and vodka.  Of dreams.  Stacey eventually rejoined us.  Others came and went, but we vigilantly talked for the rest of the night.  Laughing and drinking.
     From across the bar, Enrique had taken my previous spot beside Randy.  He watched us.  And he wasn't  laughing...
                                                     (to be continued...)

Continue our "How We Fell in Love" story:
                                            Chapter 5 - "Flowers"
   

   

Playground Bullies

                                                                8/14/13 - "Playground Bullies"

     Blogger's Note:  Wow.  So much is going on right now.  One thing I don't expect to hear anytime soon is "Hey, get a life...", because one thing that I'm definitely not short of right now is life - complete with all its exciting twists and turns and frustrations and small victories and choices and big choices and children and loved ones.  The irony is that the more blog material my life choices create, the less time I actually have to write them.  And that's ok, because I'm not ready to reveal some of these choices yet.  And, besides, they're not things that would be particularly interesting or noteworthy to anybody but me.
     So, this week, I'm going to pull one out of my mental library.  This post I've had brewing for some time now, and it makes a good filler considering the time constraints I'm currently working under.  Let's get to it...

     Roman has a flag fetish.
     I don't think I've mentioned that on here yet.
     Now this all happened back when Roman still wasn't talking; he was still wearing diapers; and, he was still walking that swaying, uncertain way that toddlers tend to when they're still new to the whole biped concept.  We had just left the store where he had screamed for one of those little, hand-held American flags that he likes to carry and wave.  They're a steal at 99 cents and worth every penny.  Because they double as a symbol of red-white-and-blue patriotism and as a Roman-screaming suppression device.  His Polish grandparents sent him a little Polish flag, too.  So, he can express his dual heritage in each hand; and, at the same time, fulfill his flag fetish fondness (excuse the alliteration, please).
     When we arrived at the main playground at Noble Park, Roman handed me his flags and took off as fast as his little legs could carry him.  He wound up the ramp, unaware of anything besides staying upright in "toddler heaven."  I attempted to keep an eye on him by running along-side from the ground.
     Standing with an expression of sour dissatisfaction, a young boy that must have been about 7 or 8 was guarding the path with a dirty face and unkempt hair.  Roman hardly noticed him as he began to run past Timmy Troublemaker.  He had his sights on the slide ahead.
     Timmy pushed Roman as he ran past.  Not too hard.  (Not this time.)  Roman hardly noticed.  He managed to stay on his feet and continue on past.  Timmy dwarfed Roman at least four times over.  To see a child of that size difference so much as touch my son sent a jolt of anxiety through me that made rational thought difficult.  If I had it to do over, I would have said something right then.  I would probably say something like "hey!  be careful!" combined with some stone-cold eye contact that would clearly say, 'touch him again you little son-of-a-bitch and I'll fucking kill you.'  Unfortunately though, I said nothing.  I didn't think of this at the time.  Instead, I thought to myself, 'I've got my eye on you, kid.'
      A few minutes passed, and I had forgotten about Timmy Troublemaker.  Roman played and laughed and tumbled and waved.  I admit my thoughts were straying a bit, and I was only half-aware that Roman was once-again approaching the turn in the ramp that was being guarded by the little jerk.
     Absolutely unaware that our planet contained people like Timmy, Roman hadn't even noticed that he was about to dive head-first into a baptism of cruelty.  Timmy shoved Roman down...  my son's feet came out from under him so much that he caught air and landed flat on his back.. ..and hard.
     After a handful of eternal seconds, Roman caught his breath and cried.
     We know our children.  We know their different cries.  They come at different volumes, in different colors, with different breaths.  Some say I'm hungry; some say I fell down; some say I want that toy; some say I'm tired.  We know when to ignore them or when to admonish them or when to come to their aid.  And this cry was none of those.
     Now, there was that breathless part of his cry that said clearly and precisely, "Daddy, I'm hurt.  Daddy, I'm seriously hurt.  Daddy, I'm not sure exactly how bad, but I need you here right now."  That part of his cry I could deal with.  I've heard that one before.  And as much as I hate that one, I know that panicking is a really bad idea.  I've learned that much.
     But there was another part to his cry.  One that just said, "WHY???"   Why would someone do such as thing?  How could someone try to hurt someone else like that?  Did I do something wrong?  I suppose life lessons never come when we want them to, but we certainly hadn't come to the park that morning with a study of cruelty in mind.  And then I saw his tears.  Not just wet toddler eyes (which would've been enough), but the streams of fear and pain that cut down baby cheeks and dripped salty confusion onto playground metal.
     The fabrics of my self-control ripped apart at every stitch.  If we lived in a world where Duane was an omnipotent being capable of anything with just a thought, then here's what would've happened:
     First, that midget from Twin Peaks would've stepped from behind a park bench and said in that backwards-way of talking that he has, "Let's Rock!"  Then, Guns-n-Roses would start playing "Get in the Ring" as I would've ripped off my shirt to reveal a giant, red-and-yellow "S" under my shirt.  I'd grab the little asshole by his ankle and fly five thousand feet into the air and drop him.  (Eventually, I'd fly down and save him in the nick of time, because superheroes don't kill -- but he'd be scared as hell by then) and then Roman and I would jump on Falcor and pump our victorious fists in the air as the pink, flying dog-like creature laughed heartily and...
     Whoops, I think I got off on a tangent..   where were we?
     Oh yeah, what actually happened....
     When I yelled "HEY!!!!!!!!" at Timmy Troublemaker, it came out with a rather impressive level of bass.  The entire playground turned to see what was going on.  "WHERE'S YOUR MOTHER???  WHERE'S YOUR MOTHER???  WHERE'S YOUR MOTHER???" I directed at Timmy.  It was all I could say as I quickly rounded the corner to climb the ramp and come to Roman's aid.  Timmy was now lying on the metal ramp with his hands defensively waving.  He was frozen in terror.  Funny, how bullies fold so easily at the first sign of trouble.  Our eyes were locked.  His were frozen in terror; mine in anger.
     Now, keep in mind, I still have in my hand this little American flag that I was unintentionally waving.  I must have looked absolutely insane.  I was vaguely aware of someone approaching from behind.  "I'm sorry, oh, I'm so sorry.  Oh, Billy, what have you done??"
     I turned around to see an elderly lady climbing the ramp behind me.  For a brief moment, I saw myself.  Wild-eyed and furious and waving this little flag in my fist like a maniac.  I began to come to my senses.  I was beginning to calm down; I was beginning to realize that even though Timmy (or Billy it would seem was his name) was four times Roman's size, he was still just a kid, also.

     But, then enter Timmy's mother...
     This crazy-haired lady wearing a black, heavy-metal tee shirt and smelling like an ash tray starts yelling at me.  "I DON'T CARE WHAT BILLY DID!  AIN'T NOBODY GONNA YELL AT BILLY LIKE THAT!"
     "Billy" suddenly starts crying.  It was the most fake sound I'd ever heard in my life.  This little brat suddenly starts yelling for mommy's intervention.  And "mommy" was buying it.
     I, of course, never had any intention of actually doing anything to "Billy".  I was on my way to get Roman.  I picked up my toddler and saw up close the size difference between he and "Billy."  I gave the little jerk one last "today's your lucky day" look and carried Roman down the ramp.  "Billy's" mother was still shouting, his grandmother was still apologizing, and I was carrying my son to the van.  Everyone was watching us.
     I fastened Roman in his car seat and handed him his flag.  I kissed his salty cheek and drove away.  I swore I'd never bring him back to that playground (although I have).  And I learned the lesson that I'm going to share with you:
     Playground bullies?  Don't give them an inch...  not one fucking inch...
   

Chapter 3 - Another Day

                                                      7/30/13 - "Chapter 3 - Another Day"

     Blogger's Note:  I wish I wasn't here right now.  I'm supposed to be watching the St Louis Cardinals whip up on the Pittsburgh Pirates in an exciting divisional game.  But Pittsburgh is currently winning 9-1 in the 8th and, even though I hate giving up on my team, I'm feeling rather nice after a few beers; and, I'd hate to waste a good buzz on an all-but-hopeless endeavor.  "Cloud Atlas" arrived in the mail today via Netflix, so I went to the bedroom where my wife was busy breastfeeding Amelia (I think I was jealous) and watching some reality show on NBC.  Roman was snoring away beside her.  I asked if she'd watch the movie with me, but she said she'd rather watch whatever-it-was she was watching...
     I sulked for a brief moment.  Leisurely, I meandered to the fridge, aware that I might be trespassing into hangover territory if I maintained my course.  Feeling unwilling to negotiate my pleasant mood for sleep, I grabbed another beer and my favorite mug.  A soft, gratifying fizz calmed me into a moment of sudden, mental clarity as I drifted smugly into the realization that Hey!  I've got some Free Time!
     Now, what should I do with this precious Free Time?  I could jump on the internet and watch those funny prank videos that I love so much; I could read about some of the latest superhero movie rumors; I could stalk someone on Facebook; or, I could watch some obscure Sci-Fi movie on Netflix that Joanna would never want to watch with me.  Or...  I could do what anybody likes to do when they're drinking.
     I could hang with one of my friends.  Perhaps tell a joke.  Perhaps a story.  Maybe a little more of our "How We Met" story.  Maybe I'll throw my arm over your shoulder and offer you a beer and... I'm sorry, what's that?  I'm talking too loud?  I'm sorry; I tend to do that after I've had a few.  I'll try to tone it down.  Hang on a sec.  I'm gonna turn on Pandora Radio.  Do you like Mason Jennings?  What's that?  You don't know who he is!?!  Here let me turn it up...

     Hurriedly, I wrapped my apron around my waist and knotted the strings in the front.  Clipping my badge so that it hung from my right shoulder, I sat on the mattress that served as my bed so that I could put on my shoes.  My brother, Shawn, stepped into the room.  "Running late?" he asked with a smile.
     "If I get lucky with traffic, I should make it on time."  I grunted my struggling shoe over the heel of my foot and stood.  "Hey, rent's on the desk," I told him as I grabbed my coat.  I'd been renting this room from him for almost two months.  He was still reeling from a divorce, and I was still groggy from the party that was my twenties.  Moving into his house was only sensible.  The cost was much cheaper than the fully-furnished apartment where I had been living, and we kept each other company.  I was still working on getting some actual furniture, though.
     "I wasn't worried about it," he dismissively walked out of my room to sit at the piano in the living room.  "Hey, how do you play a B Minor?"
     I opened the front door.  A winter chill stung my cheeks.  I shuffled into a graceless, Kentucky morning and turned around to close the door.  "B, D, and F Sharp," I answered as I pulled the latch.  I could hear the chord being played correctly as I jogged to my car.
     My car was a 1988 Oldsmobile that still boasted most of a front bumper despite its lack of a grill.  A crack reached across the horizon of its windshield, and one of the left-side tires stingily clung to the car's only hubcap.   The driver's side door screamed a complaint as I opened it.  I kicked a trespassing McDonald's cup towards the pile of rubbish in the passenger side floorboard where it belonged.  Some boxes that I had packed when I was moving were still hitchhiking in the back seat.
     I pulled out of the driveway and shifted into gear.  Ol' Rusty could climb all the way to 55 if the strip was flat or at an incline.  It took some time; but, at last, the Oldsmobile was steadily weaving through county roads with a bit more patience than its driver.
     When I arrived at the riverboat casino, I still had a couple of minutes to spare.  I jogged across the parking lot, over the ramp, and to the time clock where our pre-shift meeting was assembled.  Just behind me, the strap of a Transformers backpack was threatening to slip off the shoulder of today's busser Calvin.  Wearing an expression of over-acted distress and panting, he re-positioned the strap and then pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back into place.
     "Calvin, you ok?"  Crystal, this shift's supervisor, addressed the man's dramatic entrance with a smile.  Much younger than Rita, Crystal  had an easy-going constitution and a pleasant smile which made conversation with her easy -- even for Calvin's awkward social skills.  He filed in beside me in the huddle before responding.
     "Mm..  like I said.. heh," he began with his trademark, nasally voice.  "I was reading about the dragons that were historically associated with Scotland.. and.. hmm.. like I said.. the dragons, now... not the drakes.  And, contrary to what the.. heh.. Western world tends to think..  the Scottish dragons didn't just include the Ice Dragons or Cave Dragons.  The Red Dragon and even Nessie were.. hmm... like I said.. typically..."
     "Ok.  So you're ok?  Good,"  Crystal, politely laughing, interrupted what was sure to be a timely lecture on mythology.  Facing me, on the other side of the employee circle, Joanna and I exchanged a look.  She raised her eyebrows and glanced to the side as if to say, "well... alrighty then..."  I smiled back.
     Just before Crystal began explaining the day's initiatives and bus schedules, I found I couldn't help myself and interjected.  "Calvin.. you ever hear a Muffler Dragon?"
     "Hmm.. like I said.. heh.. I know Ember Dragons, Electric Dragons.. there's a Hellfire Wyvern.. heh.. you don't want to run into one of those let me tell you..."
     "But you've never heard a Muffler Dragon?"  I continued.
     "Eh.. no.. I can't say that I've heard of a Muffler Dragon."  Calvin looked as if he were torn between being polite to someone who obviously didn't have the same level of dragon knowledge and, just possibly,  hearing a branch of dragon lore that he could refute.
     "A Muffler Dragon sparks and makes a sound like this..."  I made a throaty ckckckckckckck.  "It's illegal to have a muffler draggin'.  If the law catches you with one, you'll get in trouble."
     "Hmm.. I'll have to check on..."
     "Ok.. ok... enough dragon talk.." Crystal interrupted the chuckles that had commenced.  Smiling herself, she got her morning duties underway.  I smiled warmly at Calvin to let him know I was messing with him.  I wasn't sure if it registered, though.  He looked to be lost in thought.
     After the huddle broke, I arrived at our station where Stacey was already busy making tea.  "Why are you draggin' today," she asked with a smile.
     "My stupid ass thought it'd be a good idea to get some exercise yesterday," I began as I started relocating lemons from the cooler to their place on the cutting board.  "I actually jogged two miles which I haven't done in years.  Now I'm sore as hell..."
     "That's nothing..."  A familiar voice crashed through the wall like the Kool-Aid man's arch-nemesis.  Stepping through the audible debris soon after, Enrique trudged into the station before continuing.  "When I was playing baseball, we had to keep in shape.  I jog five miles a day and not even break a sweat."
     I squeezed against the table where I was working so he could get to the Mountain Dew.  He filled his glass and then waited for the carbonation to settle so he could top it off.  Time crawled.  Stacey and I remained quiet.
     "Someday, if I get the time, I show you how to jog like the pro's do it."
     "Mmmm," I responded by stretching my lips horizontally.  The pseudo-smile was hurting my face.
     Once he left, I started breathing again.  Stacey and I got to work on getting the station ready for opening.  We talked casually as we usually did.  It was just another day.
     Later, as the lunch crowd began to dissipate, Crystal approached me.  "Hey, Duane, if you get time, could you help roll silverware?  We got hit pretty hard during the rush, and we're about to run out."
     "Sure," I replied, as I was caught up anyway.  I arrived at the silverware-rolling station to find Joanna there, busy rolling.
     "What up, white girl?"  I announced my arrival with a quirky expression and a cheesy salutation.
     "It about time," she sarcastically answered.
     As we both got to work, I began to converse.  "So, what does a Polish girl do around here for fun?"
     "Go to Florida," she resolved.
     Unsure if she was joking or not, I continued.  "Didn't you just have three days off?"
     "Yes.  I rent a car.  I got back late last night."
     "What part of Florida?" I asked, impressed.
     "Destin.  That's where all of my friends are.  There were five of us.  All from Poland.  When they relocated the students to Metropolis, one of us had to go.  I was the lucky one."
     "Why you?" I prodded.
     "My boss doesn't like me."  She didn't smile.
     "What?  You didn't want to come to the Home of Superman?"  I joked.  She just looked at me, dumbly.
     I picked up the pieces and progressed the conversation.  "You all were here before Christmas, right?  Did you drive down to Destin for Christmas?"
     "No."
     "Well, what did you do?"
     "I sit in hotel room and drink vodka and cry."  Joanna looked away distantly.  The Polish girl coughed a chuckle, but my bullshit radar wasn't sounding.  I could see by the way she stopped making eye contact that she wasn't joking.
     "Have you ever thought about quitting?  Maybe going back to Poland?"  I asked her seriously.
     "Can't.  I'm under contract.  And, besides, well... I just can't... not yet..."
     I decided not to push her any further.  We quietly rolled silverware for a few minutes before I spoke my thoughts.  "Do you ever hang out with your students?"
     "Not too often.  They are young and kind of annoying.  But, tomorrow's my birthday.  We have a ride to Paducah.  We are going to Ernie's.  Come by and I will buy you a drink."  A refreshing smile broke out on her face.  I hoped it would stay there.
     "It's your birthday; I'll buy you a drink," I responded.
     "In Poland, whoever's birthday it is buys the drinks," she explained.
     "Oh yeah?  Well, you're in America now bitch."
                                          (to be continued...)

Continue our "How We Met" story:
                                     Chapter 4 - The Pollock Joke