cardboard, tape and great moments in aviation

Back when I was five or so I wanted an airplane. Not a toy plane...an *airplane*. One of those two-tone Cessna or Piper single props at the county airport would do just fine, like I'd see when Dad and I would sit in the parking lot and watch flight lessons. Whenever the inspiration would hit, there I was finding materials and bugging everyone to help me nail boards together or whatever. Why would we need a long cord to power an old washing machine motor? We can just put one of those outlet box thingys from the wall in there and...

Anyway, at some point we came across this short, thick cardboard tube from a roll of whatever, but to my mind's eye, the propeller shaft. Next thing I know I've got boxes in the front room taped together to form the, um, "fuselage," side flaps for wings, rear flap for a tail. I must have been persuasive because Mom used a *lot* of masking tape trying to flange it to the side of the box. A nearby Naugahyde hassock becomes landing gear. As soon as it was all, um, "together" there was no stopping. I was gonna fly an AIRPLANE right there in the front room, dang it all.

So there she was. Up off the floor about to my waist, a staggering sixteen inches, and it would almost stand on its own when I let go. Mom's skepticism is but background noise as I climb in, just a tad shaky, one leg in, now the other...

*THUMP*

About 23 years later, and interestingly, ten years *ago*...well, evidently some lessons bear repeating and on a grand scale. When you're little and messing around with household materials in the front room, the real danger is trivial even when your dreams collapse to the sound of ripping tape. Different story when you've barnstormed your way into the almighty American Dream only to find a grizzly nightmare. In it, you're hopes are empty, relationships trite, appetite is DOA, paranoia coats the tongue...but if you pay attention, you catch on to what's been available all along while you were chasing wind.

Some bumper sticker has it right. We plan, God laughs. But the joke is never on us unless we take ourselves too seriously.

halves and have nots

Another family arrives at the burger joint in a bullet-shaped sedan, then we all show up in the cab of a pickup, and our respective churches have different names on them. Ours is downtown although most of us live more comfortably than people in the surrounding homes. Earlier, on the way in, my dad makes fun of a long-haired man walking along the street.

Some of the kids at church are from the surrounding neighborhoods and they don't mind that they don't look like "us" or act like "us" most of the time. Usually these are the ones I'd rather be around, unless they're just plain annoying, but they aren't there as often as us "regulars."

Sometimes we have church at night. In the cold months the downtown streets are only to be seen in passing, the domain of the unknown and unsaved. People walking after dark around are up to no good and we lock our doors and look where we're going and everything will be fine once we're home watching TV.

Jobs are scarce. Some kids at school have parents laid off from factories. At the mall there are "minorities" standing around talking all weekend. Pastor asks people to "dig deep" before calling the ushers.

Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the folks who come in for "help" are naturally self-confident or just used to asking. You only see them that one time.

Reagan is the only one who can "fix" all this. He usually wears a suit.

We have Sunday School parties, well attended by a lot of us "pre-teens." Not sure if it's the leadership, or the mix of kids, or both, but I find these things fun for once. One of the "neighborhood" dudes asks me about my old electric razor collection and he becomes cool, just never sticks around long enough.

At one point this loud mouth who lives "comfortably" starts in with racial slurs with one of the "neighborhood" girls and she doesn't stand for it. She and her friend, one of the few girls I thought was cute back then, didn't stick around long enough, and I am getting tired of typing that.

Some of "our" moms and dads split up before we finished high school. I never got to find that out about most of the "neighborhood" kids.

as i stand agaze

as i stand agaze
at the fortress of refuge
how strangely, these days
i savor the deluge

a dream far too real
in this tempest i'm couched
raging rose-petal pinwheel
that is felt, but not touched

it spins as it pleases
cream confection'ry bliss
such warm fragrant breezes
best of times, reminisce

at the eye and center
stares your face in some trance
tells so precious little
save, gracious acceptance

and

she is the one who shows up just before a major blizzard with a decent pinot noir, because sometimes you need to get next to a carbon-based life form of your own species and just bask in each others' radiation, playing cards and talking about nothing in particular until the Chili Peppers CDs are done, at which point you reach for some Eagles or maybe Bob Seger

verdict

as whiny high-pitched voices mock your every public utterance your fist slams the desk and your mind goes back to the idealistic child buried deep within the suit and the image who can't get his way but then for a split second you actually sense that it would not kill you to believe in the future

Bobby's Place

We live in a old two-story in the middle west side, not much but we like it here. She wears my old ball caps, usually backwards, and probably doesn't realize how often she has one on. Sometimes we go over to Bobby's during a game since most of the neighborhood will be there too. You need hope in this world, you know, they shot Reagan and now all they talk about is how someone tried to kill the pope. The lady, my angel, I gotta say, is simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm not what you call religious but I sure don't want anyone to die, especially, you know, for no good reason. Bobby is a pretty good guy in my book. What's with all the mohawks and purple hair moping around the mall? She was engaged to someone else right out of high school but things change. A couple dudes down the block like to hit golf balls off the sidewalk. Bobby Brink. She hired in at the shop where I work and we could probably move if we wanted. Bobby was always quiet when we were in school but he pretty much ran the bar as his dad kept getting sicker. We got a stereo last year with our tax refund and sometimes I crank up Ozzy real loud so she'll yell at me. Bobby drives a maroon Corvette. She leans her feet and knees on me while we share a beer. I grew up not too far from here but its all different now. They say one of those golf balls dinged a police car in the next block as they cuffed some stoner for looking in people's windows. More often than not we come home to find one of our dingleturd cats tangled up in a blind. Her fiancée was locked up for dealing and God help the bastard. Starting to think she actually likes the music I play and bless her for laughing at Bill Murray. Bobby really doesn't make a big deal about being successful and having things. Not sure about him and his wife tho, I mean, if they're happy. The cat could wiggle loose if he really wanted to. We have both our families over for holidays and it's the only time our place is clean. Bobby's house is pretty nice, I suppose, and they got a couple kids. Sometimes at night we're just sitting there watching TV and I look at her and think how lucky I am.

okay maybe not

Phillip Hector MCHUEGALFARTHEY of Mass. has appointed himself to be the first ambassador of Planet Earth to the Andromeda Galaxy as announced during a recent diatribe at the park. The sojourner plans to pass time during the 28-year superluminal journey attempting to beat the on-board computer at chess, as well as doing some other things. When asked about a capable spacecraft he assured us the government has a ship that no one else knows about, and hopes to be underway as soon as it can be determined that "they have at least one decent tavern there."