Is Someone Watching?

Earlier this year it became clear to me that in a very short time I'd be needing a new car. Mine was clocking 200,000 miles and I was afraid that there would come a day when I'd break down in the middle of nowhere, and the cost would be devastating. I set a goal for replacement by July of this year. Nothing happened. Except I became poorer. August? Nothing.

Then all is a sudden my fan switch went. I only had one speed, and that was "high." I began to look at the new car market. Then "cash for clunkers" came along...but wait...my car wasn't a clunker. September? Nope. October? Forget it.

I was stuck. Winter was coming. My old car wouldn't make it to Spring.

Then in November... A person I knew put a 2004 Red Chevy Cavalier up for sale. $4000? Not bad. (And I do love the color red) New tires, CD player, AC, more pep. "Would you take my old car?" I asked. "Give you $600 for it", they said.
Deal. So I bought the Chevy for $3400. It's like a new car. I'm so happy.

After the last storm I was needing to get myself a new snow shovel. I had let a friend use mine. I went to work soon after and found someone had left a brand new snow shovel behind. A heavy duty one. Expensive. I put it aside, but nobody came for it. A brand new shovel. Hmmmm.

My brother needed an ice scraper for his car. I bought myself a new snazzy one on a stick and extended itself, with a brush on the other end. I wanted my brother to have one. I offered to buy him one, but he was stubborn about it. I let it go. A few days later someone left a brand new one for me. Exactly the same as the one I had. Where did it come from? And the shovel, and the inexpensive car? I just asked...and... Coincidence? I guess so.

A friend of mine just moved into a new apt. in NYC near me. He doesn't have a car, but his rent came with a parking spot. So he gave it to me. I now have my own place to park in NYC.

Let me tell you, I hated parking in the street!

It's true that these happenings are small things. But...is somebody watching? Does somebody actually care what happens to me?

Maybe it's me. Maybe I care. Maybe I'm loosening up finally. Believing that I deserve these things, and that life shouldn't be so hard. That perhaps I am worth some divine help. (Whatever that means) Maybe there is a Santa Claus, or a higher being watching over me, even if that higher being is slowly becoming me.

It's time to shed the words: "Life's a bitch and then you die". And replace them with: "Life's easy and then you move on to the next life and it's a vacation!" Sound crazy? Yeah. But it could be my 2010. I'll keep you posted.

Rebuilding The Brain For Success...

I watched an interesting show on CNN the other night that dealt with "life after death." What was so interesting to me was not the topic of the show, but a comment made by one of its panelists, namely Deepak Chopra. He was arguing with a "skeptic" about the man's inability to process the concept of "life after death" by saying: "A kitten raised in a horizontal room will think the world is horizontal, and a kitten raised in a vertical room will only see the world as vertical." This wasn't the kitten's opinion, but the way the kitten's brain was formed from his learning experience. To change his thoughts of the world, the kitten would have to do nothing less than change the configuration of his brain. No shit...

Those that have dabbled with the book "The Secret" know that it is basically telling you the same thing: Change the way you think, and you will see the world differently, perhaps for the better if you choose to. Well I am here to say it's easier said then done. I sometimes feel my brain configuration has been dipped in epoxy and "there ain't no way I'm gonna change it." But I'm trying. Trying to feel more positive about my life in this world and what I do in it. Trying to free myself up to the fact that I should actually be making a lot more money for what I do. Trying to give myself permission to be successful, to be in love... I do not sabotage, but I tent to lose focus...

????

(what was I saying?)

No wonder a good number of people hate each other... This guy wasn't in my room... His culture wasn't there anyway...so it can't be right... All these things--this religion, that color..those sounds...they weren't in my room...when my brain configuration was being constructed--you know, so...what's it doing in my world now??? That kind of woman? She wasn't in my room, why should--could--she be there now???

This year has to be different... It has to be. I'm trying to change those horizontal and vertical lines into some sort of successful plaid. Or maybe my new room won't have any walls... maybe rubber walls... I don't know... I don't... But a change...she's a coming... 2010 can't come fast enough...2012...???? Now that's another story...

Time and The Wizard Of Oz...

Okay so The Wizard Of Oz is 70 this year. Where'd the time go? Ahh, that is the question my dear Watson. Time. Is it real? Time that is. As in what's on the face of that clock? Minutes? Seconds? Hours? Pages of a calender ripped away as years slip by. As a child I remember some Christmas Eve nights lasting what seemed like an eternity.

In the film, Dorothy travels to Oz and it takes about an hour and thirty minutes or so. And yet to her film family in Kansas, she's only been out for a moment. Like our sleep. We dream what seems to be a lifetime and then we wake and realize that we've only been unconscious for a relatively short time. (there's that word again...conscious...I'm not planning this)

You know Edgar Cayce thought that our lives where taking place in a split second and our brains were so underdeveloped, it stretched the time out to what we know as "a lifetime." Think of that. Everything a person goes through in life: birth, school, dating, marriage, children, business success...or failure...sickness...death...to some folks way of thinking is only going on for a split second. Einstein thought the same way.

I know that sometimes I stop and think. Wow, where'd the time go? Just yesterday...my father was alive...I got my first bike...just yesterday...I was in collage. Just yesterday...and I was in that relationship...

Then there's the masquerade party. The scenery changes. Friends get gray and fat or bald or...(fill in the blank) And me, (Is that me now in the mirror?) I'm stiffer and move slower...perhaps a bit bent over...are my bones changing? My face? Hmmm. Where'd the time go? And this problem that's on my mind...that I've been recently worrying about? Only worth a fraction of my time compared to the rest of my life? You think? Like Dorothy's trip to Munchkinland...just a minute of time.

The older one gets, the faster times travels...why? Maybe for a good reason. My god, 2009 came and went rather quickly...didn't it?

Weekends At Bellevue...

Come September every year I get punched in the gut by life. August is a great month and everyone around me seems to be in a great mood. People are on vacation, enjoying the great weather here in the North East. I, like everyone else, get swept up in all the excitement. Then September comes and BAM! Something happens. All the air in my mid section leaves. My head starts to hurt. And more times then not, I'm reaching for the aspirin bottle. Why?

Friday afternoon I'm driving to my mother's house as I do most weekends. I have the car radio on and this doctor, Julie Holland, is explaining some of the sections of her new book, "Weekends At Bellevue." She means the hospital. Ms. Holland is smart, but not too smart for a modest guy like me to understand. Her voice comes across the radio waves quite well and in a matter of seconds, I'm out...hypnotized right into the subconscious. (so who is driving the car?) Then it hits me...wait...I spend my weekends in Bellevue!!!

The street I was raised on is called Bellevue Avenue. Go figure. And being the struggling writer that I am, I also (to supplement my income) help run the family business in Connecticut. It's a self service car wash my father bought back in 1971. When in Connecticut, I usually stay on Bellevue Avenue. But what does this have to do with me being punched in the gut by life in September?

Well as doctor Holland explained; "...With seasonal changes and loss of sunlight, more people get depressed in the winter months."

Ah, Seasonal Affective Disorder or S.A.D. And I plunge into depression.

I always thought I was thinking back to my younger years and dreading the end of summer vacation...(comes in September right?) I thought the feeling in my gut was a carry over from the hatred of school. (dyslexic remember?) But no, it comes down to sunlight. We need sunlight just as our plants do. As our cats do. As every other living thing does. I hate the beach, but this isn't about collecting sand. It's about collection sunlight...on your head...through your eye sockets...like the ENERGIZER BUNNY...we need to be charged up. We need SUNLIGHT! Or we will die.

I work in the sunlight, and I love it. It's funny but I write in the dark however, figure that one out. My imagination must like that setting better. But when the springtime comes, it's like a shot in the arm for me. My future suddenly looks bright. My birthday is in April. Women in NYC shed those heavy clothes. We come out of our caves. The chances of my car wash freezing solid are almost nil. Ah, life is good.

Tonight I write in the darkness of my Bellevue Avenue cellar. I foot of snow is scheduled to fall across the region. I haven't a clue where my snow shovels are, or my windshield scrapper for that matter. It's time to hunker down... It's time to buck up and bear it... There's no crying in winter time... My father used to say to me as a boy standing frozen next to him... "You're not cold...you just think you're cold..." I didn't know at the time it was all about the sun. If I did, I'd probably say a little prayer like this...

"Oh Mr. Sun...come back around...don't forget that I am here...waiting...my eyes closed...my smothered hair...my scarf wrapped tight...my glove hidden fingers gasping for your warm air...waiting for the triumphant return...of your full force...don't forget me...I need you...

Not So Overwhelmed Next Year...

I definitely took on too much in 2009. I'm easing up a bit next year. How? I've decided (and I've already started this a couple weeks ago) I'm not watching the news next year. Nope. None of it. I could care what the hell happens. It's all going to end in 2012 anyway... See? Now why'd I have to see that? And why are folks making money off that line? So, I'm done. Yes sir, no more knowing what the hell is going on outside my circle of being. Because if it's REALLY BIG NEWS and I need to hear about it, I will. Somebody will tell me.

Many years ago I was on a blind date that was going very well. The woman was very attractive and smart in a business sort of way. I kept giving her all the right answers until one came out of my mouth: "I don't read the newspaper..." (Oops!) Well she damn near took my head off. The date ended abruptly. She couldn't stand to be in my presence. And boy did I feel small. I'm a major dyslexic, so reading isn't high on my list of things to do. And unless you know what I'm talking about, then well, I can't explain it to you. Just know this. I'm a writer and I don't even read what I write. Reading gives me no pleasure. In fact, sometimes it's down right painful. But even so, from that day on I started to look at the newspaper more. I tried to keep myself up with the world events. Looking back on it, I shouldn't have done it. I take the news to heart. I was getting more and more depressed. Some of the things that happen these days make me so mad I could scream and sometimes do. And it's a game now, the news. Walter Cronkite, may he rest in peace, is gone and so is what we used to call the basic news program. (maybe PBS tries) Now a newscaster's main job is to get a rise out of his audience. Somehow getting viewers angry boosts ratings. Maybe folks call each other and say: "Are you watching this asshole?"

I just finished writing a one-woman show based on the life of Fanny Brice. (pictured above) She was the great female stage comedian of the 20's and 30's. The star of the Ziegfeld Follies, and the subject of that Barbara Streisand movie, FUNNY GIRL. Now Fanny had probably a six grade education. She never thought of herself as high society. In fact at that time, actors, writers, comedians couldn't be in high society. My... have things changed. One thing I learned was that Ms. Brice didn't read the papers or care about worldly news. She focused on her own life (which was her stage career and her children) and kept it at that. And Fanny was a frequent traveler to Europe. When asked about WWII, Fanny replied: "I don't have to know what's happening, I know what side I'm rooting for."

I don't know if it's right or wrong, stupid or smart or if 2010 for me will be "The Year of the Ostrich." I just know I'm going to do a little more keeping up with my house and forget about keeping up with the rest of the world. I'm happier already. Health care? Tiger Woods? Tell me when the war's over. If the rest of the world wants me, they'll know where to look. Until then, I'm putting up my "Please Do Not Disturb" sign, and keeping it at that.

Losing My Memory...Or...Wha..???

I never thought it would come down to this, but it has. I can't seem to remember a thing anymore. Simple things like: "Where's my glasses?" or "Did I lock my car?" how about: "Did I lock the door to my apartment?!" Okay, it happens to everyone, right? But sheesh... It scares the hell out of me. Senility? At my age? C'mon. Maybe it's too much stress...life is more stressful these days. Or maybe it's too much sugar in the diet... I hear sugar can cause all sorts of havoc with the brain... I got a brain book...but I haven't had the heart to open it yet... In fact, I can't remember where the hell I put the darn thing... Okay... I have the answer. Hold on to your hats... memory loss isn't really senility setting in. No. It's really living in the subconscious. See? That's sounds better already. Yes! And it explains why I didn't forget things in my younger days. I didn't know how to travel to my subconscious. What I'm saying is... I'm so much on automatic pilot now. I've done these stupid little things over and over and over again... Now... I don't think about doing them... I just do them... and I'm a walking zombie. New actions I take I can remember like clock work. But zipping up my fly? Who knows if I did that this morning... (checking) Yes!!! Thank god! It's good to live in the subconscious. Artists need to go there for long periods of time. I write my best in the subconscious. I pray I can go there. It's a wonderful place to be. The trick is to shut out any anguish and fear as you go, or the mind will pop you right back to the conscious. And who wants to be there? Remember those damn relaxation exercises in acting class?

Edgar Cayce (pictured above) used to get into the subconscious of folks he was doing readings for. It can be done. You just have to clear everything else out. Clear out thoughts I mean. And become a walking zombie. So Cayce would fall into sleep (the subconscious) and do this amazing reading...wake up... and not remember a thing. See? Like him, I'm just living more and more in the subconscious. Not a bad place. I mean really, I've gotten into my car...turned the key... traveled 150 miles, turned the key off and said, "How the hell did I get here?" Cars, Showers, Fixing the plumbing, Gardening... all good ways to zone out into zombie land. Music... another one. "Hey, how'd those roses get here?" Anyway. Who wants to be conscious anyway? Not I. C'mon, I'll meet you in the subconscious. Let's make it a date.