Running Low On Fuel

Running Low On Fuel

Crossing The Arctic Circle

Alaska

June 2007

 It is around 10PM when we board the plane which will take us across the Arctic Circle. There are six passengers and one pilot.  Glenn, my brother-in-law, sits in the front seat with the pilot.  I sit right behind the pilot. The pilot tells us that he has already put in a long day but he won't finish until 2AM when he brings us back to this airport.  He is jovial and causal as he flies low along the mountain ridge.  Glenn is engaging him in conversation when he notices that the fuel gage indicates  that we are running out of fuel.

"Hey buddy, do you see this?  We are almost out of fuel," Glenn alerts him.

"Oh that, yea, don't worry about it.  That gage is broken and we have a backup tank so we should be OK", he tells us with a tone that is too casual for me. I am not comforted by his reassurance. But we don't crash and I see him checking on the fuel tank with we land and I decide to sit further away from the dashboard on the way back.

Being A Burden

Being A Burden

The Emergency Room

Philadelphia, PA

October 2006

We sit in the emergency room on a Sunday night.  The doctor gives us instructions. I am given a heavy dose of painkillers to alleviate my excruciating pain. It appears as if I might have gout in my right foot. I don’t care what I have; I just want a foot amputated so that the pain subsides.

Trisha, my sister, tells the doctor that I can tolerate a lot of pain. So, my behavior tonight, she tells them, is an indication of how bad I feel. The doctor agrees to increase my pain dosage but only if I assure him I will not spend the night alone at my house. Trisha must volunteer to take me to her house for the night. She agrees. The doctor hands me a Percocet. I tell him I will take it later, when I am comfortably at home. But he demands, for liability issues, for me to take it in his presence. Begrudgingly I comply.

Trisha goes out to the parking lot and brings her car to the front of the emergency room. I am wheeled out to her and gingerly shoved in to the front seat. And off we go. We pass my house, my car, my place of work and head to her home a half hour way where I will spend at least a day or more as I recover. While I would have preferred to be home, I am grateful for Trisha’s care.

The medicine seems to kick in almost immediately. The pain lessens somewhat but I don’t care now. A new sense of joy and peace has infiltrated my well-being. I am happy and content and sense but I will be well soon.

Patricia on the other hand seems agitated. “Do you know today is?”, she asks me in a demanding tone.

 “No”, answer in my spacey state of mind. “No, wait, it’s Sunday, right?”.

 “No,” she replies, “today is the first day for the rest of your life that you become a burden to me”.

 I laugh uproariously and so does she. But I look at her with a critical eye; the truth hurts.

Five Down; Two To Go

Five Down; Two To Go

Philadelphia, PA

1958

I wonder what possessed my parents to have 7 kids.  Did they plan it. Was each new birth a blessing or a burden. Did they have a number in their heads as to how many was too many. Did they think about the college tuition years at this time.  Did they think about the number of diapers my mother had to change.

In 1957, she had a newborn, a one year old, a two year old. a three year old and a five year old.  None of us were old enough to be left alone. And then in just a 1 1/2 years, she had another baby. And then 11 years later, she had the last one.

The Coup

The Coup

We sit on the beach everyday, the expats from America.  We are so grateful and so gleeful as we consume our drinks and talk about frivolous things as the locals wait on us, bringing us food and drinks every day.  Every day we thank our luck stars.

We hear a clamor of distraction.  A huge, new shiny truck is coming down the long, narrow main street.  Crowds are following and the truck stops right in front of us.  It is hauling a second truck behind it, equally as big as this first truck.

A man stands on a platform, on top of the truck. He is handsome, youthful and forceful.  He speaks from a microphone.

“It is a time for a new way to do things.  We must take back our country and live free.  We must all be free.”  People are clapping and everyone is offered a free Coca-Cola or a snow cone.  Children line up and the boys are encouraged to follow a man who leads them in to the second truck.

“Follow this man to freedom”, the charismatic man announces and the boys follow.  After a few minutes, the truck pulls off and then there is a silence amongst all of us as we see the entire haul.  The second truck is now full of young boys from the neighborhood.  And this truck is pulling three rows of rolling chain-linked fences.  Chained to all of these fences are hand cuffed police officers and local politicians.  They are running to keep pace with the speed of the truck.  They are exhausted, frightened and beaten.  And we all now realize that we are in the midst of a coup.

“This is exciting”, Joanne says.  I am filled with disbelief.

“We have to get out of here right now”, I tell her, “it is too dangerous for us to stay”.

“But we are Americans.  They wont hurt us.  It’s the governmental officials they are after.  This is a moment of opportunity for us”, she says confidently.

Mary is befuddled and worried.  She can’t find her husband.  Mothers are running after the truck, trying to retrieve their sons.  But they are pushed away by large men who stand guide of the truck.

I tell Joann that I am leaving.

“Where are you going?” she wants to know.

“I don’t know, maybe back to Pennsylvania to be with my family”.

“This is your home.  You can’t go back to Pennsylvania; it’s over there.  There is nothing left there for you.  This is you home now”, there is a tone of annoyance in her voice.

I leave her and begin to make a mental list of everything I must do right now to get out of here.  When I arrive at my home, there is a large man’s shoe on the lawn.  I run inside and see that someone has placed several men’s dress shirts in my closet.  There is a shiny, black SUV in my garage.  Some of my things have been thrown out in the yard.  Someone has taken over my house.  I look and see other shoes in other people yards and realize this must be the symbol that this house has been confiscated in the coup.  This house belongs to them now.  I have to get out of here now.

I begin to back my bags but I am wearing mittens that make it difficult to use my hands. I try to take them off.  But they are much too tight.  I struggle and struggle and cant figure out why I cant take them off.  Then I realize that it is July.  I had been at the beach since January and hadn’t realized that the seasons had changed and the times had changed as well.  Now my hands are swollen from the heat and I can’t take my damn mitten off.  As I struggle and struggle, I feel an unconscious energy surge through my body, making every effort to wake me from this awful nightmare.

Suddenly, I feel a jolt. My head snaps and I look around the room. Everything is silent and calm but my heart is racing as I try to figure out what is going on.  Is this real or was I just dreaming?

Ale Mary

Ale Mary
Baltimore. MD
Winter 2011

The Ale Mary Pub is a great Baltimore  neighborhood tap room that serves food and great beers.  The irreverent theme just adds to the enjoyment of the perfect evening. Due to the irreverence to Mary, the pub is occasionally picketed by offended Catholics.  There are rival facebook pages that defend and condemn this pub. Feel free to pick a side.

This nun watches over the women's restroom.

And he hangs around the men's room.

Memorial Weekend

Memorial Weekend

Carpenter's Point, MD

May 2015

Some days, a little money can buy some happiness. Spending Memorial Day on this big-assed floatation made me so damn happy. This was $100 well spent.

I'll Tell You Why I Don't Believe

I'll Tell You Why I Don't Believe In God
A Conversation With a Friend
December 2016

"I'll tell you why I don't believe in God.  Because I was abused as a kid.  What kind of god would let kids be abused. My father abused me all the time and my mother did nothing about it.  I just tried to survive as a kid.  No one helped me out.  We were poor.  We had an outhouse. We didn't have much heat.  We had a coal stove and when we ran out of coal, we just didn't have heat. We never had vacations. My mom was the primary breadwinner. We were really poor.  When I took a bath, I could only have a little bit of water in the tub.  And I used to dream of having a full tub of water when I grew up. I was raised as a Pentecostal Christian but I don't believe in anything now.  No god would let a kid be abused like me".

Pajamas

Pajamas

Christmas

San Francisco, CA

December 1983

I am going to spend Christmas in San Francisco this year. I’m 27 years old. This is the first time I will not be spending Christmas with my family. I’m going to spend a few days with my friends in California. But the night before I leave I stop by my parents’ house to exchange gifts and have our own celebration. My mother hands me a package which I open and find beautiful silk pajamas. They are pearled color. There is also a raspberry colored robe in the box and matching slippers. The gift is lovely and more extravagant than my lifestyle.

“Dad says you’re never wear these pajamas,” my mother tells me, “but I told him he was wrong. I know you don’t spend money on pajamas. But I got them anyway because maybe now you’ll wear something nice like this instead of your old T-shirts”. You’re too old for that lifestyle.

“They’re beautiful” I tell her. “thanks. I’ll wear them tonight.”

“No, no, no” she says. “Save them for California. Where them in San Francisco with your friends. I want them to be nice when you go to visit your friends. Put them back in the box and put them right in your suitcase”.

So, I do. And then I went to California. And I came back. And a month later two of my friends who visited with me in California were now in Philadelphia.  so, we stop by to see my mother.

 “Mrs. Kelly”, Terry calls to her, “I have photos of our trip to California. Would you like to see your photos?”

“Yes”, my mother tells him and she sits next to him. He pulls up the first photo and it is a picture of me in bed wearing my new, beautiful pajamas.

“See daddy, “she says to my dad, “I told you she would wear them”.

 And Terry shows her the next picture. I am standing in the living room, wearing my robe and slippers.

“Look Daddy, she’s got the slippers on now. I should’ve bought these pajamas years ago. I didn’t know it was going to be this easy.”  She is so proud of herself for making a convert out of me.

There was a photo of me in the living room, in the kitchen, in the backyard, and at Fisherman’s Wharf, on the cable car, in Chinatown, at the Crooked Road, and on the Golden Gate Bridge. I was wearing my pajamas at all these places.

“What?  What? What are you doing? Why did you wear your pajamas outside? What are you crazy? Why did you do this?  What’s wrong with you? Why did you wear your pajamas outside?” She is shouting now and hyperventilating just a little bit.

“You told me to wear my pajamas in California and that’s what I did. I did exactly what you told me to do,” I responded so smugly.

“That’s it. Never again. I’m never buying your pajamas again. You are a brat. I’m not buying nice things for you anymore, And I am never, ever, going to buy you underwear either. Never!!!!”