Inside the Cave...

By three or four am, even the partiers who had been out racing cars and motorcycles late into the night, fueled on alcohol and testosterone, are finally home in bed. The screams of engines, no longer suspended and vibrating in the air, now settled to the ground like dust on Tom Joad’s floor. Trucks fat with produce stand idle in their stalls, ready to run from their warehouses, delivering fresh produce throughout the area. Right now though, they wait silently, sleeping for another hour or two before, they begin the circuit.

No more road sounds or overhead flights suggest life beyond the security blankets pulled neck high. Only the pulse of my own engine beats in my ears, low and slow, a methodical drum.

Darkness and silence are cave-like in their collusion.

Dreams begin to slip away like water from the garden hose after the bib is shut,

Starting to stir, I start to lust for my quiet time. Black coffee, with no interruption from the world.

But there is something else more immediate, urgent. I feel her breath on my face. Without moving, I open one eye, blinking into the coal black, testing the water, a child’s first steps. Immediately the metronome begins, the accelerating whip of her tail against my chest.

She doesn’t care if it’s 3AM or 3PM, if I’m awake, she’s ready to go.

Crusaders All...

My father rode the incoming tide, waves of brown-banded fedoras flowing toward the beaches of Manhattan Island. Steel rails beat a hypnotic rhythm as riders folded Their New York Times into practical quarters, just inside their personal space, be it isle or window.

Fueled on coffee and a peck on the cheek from the chauffeur-wife at the station drop-off, all smoked, almost incessantly. Lucky Strike, Pall Mall, L&M, Old Gold. LSMFT. Nicotine stained finger tips clutched a yellow #2 scratching out answers to the crossword puzzle. Hats like metal helmets, woolen suits with nondescript ties, dark and muted, their armor.

The daily crusade. They knew where they were going, without question for the path. A paycheck, the treasured chalice, to hold dear and bring back home when the tide receded at the end of each day.

The TV knew, it was a world of black and white, a simpler time, before the spawn of a Technicolor chaos that both afforded and challenged the American dream.

hmh

Foodaholic Daze

At the annual “Taste of St Augustine” and 5K event today, I managed to inhale too many samplers in a disgustingly brief amount of time. Roasted Parmesan oysters, grilled curried squid on a stick, a homemade Key Lime popsicle. A forgettable band made up for their lack of talent with sheer volume and familiarity, playing Allman Brothers classics and monster hits of the 80’s. Carla had gotten her pulled pork slider and a few broiled Sea Scallops with Aioli. Both are favorites of hers.

After two hours of wallowing in an excess of food, music and crowds packed like a overbooked United flight, I needed to get the hell out of there. We were both ready to break camp and head home.

Then she reached into her top pocked and pulled out another red ticket. “One more!” she said. This was carnival style, you get tickets from the main booth on the way in, to buy stuff. Naturally I couldn’t just walk away with an unspent ticket, I’m not going to throw money away, right? So I bought three more. That was exactly what I needed to get a Tuna Tartare on a mini soft-taco with a spoon of coleslaw for crunch and a squirt of some Tahini/Miso white sauce.

There was no more room at the Inn, but I squeezed in another lodger anyway.

Then I REALLY had to get out of there.

I asked Carla to take the back way home. She had insisted on driving. “Um…OK! you drive” Since I’ve always been the one to drive, she thinks I’m doing her a favor. She’s eager for an excuse to drive her new little Honda Fit. With her favorite CD from The Band, “The Last Waltz” in her player ever since she bought the car four months ago, Carla cranked up the tunes. She knows every word, sung or spoken, and stares at me as she regurgitates them animatedly into my left ear while driving at least twenty over the limit. Swerving, gesturing, lost in her wild serenade, I’m the only one watching the road. I try to point out potential disasters, yelling over Levon’s drums and Garth’s organ runs, suggesting urgent and immediate preventative actions that may keep us out of the trunk of the guy in front of us. But really, she’s the one doing me a favor whenever I can overcome concerns for my life. Being driven is a luxury I can wallow in. Anyway, by taking the back road we would just happen to pass the new food truck owned by my friend Mike. He smokes up the best brisket this side of Texas.

I thought it only made sense to get some provisions to take home, you know? And so we did.

Leaving the BBQ place and turning South on the highway home, we barely traveled two blocks before spotting a large refrigerated truck sitting on the corner of the Dollar Store parking lot. The canvas sign flapping along one side boasted in bright red letters the size of flagstones: LIVE CRAWFISH!

Live crawfish may very well be our favorite thing in the world. Well for me at least. My priorities are: Carla first, Crawfish second. Third place is a toss-up between Chicca and the girls. 

Like many guys do with their wives, sometimes I force Carla to wallow in my sick fantasies. I guess that’s just part of being married. “Which is better, a cup of warm lump crab meat, lobster meat, picked Snow crab, fresh Mussels, or crawfish tails? All swimming in butter turned brown by Paul Prudhomme’s Seafood Magic seasoning, of course. “You have to pick. Which is best? Come on, pick one!”

Anyway, with the image of that crawfish sign burning into my head, I obviously had no choice but to tell Carla that it would only make sense to pull a U-turn. We fantasize about when crawfish season starts and had just been talking about ordering 20 pounds from the online vendor who ships them overnight out of Louisiana. We had no reasonable course of action other than to turn around immediately.

So we loaded up on mud bugs.

Once we settled in back home with a three-day supply of Crawfish and brisket, I started to worry about how we were going to be sure to not let the last of my sausage meat loaf go to waste, or the fresh batch of Royal Red shrimp that I had boiled early in the morning, or the Collards with smoked turkey neck.

Too much food and too little time.

Not wanting to stress myself out, I decided to watch an episode of my new favorite show: “Carnival Eats”. The fresh baked apple/cheesecake pie segment was mesmerizing.

My name is Maverick, I’m a foodaholic with a serious substance abuse problem. The substance being much of the food that I tied off and mainlined today.

I need an intervention.

You Just Got Your Wish!

You Just Got Your Wish!

That’s the last line of my one-minute tune-up adjustment seminar. Attitude adjustment, that is. I should charge seminar fees.

It goes like this:

When speaking with someone who is obviously unhappy with their situation, understanding that there may be a thousand justifications for their cloud overhead, dismal and bleak, I often ask them about themselves. Most people love that subject: themselves. When you speak to them directly, one on one, really listening, they’ll quickly give you a window into their lives. Many think that they are unhappy for a good reason, but most simply lack perspective, so I continue.

Our waitress for lunch was a 23 year-old single mom of two young kids. Her own mother acted as her built-in babysitter, allowing young Ashley to work. But Ashley didn’t care about food or waitressing. She was just there for a paycheck. Although it was obvious that she loved her kids to death and her Mom too, Ashley thought her life sucked. Her baby daddy had dumped her, the Village Inn waitress job sucked, no money, nobody her age to talk to. All her girlfriends were out having fun without the responsibilities that were crippling her.

Many people like Ashley only have one reason to be unhappy with their lives: it's all in how they choose to view it.They don’t realize that without changing anything at all, except their perspective, they can be extremely happy, almost ecstatic with the possibilities of each new day.

It’s all about having a healthy perspective, attitude, balance, and gratitude.

Starting with perspective, I ask Ashley to just put up with me and listen for one minute.

Me: Ashley, one minute ago, you were an 83-year-old homeless woman losing a prolonged and agonizing battle with lung cancer. Coughing up blood, homeless for years, society’s trash, lying on a urine stained stack of damp cardboard between two large dumpsters. You, and all of society's garbage thrown into back alleys, out of sight. But as you lie there in agony, you saw a figure approaching. A woman who certainly looked the part said:

Fairy Godmother: I’m your fairy Godmother and I will grant you any wish you like!

Ashley: Anything?

Fairy Godmother: Yes, anything. Only, you’ll have no memory of this life.

Ashley: Memory of this life? This life sucked! I don’t want to remember any of it!

Fairy Godmother: OK then, what’s your wish?

Ashley: Well, I want a new life, a different life. Make me young again, with children this time, I never had any. I’d like to do it right, you know, have a job, live in a warm place. I hate New York! Give me a mother too, I never had one. If you could make all of that come true, I would be the happiest, and luckiest woman in the world!

Me: And BOOM! Ashley, you just got your wish!

Now you’re only 23 years old, living here in Florida on this great sunny day. You have a good, steady job, two beautiful children who mean everything to you, a wonderful supportive mother and lots of girlfriends. You are healthy, smart, pretty, and strong. That Fairy Godmother really came through for you!

OH, that’s right, I guess you can’t remember anything about your past life a few minutes ago…

It makes me very happy to believe that sometimes that story sinks in. Perspective can be key to having a great attitude, always seeking balance, and eternally grateful for the opportunity to simply exist in the moment.

But sometimes I get greedy for myself and I think, Hey! what about me? I have a wish too! So I contacted my Fairy Godmother and whined obnoxiously until she granted my wish…my fairy Godmother turned me into Etta James for a day! This video is me! Check out my rendition of “Something’s Got A Hold On Me” I’m so good!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OueyaMoUUt4