Monday, January 24, 2022

Five On The Richter Scale by Don Taco (The One that Got Away)

 Five On The Richter Scale


there’s a girl in my heart of hearts

singing harmony

every word she told me was a song I thought I knew

I love her     but she loves him

empty arms     alone again

how can I admit that we are through


there’s a girl in my memories

knocking down my dreams

every word she’s saying forcing me to build a wall

you’re the one     you’re not the one

shaky world     the balance gone

how can I recover from the fall


five on the richter scale

forever on my mind

three strikes against me

too far apart

the one that got away

still number one in my heart


there’s a girl in my motel room

strumming my guitar

every word she’s singing is a truth that I can’t see

I love you but you you love her

in my arms you dream of her

how can I compete with memories


five on the richter scale

forever on my mind

three strikes against me

too far apart

the one that got away

still number one in my heart

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

 The one that got away

--by rickiT


I have known many women.

We have parted for many reasons, but only one was the one that got away.


I met Trudy in a beach volleyball game. She was the captain of the other team. Her orders to teammates were direct and concise. Team members reacted quickly. My team didn’t have a chance. The game was a blowout, so Trudy invited us all for pizza on her. At the parlor I sat next to Trudy. She asked a lot of questions. We hit it off.


We dated for a couple of months before we moved in together. I moved into Trudy’s apartment. 

“Should I bring my furniture?” I asked.

“Everything is as I like it now,” she said.

So I sold my stuff and moved in.

When I moved a chair, she put it back.

When I cooked a meal, she kibitzed over my technique.

Trudy contradicted nearly everything I did.

What I had first thought of as friendly critique became an unending string of criticisms.

I knew Trudy was strong willed, but she was just pushy.

I moved out.


Alyson was a salesperson I dealt with when I was a purchasing agent. When negotiating she never checked with the home office. She drove a hard bargain, but was always fair. Sometimes we would meet over dinner to discuss business. I liked Alyson’s independence.


Alyson liked gardening. I started to visit her at her greenhouse to help with her planting. It was fun at first. We both had creative ideas about how the plants should be arranged and what kind of plants to cultivate. Our cooperation, however, was not smooth. When Alyson would lift a bag of sand that was too heavy for her I would offer to help.

“No, no, no.” she said. “I’ve got it.”

But more often than not she would drop the bag.

“Let me help pick that up,” I said.

“No thanks. It is my mess. I will pick it up,” she replied.

This independence became so pervasive that she never accepted my help. It seemed like Alyson falsely interpreted my offers as a negative comment on her abilities. This partnership had to end. I stopped visiting her.


In a writing night school class my editing partner was Elina. She was smart. Story structure came naturally to her. When I struggled with the construction of a story, her suggestions smoothed the flow. She helped me find my writing voice. We would meet outside of class and online to edit each other’s pieces.


When it came to line editing Elina was ruthless. She believed in cutting the words in a paragraph to their essential sentences. My prose became akin to poetry. My voice was lost in the attrition. 

“I think that prepositional phrase gives depth to the statement,” I said.

“You don’t need it,” she snapped.

“But it gives body to the tone of the scene.”

“Let the reader figure it out.”

Her critique extended into our relationship. What seemed at first to be a smart, informed point of view became a habit of critical pushiness. We parted ways.


I met a friend’s sister at a restaurant dinner. Perdita seemed distracted. She checked her phone often and even texted someone during the dinner. Perdita was stunningly beautiful and as intriguing as she was aloof. During dessert I sat next to her. I looked at her iPhone and said I was an Apple consultant.

“Oh really?” she said with a sparkle in her eye.

“Several years now.”

“Do you know why some to the text is blue and some is green?”

I explained about iMessage and showed her some settings on her phone. In the following weeks Perdita would call me up and ask a question. Sometimes we would meet in a local park to talk. She was very nice.


I wanted to get to know Perdita better. She was sweet and pretty. During my consults with her she would often be distracted by her texts or a Facebook comment. When I asked about the distraction she would say, “Oh, it’s nothing” and continue to type.

Sometimes she would zone out of our conversation, escaping into her thoughts. Distraction became inattentiveness. While I wanted to pursue a relationship with Perdita, I could not.


Sitting at the Drop Inn bar was Connelly. She was dressed plainly with a flare in her hair style and eyes. I sat next to her, ordered a Tanqueray and tonic.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked her.

“Thank you,” she said to me.

To the bar tender, “A Wild Woman please.”

The bar tender smiled. I think he winked at Connelly.


In the following weeks I drank with Connelly regularly. She was a loyal patron of the Drop Inn. She always ordered the same drink and always sat on the same stool. Conversation turned to her ex. They used to live in his apartment nearby.

“Dylan was a jealous man,” she said. “He was always accusing me of unfaithfulness. Whenever I would come home late from work he would question my loyalty claiming that I was meeting someone else.”


Connelly was always loyal to me. She was prompt to meet with me. Her affections were generous. She was never distracted by the bar flies that hit on her.


One evening a man entered the bar and walked right up to Connelly.

“Working late Cony?” he yelled. “Who is this?” pointing to me. “A work buddy?”

“I can explain Dylan. Please calm down.”

I stood up, gave Connelly a hurt look, opened my palms toward  Dylan and backed out of the bar.

I never returned to the bar again.


A long time friend of mine visited me in California from New York. Sadiqah was a pen pal and a lovely, smart, well dressed, articulate lady. She stayed with me during her visit. We conversed into the wee hours of the morning.

Our conversations reprised our texts and letters.

Her neighborhood was SoHo. She claimed to be a clothing designer in Lower Manhattan. Sadiqah bragged about the glamour of the clothing business. She told me her plans to launch a clothing line.

One evening the conversation turned to investing in her planned business.

“I’m asking a few people to invest $100,000 in “Qah Fashion.”

“I am so proud of you,” I said. “It is late now. Let’s talk tomorrow.”


The next morning I went to see my financial advisor. Bill  insisted on researching Sadiqah and her startup. Bill employs an in house private detective named Haggerty. Bill took down Sadiqah’s full name and address. He told me to come back late that afternoon.


I returned to Bill’s office at 4pm. Seated next to him was Haggerty. Bill introduced us and gestured for Haggerty to speak.

“Sadiqah is not who she seems. She lives in a loft above a sewing shop where she works. She is a seamstress, not a designer. Sadiqah has a rap sheet. She has scammed other people for investments that turned out to be false. It looks like you are a potential mark.”

I was stunned.

I thanked Bill and Haggerty, left the office and walked home in a daze.


Back at home I could not bring myself to confront Sadiqah. I apologized for not investing in her business and wished her luck. She said that her plans had changed and she would be leaving in the morning.

We did not write again.


My life changed when I met Harmony.

Our interests closely intersected. We pursued the same hobbies. We loved the same things.

I married Harmony at the dawn of a sunny spring day.


Harmony was strong willed, but never pushy. She solicited my cooperation in a project or behavior with examples of her successes and my abilities.

“I need your help in the garden. You have a knack for planter design.”


Projects that Harmony started were well thought out. She outlined the tasks from her own research and planned the steps in detail. Before she began she would always ask my opinion and include me in her endeavor. My help was always as valuable as her desires.


Harmony was the muse to my prose. Often the inspiration for a story, she would help to craft the plot and timing. Her line edits were smart. They never seemed to change the voice of my writing. Harmony always pointed out my strengths while offering valuable critique.


When we talked, Harmony held my eyes attentively. She waited until I finished and engaged the essence of my thoughts. When working or playing together she gave it her entire focus.


Harmony was loyal to our marriage, our friendship and our future. I believe that betrayal was nowhere in her nature.


We never lied. We told each other every day how much we were in love.


One dark December night we kissed and went to bed. The next morning Harmony left me. She died quietly in her sleep. My heart broke.


Harmony was the one that got away.


Monday, January 17, 2022

My Fair Maiden by Paul Delgado (The One That Got Away)

 





My Fair Maiden


It was September 1973 and I was smitten by Shelley K. She was a princess, a goddess, a fair maiden….Intelligent, beautiful and kind…and she liked me…What more could a man want. Go for it Delgado!…Right???

I was twenty years old and living with my room mates, Brian Faulkner, Lynnsey Guerrero and Mitch McKay on Landfair street in Westwood. We were undergrads at UCLA and riding the wave of youthful exuberance and confidence.

One fall day, Mitch and I were sitting in Ancient Egyptian History class when I saw Shelley…She was beyond beautiful…I remember the insightful questions she posed to our professor…I was instantly smitten.

After class, I found the courage to talk to her. She was wonderful. Over the next few weeks, we got to know each other better. She lived with her friend Wendy, who was a friend of my roommate Mitch. The perfect juxtaposition for next moves!

I heard that she had been dating this “older guy” who was in law school, but their relationship was getting rocky. I gave it little thought. I was playing soccer for UCLA and on top of the world. Our team had a heavy travel schedule and we only saw each other from time to time on campus. But I always felt I was walking on air when I was with her.

That October, we had an epic Halloween costume party at our apartment in Westwood. 

Getting ready for the party, Brian and I found a couple of British sailor suits at a surplus store in Santa Monica that fit us perfectly. (LOL!!...we had size 24 waistlines back then!)

Dressed as drunken sailors…we were ready for what was to be the party of the century!

It was 9 PM when Shelley walked in the door dressed as a fairy tale princess…She was stunning….The beer was flowing and the music was rocking. 

Steely Dan’s “Reelin in the years” was cranked up on the stereo. It was a warm October night under a full moon. Magic was in the air.

The next morning sitting on the deck with my room mates and nursing a major hangover with a couple of Bloody Marys….I decided I was gonna go for it with Shelley…

“Guys…I’m going to ask her out next Thursday after History class!”

“I think I’m in the love”

They laughed and said:

“Go for it bro!”

I had it all planned out...Right after class, we would walk down to the canteen on Bruin walk for coffee and I’d ask her out for dinner at La Barbara’s Italian restaurant in Westwood Village…I double checked my approach with my room mates and got the green light…Good to go!

My confidence was high.

I was ready to go.

It was late afternoon as I walked out of Royce Hall and saw Shelley standing at the top of Janss steps overlooking the campus. The sunset was breathtaking. 

My heart leapt with joy as I saw her. With confidence, I began to walk toward her. She was bathed in the colors of an Indian summer sunset. It was surrealistic.

But all of a sudden…right then and there…out of nowhere….Her boyfriend, the “old guy” walks up to her and they embrace. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and they walk together across the mall toward the Law school library.

I was crushed…My hopes dashed on the rocks…I walked in the fading sunset back to my apartment on Landfair feeling like a fool.

As I walked in the door, the guys asked…”How did it go?”…All I could say was…”WTF was I thinking….Man, I was lucky I didn’t make a fool of myself by asking her out minutes before her “boyfriend” showed up!”

Later in bed that night, I thought…”Whew…what a moron….Luckily I didn’t embarrass myself!”

Yet, I still felt sad about the outcome.

Oh well…I thought…”Asi es la vida”

A couple of years later, I was on campus playing soccer with fellow alums and as I walked off the field, I ran into Wendy, Shelley’s former roommate who was in grad school then.

I asked her about Shelley.

Wendy replied: “She’s doing great…She’s in Law School at Hastings in Berkeley”

I asked Wendy to say hi to her.

As she started to walk away, Wendy looked back and said:

“Why didn’t you ever ask her out Paul?”

“She had a major crush on you!”

Noooooooooooooooooooo!

Falling off the cliff sound!!!

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ayieeeee!! What a moron!!…How could I have been so blind!!!

I told Wendy of the encounter on Janss Steps…

”I thought Shelley had a boyfriend.”

Wendy replied...”She did…but it was over”

“That afternoon on Janss steps was their last meeting.”

Wendy gave me a hug and said,

“He wasn’t the one…but you could have been.”

As the old adage so wisely says…

Faint heart never won fair maiden




Wednesday, January 12, 2022

A Day at the Beach Den Watson (Matters of Life and Death)

 



A Day at the Beach 

Its 7 am on a warm beach in Mazatlan, Mexico. A beachfront hotel on a placid bay. A small island two or three miles out in the bay. My destination. 

I wade into the water, put the fins on and settle into an easy crawl toward the island. 

For some reason, possibly a girl back home, Im looking for unusual sea shells, and the hotel bartender says thats the place to find them. 

I figure an hour and a half to the island, rest a bit, pick up some shells, and swim back. This turned out to be a gross exaggeration of my swimming skills. And, I realized later, there was only one place to put any seashells on the return trip. 

After an hour or so of swimming, much of it with the easier but slower backstroke, I paused for a rest, treading water and looking at the island. It didnt seem any closer and I was getting tired. 

Suddenly, 10 yards away, a pair of fins sliced through the water between me and the island. It was a large fin followed by a smaller one, and my mind raced to any nature documentary about sharks and dolphins. 

Another pair of fins followed the first. Do dolphins have a big fin and little fin or is it the other way around? 

The next fish removed all doubt as it thrust its head up out of the water to reveal the classic curved rows of teeth. I flashed on the Jaws poster and thought, these are sharks! 

I looked back at the shore, tired, and now an hour and half away, and thought about hollering for help. 

Help! Help, shark!” What could anyone do? And— swear to God—I also thought, how embarrassing, if I holler for help and make it back to shore anyway! 

But Id gone into the water at an angle to the island, and if I could swim straight back to the shore a couple hundred yards up from the hotel itd be shorter. 

Without a look over my shoulder —whatever was going to happen was going to happen—I turned toward shore, all tiredness gone—and launched into a steady Australian crawl, head down in the water, only coming up for breath as needed. I wondered if the shark was doing the same. 

Where was it now? Was it hungry? How many were there? I didnt take the time to look, but as I swam to the closer shore something hit the fin on my right foot. I crawledeven faster and this time I did take a peek: it was a piece of driftwood, floating just below the surface. 

I prayed. If I make it to shore, dear God, I will fall down on my knees and thank you for bringing me to safety.” 

And He did. And I did. 

After a few moments on the beach, I took off my fins and walked the quarter mile back to the hotel bar where my two compadres were sipping beers and laughing. 

What the hell were you doing back there?” 

I told my story. Snorts of disbelief. Youre putting us on.” 

The bartender chimed in. No, no sharks in the bay, seƱor. Maybe tonina.” 

Tonina,” my compadre says, probably a tuna.” “Yeah,” says my other compadre, you could eat it.” 

I didnt insist. I know what I saw, and it wasnt Charlie Tuna. 

The next day, on our way home, we stopped at a Mexican household with a large Spanish dictionary and looked up the word tonina. It translated something like this: a female shark species that not only strikes at a human swimmer but stays to finish the meal, flesh, bones, fins and all.” 

Thanks again, God, for my day at the beach. dw1/8/22 

Ageless Living By Mark Farenbaugh

Ageless Living By Mark Farenbaugh I am a man who has lived a long time, but I want to live longer. When I look in ...