- by David Sylvester
- May 15, 2013
This made me smile.
This made me smile.
Where is my book taking you?
After returning home from my most recent visit to a college where my book has been placed on the required reading list, I am thinking about words. Not just any words, mind you. I am trying to think of the rightwords to effectively describe exactly how if feel right now. What I am discovering is that there are a lot of words that I knew the definitions of but just understand the true gravity of their meanings now that I am experiencing a few things. Let me explain or at least try to.
At one school, a student asked me where I thought my book ranked among others in modem literature as book that “teaches” boys “how to be a real men”. Modern literature? Me?? My book??? Then, mistaking my silence and dumbfounded look as one of insult, the student amended his question by saying “. All literature”
While signing books at another school, I casually remarked that judging from the amount of dog-eared pages, underlines and highlighted passages, it looked like the student truly read my book. At that point, the student took the book from my hands and said, “You don’t understand; this book is my friend”
I’ve spent the last 7 New Years mornings going to the shore to write my years wishes and the names of those significant to me in the sand and run into the Atlantic. I then take pictures of my shore signatures and send to my friends.
While everyone appreciates my annual gesture and find it bonding, most can’t get around the intense idea of running into cold water with me to feel the warm and focusing invigoration of it all. So, this ritual remains mine but I’ve often thought of ways to include others.
This year, I believed that I figured it out by asking my friends to send me their wishes on little pieces of recycled paper and then I would tote them into the ocean with me.
My friends loved the idea and within days wishes from around the country were in my mailbox. And for those that didn’t take part, I made ‘wish fish”- just a few pictured- for each friend and put them all into a “tiny bag of big wishes.
Hey, Guys! I’ve been dubbed a Drunkcyclist. Check out this out of the ordinary review, introduction, whatever you want to call it on drunkcyclist.com.
Hope is a lot of things.
It is that unexplained something within the aroma of good food that makes you smile and warmly remember festive meals of your past, it is that sliver of daylight that we cling to forever as your lover is closing the door and giving you the “it’s not you its me speech, it is the difference in intonation that you notice and hold on to during a job interview when the interviewer says, “well, maybe.”
Hope is a triggering emotion that makes you dream, hang on, believe, remember and do.
Hope is what Lance Armstrong gave to a lot of people.
Hope is all that a lot of cancer patients have.
Once diagnosed, cancer patients’ hope that they are as strong as Lance and can beat cancer to have another day.
Maybe I wax on too much about one feeling and what one man possibly gave people but I don’t believe so because I have seen it with my own eyes.
The words “Thank you” are just two of the many that comprise the English language, but when heard at the proper time can feel as uplifting as any pat on the back, and if not heard at all, can make you feel taken advantage of.
Their power for ushering in the feeling of guilt is especially evident during the moments where you are the one not to say those two little words that can be the difference between encouragement and discouragement.
So now, imagine how low you’d feel if there weren’t any more opportunities say anything anymore.
That is how I felt after I last saw Kevin Bowser. (more…)
Today is one of the worst days of my life.
I woke up this morning after a night of fitful sleep wanting to open my eyes, smile and say, “it was just a dream”
I desperately wanted to do this because my nephew is in jail. The details aren’t necessary because for certain circumstance in life –who did it and why- isn’t really important. All that you need to know is that its bad, really bad- a nightmare that I can’t wake from.
I love my nephew. In fact my last words to him on Monday were, ‘I love you.’ not hurriedly uttered like most guys do in order to not seem to feminine but said slow, plain and clear enough so he could feel it.
But no matter how clear and loud I or anyone else said –love ,promise future, happy potential, smile– the volume of something else a bit starker was a bit higher.
No matter how much everyone else smiled around him there was always a sinister sneer just over our shoulder that he stared at more.
No matter what anyone could do there was always a darker wave enveloping us and crashing down around us and eroding our positive message more and more.
I tried to look at TV but had to turn it off – it was Mob Week on AMC and somehow hearing Al Pacino’s Tony Montana scream , “Say hello to my little friend,” wasn’t entertaining anymore, watching news of NFL training camps seemed too trivial and getting more news about the Colorado shooting on CNN wasn’t informing me of anything other than there are other dark souls out there.
I tried to listen to music but the first song that came on was a hip hop song talking some bullshit about ‘the streets’ and by the time that I reached over to turn it off, I had no use for music at all.
So I laid on my back and looked at the ceiling but couldn’t really rest because my tears were choking me. I wanted to call my sister but she was exhausted and sleeping. I wanted to talk to my mom but what could be really said. but more than anything, I wanted to talk to my nephew but who know when that’s going to happen. After that all that was left for me to do was to roll over on my side an get in the fetal position and stare at nothing.
I wish that I had an uplifting point but I am at a loss. All I can say is go hug someone and hug them tight.
What was Hannibal Smith’s catchphrase… I love it when a plan comes together??
Hannibal was the “The A Team” leader – please tell me you remember the A Team and that I am not that old- and would deliver that phrase with a self satisfied grin as he lit up a cigar after they thwarted whatever foe was before them. Of course the ironic part about that line is that the plan often came together at a serious cost to everyone on the team- brushes, bruises, breaks, bullet holes and such. I recently had one of those “I love it when a plan comes toghter” moment when I was a guest on NPR’s The Morning Time with Mary Moss-Coane Show and just like Hannibal- it came complete with bruises, brushes , breaks and such…but no bullet holes luckily.
The writing process was a consuming one that made me forgo anything that could possibly get in my way but once everything was done I allowed myself to see.
I saw her- sexy long legs, pretty eyes, smart, witty and talented.
I started talking to her, trying to be smooth, but my timing was off – too much seclusion on my part. It didn’t really matter though because she was married.
But my awkwardness and her circumstance aside, I felt that we were clicking and kept chatting.
The more we talked, the more I noticed about her lips, her smile, her words. My heightened awareness urged me to hint about what I could do, touch, say and feel but my pronouncements kept getting cut short- damn officious waiter.
I began to heat up as I told her that I was ready to go.
She sat and listened, smoldering, wanting to give into the urges but didn’t know if she were powerful enough to say ever stop- any firemen will tell you that a smolder is much more potentially intense and dangerous.
It was supposed to be an early evening for each of us but the attraction, the conversation, the smolder and the promise of the night had us enjoying each other’s company up to last call.
Though we continued talking as we left the bar, neither of us really wanted to say anything anymore- we wanted to occupy voids that words could never fill.
Even though the kiss happened in our minds long before our lips ever touched and it was worthwhile- it wasn’t filling and made me only want more.