Poem: One Final Contribution

An earth-bound celestial creature, born from another,
Initially helpless and in need of nurturing during my infantile stage.
But when strengthened, I venture deeper into the world;
fading in the day, shining brightly in the depth of night when I'm most needed.
At my prime, I use my light to guide others,
but there are days when I regress, needing illumination from others.
This symbiotic exchange endures years of tumultuous changes.
Then comes the day for me to leave it all behind.
Before I return home, I make one final contribution;
I reinforce the earth with my burdensome exterior,
it is not needed for the trip I am to take.
But the memories of my experiences are all my own.
That, and the emotions they trigger, are the only parcels I carry with me.

Some Exceptions May Apply

New York City has some of the best restaurants in the world. Still, some exceptions may apply...

During my second year of college I received homework assignments that required me to visit areas of the city with which I was unfamiliar. My husband (boyfriend at the time) accompanied me on one such adventure. I figured since he was still relatively new in town it would be a good opportunity for him to see the sights. We made a day out of it and had a good time at a museum--the exact name of the museum escapes my memory due to the unfortunate experience that followed it.

Evening was rapidly approaching and the rumbling of our tummies signaled it was nearly suppertime. In retrospect, I now wonder if the gastro-internal turbulence was actually a desperate warning of things to come. After wandering the area in search of sustenance, we decided to visit a small pizzeria. The fact that we had bypassed the place twice before finally venturing inside should have been a warning, but we were both tired, young and naive. The first thing we noticed that was a bit odd was the smell, or lack thereof. Being a native New Yorker, I had never been to a pizza shop that lacked the fragrant aroma of garlic, herbs and freshly-baked dough. Then again, I was still recovering from a cold so I thought, perhaps, that was to blame. The food choices looked decent enough so we both ordered chicken slices. The man behind the counter, presumably the co-owner was very friendly and happily prepared our order. As we waited, we noticed how empty the place was, but we rationalized it by figuring it was either due to the location or the time of day.

After receiving our food--and I use the term loosely--we took a seat by the window and started our punishment. In the middle of the first bite I was hit with the fact that there was something unusual about what I was eating. It was the smell. As I mentioned earlier, I was getting over a cold, so I thought my sinuses were doing weird things to my olfactory senses. I locked eyes with Max. He seemed okay and we continued eating. All the while I figured I needed to make an urgent doctor's appointment to get some medicine for whatever the hell was going on with my nose. Each time I went to take a bite, my nose was bombarded by a smell reminiscent of moldy gym socks and stray wet puppies. It led me to question the true origin of the meat used to prepare this highly-disappointing meal.



My stomach got the signal and my nose waved the white flag as I surrendered eating and concentrated my attention on my soda. That's when Max dropped his slice on the tray and said: "I can't eat anymore. This shit stinks!" to which I replied: "Seriously? I thought my nose was playing tricks on me." That said, we decided to high-tail it out of there. However, Max, who was not yet fluent in English had a few parting words for the inept pizza maker. "Thank you for your services, but you need to do something about your pizza because it STINKS!!!" he proclaimed.

Clearly irritated, the thickly-accented man defended his stinky wares by retorting: "My pizza doesn't stink! YOU stink!" He was still yelling after as we made our exodus. If only he had put as much passion into his food as he did defending it, we would never have gotten into this altercation.

At least ten years have elapsed and Max and I still bear emotional scars. If we think about it long enough, which we try not to, we can still smell the horrifying stench of the attempted meal. Now, every time we go out to dine we make it a point to do a thorough scent check upon entering any restaurant. If it doesn't smell like food, we immediately reverse course and seek food elsewhere. We don't know what ever became of the shop, but we strongly doubt they're still in business. I can't help but think what a travesty it was for such an establishment to call themselves a pizza shop. Honestly, I feel if the Italian mafia ever got wind of that place it would have been on the news; the owners' skeletons found inside the burnt building with their kneecaps mysteriously broken, or something like that. One positive thing to be said about the experience, aside from our obvious survival, is that I gained a burning desire to prepare my own meals and to prepare them damn well so I don't have to rely solely on restaurants for my culinary pleasures.

Cat-snip

Five years after my husband, Max, and I got our cat, Bazik (aka Bazilio), we finally came to the point when we could no longer put off having him neutered. The first four years were tolerable, but Bazik's temper was quickly becoming unmanageable--I have many a scar to prove it. He always preferred to hang out with my husband rather than me, which is probably why we disagreed over the procedure for some time--I was for it, he was against it.

Although I'm 5' 6" and... I won't say how many pounds, it was becoming abundantly clear I was outmatched by this nearly 2-foot, 16-pound feline beast. One day, after enduring a particularly maniacal attack, I vehemently decided that this 4-legged ankle biter had tasted my blood for the last time. After careful research, I found a vet and we headed off to the appointment.

The environment was clean and the staff was professional. Max and I took notice of the prominent sign which stated: 'PLEASE KEEP YOUR CATS IN THEIR CARRIERS'. We half-joked that its placement was the result of prior chaos in the waiting area. When we were called I couldn't help but feel concerned for the doctor and her assistant since they were both about a foot shorter than me and didn't have a whole lot of body mass to them. Then I noted there was a 2 to 1 ratio and figured it would even out since the two women had each other for backup.

I was surprised at how Bazik allowed the doctor and assistant to place him on the table, pet him and perform the superficial examination without any major fur flying through the air. 'Perhaps this isn't going to be as bad as I thought' I figured. Then they brought out the thermometer and proceeded to take his temperature from his second business end. That was the plan, anyway. In a split second, my cat went from the male version of Hello Kitty to the feline equivalent of Cujo. He made it abundantly clear he was not willing to become anyone's bitch. He lashed out, prompting the veterinary staff to resort to Matrix-style evasion tactics. And, just like that, Bazik quickly dispelled any suspicion I had of him being homosexual. From a safe distance, Max and I attempted to calm him down, but Bazik wasn't hearing any of that. Seeing that taking his temperature would be impossible without risking life and limb, the doctor decided to skip it. Bazik, however, was still pissed and voiced this fact with a barrage of hisses.

The next part of the checkup was to take a blood sample. I knew that would be an impossible task. I told the doctor: "I think he'll take your blood before you take his." She agreed. It was decided to take his blood once he had been knocked out for the procedure. Max and I were told to return in a few hours to pick him up--by then, we were told, the drugs will have mostly worn off.

During this time I felt guilty about the whole thing. Maybe it was the fact my husband and I were dining at an Italian pizza shop while our beloved cat was losing his meatballs. I really love Bazik and didn't want him to go through such stress, but we were left with no other choice. When we returned to the vet, we noticed the doctor was no longer wearing her hair out. It was tied in a high, messy bun and she looked as though she had been to the gym. The doctor who had performed the procedure was now wearing fresh bandages on his hand that weren't there when we had left. There were a couple of other pet owners who had come and gone, inquiring about their companion's behavior, to which the doctor gave answers such as: "She was a little nervous, but did well" and "Oh, he was very well behaved!" When it came time for us, the doctor's smile faded. In as polite a way as possible, she said Bazik "...was a challenge"

Finally, he was brought out. As we looked into his carrier we could see he was obviously still loopy as he swayed his head like Stevie Wonder and staggered around like Captain Jack Sparrow. Immediately after Bazik's recovery, Max and I noticed an immediate change in his behavior.

Two years later, he's still as active as ever--perhaps even more so--and he now naps on my lap frequently (something that was once unheard of). Every now and then he still eyes my fuzzy slippers, blankets and robes, no doubt reminiscing about the salacious times he used to spend with them. But he still seems puzzled as to why he no longer gets beyond second base.

Love

The spirit of Valentine's Day is a noble one. However, such an outpouring of love and affection should not be reserved for one day alone. Every day presents the opportunity to take the love we have within and spread it just as easily as we would any other emotion. The magic and wonder of it extends beyond the designated day of ceremonious romance filled with the dazzling adornment of gems, flowers and candy. Love and romance, though associated with the aforementioned, does not depend on the physical.

Love and romance are not governed by a set of rules that say you must act in accordance to a specific ritual to express them. When the commercialization of the day has been peeled away, we are reminded of something timeless--the presence of love itself. Love holds no set time for dashing away on an adventure into the land of dreams. It does not dictate when or how you should dance on a moonbeam to your heart's content with the one you love, even if that person is yourself. Love operates on its own time, so it seems impractical to try to contain it within the confines of a single day. It is much too vast and powerful to remain restricted. And so, it is no wonder that we are sometimes inconvenienced when it spills out of the cell to which we've designated it, flooding weeks, months and years, interfering with our carefully laid out plans.

Love is not always convenient or easy. In fact, it can be downright scary when we find ourselves engulfed in the unpredictable grip of its tide. However, it is certainly always worth it since love has the remarkable ability to heal the spirit and unite the divided. To some, love seems elusive and unattainable. These illusions distract us from the truth--that everyone has the capacity to give and receive love. However, finding it seems challenging because it seamlessly camouflages itself within the unlikeliest of places in our lives.

The Creative Ones

The creative ones walk a lonely road only few dare to travel. It is not for the weak or faint of heart. Not everyone can survive the harsh climate of doubt and ridicule through which this passage runs. It is paved with the dust, cinder and bones of the shattered dreams of our ancestors. Over time, those broken, brittle remnants have solidified to a surface their descendants may not have otherwise been able to cross. The further along the road these dream seekers travel, they are met with challenges that stagger the mind. Like castaways in an unforgiving desert they are struck with the fear of demise and also suffer mirages of their rescue. This is the most critical time of their difficult journey. It is the midpoint which can easily become the breaking point. During this time, the creative traveler is usually faced with a difficult decision; surrender to their fears, thereby reversing course and admitting defeat, or take the chance of completing their pilgrimage against all odds.

Those who choose to continue eventually see faint glittering lights lining the hazy horizon. It fills them with a hope they aren't sure they can fully trust since they fear it may be just another illusion. However, it eventually becomes apparent that the lights are indeed very real, as is the inspiration they contain. Upon seeing the source of the illumination, the traveler weeps in awe. He realizes the lights were being held by people much like him--people who endured the long, demanding road of perseverance in order to achieve their goals. One of the many bearers explained that although they couldn't physically help him reach his destination, they shined their lights of hope to let him know he was on the right path.

Over time, what had started out as a faint flicker had grown into a shimmering beam as more people succeeded in their endeavors and joined the light bearers. It's not until the creative one sees the glow of his realized dream does the traveler discover that it is his turn to add to the beacon of inspiration.

Literacy

Literacy and knowledge are valuable assets many of our ancestors died attempting to achieve, often times unable to grasp it. I am saddened to see the accumulation of evidence that our society--which currently has these advantages so readily available for the taking--continue to take it for granted. Too often I have come into contact with people who laughingly joke about not knowing how to read or the fact they simply don't feel like it. It is no wonder that such a mindset is accompanied by the basic inability to communicate clearly, thus resulting in unnecessary conflict and misunderstanding. This way of thinking is rapidly plunging our society into the thorny depths of ignorance in which many of our previous generations have met their demise. The increasing violence, intolerance and division are evident of this. But what, exactly, threatens to propel us back in time to repeat the fate of those who came before us? Is it the stress of challenging ourselves that we find intimidating? Are we just too lazy to think for ourselves, preferring someone else to do it for us? Maybe it's a fear of failure. Is that why many of us blame others for our stagnate way of living while we cower behind a sheer veil of lame excuses? Perhaps it's a combination of all the aforementioned.

Personally, I never saw the allure in allowing someone else to be the captain of my creativity or the pilot of my reasoning. Though, in the past, I have been guilty of falling into the trap of feeling that the objectives of others were superior to my own. Everyone, yes, everyone in our society is more than capable of stretching themselves beyond their comfort zone in order to increase their capacity. There are always new things to learn, new paths to take and new barriers to overcome. However, if we refuse to arm ourselves with the power of knowledge and literacy and apply it to our lives, we have basically surrendered ourselves to failure.

What ever happened to...

...manners and decency? It may seem trivial, but basic manners and decency can go a long way. However, it's not something that's practiced as widely as it once was. I believe it all comes down to how parents raise their children. Luckily, my parents have instilled these qualities in me. These days, it seems that such parents are few and far between. These days, children are cursing and behaving obscenely before they even begin elementary school. Sadly, instead of finding this behavior reprehensible, adults are laughing and encouraging it. It's even celebrated on TV and in movies that preach intolerance, stupidity and disrespect. Bad behavior is revered and rewarded--just look at how many bad role models today's children are emulating. Instead of teaching kids the basic 'Please' and 'Thank You', children are learning 'Oh, please! F@%^ you!' Sad, but true. Now, this is not to say there aren't people out there who still practice the dying art of respectful manners, but they are rapidly becoming outnumbered. We no longer live in a society of patience. Everything must be done right away and apparently that leaves no time for manners. People don't care whom they disturb with loud conversations, blasting music and offensive language. They have forgotten that we share a world with other people who have just as much right to be here as we do. They don't realize that bad behavior accumulates and the things we do can be the last straw on someone's back. There are a lot of people with dangerously short fuses and sadly we never know whom we're liable to tick off. We see it every day with mass shootings and seemingly spontaneous acts of violence. Truth be told, if everyone lived their lives with just a little more patience, respect and consideration, these things would happen less often. If we stop ignoring each other and actually take a little time to pay attention to one another, maybe the world won't seem as hopeless. This is not to say everyone should go out, bend over backwards and kiss everyone's ass, but we shouldn't go out of our way to be rude either. Everything we dish out comes back around eventually.