My father took his last breath a year ago. Of course, all things considered, I did find out that Steve Winwood (of all people) was in a few white soul bands in the late sixties. I did not know that: doesn't even sound like him. I purchased Traffic's "Who Knows What Tomorrow May Bring?" in MP3 format, so I can move it about at my leisure. It caught my interest because the organ work was stellar and I had to find out who it was.
The weather's been subtle as always in Orange County, CA. Last night, while going to pick up my kids from a Beatles tribute concert in a park near by, the lingering strands of summer mug cast the entire park with a blurry orange glow. No wind stirred the air, which it really never does in September. The light pollution of the city cast the sky in an electric grey.
As I sauntered toward the outdoor theater, guarded half-heartedly by two doorpersons, smartly watching the three of us eyeing the door to get a glimpse of the Fab Four in all their Sgt. Pepper-y glory. I can hear the concert anyway, folks, what harm is it to sneak in for the last five minutes? I took a bench seat across from the fountain.
"Golden Slumbers" was been played by some extremely capable impersonators: all live. Like many Beatles songs, I found it majestic - in a pop sort of way. The music made the staid park a bit lively.
What gets me is the cultural significance of things. A song like this is completely moral in nature. It has a significance. And, for those of you easily offended by religion, 'moral' need not be religious. It can be that of reality: responsiblity.
As the last ragged breaths of my father failed, the rush for me was the want for more of his life stories. All of the love of his mother, the respect for his father, the memories of cruising down PCH in the early sixties, the Pacific Rim in the later decade of that time...were drained away. His wisdom, his life's record, felt like sand running through my fingers.
We are all responsible for the ones that have gone before.
I miss my father. I miss my grandparents. I miss my pets. I am the culmination of their lives and this point in time. In a world of modernity, with the belief in all things grey and mitigated by the fashions of the hour - there are some things that are absolute.
I recently told an old friend that 'we are the monuments of our parents'. Across from where I sat listening to those swelling strands of the bridge, I could see a statue of the founding members of this city. Imagine, truly, if we actually behaved as the culmination of all the promises that we were left with when the greatest parts of ourselves die away.
Monday, September 15, 2008
...the Lamb...(20JUN07)
End of the day. My father's been sick for a few years now, we take it every few months at a time. I make sure to visit twice a week and call him profusely. We have hospice care for him: in-home. It's actually tremendous. He has turned for the better with the medical help he needed in the first place. Oxygen, pills, a visit from the nurse. It's been a load off both our collective chests.
Tonight was a visit. It's been a long couple of weeks. Gave him his Father's Day (he wasn't up for a visit on Sunday) gift. It was a fishing shirt and hat.
Took off relatively early, I have to wake up soon.
I work with EWTN to distribute some of their monthly programming changes to local churches. Decided tonight was as good as any.
It's an odd thing. As I entered St. B-'s, the soft strings of a harp played out. I look around in a daze. (The lights were on fully, so it wasn't as supernatural as it may first sound.) A visiting chorale group had taken the balcony and were practicing somewhere out of sight.
I took my knees in the antechamber and prayed for the young guy next to me. He looked pretty broken. (I'll pray again for him.) Didn't even look up to Mary. Took a knee before the Blessed Bread, in a pew. Kept an eye on a little kid kind of wandering the main aisle.
He eventually settled in front of my patron, at the front of the Church: Joseph. I didn't need to check on him anymore.
My usual prayers before the Eucharist. The choir master directed a few of the hidden musicians and asked, "Ready?"
The familiar swell of music (I'm an avid classical lover) calmly settled the air. Agnus Dei came from the voice of a middle-aged man (by the tenor and strain). Nice; his vocals were a little drowned. The choir master should wander the pews to get the arrangements better. Basically, less is more.
I kissed the marble floor; directly in front of the Eucharist. I set the sign upon me as I walked out with a few drips of holy water. Venus awaited me in a darkening sky.
Tonight was a visit. It's been a long couple of weeks. Gave him his Father's Day (he wasn't up for a visit on Sunday) gift. It was a fishing shirt and hat.
Took off relatively early, I have to wake up soon.
I work with EWTN to distribute some of their monthly programming changes to local churches. Decided tonight was as good as any.
It's an odd thing. As I entered St. B-'s, the soft strings of a harp played out. I look around in a daze. (The lights were on fully, so it wasn't as supernatural as it may first sound.) A visiting chorale group had taken the balcony and were practicing somewhere out of sight.
I took my knees in the antechamber and prayed for the young guy next to me. He looked pretty broken. (I'll pray again for him.) Didn't even look up to Mary. Took a knee before the Blessed Bread, in a pew. Kept an eye on a little kid kind of wandering the main aisle.
He eventually settled in front of my patron, at the front of the Church: Joseph. I didn't need to check on him anymore.
My usual prayers before the Eucharist. The choir master directed a few of the hidden musicians and asked, "Ready?"
The familiar swell of music (I'm an avid classical lover) calmly settled the air. Agnus Dei came from the voice of a middle-aged man (by the tenor and strain). Nice; his vocals were a little drowned. The choir master should wander the pews to get the arrangements better. Basically, less is more.
I kissed the marble floor; directly in front of the Eucharist. I set the sign upon me as I walked out with a few drips of holy water. Venus awaited me in a darkening sky.
...A Mirage in a Den of Flesh...(10JAN06)
My cousin, D-, turned 21 last October, so, like a good 'big brother' (Filipino tradition/custom states a very unique nomination of titles to different familial relationships - D- is my uncle's daughter, so I am her 'Kuya' - big brother) took her to Sin City to party in style. My sister and her friend were enlisted to help out because, like a man with a family, my mojo has diminished to an uncomfortable level inappropriate for proper partying.
Tao is new to me. The same spot a few years ago at the Venetian was one of the last Warner Bros. stores in the country. Now, an ultra-swank Asian themed lounge/club is comfortably nestled in the same corner of the front lobby. I'm tired as I dress in a fall cord layered ensemble. I never had time to shave before the trip...so the scruffiness looks intentional. I'm a fiend.
The place had the usual crowd shifting in front of it. Lots of young folks looking around eagerly. It's pretty annoying to me, I've always found it unnecessary effort - it makes one look desperate. Par for Vegas, the bouncers were the best dressed folks in the front. Luckily, I'm with three beautiful girls and I'm not sweating getting in. $20 bucks for everyone.
Tao is adorned with Buddahs everywhere and candles - a look I really like. Red and smoke and blacks - if they had wood accents here and there, I would have found it more interesting (there is some, but not impactful enough). The clientle is young and hot. The place is packed. I don't even remember what I ordered first. But I know I'm taking it easy, since I'm already dragging after a normal work week and the three hour drive which included a stop by the California CHP, who was working hard to maintain the 1 billion a year in traffic tickets they had out. Can I get a tax deduction on this? I'm betting not.
We get the drinks and I'm feeling that D- is overwhelmed. Good. Vegas has the best clubs in the country, it's overwhelming. I took my sister to 54 on her birthday and she felt she 'graduated' from the experience. She nursed her drink against a statue. I watched some guy walk up a grope a girl on one of the stands set up for exhibitionist young lassies. I'm not amazed, but I still find it odd that a woman will let any idiot come up and touch them. Personally, I'm a bit more respectful.
I find a column to stand against, right between the bar and the dance floor and chill. We danced a little, the DJ kinda stunk that night - the paid dancers showing their disapproval now and again. The music was that mindless rap junk that has made its way out since Jay-Z stepped down. Whatever. A guy who looked strangely like John Favreau came up to me and said that he was glad to see me again. I'm all question marks. Ok. Another girl look just like Kelly Cuoco, and I mouthed the words 'Wow', because she was the hottest chick in the room...not because she's a celebrity (trust me, I could give a shit).
The beginning of a two day epiphany happened as things slowed down for me that night. The Mirage sparkled across the way from the full windowed walls in front of me. From the position I was in, it looked like 'Rage'. I was fixiated. The cold stillness of my tired body was stirred and I must have stared at it for ten minutes. "Rage" sparkled above the disgusting parade of decadence and gyrating flesh. Fascinating juxtoposition. It stayed with me until just before lunch at the Parisian buffet the next day.
"Not my world," the giant black bouncer watching the dance floor and I looked at eachother a few times through the night. I believe he felt I had a curious look on my face. I wasn't hungry for drinks, dance or attempting to stick my junk in some chick. I was a fly on the wall and I looked like it. Buzz buzz.
I asked to leave early and my sister said they would take a cab back to the hotel. "Sorry" I say. I'm just too damn tired. Work, kids, projects, house, life is like a giant shifting puzzle in my head. I promise to take a break one of the days.
Shower, pajamas and a sleeping bag and I am out for the count. However, the rage has already planted its seed.
Tao is new to me. The same spot a few years ago at the Venetian was one of the last Warner Bros. stores in the country. Now, an ultra-swank Asian themed lounge/club is comfortably nestled in the same corner of the front lobby. I'm tired as I dress in a fall cord layered ensemble. I never had time to shave before the trip...so the scruffiness looks intentional. I'm a fiend.
The place had the usual crowd shifting in front of it. Lots of young folks looking around eagerly. It's pretty annoying to me, I've always found it unnecessary effort - it makes one look desperate. Par for Vegas, the bouncers were the best dressed folks in the front. Luckily, I'm with three beautiful girls and I'm not sweating getting in. $20 bucks for everyone.
Tao is adorned with Buddahs everywhere and candles - a look I really like. Red and smoke and blacks - if they had wood accents here and there, I would have found it more interesting (there is some, but not impactful enough). The clientle is young and hot. The place is packed. I don't even remember what I ordered first. But I know I'm taking it easy, since I'm already dragging after a normal work week and the three hour drive which included a stop by the California CHP, who was working hard to maintain the 1 billion a year in traffic tickets they had out. Can I get a tax deduction on this? I'm betting not.
We get the drinks and I'm feeling that D- is overwhelmed. Good. Vegas has the best clubs in the country, it's overwhelming. I took my sister to 54 on her birthday and she felt she 'graduated' from the experience. She nursed her drink against a statue. I watched some guy walk up a grope a girl on one of the stands set up for exhibitionist young lassies. I'm not amazed, but I still find it odd that a woman will let any idiot come up and touch them. Personally, I'm a bit more respectful.
I find a column to stand against, right between the bar and the dance floor and chill. We danced a little, the DJ kinda stunk that night - the paid dancers showing their disapproval now and again. The music was that mindless rap junk that has made its way out since Jay-Z stepped down. Whatever. A guy who looked strangely like John Favreau came up to me and said that he was glad to see me again. I'm all question marks. Ok. Another girl look just like Kelly Cuoco, and I mouthed the words 'Wow', because she was the hottest chick in the room...not because she's a celebrity (trust me, I could give a shit).
The beginning of a two day epiphany happened as things slowed down for me that night. The Mirage sparkled across the way from the full windowed walls in front of me. From the position I was in, it looked like 'Rage'. I was fixiated. The cold stillness of my tired body was stirred and I must have stared at it for ten minutes. "Rage" sparkled above the disgusting parade of decadence and gyrating flesh. Fascinating juxtoposition. It stayed with me until just before lunch at the Parisian buffet the next day.
"Not my world," the giant black bouncer watching the dance floor and I looked at eachother a few times through the night. I believe he felt I had a curious look on my face. I wasn't hungry for drinks, dance or attempting to stick my junk in some chick. I was a fly on the wall and I looked like it. Buzz buzz.
I asked to leave early and my sister said they would take a cab back to the hotel. "Sorry" I say. I'm just too damn tired. Work, kids, projects, house, life is like a giant shifting puzzle in my head. I promise to take a break one of the days.
Shower, pajamas and a sleeping bag and I am out for the count. However, the rage has already planted its seed.
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