In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In the Summertime.” Last winter was nightmarishly long, having lingered well beyond my ability even so much as to attempt to put up with it. My spring wasn’t even somewhat active. So far my summer hasn’t been the least bit eventful either.
I’ve been truly enjoying it all though. Each day I try to walk at least a mile in order to get my requisite exercise. During the cold months that’s an absolute nightmare for me. This past Memorial Day I marched with my Knights of Columbus council in Long Beach’s annual parade. I could never handle that kind of thing during a Thanksgiving parade.
The rain, fog and snow, along with the early sunset and bitter cold, drive me nuts. Road conditions are unbearable. Warm weather makes the little things in life such a pleasure. I go to the beach and enjoy the perfect breeze. Plants are in full bloom. There are cerain minor drawbacks to warmth though. For the past nineteen years I’ve always driven Saturns. My 1992 SC, during its heyday, was absolutely perfect. Over the course of its last few years however, there was a lot of trouble with, among other things, its thermostat. I froze during the cold seasons and roasted during the summer. My current 2001 Saturn, that belonged to my father, now deceased, is still in good shape, so fortunately that’s not a problem. A major advantage for me during the warm seasons is being able to take a nice relaxing drive to wherever I may want to go. As long as my thermostat works I’m plum thrilled.
My nephew Michael and his girlfriend Erin got engaged a few weeks ago at the Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden in Astoria, Queens. It was an outdoor affair. In May, the kin and I went to Brookly Botanic Garden in Park Slope. That was also outside. Because the weather, each day, was warm I had the absolute time of my life. Cold weather, alas, would have made that impossible.
Even under the circumstances where there are no significant milestones to count on, spring and summer have always been perfect for me, much more relaxing than cold weather. The clothes, food and all sorts of other things are thoroughly to my liking.
This May 22 Ireland, a once sane, decent country, allowed homosexuals to marry, thereby welcoming back all the snakes that were long ago eradicated by St. Patrick. Early today the United States’ Roberts Supreme Court, to their irreversible shame and disgrace, made the same inexcusable decision. For one thing it’s intrinsically impossible, by definition, for people of the same sex to marry. Besides that they’ve entirely outlawed, in practice, the First Amendment to the Constitution. By using the camouflage of civil rights and equality, the pro-homosexuality will now be able to treat freedom of religion in general, and Christianity specifically, as if they are somehow violation of their very dignity as human beings. We’re now on the verge of following in the totalitarian footsteps of Robespierre’s Revolutionary France, Bismarck’s Kulturkampf, and Hitler’s Nazis. This is nothing to be taken the least bit lightly.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “ROY G. BIV.” Red ..flag at the Long Beach, N.Y. Memorial Day 2015 Parade. That’s my Monsignor Cass 2626 Knights of Columbus Council marching. Orange..cones outside the Soup Kitchen on Pine Street in Long Beach. Green..plants in Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Lindenhurst, N.Y. Blue.. sky in pictures taken outside. Indigo and violet..flowers at Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, Park Slope, N.Y. Some of these pictures include more than one color from the rainbow so we may consider that a bit of a bonus. The picture from O.L.P.H. is from when I recently visited Lindenhurst, my last New York address. The pictures from Long Beach were a bit easier because I currently live here. A while ago I visited Brooklyn Botanic Garden and plum couldn’t resist all the fab colors.
“Oh no!!” she gasped aloud as they passed a new French boutique. “The entire point of this trip was to distract you from all that Franco hoo hah.”
“Sam,” she whined. “We’ll never be able to get the things we need for your brother Michael’s wedding if we linger here.”
“Well unless he’s marrying into Edith Piaf’s family,” her suitor exclaimed, “I can’t let that bother me!”
“You’re one of a kind, bubala,” she huffed.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Snapshot Stories.”
On May 9, Steve, Mary Anne, Sam, Bridget and I all went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden in Park Slope. We left right after I got back from 8:00 a.m. Mass at St. Mary of the Isle. Mary Anne and I are originally from Queens so I was quite happy to be right next door in its neighboring borough. As a general rule, I don’t pay very much attention to plants but I’ve always been so smitten with them. They’re significantly more interesting than animals. Unfortunately I don’t know much about plants so I was forced to pay such a lot of attention to anything I wanted to find out about. We spent a few hours walking around the grounds enjoying all the sights . My only problem was that I wore a heavy long sleeved dress shirt on what turned out to be a warm day. Besides that I took a hooded sweater with me. While there we sat down and ate for a while. During the time we were eating we got into a conversation with a guy who came up with an answer to a question one of the kids had asked. From the looks of his age, and the clothes he was wearing, I assume he was a Viet Nam era veteran. It was such a nice quiet day. I was having a relaxing enjoyable time. Unfortunately, my memory card in my camera ran out of storage space so I couldn’t take any more than one video. There was no problem with taking pictures though. To my chagrin, my story isn’t very involved, complicated or interesting. It was just an especially fine spring day in a most pleasurable environment.
The Versailles Palace, during the summer of 1792, was an absolute nightmare. The systematic anti-Catholic genocide in France’s Vendee Region, a precursor to the Nazi era, was in full force.
Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were in their chamber, busily attempting to affect a collusion with Pope Pius VI.
“God is on our side,” the king told his devoted queen, “But that won’t stop the forthcoming holocaust.” They stared at all the perfect architecture and fixtures, knowing that its beauty was pointless.
On January 21, 1793, the king was executed by guillotine. On October 16 the same year, his queen died the same way.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”
Two Saturday mornings ago I was sitting down eating breakfast, at a local restaurant, with my cousin Larry and his wife Rose. My plate had a picture of a bluejay in its design. It was so enchanting I quite regretted having to pour so much syrup over the fine illustration. I knew there was no way the ink could run, but it would still spoil the pristine appearance of it all. It was quite a lovely meal other than that one unfortunate problem. When we eventually went back to their house, on my way up the front stoop, I couldn’t help noticing that a neighbor of theirs was hanging around their mailbox with his dog, who, he pointed out, was named Bob.
“Bob?!”, I spontaneously blurted out. “What in the hell kind of name is that for a dog?”
“Isn’t it the most interesting name?” he replied.
“Dude, surely you jest.”
“I quite think it fits him so well.”
Our confrontation went on for several minutes until I finally gave up on this seemingly pointless episode. I was especially stunned when he explained that Bob is an avid Dylan fan.
Morning prayer has just ended at St. Elias Priory in Middletown. Father Mike has enjoined Brother Charles, soon to be ordained, to await his turn to be interviewed.
“I suppose I’m set,” thought the prospective Carmelite priest.
“I’ve studied the Rule of St. Albert,and Teresian and Sanjuanist theology and philosophy, for eight years.”
In spite of all his confidence, he couldn’t help getting an unbearably dry mouth. His coarse brown habit and cream colored mantle were starting to feel heavy.
“My married friends and relatives have one kind of responsibilities in their vocation,” he thought, “and I have another.”
“I’m so happy there was no traffic on the Ocean Parkway today,” exclaimed Carolyn. “It’s been such a perfect day so far at Robert Moses State Park.”
“Honey,” volunteered her husband Ralph,”did you know that the name “Moses” comes from the ancient Hebrew word for ‘water’? How hep is that?!”
“Yes dear,” she reminded him. “You’re allowed to indulge your obsession with irrelevant minutiae.”
“It’s not irrelevant if it helps us relax and enjoy.”
“Well,”, she reminded him. “Just don’t let your mind wander so much you fall over those things and mess up our lovely day.”
“Steve’s brother is coming with his new girlfriend,” Ralph said.
She’s part Puerto Rican, part Sephardic Jew, part Moroccan Moslem & entirely impossible to understand.”
“I’ve heard about her,” Dale sighed. “She’s into the occult. She’ll try to get us involved with things like seances and tarot cards.”
The boys agreed that they’d politely humor Bernice at the party and then fast find someone else to hang with, lest they go entirely nuts.
“Wouldn’t that be a perfect present for someone like her?”, Ralph wondered aloud as they passed a garage sale. “I can’t help thinking she’d like it.”