%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Something slightly loftier, pointed and hopefuly witty. |
| The ever popular question of what now comes to mind on yet another end and begining. |
| A hardy try but I believe the monsoon season has reached its end. Each year from July to September Arizona experiences a summer storm season which brings heavy rains and spectacular lightening shows. For those that enjoy the powers of Mother Nature, Arizona puts you front row to some breath-taking sights. A monsoon is a seasonal prevailing wind which lasts for several months and has lasting climatic effects. The term includes almost all of the phenomena associated with the annual weather cycle within the tropical and subtropical land regions of the earth. It most commonly refers to the wet monsoon, or rainy season, in many parts of the world, but can also be used in reference to and the dry monsoon experienced periodically in the South East Asian continent. The term was first used in English with this meaning in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and neighboring countries to mean the seasonal winds blowing from the Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea in the southwest bringing heavy rainfall to the region. In hydrology, monsoonal rainfall is considered to be that which occurs in any region that receives the majority of its rain during a particular season, and so monsoons are referred to in relation to other regions such as in North America, Sub-Saharan Africa, Brazil and East Asia. The English name Monsoon, was derived from the Hindi word "mausam" meaning 'weather' in the time of the British Empire. In terms of total precipitation, total area covered and the total number of people affected, the monsoons affecting the Indian Subcontinent dwarf the North American monsoon (also called the "Mexican", "southwest", "desert", or "Arizona" monsoon(1). My first sister came along when I was four and gone was the silence that fell on our house at night. She would cry the moment her little head touched the mattress and scream until red-faced. My parents seemed oblivious to her tantrums and I was helpless to escape. We lived in Roseland, which is located within the Chicago city limits just south of the down town. Our house was on 115th and Wallace on a corner lot. To my four year old memories it was like living in a mansion. Its huge open rooms welcomed the morning sun and provided plenty of space to be a young boy. The Wallace house was a white split level, the main floor above street level, a huge basement and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper level. Yes, my first four years of life were quite wonderful until the invasion of this little screaming banshee. I’m not quite sure at what time I decided, for my own peace of mind, to move upstairs, but anything seemed better than my current situation. Dad understood my wish to move to another room but Mom was worried I wouldn’t be comfortable and would grow lonely. That may have been the beginnings of my solitary desires, as I do enjoy having time for myself. I remember the first few nights were spooky and it took some time to get used to the new noises I normally wouldn’t hear. Of course, my sister could still be heard at bed time, but it wasn’t as deafening. During the spring and summer months we would get horrible thunder storms that would rattle the entire house. I felt an odd comfort being in my little room alone with the rumble of thunder echoing off the neighboring houses. The flashes of lightening mesmerized my young interest and soon I discovered a new kind of “silence” had fallen over our Wallace house. Mother Nature came to my rescue and provided something that would drown my baby sister’s cacophonous cries and I once again found sleep. (1) Monsoon historical information gathered from Wikipedia.org |
| I decided to don my swim trunks and get comfortable by the pool. After twenty-nine days of 110 plus degrees it seemed like the thing to do. The pool water, having soaked up the sun all day had the cooling effect of a Turkish sauna leaving me yearning for autumn and the cooler nights that follow. Once again the soft glow of the rising moon keeps watch over me as I study its surface trying to focus in on the Sea of Tranquility or “Mare Tranquillitatis” in Latin(1). This lunar location is best known as the landing site of the 1969 Apollo 11 mission and it leaves me wondering if the flag Neil Armstrong placed there still flies. The moon falls out of focus and I drift back to a time when the biggest worry I had was getting a black eye during a school-yard fight. I met Scott when he and his family moved to Chicago from Cincinnati. We must have been in the fifth or sixth grade back then. Scott was this skinny kid with a handsome smile, thin brown hair which would lighten during the summers, and a love of nature. His shyness could only be attributed to being “the new kid,” but somehow we made a connection. We couldn’t have been more different in that he came from a nurturing home life while I was from a broken home. He was a straight “A” student and I could care less. I used to refer to myself as “the kid from the wrong side of the tracks.” I was mostly a loner, or as I refer to myself now, solitary, having few friends I could tolerate. Scott was solitary as well, but it was more the result of being new to Chicago. I can’t even remember what first brought us together but it is a friendship that has endeared the test of time. His family took me in as one of their own and it was a welcome refuse from the turmoil of my home life. An alcoholic for a father, I was left with no male role model and as “stand-in” father to my two younger sisters while mom worked. It was a time before computers and cell phones and Scott and I would take off on our bikes for hours scouring the parries and fields of our then, small town. Typical school-boy antics were the norm but nothing to extreme. We would enjoy putting pennies on the Laramie prairie rail road tracks and then hiding in the near-by bushes patiently waiting for the next train to pass and flatten our copper currency. Scott enjoyed collecting beer cans and had a handsome display in his attic of cans from all over the world. I remember Scott having a very controversial -at the time- Coors beer can and how it was “smuggled” into Illinois. At the time Coors was not sold east of the Mississippi, so it was a prized possession for him. As the years past our lives took different paths. Because of geographical location we were forced to go to separate high schools where we met new people and made new friends. I enlisted in the Marine Corps after graduating a semester early and Scott went onto college. He married his high school sweet heart and is now an associate professor at the University of Oregon. I still feel like the kid from the wrong side of the tracks in some ways but we still talk through very long emails from time-to-time. A few years ago we had an impromptu reunion of sorts meeting in Salt Lake City for a conference he was involved with as part of his job. It was like old times even after almost ten years apart. Of course he is no longer the skinny little kid of yester-year and I am sure I look older too, but for that week in Utah we were kids again exploring parries and fields. (1) Latin word idea “Mare Tranquillitatis" taken from the text of www.lunarregistry.com/land/tranquility.shtml where for a small fee you can "purchase" land on the lunar surface. Interesting web site. |
| The fears of writing for public view have subsided with everyone’s kind comments. Whew! Now the pressure is on to deliver something nail-biting and edge-of-your-seat or perhaps just let my thoughts flow, or leak from my head as the case may be. It’s hard to top the natural wonders of our planet, and for me, I have always struggled with my inner voice reminding me that I am no one of consequence. What have I to say? Well, let’s rephrase and say what have I to say that anyone wants to hear, or read? From within the walls of my third place, away from the cosmos for awhile I sit in wonderment, observing those around me. There isn’t a free table tonight as my fellow Phoenician’s take refuse from the residual heat of the day. There are the students intently trying to master their course of study, books and notes sprawled across table and floor, while other Starbuck-addicts engage in friendly conversation or simply read a special book. The staff busily scurries about; cleaning supplies in hand, eager to close the doors on time. I have been a faithful “coffee junkie” of this particular location for seven years. I have seen barista’s come and go, and have even had the honor of dating one of them. The perks were great. Free coffee! But as with everything in life, came to an end; although we remain good friends I decided it not a good practice to mix dating with my third place. I find an odd comfort surrounding myself with people I have never met and find myself wondering who they are and what their story could be. We all have a story, some more interesting than others, but a story none-the-less. Our paths cross so unexpectedly and we seldom take the time to consider our fellow human as being the same as us. We all have goals and dreams, we laugh and cry, fall in and out of love, hopefully ending up with that someone special in the end. One life time is not long enough to fully appreciate our humanity. Ah, here comes one of my favorite quirky third place acquaintances now and right on time. Paul, a would-be screen writer has been coming here as long as I can remember. Paul is a self-proclaimed “tree-hugger” who stands over six foot-five. His animated stories can only be truly appreciated in person as he is the only one I know who interrupts himself while talking. He has a “bunny-trail” way of thinking, which is to say you never know where a visit with him will take you. He is intelligent and witty, never missing a queue and I am pleased to call him friend. The doors are closing now and the Starbucks staff is hurrying the evening coffee lovers out the door, forcing me to deal with the sticky temperatures of our summer nights. Before the sweat begins to flow into my keyboard I will close out a not-to-terrible chapter in the hopes I have left you thinking about more then good coffee. |
| It is the eve of the lunar eclipse and in Phoenix has got to be one of the best celestial viewing venues around. The skies over Arizona come to life once the sun sets and depending on your location can allow for some amazing sights. Shooting stars are common place, but on one particular evening I counted nine separate satellite sightings. The satellite can be visible to the naked eye when the sky is clear just after dusk. There are easily several hundred satellites currently orbiting earth and with the exception of the geosynchronous orbiting type can be seen gracefully soaring through the night skies. They appear as but a speck of light, a star of sorts and it takes some practice to spot them, but once you spot one, you’ll be eager for the next. From the patio of my “third place,” better known as Starbucks, I won’t be seeing any satellites tonight. The full moon is looking down on me as it completes its path towards the western horizon. As with many writers I’m sure, Starbucks has been a welcome writing venue or simply a nice place to observe others in public. I have been referring to Starbucks as my third place since listening to an interview by Nora Ephron who spoke about her work on "You’ve Got Mail" and her use of little essays she enjoys inserting into her scripts. “Everyone has a third place they go to. There’s home, work, and their third place.” I always enjoyed that analogy as it seems fitting for most people. I have met many interesting people since coming here and have made a few good friends in the process. Although they are more acquaintance then common friend they are part of my life and influence my opinion of my community. Then there are those that are just enigmas in personality yet like the train crash, hard to look away from. Not a bad start for a first entry I suppose. Reading back I don't seem to have been to borish, but none-the-less it's time to close. Enjoy the eclipse if you are able and awake. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
