Sanjaya Malakar

"Shoot me. Seriously, just shoot me now," Will be my response if he isn't voted off American Idol tonight, and I have to endure another 3 minutes of him next Tuesday. Shoot me.. or maybe, I'll just hit mute.
ICK ICK ICK.

Neon Moon

It was years ago; I don't recall the exact date.
But, the Memory has never been faint.
I drove my grandfather home from the hospital were my grandmother was having back surgery.
We called her "Grams" or "Gramzee". She didn't like "Grandma". It made her feel old.
We called him "Papa"., though, I know not the reason.

We drove down old Route 66 towards "The Canyon" where Grams and Papa had built their home of 42 years.

The radio was just a whisper as we drove.
He pointed out speed limits as each sign passed.
Informed me of my exit... although I'd turned there hundreds of times.
He was a man of habit, and routine.
"Neon Moon" by Brooks & Dunn hit the FM waves.
Papa loved this song.
He cranked up the dial until it couldn't go any louder. It was deafening.
he leaned back...
the blue sky held his gaze, and he bobbed his head back and forth while tapping his Hands on his thighs...

This is just one memory. Many are running through all of our minds. A true Patriarch, he raised non-biological daughters, and grandchildren, but, he will always be our real father.

Early this morning, Papa passed. Peaceful, quiet, and surrounded by family at home. Circumstances couldn't have been better. No more memories are to be made, only recalled. So, tonight, we'll turn his "Party Lights" on, and worship the Neon Moon for Papa.

realization one

As husband steps out the door to leave for work... I pull on his arm in an attempt to make him play hooky. I know it won't happen, but it's fun to try. He gives me a "see ya later" kiss, and begins to say "goodbye" in as many languages as he can think of... and two he makes up.
I hiss.
I didn't marry my best friend... but, the man I married became my best friend.

blood lying on my beaten path

Like any other morning, I set the intended distance on my iPod to 4 miles. Uneventful, are the first 2.4 miles. And, randomly, as if someone threw a rock in the end of my path sending ripples my way, I stumbled and fell like a toddler failing its first steps.
I rolled to my right.
Stun still holding me, I lay for a moment then, quickly check my iPod for damage.
"Someone had to have seen that," I think.
"Get up," I say.
Standing straight, I wince and look at my knee. It's bleeding. There is a pea size, perfectly round, wound on my palm; probably from that damn pebble I tripped on; scraps mark my right leg and arm... my elbow throbs.
"I am going to finish this run," I think.
The next quarter mile hurts, but my blood pressure quickly increases, and it's all numb, so I complete my 4 miles.
400 meters to go, says my running partner.
Blood has dripped and dried on my shin.
300 meters to go...
My pace quickens.
200... 100... finished.
As I walk, I begin to limp. My knee stings. BAD.
Blood is clotted... caked on the largest of the scraps. It hurts.
I can't get home fast enough.
I sit. It stings harder.
I wipe it clean with a wet rag...
I pull out a tiny piece of gravel from my knee.
OUCH.
Don't I feel stupid...

burning calories

I run into the wind.
I tip my head down to keep my eyes moist.
The wind's pressure on my cap's bill,
adds to the muscle burn.
I take a right.

A gust forces me off the path.
The damp grass slows my pace,
momentarily.
I correct my stumble with a few
beats on the pavement.

The strong breeze smells like artillery fire.