Category: friends

By on

Mom and Old Blue Eyes.jpg

     Mary McWhorter-Banks 1925 – 2020                       

Uh-will the wind ever remember the names it has blow in the past?

      And with this crutch, its old age

          And its wisdom it whispers, “No, this will be the last”  – Jimi Hendrix

Mary was 94 years old with severe dementia, and resides in a hospice facility in Oklahoma. And she’s my mom. On November 6th, 2020 mom passed away from complications of Covid-19. This is the last moments I spent with mom.

************

Mom sits silently in her wheelchair vacantly staring at the bear wall above her bed. On occasion she will touch her locket that hangs around her neck. I know she feels like leaving, but she can’t go. Mom doesn’t know that this is her tomorrow. There are only fleeting moments when the depths of her dementia recedes, and she sees me sitting on her bed.

“What are you doing here?” She asks. 

As quickly as I can answer. Mom vanishes back into the dark corridors of her mind. She’s gone, only to be replaced with an empty stare to the white wall above her bed. My love for the woman who gave me life isn’t always available, but somewhere in moms mind I can only hope she knows that I have not abandoned her. 

I open my computer and start to play music to fill the void of silence in her room. Out of the corner of my sight, moms leg starts to gently move, I slowly turn my head so as not to detract from moms gaze. Following her leg down to the tip of her fuzzy pink slipper. Mom begins to tap the metal footrest of her wheelchair. Mom smiles, and the paleness of her cheeks disappears and is replaced with a rosy pink color hue. I wonder, what if I play music from her youth.

Playing a mix of Frank Sinatra songs, the room fills with big band music with “Ol’ Blue Eyes” at the mic.

“ I always liked him” she says somewhat abruptly. 

“Mom were you a bobby-soxer?”

There is a pause as mom searches her past, “Yes.”  

She looks over at me after answering.

“Who are you?”  she ask 

“Mom, I’m your historian.”

A broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterdays life

Somewhere a queen is weeping

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind, it cries Mary  – Jimi Hendrix

By on

Eighteen countries, five shock absorbers, two bikers, and one amazing adventure…. That’s what the back cover of the book- Long Way Down – describe within its pages. This was an epic journey by Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman across the continent of Africa on two BMW R1200GS Adventure motorcycles. The book was a good read and I am envious of their adventure. I owned a bike once. Well, not a bike but a scooter, a Vespa scooter. I was the big white guy on a Vespa scooter riding from Burbank through Griffith Park to Los Feliz on my way to work. And, I loved that little white Vespa, So, you can only imagine that while I was in Italy my love for the little Vespa was reignited. Vespa, in Italian means Wasp and true to its name and nature the Wasps are everywhere and going in every direction including the sidewalks. It is nothing to see a family of three on a Vespa or a woman on a cell phone smoking a cigarette with a baby strapped to her bosoms on the streets of  Naples or Rome. The Vespa has it own filmgrpahy that goes from, “Quadrophenia” to “American Graffiti” and the most memorable of all “Roman Holiday”. For a scooter that was intended primarily to solve the problems of urban and intercity traffic the Vespa has a rich history of adventures. In 1997 journalist Giorgio Bettinelli started out from Chile, reaching Tasmania after three years and 150,000 km on his Vespa across the Americas.  Bettinelli continued his adventure to Siberia, Europe, Africa, Asia and Oceania. All in all, Bettinelli has travelled 254,000 km on a Vespa. Pierre Delliere, Sergeant in the French Air Force, reached Saigon in 51 days from Paris, going through Afghanistan. Few know that in 1980 two Vespa’s ridden by M. Simonot and B. Tcherniawsky reached the finishing line of the second Paris-Dakar rally.What do you think about that Mr. McGregor and Mr. Boorman ?

For those who have not experienced the backs streets of Naples on a Vespa. Compliments of my Italian brother Vittorio and myself.

By on

Carl

“I’m not sure if it the zest for life that I have or just the carbonation… my friends say that I have a bubbly personality. Oh geez ! People that say you have a bubbly personality… chances are you’re not attractive. I don’t think I’m ugly, I have a great smile, good hair, a positive attitude and I’m a Gemini. Did you know that we Gemini’s are gentle, affectionate, curious, adaptable, with an ability to learn quickly and exchange ideas openly. The downside of being a Gemini is nervousness and indecisive….wait a minute, indecisive…Coca-Cola or Pepsi ? Oh ! it’s not important. The only thing I don’t like about being a soda jerk is the paper hats. I mean they tear easily after you sweat and they never fit right. I don’t throw my paper hat’s away I keep them and make origami zebra’s..you know, the strips on the hat and all. Origami zebras are more difficult to fold than origami cranes. My paper hats are perfect for folding for zebras. It took me forever to get the lines of zebra stripes vertical and not horizontal. My zebras reminds me of the old adage: Not everything is black-or-white, or in my case red and white. The world isn’t black-or-white in the zebras world either. I once read that the symbolic meaning of  zebras are the masters of balance, a symbol for individuality, the spiritual significance of knowing yourself, and the magic of illusion. So, I may have a bubbly personality and be optimistic by nature but don’t judge me by my stripes, remember I’m a Gemini.”

By on

A tattered piece of napkin is fused to the formica table top creating a semi circle from where the syrup dispenser sat. Frank’s forearm is momentarily glued to the table.

Frank fishes for an ice cube from his water and begins to mop the sugary halo.

The sound of leather and metallic tapping off the chrome base of the table escalates.  Frank’s restless legs syndrome telegraphs his anxiety. 

“Okay Frank, this is just between you and I…..okay?” 

He nods yes.

“What I understand is that you can’t stop it or shut it down, you can only strap yourself in and go for the ride, you are no longer in the drivers seat. I hate to tell you this Frank. But your guardian angel is helpless and can only watch and maybe drop words of comfort and gently remind you in a sweet whisper that you are fucked my friend. You texted me that it started with awareness that your pill box organizer is not lying. Not that the medication is gone or forgotten but each container labeled with each day of the week is still full. It’s just not the loss of time but the loss of days. Is that right Frank?”

Again Frank nods yes. His hand trembles while still holding the ice cube.

“Frank, there are no magic beans here that is going to cure you. It’s a sad affair my friend. What can I do now while you are still cognitive?”

Frank’s eyes wonder over to the woman cashier as the line of customers grows while waiting for a table. He avoids eye contact with me as the truth of his situation becomes a reality. 

Frank becomes aware that he is still holding the cube of ice.

“Frank look at me, what can I do to help you?”

Franks eyes tears up. He clasps his hands so tight that his knuckles turn white. Frank doesn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken. The tapping of his foot grows louder from underneath the table and suddenly stops. Franks face becomes blank and pale as his emotions fade away. Receding and lost in the chasm of his mind, his soul is swallowed by the blackness of thought. Frank then disappears from the table leaving me to sit alone at the restaurant.  

By on

IMG_0779.jpgThe chances of my parents, Nelson Banks and Mary Brooks meeting and finding each other attractive enough to start messing around until they had a child (me) is 1 in 2,000. I can only assume that Nelson was at his prime health wise and rocketed a large amount of sperm, approximately 250 million squiggles. So, the chances of you or any of us being conceived to become who we are from that one particular egg meeting that single sperm is astronomical. Think about it, that one sperm that surfed your mother’s reproductive tract, to fertilizing her egg, overcoming a great number of obstacles and barriers that will make it difficult through the tubular of the Fallopian without wiping out and hit its target, momma’s egg. That is 1 in 4 quadrillion. Let me repeat that, the odds of your lineage remaining unbroken long enough to create you is 1 in 4 quadrillion. That means that every single one of your ancestors also had to be conceived to become exactly who they were. You have no choice in the matter by the way. When you calculate all of these Las Vegas odds and possibilities the chances of you existing right now as you drink you coffee with the tv on is basically zero. You’re a fucking miracle so start acting like it for G-d sakes. Have a nice day!

By on

15822_4707514378809_1664999110_n.jpg

Witty Metaphorical Monologue Intensifies.

“Jesus you are taking this very seriously bro… It was a joke, stop blithering about an argument we weren’t having over music. Nobody is putting you down, quit being so  fragile man. Lets just remain calm and put the thesaurus brain down on the ground nice and easy like.”

“Wow.. Thank you ..  you know I played your lists in the car… cheeky stuff… friends always ask .. “what’s that you’re listening to?” glad to oblige .. thanks again for your critique.. I’m a Gimini by the way .. been in bands & played all my life .. for me this is real musician’s music.” ..

“Sounds like some kind of a noir fetish man, where did you find that track at a tobacco shop ?… it’s so slow, listening to this, I couldn’t steady myself with too much scotch in the tank…. way too much smoke in my eyes bro. All I could think about was a pair of soft tits, hard balls and the alabaster stems of the wing feathers.. What is the connection man?..Is it the  connections that could keeps you alive or see me dead ? You are more cagier than a Soviet info broker and sharper than a Yakuza blade.”

“Wowww man, I’m shocked with your close minded taste of my music and an attitude of a femme fatal bitch…what did you have for breakfast…a can of dog food?  I wouldn’t even be tempted to playing violin at your mothers funeral… for a dollars man.”

“Dont worry man…you will die, just enjoy your music now. By the way – your heart doesnt want to die, it will fight for you and your body to the last microsecond when it will stop. Be grateful for the light that comes through your pupils, one day they will turn grey and you – you will would be gone forever and your stupid music will be forgotten.”

“Hey ! You ready for lunch ?” 

“Yeah, I’m hungry, your car or mine ?”

“Where do you want to go….Tally Rand or Los Amigos?”