Some Fridays...

Hey! It’s Friday! Some notes here from a month’s plus worth of end of weeks…Hope you like.

Notes from the Attic / Friday October 12, 2012:

I’ve said this before and I will say it again. Do not be envious when I tell you that’s it’s a Friday night and mine is going to prove to be better than yours. Top laundry baby! U Can’t Touch This!!! (nor the underwear, it’ still dirty you weirdo).  Na Na Na Na! Anyway, it is a Friday night and the first load is in as I watch the Yanks beat the Orioles in game five to advance to the ALCS and take on the Detroit.  I really shouldn’t start such an exciting evening with disappointment but hey it is what it is. I turned it off before the last out…made me feel better as the last thing I need to see is Yankee fans celebrating. Long story. Maybe I’ll go out tomorrow and buy a Tigers hat and start watching reruns of Magnum P.I.

Besides the obvious anticipation I felt on the way home from work at the prospect of folding, dresser placing and the knowledge that I won’t be stinky tomorrow I also knew that I would be heading home to our Brady, one half of the Brady/Jackson pup combo here at the FrankenGreco Ranch (I still refer to them as the “pups” though they are close to 3 now).  Why do I single out Brady you ask, Frankenberry you playin’ favorites meanie?! Well it’s because I’m looking forward to see how he is doing on day two of wearing the cone. Yes the cone of shame. You see, yesterday, he and his sidekick were doing their usual sidekicky thing and wrestling like some sort of WWPE (World Wrestling Pup Entertainment) event at the FrankenGreco Backyard Arena when it went terribly puppy awry and Brady ended up with a wayward Jackson happy fun tooth swipe that would require stitches and the aforementioned cone…plus some serious $ and sedatives that had him a touch wobbly and wonky last night.

 

When I got up this morning to take he and Jackson out after their 5:30a breakfast, Brady, still a little sedadazed, was just now learning to navigate his new coney blinders world, including discovering door jams for the first time, table legs, Jackson’s ass and even my leg. Eventually I was able to get Brady down the back steps amidst more cone maneuvering until he just sat himself down on the leaf carpet back yard and cocked his head as if to say “I’m feeling a little pathetic Stephen, can ya help?” it was one of those moments that, as a parent (for those of you who are and for me as a surrogate to 4 furries and a 12 year old) make you want to cry and laugh all at the same time. Cry for the vulnerability and laugh for the picture of it. Poor Brades.

 

Notes from the Attic / Friday October 19, 2012:

In the attic on another Friday night and, yes (before you ask and the envy gets the best of you again) I’m back staying on top of keeping the t-shirts, jeans, jammies and assorted sundries clean for myself and the gang. It’s what I do I guess and to tell ya the truth? I Kinda like it. “Sad” you’re saying to yourself I’m sure.  Well, just keep keeping it to yourself and stop judging okay? I’m also listening to Bob Mould as I am wont to do while writing up here and, yes (before you don’t ask as I’m sure you weren’t going to) you probably haven’t heard of him. As my Maria said once while searching for band t-shirts for me as a gift “I would have gotten you some t- shirts of your favorite bands…but your favorite bands don’t have f’ing t-shirts Stephen.…here’s the Beatles.” I said thanks. I love the Beatles.

Also the Tigers hat I didn’t buy and the Magnum P.I. reruns that I didn’t watch were enough to put the kibosh on the Yanks series hopes this year. For all you cynics that dismiss superstition take that!

So a week later Brady has gotten quite accustomed to the cone though I’m sure not because it’s something in his pup mind he was looking to scratch off his early bucket list. He has figured out how to eat while the cone covers the whole bowl, how to grab his favorite toy to the inside of it and even how to discover, anew,  Shoes’s ass every day without completely freaking the poor cat out with the extra plasticware in his behind.

He still climbs to his perfect bed spot with Maria without too much disturbance (and even our friend Katy on a night when the couch was the best bet), maneuvers ok through short brush and fallen tree limbs to poop and can even keep alive the idea of wrestling with Jackson in the backyard.

 

I’m quite proud of his quick adaptiveness and can’t wait for my little guy to finally be able to get the stitches out and see the joy of liberation, that he doesn’t know is coming, at the removal of this somewhat clear plastic world view restrictor.

These furries are such a huge part of our life here at the Ranch that I think I’ll get as much joy out of Brady’s release from the cone as he. So will Maria and Jagger. Shoes? I’m not so sure. The extra plasticware did make it a little more difficult for Brady to check out his nethers.  We’ll see.

As to the furries though I think little Bella might be trying to kill me. She’s a smart kit and is surely aware of my life insurance as she tried to toss me earlier with her under foot grabbing of my sock at the top of the stairs.

Bella: “Almost got him this time Shoey.”

Shoes: “Keep working it kid.”

Bella: “He does have us as beneficiary right?”

Shoes: “I don’t know. That lady he likes might be. Probably is, but keep being cute. He loves that. Could make him change the paperwork.”

Bella: “Gotcha…watch this!”

Shoes: “Lamp shot?”

Bella: “Damn straight! Some of his favorite cute “me” pictures.”

 

Shoes: “You’re good kid.”

Bella: “Of course. That money could make us fat. Think of the treats…”

Notes from the Attic / Friday November 16, 2012:

                Yeh , laundry again. Shut up. I’m sure you’ve noticed that it’s been basically a month since my last entry. Well, life in Radioville has been its usual busy monster and I’ve also had a few other things going on since my last entry. I’ll get to some of those few others in a bit but first I’d be remiss if I didn’t let you know that the Brades finally got his collar off. He was a definitely relieved, well, as relieved as I might perceive him to be. A perception gleaned from the apparent joy he got out of immediately sticking his nose in Shoes’s butt minus the doggy satellite dish and then wrestling with Jackson unencumbered. All back to crazy normal. Sorry Shoes.

                Tonight I’m listening to the first two of Green Day’s soon to be triple CD releases. I haven’t been able to take them out of my CD in the car (yeh, dinosaur boy here actually has to physically place hard discs in the player after taking them out of the cases in my overloaded glove compartment…no fancy smart stuff or some Pandora chick or hell…whatever). They are both tremendous no matter the delivery.

Now when it comes to the other things I mentioned earlier that had me with a month’s worth of lax the biggest one was preparing for officiating a wedding. Yes, believe it or not, Frankenberry here was the actual minister, justice, priest, Elvis or whatever person it is that stands in front of the gathered somewhere waiting for the bride to arrive while all the while trying to look officially minister, justice, priest, Elvis or whatever-like. I think I did a pretty good job on this front. It’s amazing what 10 minutes in the shoe department and another 15 in the suit department of JC Penny the night of the rehearsal dinner will do. I was dressed to the 7’s at least and had my glasses at the end of my nose looking old and pastorly-type (this way I could peer over them without the beautiful bride to be looking all fuzzy and stuff while on the arm of her father’s pride). Once she made her way to the understandably teary “My God, she’s beautiful” hubby to be I was then able to look through my prescription and start the proceedings and relieve some of my nervous.

 

Let’s go back. A good while before the big day that I knew was coming because I was to be invited along with my lovely my Maria, Jeremiah Johnsen (not to be confused with the 1972 classic…different name spelling and no beard or living off the land) the future groom asked if I would be the guy to do exactly what I was just talking about. Now, with Jeremiah being one of my best friends, one of my best for quite some while actually (we’ve enjoyed the woes of working together, beer and baseball…is there more than that?), I of course said yes not thinking of the incredible case of nerves I might feel as the moment approached. Hell, at the time it was forever away until, well, it wasn’t.  So the week before, on a Friday night (thus explaining my gap in writing here of at least one Friday) I, yes, still did laundry again but with another agenda amidst it…to write some meaningful words for my JJ and his gorgeous Allie. I had gotten a basic outline from Allie replete with all the beautiful wedding words, introductions of special people with other beautiful wedding words, as well as the repeat after me’s, do you takes, here’s the rings and then the finale’ spokes that were to be part of what was sure to be a wonderous day…as long as I didn’t muck it up.

I wrote within this outline and then edited, edited, and edited and then edited some more (I mentioned nerves and editing right?). I also did my best to try to make them the meaningful words that I mentioned earlier. I remembered the poem that I had written the night before my own wedding day and how important it was to me to make sure that those words were just right. I never read it at my day as I intended, something I’ve always regretted no matter how things eventually turned out. This was going to be different though…darnitt.

Then it was the 10 and 15 minutes at JC Penny and the rehearsal dinner and the knowledge that the next day was tomorrow. That’s not far by the way. I felt woefully unprepared. (on a side note, the food at the rehearsal dinner was fantastic as I sat with the bride to be’s mom and her husband. I think my profinity for eating, when allowed and provided, and my being myself, talking around forkfulls, helped me endear myself to them). The next day they seemed happy to see the guy with the funny name who, I’m sure, at some point in the wedding process they said to themselves about “who the hell is this mockery of our girl’s big day that her guy has mockeryed us with?”

Did I say “next day?” The next day came…quickly. But my nerves calmed while standing next to the teary groom and waiting for the beautiful bride and then reading, through my prescription,  my own special words that sounded minister, justice, priest, Elvis or whatever-like and included the tried and trues along the way.

It ended up being a fine, fine day (not sure if the words of your song are applicable Tony Carey but I’ve always loved the title). There was dancing and silverware glass clinking for kisses, more dancing and then more wonderful, meaningful words from friends and…there was merriment.

 

I like merriment…merriment is good, especially when it is well deserved.

I also didn't muck it up. Point for me.

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p.s. These were my introductory words: (I’m proud of them).

Family, friends. We have been invited here today to share with our Allie and our Jeremiah a very important moment in their lives.  A moment where we get to see light…Light in a world that is too often dark…a light that is the celebration of their love for each other bringing us all together so that we can see it much brighter as we witness the union of these two sparkling points coming together and shining like a beacon. Shining as if to say to the world “go ahead, try and dim this.”

We also bring together now, Allie and Jeremiah, to witness a “completion.” They have been working on  individual “completes” their whole lives, and will continue to do so to the end, as do we all, but they also realized that to actually finish this “complete” , well, it would require company. The company of another…The company of each other as husband and wife.

No one can really say what it is that brings two people together, we just know that it happens and today it happens in grand fashion. With the union of these two bright spirits today, who started as friends and will stay so, but who came to believe that friendship was just the stepping stone to something bigger and something better, we witness “special”.

No one can really say, either, what it is that brings friends together… which friendships will fade or, which will last, through good and bad, doing what friends do…bringing the strength that only enduring friendships can bring. I know that I am lucky enough to have found, in Allie and Jeremiah the latter. It’s been 8 years since I first met Jeremiah at 2 Pendell, through the blessing and curse of our radio lives, and have since come to feel, that if he were my own son, I would be able to look inside myself and feel a great deal of pride at a job well done. (I would also come to feel that it would be nice to witness a second Pirate victory at some point).  Not long after that I met Allie, also at 2 Pendell and I was never happier than to watch the slow, wonderful progression of their love for each other every day after they realized it themselves.  I will be forever grateful that whatever it is that finds certain people thrown together for life that these two are part of mine. I will also be forever proud of the day that Jeremiah asked me to officiate this day. The honor is great and humbling.

Remember this day everyone and look forward to watching an even greater progression of their love as it blossoms into a family and a life. I can think of no better pair for us to observe and treasure the hope of the “future.” 

Thank you Universal Life Church Monastery and the almighty internet.

 

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My Shana Girl

   So when I first met my Maria she asked me to remove my mask. It was Halloween and I was partially costumed as a medieval knight (if they wore sneakers and jeans) but I did have a helmet, a mask and a plastic stick that looked like a sword or a plastic sword that looked like a stick. Whichever. I’d love to say that the second I removed my mask Brady Bunch first kiss fireworks (minus the kiss of course, didn’t know her name yet) went off and my world was shaken to its very core but instead I thought “Holy crap! She’s hot! Why the hell is she talking to me?” The fireworks and the whole shaken thing? That would come. For right now an incredibly hot girl was talking to me. Me. I took it at its face.

We talked. For a long time. In front of the stage at CB Driscolls while her wingwoman Jeanine and her hubby (at the time) looked on and I’m sure thought of better things they could do.

The rest is the wonderful and the difficult and the enduring.  And part of this rest was discovering that Maria was not alone. There was a son, an ex and a dog, “Shana.” We weren’t kids any more when the talking in front of the stage at some bar was just that. A night of youth with the possible promise of getting lucky. No, we brought with us, us. Years of such.

 

 

The son was with her at home, the ex was an ex, and Shana? She was to come…and then, just the week before last, to go. I’ve only now worked up the courage for some words.

Growing up my family had two dogs. The first “Lady” came with the purchase of my parent’s first house when I was five. A somewhat unique housewarming gift you could say as often gravy boats and “God bless this home” plaques don’t require food, nor do they chase trucks. “Lady” was with us for a good bit of time but her Don Quixote truck windmills would catch up with her. Badly. I was her Sancho Panza on that day. I’d like to remember others.

The other dog was “So-So.”  A little, skitzy, Cairn Terrier who my mom saved from a shelter after he was taken in from a bad place. “So-So” wasn’t a big fan of men. Probably a memory he held from that bad. He was a big fan of me though and of the succession of cats that would become part of our family for long or short periods. Other than “So-So” I tended towards the cats, like he, and that would be an affinity that would stay with me to this day.

So dogs didn't seem to be as much for me plus, with college and after, I never really stayed in one place long enough to be “settled” and have a dog, something that just seems to exemplify a real home. For my Maria it was different though. Shana was her dog after a childhood that wasn’t kind to a little girl who just wanted her own pet, more importantly, her own dog.  Unkind doesn’t do justice to what she couldn’t have in this regard. So being able to finally have her own without the hammer of this “unkind” was a liberation for her and a dream as well.  No one, any longer, had the power to tell her “No” or lie to her about the whereabouts of the animals she so desperately wanted to keep as a child that, cruelly, were with her for only mere moments it seems now in her memory.

So being away from Shana after the split with the ex was a constant unwelcome reminder, though at least she knew where she was. And it was in the real world. Living circumstance forced this distance until the whole “wonderful, difficult and enduring “ thing I was talking about happened with me, us. Yes, we got there…and here. That first long talk in front of the stage at CB Driscolls, after a couple of bumps, continued into a house, a home, and a together. The FrankenGreco Ranch.  Hers and mine. Ours…and the banks. Romantic huh? Kidding. It was romantic...and real.

 

The only blip was that Shana and Maria were reunited just a touch early from the move to the “Ours.” My affinity for cats had me with my two, Benny and Shoes. Our plan was to ease in what would be the new addition to our clan while in our new home where there was space and time and, if need be, heavy gloves. Benny and Shoes knew nothing of dogs. Knew nothing of the big, slobbery, funny sound making, loving lump of a Shana that was to come.

Then the ex dropped her off. 2 weeks before our plan.  In an apartment complex that had a no dog stipulation. This was a problem. Especially after the first meet had poor Shana wearing my Benny as a hat. A hat not attached with bobby pins by the way.

This, though, was where I first really got to know a dog and my soon to be Shana girl. As my sister took Shana in at her place for the 2 weeks I found myself there every day to be with her and check on her and walk her. Including down the street to the little watering hole that I worked at part time. The patrons there, friends all, doted on her as did my sister and my nephew. Maria was there with her son Jagger. My mom was there. Shana was in her happy, snorty glory, especially after being practically invisible with the ex, where she was nothing more than a burden. She was now being loved, as she should have been all along, and was back with her Maria. She loved in kind, and more.

We finally moved into the house. She was in her spot now, a new comfort, in the same way my Benny had found his comfort in this place after the nomadic life he and I had led for 13 years up to that point. Jagger fell back in love with her the way he was when he was just a couple of years old. Shana and Shoes got along while with Benny there was an eventual coexistance. She became my “girlfriend”. And Maria finally had…well just she finally “had.” I’ll always be proud of that.

After adding the puppies, Jackson and Brady, to the mix about 2 years later we truly had our “Ranch” and Shana was even more in her glory, feeling young again at 12. She was our old girl now, too quickly for me, but my, our old girl nonetheless.

 

I, we, had 4 years together with Shana as a family. A big beautiful, warts an’ all brood of us 3 fragile human beings and 5 better beings who were strength in fur, a blanket we could all sleep under at night when the world wasn’t and isn’t kind.

Life and time dictate that that changes. There are pink and blue balloons and maybe an old school cigar and there are funeral processions through red lights with a slight 2 finger cross wave or a removed cap from those who wait with respect. It just is.

And there are memories. Shana breathing on her Stephen while he napped on the couch on his Scooby Doo pillowcase, curling inside Maria’s knees in front of the tube, sleeping on her blanky later next to Jagger’s bed…or just laying in the grass in her sunlight outside the back stoop of the FrankenGreco Ranch while the pups tried to nudge and lick her to play.

Memories held dear. Clutched.

All of us, Jackson, Brady, Shoes, my newbie Bella, Jagger and especially your Maria will always miss you desperately Shana.  

For me? My Ben has you now girlfriend (I told him he has to) and he will happily coexist and regale you with the tales he has learned.

Rest in sunlight my Shana Girl.

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A Night Out With Old Friends And A Rememberance Of Lucky

So I went out tonight with four dear friends from high school, some of which I haven’t seen in, well, almost since then. We went to a diner, which, in some regards, made me feel a little old as that’s what the old folks do right? They go to diners or coffee shops, not the bars of our youth or (thankfully) infrequent bars of our present. I say thankfully as, well, we remember the bars of our youth and these now are not quite our gig. Not because we can’t enjoy a drink or that we actually feel old in such places with responsibility hanging on us like an albatross in some cases or a blessing in others. But because they are just that…the bars of our youth. They were for those days but I enjoy these days. Those bars have their place, in the current time for the young and us old (on the right occasion), but that wouldn’t have been place for such a long overdue reunion. Simple was in order, something I have always been a fan of.

I didn’t feel old here. I looked across our two tables (one pushed against another to accommodate the old ones and give them a little space…insert a simple laugh) and I saw my youth, a grand youth. One worthy of the fondness that my memories have given it. There was Dave, one of my best friends, whose dad was the principal of our high school (never quite as awkward as you might think it could have been as we were good kids), Pat whose dad is apparently still the dentist we always knew, and now remembered him to be (Pat still has perfect teeth…bastard), Adriene whose last name rhymed with her first in a comical way that she always hated but now appreciates for not being Smith or Jones (not to slight any Smiths or Joneses by the way) and Rosa, who is, and always will be a proud, softly outspoken New Yorker (something I never quite adhered to, thus my escape to my beloved, adopted hometown of Pittsburgh after high school…but that is a story for another time).

There were plenty of reminisces, as might be expected, while we kept our two pushed together tables longer than I’m sure the staff would have liked (though we thanked our waitress well, I hope, for our time), and most of it involved quite a great deal of laughter, including Adriene’s which I forgot was always so vibrant and infectious. Reminisces that reminded me that we were very lucky. Very lucky to now have the families that we have, very lucky to have become our parents in too many regards to admit and very lucky to still be sitting around in a diner in Brewster, NY to actually do this remembering together.

As I made my way home I thought on how my day had not gone as well as I would have liked. Domestic bliss had a blip before I left and I actually considered calling off my joining of the get together. I had gladly agreed to feed the cats of a good friend as he and his fiancé enjoyed a night on the coast in Connecticut but, due to this blip, I didn’t feel as if I would be able to raise much of a smile and was now running late on the feeding of the furries. I was going to beg out using this an excuse to not be late for our little reunion. But then, my Maria reminded me that not going would just be plain stupid. “You don’t get very many of these moments” she said, or something to that effect. Blunt she is, but never incorrectly. These moments, indeed, do not come very often. And when I did get home? It was mine, my gang was there and my lucky was confirmed. Still breathing.

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