Thursday, November 28, 2013

Luck of Life


By: Andrew Orin
May 2002

The warmth of a midday’s sun radiated from the many incandescent panes of glass.  We sat, often in silence and occasionally in conversation.  We reclined, content with our absence of any activity.  We melted in the moment, a moment which seemed to consist of utter nothingness.  Three of the walls in the room were composed almost completely of windows, with the remaining wall leading away into a chilled reality of required tedium.  My father, observing the vagrant birds who danced beyond the glass, rested in a large chair which temporarily consumed those who sat in it.  My mother, slowly succumbing to a light slumber, sat in a smaller wooden rocking chair.  My older brother, too, existed in the room as he fiddled and tinkered in a science book of gobbledygook, sprawled on the open floor.  I sat on a plush faded blue sofa, occupied only with thoughts.  And so time passed; perhaps a minute, perhaps an hour.  Time meandered in and out of the room in which we sat.  This transitory occurrence in which nothing really occurred was pure.

            We had not won any enormous sum of money, nor had we just finished a tiring venture.  We simply were.  We existed as a unit, as a unified system of four people forming one existence.  And yet we had no reason to be pleased with our situation; nothing astounding had occurred or had been acquired.  But I was pleased.  I was more than pleased to be sharing a room with these people.

            This euphoric moment of unrestrained dullness was perhaps the most enjoyable thing I had experienced in years.  For once it was not newly acquired possessions satisfying my need to be, nor was it fabricated characters imitating life on a mosaic-like screen.  I was occupied with life, the lives of my close family members.  Too engrossed by these lives, in fact, that I didn’t care about that English paper due the following day or the reoccurring volunteer work which steadily approached.  The intricate computer system resting walls away meant nothing; a wailing telephone would surely be ignored.

            Those material objects meant nothing in this premium moment.  Perhaps that is what made this brief episode so significant.  My attention towards my mother, father, and brother was not diluted by our modern trinkets and concerns.  Realizing that I was with these people entirely by the luck of  life made the moment seem all the more pristine and apotheosized my family to a peerless level.  Without thoughts of material goods, needs, and wants, our social bonds were exposed.  These bonds meant infinitely more than anything else possibly could.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Burdens

We all have our burdens to carry.  Not easy being me, a tall good looking white guy.  When I walk into a room everyone think I know everything about everything.

Friday, April 01, 2011

a time before now

a time before now
when i was there
a fatal blow to the head
right side
haunts me for eternity
headaches, headaches, headaches
always early, always early
never ambushed again
headaches, headaches, headaches
a time before now
when i was there
a fatal blow to the head
right side

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Morning poem - watching the clock

04:43
04:47
04:83
04:53
04:57
05:01
Another day

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Marcel Marceau you made me smile

I heard on the radio that Marcel Marceau had died.    For those that don’t know Marcel Marceau was a world famous mime.    I wanted to share this news with my son and wife and I felt it would be fitting if I acted out the news of his death and did not speak it.    So when I got home I did my silent impression of a mime’s death.    My son guessed a “dead mime” but did not know Marcel’s name.    We all enjoyed my poor acting and Marcel Marceau put a smile on our faces even after his death.    Thank you Marcel.

Monday, September 25, 2006

36 spokes and no respect

My son’s friend father is a bicyclist.   How do I know this?   Well I stumbled across a web link which lead to another link and finally to a picture of this father in a bicycle race.   By bicyclist I mean one who wears a spandex outfit and pays hundreds/thousands of dollars for their equipment.   His bike is one with the wheels that has very few spokes.   How can a wheel with only 4 spokes be considered a bicycle wheel?   I believe a bicycle wheel should have 28 to 36 spokes.   From the picture this father has ridden in the Death Ride which is recognized as one of the premier cycling events in the West.   I think of my 30 year old bike and feeble attempt to occasionally ride and I feel like a failure.   My wheels have many spokes, how can my son respect that?   To be really successful your wheels should have maybe 1 spoke which would be an engineering marvel and then your children will respect you.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Touché for the bum

I was insulted by a La Jolla bum today. He was on Girard Avenue with his bum supplies and bum bicycle standing on the sidewalk. As I walked by he said he had a Rolex for sale for $800. I pointed to my watch and said, “No thanks Timex”. He said “yeah I had one of those when I was 8 years old”.