Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
Author: Stephen J Frankenberry
Just some guy in a Pirates hat, couple'o cats and this spot
Now Bella gives me this look quite often, that Bella “look”. It’s what she does. She can be quite judgmental in her looks and stares as I imagine them to be personified, relationshipped, said judgey. I know this is simply a Bella look, but it shares face with old looks and can go a long way to explaining why I have been single for as long as I have (though not unhappily so mind you) and probably to the benefit of all relationships and to mankind in general as example. No, this is the look that I have gotten, at one point or another over the years, or even at many points all at once, of bundled dismayed experience of me, extended, in palpable uncomfortable silence at maybe a kitchen table, or on a bed, or in a car, or at Walmart in store or parking lot or … wherever
Bella doesn’t know it, or maybe she does, she’s a pretty smart cat and probably knows, after all our years together, that this look will have me raise questions just like this and make her giggle in her little stoic unblinking wide-eyed cat-look head “Dude you’re an idiot” kinda way, but this look says it all
It says “What the Fuck Steve?”
It says “Did you really say that? Out loud?!”
It says “You thought that was a good idea in your obviously simple mind why?”
It says “Sigh”
It says “You forgot to hit Stop N Shop for what Cricket and I like and are now resorting to the last ditch cans again aren’t you?”
It says “Please don’t look at this look as one of disdain but dude, seriously … yeah, look at this look as one of disdain”
It says “You make me laugh, you see me laughing right?”
It says “My mother warned me of the likes of you and that I could do so much better”
No, this is just a look but a one that I know too well
(I’ve posted this before, Frankenberry Took A Selfie, but it makes me laugh and that’s all that really matters, so I thought I’d post it again, plus it’s Friday and I’m bored and whatever that might mean for justification)
I don’t do selfies for obvious reason …
“Steve, move your phone … no, move it up … you want your face in this”
“Why?”
“Ummm, ‘cause it’s a selfie? … that’s kinda the idea here man, it’s in the name.”
“Why again am I taking this selfie?”
“You were thinking of a dating app, a profile pic.”
“No I wasn’t”
“Something to make your family happy? Ya know, show ’em you’re getting out there”
“But I don’t want to get “out there””
“Yes you do”
“I do?”
“Yes … (hypnotic social pressure music drone) Yes … yes … you …. do.”
“Ok well, you can turn that shit off now, it’s annoying … people do this?”
“All the time”
“Really?”
“Really”
“Take pictures of themselves?”
“Yes, doing all sorts of things and even with pursed pouty lips”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, things dude, standing on bluffs right before they fall off and hit the rocks and the news as just another sad example of stupid, or in daily shots of the same shit as yesterday just somehow different on this new day, or with bison that are two seconds away from trampling them or ignoring the moment with family and friends or standing with their hands outstretched holding their phones, though those confuse me, things that still end up just being pictures of themselves”
“Well that’s just weird, we have mirrors, but no, I guess you’re right, I have heard of such”
“Exactly! Like I said, all the time …”
“But what if my face might scare the children?”
“They’ll adjust, maybe with some therapy but they’ll adjust”
“That could be years and really expensive but ok … well how about this?”
“(sigh) Ok, work in progress my man, a work in progress.”
“Ya know, I think I might just need a painting or a Beatles poster or something on that wall behind me”
An old friend of mine, Chuck (as opposed to a young friend of mine, there are some of those but they just annoy me with their blase youngness … “oh, look at me … I’m young – La De Da De Da”. Seriously? Hate you) … ok … reset …
A friend of mine, Chuck, recently joked in a Facebook post of his about visiting Ikea.
“Wandering the mythical land of EyeKeeAh coming up with names for my Game of Thrones rip off”.
He then posted pictures of all the furniture names that could then possibly be worked into this new show.
I thought, well, I might give an assist, I’m not doing anything anyway, and have a bit of fun, I mean, if you’re going to build a new show you need to have a character/story outline right? Something to then fill in this, I’ll call it “Game of Furniture”, possible show huh?
Vadholma – Island home home of the Danderyds and the Idanas
Danderyd – One people that live on Vadholma
Forhoja – The waters off the cliffs of Vadholma where Danderyds try to sacrifice Idanas every six months for no reason … the Danderyds have no god or gods to please, they have no real beliefs, but they heard tale from other lands of how they could appease their non-existent god(s) with sacrifices. They don’t stand for anything other than throwing things off the cliffs of Vadholma but one day just thought the Idanas would make perfect ones for these sacrifices and also make bigger splashes than the small skipping stones that for some reason don’t skip and furniture they were accustomed to throwing. The Danderyds are also quite dumb and sit and eat and sleep on bare floors as they have really shitty carpenters
Furniture is their main trade with the Idanas, skilled crafts folk all
Irony
Oh, the Danderyds, besides being slow witted are also very slow footed and out of shape
Idanas – The other people that live on Vadholma and the poor bastards that the Danderyds keep trying to throw off the cliffs of Vadholma into the Forhoja every six months. Their culture’s years old oral history has one phrase oft repeated in many the tale “What the fuck Danderyd’s?! And those were some really nice coffee tables and nightstands this time ‘round you fucking idiots” or something of the sort.
They have though, over the years made due with circumstance and hold a bi-annual festival with food and drink and music and much revelry, highlighted by games, games of foot, running and long jumping and high arching away and games of throwing things themselves, long pointy things or heavy dangling things and any other events that keep them easily ahead and away from the most ardent of the “throw stuff off the cliffs” segment of Vadholma’s Danderyds.
“Gunde!! We’re out of breath!” the Danderyds exclaim bent over with hands on knees.
These festivals and events are much anticipated and are the twice highlight of every year for both the Idanas and the Danderyds, though the Danderyds don’t really know why.
Mockelby – Bard and songsmith who has made quite a living singing the tales of the Danderyds and the Idanas. He finds all of this quite funny … and profitable.
Gunde – The religion, the “God” who, though he is quite pleased to be considered this god still wonders how this came to be. “One day I was just Gunde, that guy you knew and tipped your cap to in town or went bowling with on Saturday nights in a cool bowling shirt with the team name on the back and your own on the chest, the guy who was up next to grab a round before the next bowl and then BOOM!!! I was a god!! But bowl well!”
Morgedal – Character to be fleshed out later, possibly a slighted lover with ill intentions of revenge or maybe a witch who knows which way the winds blow over the cliffs of Forhoja. She sounds ominous. I like her. She might even have a winged pet.
Earlier this week, Wednesday, I actually went out and did a “thing’. I know, I went “out”, whodathunk? With people, actual human beings involved. For those that know me that is pretty big. I don’t do things, I don’t go out, I don’t step, but I am the host of the Scholastic Athlete of the Week award, a Westchester and Putnam county gig, have been for a couple of years now, and Wednesday they held their yearly get together so going “out” seemed in order. It’s an award that enjoyed its 73rd year this one, and I have always felt humbled at being able to host it. I mean 73 years? Jeez, that’s some history, something I am surely not worthy of but, well, I am as worthy as I am going to be I guess.
It’s an award given to High Schoolers who have proven themselves to not only be accomplished in their respective sport or sports but also in their academics and in their involvement in their communities. It’s a marker, a well deserved recognition of a well rounded student athlete. I so enjoy being allowed the opportunity to tell our radio world of these impressive kids, and believe me, they are impressive.
But for me though the end of this year was personal as the last winner of this 2023-2024 school time was a pitcher from John Jay Cross River High School and his coach was a name I recognized from my High School days. In my two and a half years of being privileged enough to interview these young men and women I had never had one of their coaches be a person I knew, never mind be a one who I had graduated High School with.
We hung and shot that shit that you shoot when catching up but we didn’t talk of High School days too much, tell ya truth I’m sure I couldn’t really have anyway, they are lost to me now, well, except for Union Bowl (football under the lights in the Grand Union parking lot) or D&D in Bill Carlin’s basement with his Mom hovering us with treats and awkward “Hello’s” or fantasy tales in book form or triple word finds with a “Hee-Ya!” or Monty Python the first time or … or … or …or …
Ok, I remember a few things but no, we caught up to where we are at, high school days being merely a thing that got us started (remembering right now, actually, turning Union Bowl into “Astro Bowl” with little carpet squares as bases and wiffle balls and bats loaded with duct tape)
I have seen over the years invites to reunions, some pretty involved, one of them even involved a cruise for God’s sake. I’ve never had any desire to attend any of these for the usual reasons, I look old or I’m not quite accomplished enough or my foot hurts or I just have no patience for the chit chat with folks who will all need name tags to help me pretend to remember them or maybe point me to the paper goods aisle.
No, this was a much better reunion.
Teddy, Teddy Lawrence (that’s his name, don’t wear it out) and I talked, he caught me up with his Teddy and his almosts with only minor regrets and his wife and her impressive work with Major league franchises of doing correct athletic things, and of his kids.
We weren’t even really “buds” back then, we knew each other, but he was guy who you noted, he may not even remember that we tried out for and made the varsity baseball team together, though, he as a monster talent and me just an alternate (it came down to how many uniforms were available). He eventually became a successful lifelong baseball coach and I became a guy with a voice, who builds sound and who fancies himself something he still doesn’t know quite what of.
But we talked over seltzer waters and free food, no cruises on high expensive seas necessary, and sat down together at a table with his pitcher and his pitcher’s parents who really seemed to appreciate what I do (thank you). He looked the same (relatively so) from what I remember, but it was the cadence of his voice. I knew it was Teddy.
Usually the ride “to” someplace seems longer than the ride back but in this case that was flipped, enjoyably so, I had time (it was an almost couple of hour ride from Rockland County) time to just think and not worry of getting home faster, instead, think of days I claim to not quite remember 5rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr vtbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb … sorry, that’s a Cricket step thing, she fancies herself a writer sometimes with blind foot paws … but days that are always welcomed to be remembered, especially when unexpectedly.
“Yes Mrs Carlin, a chocolate chip brownie would be nice”
Their prosery? A very short piece of poetry or flash fiction that tells a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It can be any genre you choose, but it does have a limit of 144 words. Somewhere within your story, you must include given lines without changing word order or adding any.
The lines to include this time around? A couple from Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Sleeper”
I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye
Headstone
In a graveyard nearing dusk the groundskeeper came upon Death, leaning heavily on his knot gnarl anguish handled scythe as he knelt at an almost hidden, fallen stone, shunned, just outside the cemetery, alone, at the edge of a large forest. He wept quietly.
“Are you alright old man?”
Death was startled
“What?!” as he tried to stand
“No need. Pay your respects”
“Why don’t you shudder cold at the sight of me, cringe, run to escape who I am, maybe to you?”
“I know death. I have been here as long as you have searched … for your mother right? How did you know?”
“I had this inscribed in her stone I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye hoping she would never see my shame and what I had become and wrought”
There are many things that can bring us together, when things are rough in the world, seem out of hand, things we may share, things that can put us on page with a complete stranger
A favorite sports team maybe, in a parking lot before a game through the haze of grill smoke and beer smack talk
An event of grand proportions where suns and moons align for just a passing moment as we look to the skies and buy churros from that one enterprising fella who has set up shop on a great lawn
A “Hey, my cat likes that one too!” in a pet food aisle at a local grocery store as we grab at the same cans (without bumping heads as this ain’t no Hallmark love story shit) or even a tragedy, though, of course, we would hope that wouldn’t be the case.
But then there are those moments that transcend these possible things
“Hey, I like your T-shirt”
“Hey, thanks!”
And then a counting blindly with a gas pump between you
“Then shall you count to three”
“Thou shall not stop at two”
“Four will be a no go”
“Five will be right out!”
Ok, we were kinda close but no matter, my faith in humanity has been restored in difficult times
Then a wave at my window as I was getting ready to drive away
When seeing this prompt from Bjorn at dVerse Poets “Today I want you to use Onomatopoeia in your poem, to strengthen the imagery through its sound” I thought back to a poem I had written a number of years ago (2016) that had use of such, though briefly, and that I included as part of a post of remembrance for my dear Shoes, aka “The Big Orange”, who passed away about a year into living in a new place, along with Bella, with me single again, after a breakup.
Now this apartment, a wonderful little place, happened to be just across the Hudson from the train tracks that ran along the river. I found comfort in my two furry sidekicks but also in the sound of those trains at night and wrote about them then and my new found solitude.
Being reminded of it though, and with a new eye, I thought to a bit of re-work and to expand with Bjorn’s prompt in mind.
/////
Trains Pass
Trains pass
rumble and clack, clackety clack, clack clackety, clack and rumble in order, order
across a river
Pass past the meander of tugs doing silent heavy water work
only in the shoulder length soft splash – wash – splash – wash – splash wash wake
felt
in the night
in other times
any proof they were even there
.
They pass the overgrown cat’s couch comforter
Bella
unawares
through my tiny comfy disturbing
nothing
not even a single dining room chair
.
from a neighbor’s dinner
unawares
throwing air tasted
Island stereo song scent treats into every corner of this new tiny
from below my feet
familial familiar clink clink clink laughing silverware china clink clink
wishing if only for a fork and an invite
.
Shoes
To my left
in purr-in purr-out purr-in purr-out even cat breath measure
matches the clackety’s and the clacks and the clack clackety’s
from across a river
.
There’s rhythm, melody, music in trains
and scents
in the linger of a stranger’s daily
below my feet waking, cooking, fighting, living, laughing
the couch
overgrown comforter sleeps as do left bed purr-in purr-out sides
while trains pass in clackety clack clack clackety time
I was a little up in the air about this one, thinking maybe it wasn’t quite up to par, after 6 years and dozens upon dozens of these tunes I do have a bar, but I thought about how much I work on these, how important it is for me to make my points about this fucked up in which we live and the even more fucked up who run it and those that want to again, and then a friend, one of my very much valued Mikey Six, who I run things by when need be, mentions a line she thought was spot on and gives me a thumbs up.
So Tuesday’s dVerse Poets prompt, “April Poems Bring May Centos”, was of two possibilities. Choose any line from any poem from those provided and write a poem including the line or inspired by it or, you could instead, try your hand at a “cento” (a poetic work wholly composed of verses or passages taken from other authors) also from any of the poems provided and to use at least two. In this case those poems provided for both were from April dVerse poetry prompts.
There were selections of poems from six different prompts and I went with the ones for “A Box Of Poems”, a prompt summarized as “write a poem of your own metaphorical box of 3 stanzas, the box, what’s in it, where’s it kept”. Then I decided to take the “Cento” route with this prompt as I had never done such.
7 poems and one of mine, also of a box, that used the prompt for inspiration but strayed from the particulars and went a different way.
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
Sundarbans,The sunderbans, Sundarban Tour, Sundarban Travel Guide, Mangrove Forest, UNESCO World Heritage Site, Royal Bengal Tiger, Tiger Sighting, Wildlife Photography, Bird Watching, Sundarban Safari, Houseboat Tour, Ecotourism, Adventure Travel, West Bengal Tourism, Bangladesh Tourism, People of Sundarbans, Local Culture, Bonbibi, Mowal, Honey Collector, Sundarban Legends, Mangrove Ecosystem, Conservation, Climate Change, Biodiversity, Sundari Tree, Sundarban Itinerary, Travel to Sundarbans, Kolkata to Sundarbans, Sundarban Boat Trip, Wildlife in Sundarbans, Saltwater Crocodile, Spotted Deer, Indian Python, King Cobra, Sundarban National Park, Sundarban Tiger Reserve, Bay of Bengal, River Cruise, Nature Photography, Forest Life.
A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
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