I probably looked like any other derelict in the bus station; dirty cap precariously askew on top of my earphones, well worn backpack and my fingers nervously tapping metal buttons in my pockets. I was coming down from the emotional high of a family visit. The buttons and the visit are a story for another day. The station had its usual cast of characters, including an abundance of young college aged girls in their summer outfits returning from weekend visits. This was not the usual Friday/Sunday crowd you see when the colleges are in session. Then its large backpacks, jeans and pillows. This had a breezier feel; pink summer sun dresses, few signs of caffeine/speed cram session jitters. Yeh, I look; this is a Sunday afternoon at the bus station, not your daughter's wedding reception. Actually I would probably have wandering eyes at that too! I don't get too many invitations.
- Sitting on a park bench
- eyeing little girls with bad intent.
- Snot running down his nose.
- greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
My Sansa was playing tunes from Simon and Garfunkel's Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme album. One of the curses of being a recovering alcoholic is the lingering feeling of being "unwanted". No matter how many of the "steps" you may have completed, you know that you are never completely forgiven for the pain you may have caused. You always believe that they (family, friends, lovers, co-workers) know you can do it again. A recovering alcoholic, if they are honest with themselves and their disease, knows that he or she is only one drink away. Thus the family's suspicions and drunk's paranoia are both justified!
Before three songs had gone through my head, I had followed the actions of three "unwanted" individuals. I started to break out in a panic. There was a story here, but I had neither pen nor paper. I knew I could possibly record with the Sansa, but that would be too invasive. I would no longer be an invisible observer. Years ago, before leaving for my Peace Corps assignment, I had read that some tribal members in the old Belgian Congo believed that the camera could capture their soul. I didn't bring a camera. As I get older, I wonder if I paid too high a price for that sense of "respect" for others. Every day I see "money" shots taken by young volunteers, missionaries and NGO personnel. These are the same young people who crash lines at bus stations. Enough of that rant; we bred em, spoiled them and now have to live with them. No one but ourselves to blame. I am what I am, and I still had my fear of "soul catching".
The South Station bus terminal in Boston has a small news stand. Only three people at a time can fit in. There were at least four surrounding the small displays. With my pack I took up the space of two, but knew that my thoughts were fleeing fast. I bulled my way in. On the wall I saw a couple of small notebooks next to the condom display. I grabbed a book and kept looking: lip balm, batteries, combs and handy wipes. I pondered the lone yellow highlighter; close, but I would never be able to decipher the notes when I got home. The "line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow". I had 50% of what I needed. I carefully turned around so as not to knock everything down. I waited my turn at the counter.
I put my notebook on the counter. "Do you sell pens or pencils? Without hesitation the clerk reached down and placed a small black pen on the counter. Again, without hesitation I pulled out $20.00 and slapped it down. I would have left without any change if he hadn't put some money on the counter. With great joy, I raced, "Shadowed by the exit light", back to continue my holy task:
- His restless eyes leap and scratch
- At all that they can touch or catch.
- And hidden deep within his pocket
- Safe within its silent socket
- He holds a colored crayon
I will continue soon with the story of "The woman with the dog, the bus driver and the escaped convict".
For now, you may enjoy reading: The ad said: "No faint-hearted, pusillanimous, pussyfooting marchers, if you please! RSVP"
Also, may I recommend for your enjoyment: Send great evils to the wicked and great blessings to the righteous.
Whether they are made of pork, as is most often the case, or of beef, veal, buck, goat, chamois, venison, sheep, wild boar, or horse, cured meats (salumi in Italian) were born of a need to conserve meat for months after the slaughter of the animal. Salting, smoking, and air-drying are the three processes by which fresh meat is transformed into a long-keeping staple.
While all meats are salted, some are smoked, and others are simply air-dried. Italians have been making an amazing array of cured meats for thousands of years using both noble and humble parts of the animals they raise. The ancient Romans prized the spicy pork sausages crafted in the southern region of Basilicata (called Lucania then, and giving rise to sausages named Lucaniche still eaten today). And, fond of intensely tasty foods, they smoked or salted whole pig thighs, yielding savory Prosciutti not unlike those still made in mountain villages across Italy.
Two thousand years later, pork remains Italy's favorite meat for curing. Pigs are especially prevalent in areas where there is a notable cheesemaking tradition: after all, wherever there is cheese, there is excess whey, which, combined with bran and corn, becomes perfect feed for pigs.
The Silver Surfer (Norrin Radd) is a fictional character, a Marvel Comics superhero created by Jack Kirby. The character first appears in the comic book Fantastic Four #48 (March 1966), the first of a three-issue arc fans and historians call "The Galactus Trilogy".
Originally a young astronomer of the planet Zenn-La, in order to save his home-world from destruction by a fearsome cosmic entity known as Galactus, Norrin Radd made a bargain with the being, pledging himself to serve as his herald. Imbued in return with a tiny portion of Galactus' Power Cosmic, Radd acquired great powers and a silvery appearance. Galactus also created for Radd a surfboard-like craft — modeled after a childhood fantasy of his — on which he would travel at speeds beyond that of light. Known from then on as the Silver Surfer, Radd began to roam the cosmos searching for new planets for Galactus to consume. When his travels finally took him to Earth, the Surfer came face-to-face with the Fantastic Four, a team of powerful superheroes that helped him to rediscover his nobility of spirit. Betraying Galactus, the Surfer saved Earth but was punished in return with everlasting exile there.
Stan Lee enjoyed the character and decided to feature him in his own individual title in 1968. John Buscema was penciller for the first 17 issues of the series, with Kirby returning for the eighteenth and final issue. The first seven issues, which included anthological "Tales of the Watcher" backup stories, were 72-page (with advertising), 25-cent "giants", as opposed to typical 36-page, 12-cent comics of the time. Thematically, the stories dealt with the Surfer's exile on Earth and the inhumanity of man as observed by this noble yet fallen hero. The Silver Surfer comic book series became known as one of Lee's most thoughtful and introspective works. Englehart writes that Buscema and Lee were "pouring their souls into the series".
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