Breakfast of Memories

for fifty years they’d each returned
back to the same cafe
gathered round the same table
these small town knights
slowly sipping coffee
reviving the Camelot of their youth
alive again
in a breakfast of memories

stories swirled
more smiles than scars
the pranks, the mindless adventures
girlfriends real, love imagined
mountains climbed and races won
friends recalled and gone

they talked of how they’d loved this place
had never thought to leave
but life and time had swept them off
to chase their separate dreams

not one head turned to watch them go
the gray men and their ghosts
and silence roared to fill the void
of legends lost to most

tio stib

You might also enjoy: A Friend Passes, Life Journey Poems & Prose

My Dementia Diary 64 – Holding Hands

we have reached a place
where holding hands
is a pleasure
beyond orgasm

we have become
an incalculable oneness

after miles
years
of laughing, loving, sharing
a life together
I reach
expect
her soft, strong, tender fingers
to entwine with mine

my heart banishes all thoughts
that one day her hand
will not be there

tio stib

You might also enjoy: The Walk to Paradise Garden, My Dementia Diary

My Dementia Diary 62 – Faith

Faith. Faith Springer. A name that melts the heart.

I met her as we cared for a dying friend. Faith was a hospice volunteer and I remember she showed up each day, in any trying circumstance, with a smile and an unwavering commitment to serve. Struggling with my own fears about death, Fait calmed me. I felt humbled to be with her, blessed by the presence of an angel.

In the months after our friend passed, I often visited Faith, sat drinking tea in her garden, listening to her delighted descriptions of the birth of new flowers she’d planted the fall before, smiling as hummingbirds buzzed about our heads.

Later, as I cradled her head in my lap after she’d died, I was struck by how close we’d become in the brief times we’d shared together. Faith found a life path that brought her ultimate peace. She was the humble servant of love.

I find comfort in thoughts about my friend Faith, her beautiful soul, her overflowing heart. I am not nearly the kind and gracious being she was, but her memory inspires me to continue the daily work of loving.

Faith. Her name could not have been more perfect.

tio stib

You might also enjoy: A Friend Passes, My Dementia Diary

 

My Dementia Diary 44 – Yours to Count On

Over the years, I’ve made hundreds of acquaintances, but precious few friends. The difference between one group and the other is four words.

Yours to count on.

Those are the words inscribed in a book given to me by a man I’d spent an intimate and intense week with during a workshop in Alabama. He gave me the gift as a tribute to what we’d gone through together, including a fire walk.

I remember opening the book and seeing the words, saying them out loud,

“Yours to count on.”

I looked at him. He smiled, and shook my hand. 

I’ve never seen him since, haven’t communicated in any way. But, if I reached out to him today and asked for his help, I know he’d be there.

He was that kind of guy. he was a real friend.

Some time back, faced with a seemingly impossible situation where I was caring for a dying family member while needing to complete a construction project before a bank loan was due, I reached out to three guys who were friends.

They didn’t ask why, but jumped in a car and drove for hours to show up at my front door. they spent several days completing the project for me, shook my hand, and returned to their lives.

They were mine to count on.

There have been others. The kind souls who spent hours comforting my dying relative, giving me a break to renew my soul. 

Good human beings. 

As I stop and pause to consider the blessings of true friendship, I’m reminded that I, too, want to be someone who can say,

“Yours to count on.”

tio stib

You might also enjoy: Flavors of Friends, My Dementia Diary

A Friend Passes

it happened
in the depth of night
a wisp of wind,
a soul took flight

a smile
a laugh
a curious mind
flew off to join
the ghosts of time

as memories sweep
my shores of being
his waves roll on
cross seas unseen

I pause to think
what might have been
if life had passed
without my friend

tio stib, 2015
for George Forrester

You might also enjoy: Flavors of Friends; A Mirrored Smile

Flavors of Friends

Some are vanilla,
predictably plain
Dependably true
always the same

Some are exotic
quixotic
sherbets with fireworks lives
occasionally glancing
to check others’ eyes

then the specials
like bubblegum treat
beautifully different
sumptuous sweets

Yes, chocolate, strawberry,
and rocky road too
friends of all flavors
some licked and
some chewed

like ice cream
I taste them
each one of a kind
then off on their way
they melt in my mind

Yet over the years
a few friends remain
these flavors I savor
again
and again

tio stib

2014, 2016, 2018

You might also enjoy : My Daily Lama,  A Mirrored Smile

Taxi School-Chapter 2

Introduction

Al McGinty, “Gint” as he is known to friend and foe, does not like change. He’s driven the same cab for thirty years, eats at the same cafe every morning, can’t say a nice word about politicians or lawyers, and worships New York City. He has a unique lifestyle, one true friend, Wally, and reads the New York Times each evening with a glass of brandy and a Cuban cigar. His is the perfect world.

But that’s about to change.

Gint is the main character in my novel, “Taxi School,” and you can follow Gint’s story as his life explodes and he is forced into one of Nature’s three ultimate choices-

Adapt, migrate, or go extinct.

I’ll be publishing a new chapter each week, hope you follow along. comments, on any line, are always appreciated.

tio stib

CHAPTER 2

“Jesus, Johnny, you got nothing better to do but read “Playboy,” blurted Gint as he burst into the office of Carlutti’s Car repair, “I can see you have a demanding schedule, but I need my cab, preferably today.”

ir.

Johnny, a good looking guy with a tanned face and a full head of slightly grayed black hair, was not the least bit moved by his surprise visitor. He remained seated in his swivel chair, boots up on the desk. and raised his magazine for Gint to view.

the title read, “World Traveler.”

“Lulu wants to get out of town,” said Johnny, “and what Lulu wants, Lulu gets.”

“As well she should,” replied Gint, remembering that  Lulu had been the hottest chick in the old neighborhood. She still turned heads. Lulu and Johnny had been lifelong sweethearts.

“As for my demanding schedule, hell, Gint, your Checker cab is about the only automobile I can work on anymore. These days, car repair is all about computers, and I’m not going there. J3 loves that crap and he can have it.”

J3  was John Carlutti  the third, the youngest of the male Carlutti line to work at the repair shop, and the kid Johnny yelled at as he opened the door to the shop, over the noise of air wrenches and occasional curses, “J3, move your sorry ass and pull Mr. McGinty’s cab out front!”

Gint saw a kid with a mop of black hair and grease on his face look up from under a car hood, smile, then dash outside. then Gint saw something familiar.

“Hey, Johnny, isn’t that Joey’s cab?”

Yep, he left it here last week. Asked me to sell it.”

“What?” Gint cried out, turning to Johnny in disbelief, “he can’t do that!”

“Well, he sure as hell did,” said Johnny, “came by, said he was hanging it up, asked me to send the sale money to an address in California.”

Stunned, Gint sat in a chair beside Johnny, speaking softly, “we’ve been in the business together for thirty years, bought our cabs together. We’re partners, a team, the last two Checker cabs in New York City.”

“Not any more, Gint, now you’re a team of one.”

The office street door opened, and J3 stuck his head in, “here you go Mr. McGinty, thanks for using Carlutti’s Car Repair.”

Gint mindlessly shook the kid’s hand and walked out.

On the sidewalk, gint whistled once and Wally came bounding down the street. Gint opened the driver’s door and the two climbed in to the last Checker cab in New York City.

-to be continued-

You might also enjoy: Taxi School – Chapter 1