Rise!

Rise!

Melissa J. Dallago

Batman has been an American icon for well over fifty years.  He has spawned countless comic books, movies, cartoons and television shows.  Everyone knows Batman, and while they may not have watched the shows or read the comic books, they know that he is the rich playboy Bruce Wayne, who likes to dress up as a bat at night while he fights crime in his hometown of Gotham City.  

Batman has always been my favorite comic book hero.  I grew up watching the live show of Batman starring Adam West.  I enjoyed watching Batman chasing the Joker, lusting after Catwoman, and sharing boyish banter with his sidekick Robin.  I cheered for Batman when he bagged the bad guys, and I loved the goofy special effects that happened during the fight scenes.  The show had a campiness about it, but, in my opinion, it only added to its charm.  As I grew up, I remained connected with Batman.  I devoured any comic book that I could lay hands on.  I sat raptly for hours on end watching Tim Burton’s Batman movies, and childishly cheering at the screen when I saw Batman save Vicki Vale and put an end to the Joker.  We had a dry spell for a few years, but thanks to Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, the bat is once again large and in charge.

I enjoy the Batman character because he is a superhero who isn’t really super.  He doesn’t have powers that he was born with, a la Superman, or bestowed by a spider bite, a la Spiderman, and he isn’t the victim of some genetic mutation, a la the X-Men.  Batman is an average guy who can suffer horrible injuries and even die in heated battle.  Yet, to me, something about his averageness makes him stronger than the man of steel, more adept at fighting crime, and more willing to sacrifice for what he believes in.  Batman is just a man, but he is a bad ass just the same.

Batman is the way he is because his parents died in a horrific tragedy that left him an orphan under the care of the family’s butler Alfred.  He was forced into a realm of anger and darkness with the loss of his parents and as he grew into a man, he was horrified with the wrongs and injustices that were being perpetrated by the criminals on the innocent.  He channeled his anger that was raging inside him, and harnessed it into a higher ideal to fight crime, bring down the bad guys, and instill a sense of hope in those suffering in Gotham City.  Batman is a masked vigilante; a presence in the night offering a safe harbor to those who are lost, suffering and in danger, and most importantly, Batman is a symbol that strikes fear in the hearts of the criminals.  Batman accomplishes all of this, and so much more, by sacrificing himself to a higher ideal.  He is a symbol of greatness, a bright beacon shining in the dark night; a symbol that offers hope to all.  Batman is the Dark Knight, who ironically, shines a bright light into the darkness of which he is a part of. 

Batman is relentless in his quest to stop injustice; he fights his nemeses with every shred of his being, and even when it was clear that he is outmaneuvered or not going to win the contest, he somehow always does because he never stops hoping.  Hope is what makes Batman the best superhero there is.  With his sacrifices, Batman gives the people of Gotham City hope; to me this is what Batman truly represents, hope persevering and rising from the darkness that surrounds us.

I recently watched the last installment of Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy.  I have watched each movie and been emotionally moved.  Nolan portrays the dark side of Batman.  He reveals the true darkness that lurks in the world, and demonstrates the inherent goodness that exists within all of us.  He portrays Batman as a true symbol of goodness.  With these movies, Nolan was successful in returning America’s icon to his rightful place, and most importantly Nolan depicts Batman as a mere man struggling under the weight of tremendous forces, but never giving up hope. 

I wish that Batman wasn’t just a comic book character; I wish he was real, made of flesh and bone.  I think we need a real Batman to be that symbol of hope in a chaotic dark world.  Batman is known for swooping in in the nick of time to save the day, and I wish that he had been there on that terrible day in Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut to save the 27 souls who needlessly lost their lives, but then again, maybe Batman was.

After all, what about the school principal who lunged at the gunman to try to stop him and lost her life, what about the survivors who remained calm in the face of a madman, what about the teachers that barricaded themselves and their charges into closets and corners and kept them focused on coloring to provide a buffer from the living nightmare surrounding them, and what about the small boy who was brave enough to tell his teacher that he knew karate and it would be okay.  Yes, I have to say that the essence of Batman was there that tragic day because somehow they never gave up hope that the good guys were on their way. 

Batman is an American ideal, a symbol.  To me, Batman represents truth, vigilance, relentlessness, justice, honor, empathy, compassion and loyalty.  Batman may not be a real man dressing up as a bat to fight crime, but the spirit of Batman, the ideals he represents most certainly do exist.  As said by Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, “I’m going to show the people of Gotham that the city doesn't belong to the criminals and the corrupt.  People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy.  I can't do this as Bruce Wayne.  A man is just flesh and blood and can be ignored or destroyed.  But as a symbol... as a symbol, I can be incorruptible, everlasting.” 

The ideals that the Batman symbolizes reside in all of us, we just need to be reminded of them, and believe in ourselves.  We stand up for what we love the most, fight for ourselves, our families and our friends, we trust in those who deserve it, we honor our ideals and morals, and we respect each other even if we may not agree.  Evil and the darkness will always be around us as unfortunately that is part of life, yet what is most important about what Batman symbolizes is hope and goodness, and that hope is something that we must never, ever lose.  We must have hope in the goodness of ourselves and each other. 

As long as we have that, then just maybe this world could become a little more secure, a little more calm, and most of all, it could shelter and encourage the highest and best that is within us.  Like the survivors from that horrible day, they never gave up hope in the face of the gates of hell that had opened around them.  Batman was there that horrible day, as he is each day when darkness encroaches in our lives.  And much like the tag line from the Dark Knight Rises, hope has been temporarily lost, our faith may be broken, but a fire has risen in us.  Like Batman we must rise above the darkness, surround ourselves with goodness and love, and most importantly we must never give up hope in believing in something bigger than ourselves, a symbol like Batman, one that stands for inherent goodness and a belief that light will always overcome darkness.  Rise! 

The Art of Silence

The Art of Silence

Melissa Dallago

I always struggled to silence my cluttered, voice filled mind, until I learned the art of silence from the unlikeliest of sources, a lioness named Kia who was kept at my local zoo.  I visited the zoo often and would always see her, but I only stayed for a moment before moving on to the next enclosure until the day Kia did something amazing.

That day when I arrived at her enclosure Kia was napping, yet she must have sensed my presence because she woke up and looked directly into my eyes with a concentration I had never seen before.  I was paralyzed as I stared into her deep amber eyes.  She held eye contact with me constantly and was not distracted by any activity.  The voices in my, that had been noisily chattering away before, paused.  As we continued with locked gazes, my inner dialogue was quieted due to my sheer awe at the majesty of the stunning golden lioness staring directly into my eyes and into my very soul.  Kia was the epitome of stillness, silence and grace personified in a living, elemental being, which were traits that I had been struggling to learn.  Before I knew it the minutes had become hours and the next thing I knew the zoo was closing.  As if realizing our time was over, Kia rose and walked to the door of her night enclosure.  During that afternoon with Kia all of my worries, stresses and fears had receded and I had unknowingly entered a calm and meditative state communing with her.

I began to visit Kia on a weekly basis.  I looked forward to my time with her because I learned how to calm my inner voices, and achieve a state of silence in her presence.  Time passed and Kia has moved on to the Great Savannah in the sky, but I continue to find silence in my mind when I need it by picturing Kia’s golden coat and deep amber eyes staring into mine; and that is how I learned the art of silence from a lioness.

Christmas “Pet”astrophes

                                                               Christmas “Pet”astrophes

                                                                     Melissa Dallago

Christmas is the time of year for the gathering of family, the sharing of gifts, and watching as five pounds is added to your waistline due to all of the delectable treats of cookies and sumptuous food.  I have many wonderful memories of sharing Christmas with my loved ones, and watching their faces light up in delight from that special gift I picked out just for them.  Yet, the memories that I treasure the most involve my childhood experiences with my pets during Christmas time.  When I was growing up we had eight cats and a large German Shepard named Luke, and I speak from experience when I say that having pets during the Christmas season presents its own unique challenges.  To pets, especially to cats, Christmas time is a wonderland of new experiences that provides shiny tinsel to be chewed, trees to hide and climb in, wrapping paper and bows to be played in, and dangling ornaments that invitingly beckon to the wandering paw and wet nose; however, it is the Christmas tree that offers the most fascination and is often the source of all the trouble caused by pets.

My earliest memories are from when I was six years old and we had gotten Luke as a puppy; it was his first Christmas.  Luke was moderately interested in the tree as Mom decorated it, but he pretty much stayed out of the way, and after hours of meticulous work the tree was a vision of pure Christmas beauty.  After we had all gone to bed, we were suddenly awoken by a tremendous crash from the living room.  Mom flew out of bed expecting to find someone breaking into the house, but instead found the Christmas tree lying in a heap on the floor; ornaments were scattered and broken everywhere and the lights were a tangled mess, and poor Luke was huddled in the corner with tremors of fear shaking his body.  He was clearly the cause of the tree falling over.  It appeared that Luke had gotten overzealous in his sniffing explorations and had nosed the tree past its tipping point causing it to fall over.  He looked sorrowfully at Mom as she stood over him shaking her head.  Fortunately, the tree had had a soft landing so the branches were in good shape and we still had enough ornaments left after the crash.  Mom knew that tree was at risk for another fall because Luke was a puppy after all, so in stroke of genius she put the Christmas tree in my little Red Flyer wagon and redecorated it to its former glory.  For the rest of the season, Mom wheeled the wagon and tree into my room and closed the door whenever there was a chance that Luke would be left alone with the tree for an extended period of time.  It was quite a spectacle to witness the Christmas tree procession each day with Luke chasing after it trying to bite off the ornaments as Mom wheeled it up and down the hallway.  The wagon worked because the tree remained vertical for the rest of the season. 

The next Christmas Luke was a full grown dog and Mom, not wanting to tempt another tipped over tree, opted to place it on a table where it would be well out of his reach; however what Mom wasn’t counting on was our new cat Colby.  Colby was a gorgeous gray cat who was bursting with energy and, like any normal cat, had to explore every nook and cranny in the house.  Much like the year before Mom spent hours decorating the tree and it was perhaps the prettiest tree that we ever had.  I have an image in my mind of Mom standing there smiling, basking in the glow of the beautiful tree, while behind her sat Colby with the glowing Christmas lights reflecting back from his saucer shaped eyes as he stared at the biggest cat toy he had ever seen.  Once again, after retiring for the night, we were woken by a thunderous crash that rattled the windows.  Mom leaped out of the bed in a flash and with Luke running at her side as if to say, “See Mom, it wasn’t me!” found the Christmas tree lying on the floor in utter ruin after it had fallen four feet from the table.  Branches were strewn everywhere, and glass twinkled from the many broken ornaments, and there was Colby reclining on the couch, the picture of pure innocence, but Mom knew he was the culprit because he was covered in tinsel and pine needles from his climbing excursion.  In a repeat of the year before, Mom once again resurrected the tree, and redecorated it with what little ornaments we had left to a bit of its former pre-Colby glory.  Mom then, in another stroke of genius, blocked off the tree on the table with a green plastic fence in the hopes that it would deter him from trying to climb to great heights once again, and that is how our family tradition of placing the tree on a table and fencing it off our pets was born.  As I child I learned to appreciate the Christmas tree from a distance and the fence certainly didn’t prohibit Santa from leaving me an ample supply of gifts to open on Christmas morning.

For the rest of my childhood we did not have any major “pet”castrophes involving fallen Christmas trees, but we continued to deal with other pet caused calamities.  Over the years we continued to extract a yowling, sap covered cat from the higher branches of the tree because they had gotten stuck and couldn’t figure out how to get back down.  We always had to redecorate the tree after they removed the ornaments that weren’t to their taste, and we continued to have to pick out the occasional cat and dog toys they added to the lower branches.  We would constantly have to chase Luke out from under the tree as he tried to drink the tree water, and the cats loved to wrap themselves up in the tree skirt.  Each year we routinely played hide and seek with the ornaments that they stole from the tree, and the cats showed no mercy when it came to our nativity set.  There were always wise men and sheep missing, but never the baby Jesus fittingly enough, which we wouldn’t find until June of the following year.  And of course when it came to wrapping Christmas presents we always had to contend with claws and teeth.  It took hours to wrap and it wasn’t because of the sheer number of presents, but because we spent so much time chasing the dog as he stole a roll of paper, unraveling cats from the ribbons they had gotten tangled in, and rescuing the errant cat who happened to get a piece scotch tape stuck on their paws as they walked through the whole mess.  I can’t count how many times my hand were attacked by a stalking feline playing hide and seek amongst the paper rolls and gifts.  We think of it has work, but to pets the wrapping of Christmas presents is their next favorite thing after destroying the tree.  It has been my experience that you can always tell the gifts that are from people who have pets; the cat or dog fur in the tape is a telltale sign, and the wrapping paper usually has a couple of claw and teeth marks added for good measure because of course the little darlings want to add their own touch to the season of gift giving.

These childhood memories always make me smile, and I have learned that having pets during Christmas definitely makes it more challenging, but also more memorable and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  As an adult I now have my own two felines Padauan and L.B., who thankfully do not cause near as much Christmas trouble as the pets I had growing up did.  They both like to lie under the tree pretending to be Christmas presents and only occasionally bat down an ornament.  Even though I have not had any recent Christmas “cat”astrophes, I still have not let my guard down.  I can see the gleam in L.B. and Paduan’s eyes as they stare into the Christmas lights, and I know a part of them may be plotting the greatest Christmas debacle yet.

Holiday Stress

Holiday Stress

Melissa J. Dallago

The calendar page has turned; it is November 1^st.  We stand at the threshold of the holiday season.  Thanksgiving is a mere 3 weeks away and there are only 53 days until Christmas.  Households are beginning to plan the what and wherefores of the season.  To do lists are being made, budgets planned, menus are being decided upon, and children are plotting their Christmas wish lists.  The stress level has begun to build as people envision the insurmountable mountain of food, gifts, and parties, and all of the work involved in preparing the perfect Thanksgiving and Christmas.  November 1^st marks the beginning of the deepening of worry lines, the pulling of hair, the raising of voices, and the rise in stress levels for what is considered to be the most wonderful time of the year.

I stand on the precipice of this torment with feelings of anticipation and excitement, mixed with a healthy dose of fear.  I have weathered the holiday season every year unscathed because I have never been responsible for actually managing it.  I have been a bystander, who has to deal with the stress of finding the perfect gift and navigating through the crowded stores, but I have never had to, gulp, cook a turkey dinner; and guess what, this year is my first year in making a turkey dinner for Thanksgiving.  Whenever I think about this heavy responsibility my blood pressure goes through the roof and I break out in a cold sweat.

I can picture myself standing in my kitchen on Thanksgiving morning in total confusion.  Where do I start, are there Venn diagrams and flow charts describing how to cook a turkey?  How do I prepare the stuffing, and how the heck does it actually get stuffed into the bird?  You expect me to do what with the gizzard?  How exactly does one make mashed potatoes from scratch?  Can’t I just use the kind that comes in the box?  What makes cranberries red, and how do you get the red stains out of your clothes?  What temperature does the oven need to be and, most importantly, how long do I cook the bird?  How does one keep the cats from trying to scratch their way up my legs as they go frantic over the smell of fresh meat?  How does one pry her boyfriend off of the couch and get him to stop watching the football games so he can actually help me!?  How did my mother manage to do this every year, not once, but twice?  Can I go cry quietly in the corner because I can’t take it anymore?  These are the questions that flood my mind, and make me wholeheartedly regret my decision to try to cook a Thanksgiving dinner! 

Then my true nightmare is that by sheer will and a major miracle I somehow succeed in cooking the turkey and all of its accouterments.  I can’t vouch for the flavor, but they sure do look normal.  The table has been set and everyone is sitting in anticipation of the meal.  The star of the show, the turkey, sits there glistening on the carving board.  I stand over it in pride with the carving knife ready to slice into it.  As the knife oh so gently punctures the flesh all I hear is the release of hot air and watch in horror as the turkey deflates before my very eyes; the reason for this is the fact that my turkey has been cooked for too long at too high of a temperature (damn Goggle!).  The turkey has become a dried out husk.  The only thing that is holding it together are the bones, hot air and some sort of optical illusion from the other food dishes placed nearby, something with heat and light combined with seeing what one wants to see.  We all stand there with looks of disbelief, staring at the deflated carcass of the pseudo-turkey.  I then imagine the howls of horror from my family as they realize that we will not be eating turkey for dinner this year.  Somebody quips, “Does anybody know if the pizza place is even open today?”  This scene has become my nightmare, and I’m afraid that it could become a reality! 

I’m not sure if these are the standard thoughts for someone who is hosting their first Thanksgiving, but I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until the deed has been done.  I am resolved to pull off the best Thanksgiving I can; I fear no turkey!  I will conquer the challenge placed before me, with my mom’s help of course.  I’ll be fine, right?!  Should I be concerned about the nervous tick that has mysteriously appeared whenever I think about the holidays?

So as I stand here on November 1^st during the quiet before the holiday storm, I am taking a moment to reflect on what I am thankful for because I know when I get mired down in the act of cooking I’ll probably forget why I decided to do it in the first place.  The one thing I know that I am thankful for right at this moment is that Thanksgiving is still three weeks away.  I am also grateful that I don’t have to cook for Christmas; my mom is shouldering that burden.  For Christmas I’ll be able to resume my bystander role, and be there to offer a helping hand when needed.  I am also thankful for my family, and the guidance that I hope, pray and beg, my mom will be providing as I wrestle with an eighteen pound turkey, they are after all why I decided to host Thanksgiving in the first place.  So with recipes, advice, and “Here Comes Santa Claus” rattling around in my head, let the holiday stress, I mean season, commence!

Finally, and most importantly, I believe I know why we put ourselves through all of this stress and angst for the holidays.  We do it out of love for our families and friends.  We want to create a warm, wonderful and loving experience for those people who are dear to us.  We are creating memories, smiles and laughter.  The memories of seeing the surprise on someone’s face as they open their “perfect gift”, the warm feeling of love we have from being surrounded by our families and friends, and the smiles we will have in the years to come as we remember holiday seasons gone by.  Ultimately, we fret and worry over the smallest detail because the holiday season is the one time of year when our homes, neighborhoods and communities all gather together in the common spirit of joy, humility and love.  Thanksgiving and Christmas are truly the most wonderful time of the year, even if we do get more white hairs and stress lines for our efforts!  

Why I Write

Why I Write

Melissa J. Dallago

The blank page has always beckoned me with its siren call.  When I was growing up, I kept a journal, and unlike the other kids, I enjoyed the writing assignments given to us in school.  I had an active imagination that often got me into trouble, and writing was a safe way for me to release it.

When I was a teenager I had dreams of writing the next great novel.  It involved a girl, a demon and a little book of spells and the resultant damage caused by the three.  I spent hours happily writing.  I pictured myself sitting at my first book signing while my many fans waited to catch a glimpse of me.  I never finished the project because my attention span was short, and I grew frustrated when I realized just how hard writing was.  It was at that point that I developed a severe case of writer’s block.  The blank page still called to me, but I had lost interest in answering it.

When I reached my 30s it was as if a dam had broken and all of these ideas and images came bursting forth.  My mind was flooded, and I couldn’t write fast enough.  The subjects that I wrote about were political in nature.  This was after September 11^th, and my American patriotism was strong.  I filled page upon page of my ideas of what it meant to be an American, what our founding fathers had imagined for our nation, and my thoughts on where we had gone wrong.  I never shared my writing with anyone because I was afraid of their reaction or outright laughter.  I was a closet writer filling the blank pages one after another, but telling no one.

Writing became my private escape as I started journaling.  I spent hours pouring out my heart and soul, filling my notebooks with my emotions, thoughts, and opinions.  Writing became a private hobby, something I did in my spare time.  

My desire to pursue writing openly was born after my dad died in 2010; death creating life in a figurative way.  I realized how fragile life was, and that our days on this earth are limited.  I decided to stop hiding my words from the eyes of others.  Writing also saved me after my dad passed away by helping me to release my emotions and pain onto the blank page.  I wrote about my grief, my dad’s life and how his death affected me and my family.  Writing became a way of honoring his memory, and hopefully a way of offering support to others. 

I no longer write in private.  I write to escape, to rant, and to share my knowledge, but mostly I write just because I want to.  I share my words in the hope that my thoughts offer support, enjoyment and insight to others.  I proudly say that I am an aspiring writer with no fear of recriminations.  The blank pages will always beckon and now I gladly answer their call.

Existential Crisis

Existential Crisis

Melissa Dallago

Every day there are questions.

I question whether it is worth it;

I question why I must fight for my happiness; and

I question why the powers that be can make things so damn hard.

Every day is a struggle.

I struggle with my own demons;

I struggle with other people’s demons; and

I struggle to find goodness and light in what is usually a chaotically cruel world.

Every day is a challenge.

For me to keep a positive attitude;

To smile; and

To believe in something bigger than my tiny existence.

Every day is an affirmation of my faith.

Each sunrise is a promise of a new day;

Each act of kindness and unselfishness I witness reaffirms goodness; and

Each moment that I am alive and breathing in a beautiful, vibrant world confirms a higher power’s touch.

Each day is an existential crisis for me. 

I struggle to believe in something bigger, more meaningful and grander than I.

The fact that I struggle gives me faith that one day, I will understand

why I am challenged, why I struggle, and why I hope for greater things.

Faith in a higher power, in beauty, and light and hope is what keeps me going, and makes my crisis worth it.

Don't Eat Yellow Snow

Don’t Eat Yellow Snow

Melissa J. Dallago

If I could offer you only one tip for the future it would be, don’t eat yellow snow.  The long term benefits of not eating yellow snow have been proven by science.  Whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own experience, I will dispense this advice now.

Measure twice, cut once.  Better to be safe than sorry.  Smile.

Don’t settle for someone who doesn’t deserve you.  Always strive to be the best person you can be.

Learn everything; expand your knowledge about the world around you.  No matter how unimportant it may seem, you never know when it can save you, or at least make you sound intelligent during a casual conversation.

Breath.

As Shakespeare wrote, “To thine ownself be true.”  Love yourself.  You are a beautiful, unique and vibrant creature, inside and out.

Practice moderation; excess can be found anywhere.  Celebrate the world around you; live in it, embrace it, and most of all treasure it for it is all we have.

Enjoy nature.  Watch a sunset, and yes get up early and watch a sunrise.  There is nothing like being there for the promise of a new day.

Treat others as you would want to be treated.  Respect differences, and agree to disagree.

Celebrate.

Don’t be afraid to try something.  Failure is an opportunity to learn from your mistakes.  Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.

Love your family because you will miss them when they are gone.  Cherish the friends you have, as long as they deserve it.

Be patient.

Horrible things will happen.  You will be blind-sided at any point in your life.  You will feel that the issue is insurmountable, but that is not true.  The best way to get through it, whatever it may be, is a step at a time, and trust that you will emerge on the other side.

Life is a roller coaster, filled with highs and lows; sit down, and hang on for the ride.  Just know that the times of sadness in your life will help you to appreciate the times of happiness that will follow.

You are not perfect, and never will be so stop trying.  Moments are perfect, not people.  Accept and love yourself for who you are.  If there is something that you want to change, change it.

Dance.

Love and respect your partner with all of your heart as long as they are reciprocating it in kind.  If they aren’t, then communicate.

Know when to let go of things.  We all worry, we all have baggage, but sometimes, you have to let it go to ease your burden, and free yourself to move onto the next phase of your life.

Don’t live in the past.  They call it the past for a reason; live life a day at a time, and try to focus on the future.

Learn from your mistakes.

Express yourself.  You have a voice, use it.  Don’t be afraid to speak your mind, everyone has an opinion, but you opinions matter too.

Tell people how you feel about them every day.  Tell them you care because you never know when it will be your time.

Go to the doctor.

Believe you are worthy.  Be kind to yourself, and others.

Be proud of who you are, and stand up for what you believe in.  Realize you are worth it.  And finally and perhaps most importantly, laugh loud and often.  Laughter is what helps keep us sane.

But trust me, most important of all, is not to eat yellow snow.

A Drive Through Music

A Ride Through Music

Melissa J. Dallago

            Music is an essential part of our lives; its lyrics and melodies covey so much meaning and depth.  It has the power to move us emotionally, spiritually and make us leap up and dance.  Music is everywhere, surrounding us.

            I know that music is an integral party of my life, and there are certain songs that I am strongly connected to.  Whenever I hear them they remind me of my highs and lows.  Music has healed me after a fall, brought back memories of times gone by, and helped my spirit sour with joy.

            There are times in my life when I am bothered about an issue and I turn to my favorite music for support.  I just choose the random option on my MP3 player and let it play.  It is amazing, and eerie, how the music that plays somehow always has the answer.

            Today on my way home from work, I plugged in my player as usual.  I was in a calm and reflective mood, so I decided to see where my music would take me.  These are the songs that played and what they made me think of:

            “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.  This song is for David.  He is a simple, yet complex man.  I picture David’s dad telling him “troubles will come and they will pass.  You’ll find a woman, you’ll find love, and don’t forget son, there is someone above.”

            “Woman Down” by Alanis Morissette.  This song reminds me to be a strong woman, who should not take any crap.  It talks about our mothers, sisters, and friends being the beaten down mentally and emotionally by how others treat them.  It is best captured in the line, “Next woman down was your lover.  She takes your spite at value face.  Even her hair length and color, gives you the impulse to repeat.”

            “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and The Waves.  “I’m walking on sunshine, oh yeah, I feel the love, I feel the love that’s really real.  I feel alive, I feel the love.”  No explanation necessary here!

            “Werewolves in London” by Warren Zevon.  My dad and I always listened to this song together.  He passed away two years ago, but I smile and laugh whenever I remember us howling to the music like wannabe werewolves.

            “You Could Be Happy” by Snow Patrol.  This song reminds me of an old relationship that ended badly.  A long time ago this song made me sad, but now, when I hear it I smile, because there is no longer any ill will.  The lyrics “Do the things that you always wanted to.  Without me there to hold you back, don’t think just do.  More than anything I want to see you girl, take a glorious bite out of the whole world” are especially true because I want nothing but happiness for him in his life.

            And finally, “I Won’t Give Up” by Jason Mraz.  This song is for David and I; it speaks volumes of our love, and our dedication to each other.  “I won’t give up on us.  Even if the skies get rough.  I’m giving you all my love.  I’m still looking up.” 

            There you have it.  I strolled down memory lane as I listened to these songs.  I released old pain, celebrated girl power, respected my other, better half, giggled with my dad, and felt warm and gushy about my lover.  I think that’s not a bad playlist for my drive home.  Music that is full of affirmation and love.  Music that put a smile on my face as David greeted me at the door, or maybe that was just him.

            I highly recommend trying this the next time you listen to your MP3 player.  Just hit random and see what comes out.  Music is the complete package that can move us in many ways; it can free us, ease our burden, and reaffirm our existence.  Here is to the musicians of the world!  Celebrate and honor them because without their talents our world would truly be a dark and dreary place.  

Springfield Mall

Springfield Mall

Melissa J. Dallago

I have held a job consistently since I was 15 years old.  My first job was at McDonalds where I developed a lifelong addiction to cheeseburgers and fries.  Then in 1994 I began working in Springfield Mall selling shoes at a store called Dulce, which is Italian for sweet.  Their shoes were definitely sweet, sassy and sexy, and needless to say, much like my addiction to cheeseburgers and fries, I stand here before you a reformed shoeaholic.  However, this is not a story about me overcoming my addiction to cheeseburgers and shoes; this is a story about what happened to me one day when I was working at Dulce and a ghost walked through me.

In order to explain my ghostly experience, I have to mention a terrible tragedy that occurred at Springfield Mall on October 30, 1985.  A mentally unbalanced woman named Sylvia Seegrist walked into the mall dressed in military fatigues, carrying a shotgun and proceeded to open fire on the crowds below.  She killed three people, two men and a two year old child, and injured seven more.  Now, by the time I had started working in Springfield Mall, the tragedy had become a distant memory for many, and the mall was once again prospering.  One day at work my coworker Alicia said to me, “So you know what happened here right?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “I remember hearing about it when I was a kid.”

Alicia nodded.  “You know this place is haunted right?  Have you ever experienced anything here?” she asked.

I shook my head, “Nope, I can’t say that I have, and I don’t really believe in ghosts and goblins.”

“Well trust me, you will,” she said.  “Just give it time.  I've had plenty of experiences, and you will too.  It just takes the ghosts a little bit of time to warm up to you.  You know, get to know you.”

“I think you’re full of it!”

Alicia just looked at me with a smile, “You’ll see,” she said as she walked away.

Well, sure enough, within the next month, I had my first experiences.  It started simply by thing being misplaced in the store, displays being changed, and purses and shoe boxes being knocked on the floor after I had put everything away.  At first I just chalked it up to gravity and my own forgetfulness, but then, I started seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye. 

There were rows of shelves in the back of the store where we kept the shoes.  Sometimes when I was walking to the front of the store I would see the figure of a man in black standing at the very end of the row.  I initially thought it was the manager, Matt, but when I turned my head to look, no one was there.  These experiences happened repeatedly, but I was never scared. 

On that day, which turned out to be the hottest day of the summer, the air conditioner for the store decided to take the day off.  It goes without saying that it was as if the gates of hell had opened in the store; Alicia and I were hot and utterly miserable.  We were covered in sweat and our formerly perfectly quaffed hair had melted and hung limply.  Our boss Matt, who was not a sympathetic man, absolutely insisted that we must do an inventory of the shoes and purses regardless of the sweltering heat.  So there were the three of us, Alicia, Matt and I, working in the back of the store moving shoe boxes, counting and recounting stock, and bitching at each other. 

I was nearing heat exhaustion when suddenly goose pimples broke out on my arms, and I was engulfed in an arctic blast of air.  The freezing cold went down to my bones.  I stood there utterly still, eyes wide open, heart hammering and staring into Alicia’s eyes.  Apparently, she had experienced the same cold front I had.  Meanwhile, sweat was still dripping down Matt’s face as he continued to count boxes, totally oblivious to the ice cubes that Alicia and I had become.  This experience lasted only seconds, and then the heat returned; I was petrified. 

Alicia looked at me with a knowing look, and whispered, “See, now do you believe me?  That was one of them helping us cool off.  Neat right?”  I just started at her dumbfounded. 

“That’s happened to you before?”

“Oh yeah,” she said.  “It happens to me all the time.  You’ll get used to it.”

I just nodded.  “If you say so, but aren’t you scared?”

“No,” she said.  “I think it’s just their way of saying hi.  I think the ghosts are lonely and like to have some contact with us.  So no, it doesn’t bother me at all.  I actually feel blessed when it happens, like I’m in touch with something unique.”

I considered that for a moment, and said, “I guess I can see you’re point, but I would appreciate it if they didn’t do that again!”  The ghosts must have heard me because after that one ghostly walk-by, it never happened again.  I continued to see shapes and the shoes and purses still fell on their own, but the ghosts pretty much left me alone.

           I do not know if my experiences at Springfield Mall were genuinely paranormal ones, but as years passed I had other ghostly experiences and read books on the subject.  I have come to believe that places of great tragedy retain the energy of those events within them, and it is possible for that energy to affect those who are within.  I also believe that people who died sudden, violent deaths may also linger on this plane, so it is also possible that the spirit of one of the men who died on that horrible day was flirting with two pretty young ladies by giving us a ghostly goose.  And that is the story of what I learned from working at Dulce Shoes all those years ago.

Nanomites

This is from a prompt I just did.

I was at my doctor's office when he suggested that I get my annual flu shot.  I looked at him in horror because I knew what they were putting in those flu shots, and there was no way in hell I was going to let him inject it in me!  I took a deep breath and said, "You know doc, you're not going to believe this, but I can't get a flu shot today because I know what you're trying to do to the population by giving us these shots!  You see, I was watching the Discovery Channel one night and they had this show on about technological advancements.  In the show they talked about nanomite technology and how scientists have created these little creatures that can do all kinds of things.  So I wanted to know more and I went on Google and searched nanomite technology and got over 100,000 hits!  The stuff that I read doc would blow your mind, but then again you know exactly what they are up to.  I found this blog that talked about nanomites being sent to earth by aliens because they had created them and then the little critters developed a mind of their own and started devouring everything on their planet.  So, in order to save themselves these aliens "gifted" the little monsters to us earthlings!  But here’s the kicker, they didn’t tells us exactly what nanomites were or what they were really capable of.  This blogger really seems to know what he's talking about because he had all of these pictures, and footage of nanomites in action.  And he had these documents that were taken from a science lab that outlined the diabolic plans that scientists were planning on doing with them!  Apparently these scientists are teaming up with Big Brother, whose a real person who know, this guy found him, and even has this picture of him.  He’s this crazy looking dude who has all these wires and stuff coming out of him.  Totally crazy right!  Well this guy has proof that Big Brother is watching us all the time, and now with these nanomites, Big Brother is able to monitor us all the more!  This guys has proof that Big Brother and doctors entered into an agreement to inject these little buggers into the entire human race so they can track us and ultimately control our minds!  My mind was totally blown when I found out that they want to infect all of us with these little robots!  I mean that is some scary stuff man!  I’ve been losing so much sleep over this!  I’m always worrying and now I’ve become down right sad!  It’s just so unbelievable that Big Brother is real, these nanomite things are real, and how they want to control our minds.  I’ve even started taking steps to fortify my house in preparation for the inevitable invasion of nanomites!  So I know what you're up to doc, and there is no way I'm going to let you inject me with my "flu" shot that is actually the delivery system devised to infect all of us so you can control our minds!  So that doc is why I can't get my flu shot today!"  The doctor looked at me in awe, took out his pad and wrote me a prescription for Prozac.  

Fall

Fall

Melissa Dallago

          Spring is commonly associated with a time of rebirth and renewal; a time of the robins returning to the trees and blossoming flowers.  Fall is considered to be a time of harvesting the bounty and preparing for the coming winter.  I do not ascribe to these sentiments of fall and spring.  On the contrary, I consider fall to be a time of resurgence and rejuvenation, but then again, I am a fall baby born into this glorious season. 

            When fall arrives my spirit feels stronger; a sense of purpose enters my step.  Fall is my time of year for being thankful for the joys in my life, a la Thanksgiving, but also of planting seeds for my future endeavors.  Much like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon during springtime, I erupt from mine and burst forth onto the world during the fall. 

            I love my autumn colored clothes coming out of the closet for the cooler weather.  I adore wearing my favorite boots for the first time in the year.  I love the dry, cinnamon smell of the red and orange leaves.  I especially enjoy celebrating Halloween with its black cats, witches and monsters.  I start planning my costume months before, much like an early Christmas shopper.  I wait in anticipation for the haunted houses to open so I can get the crap scared out of me.  I also love Thanksgiving and my mom’s homemade cooking. 

            I relish in fall; embracing everything about it.  So while others are turning their thoughts to the fast approaching winter, I dance through the falling leaves in my favorite boots, drinking hot apple cider, and giggling with the ghosts; celebrating my time of rebirth and renewal. 

Six Months in the Harbor

Six Months in the Harbor

Melissa J. Dallago

           David and I have lived in Safety Harbor for six months.  We moved here in February, and have no intention of leaving. 

            David has always been fond of Safety Harbor.  He found his way here on the weekends.  He would spend afternoons eating barbeque from Brady’s down at the marina watching the boats coming and going.  It was peaceful here, and he enjoyed the quaint, Old Florida feel of Main Street.  Ultimately, it was his love of the Harbor that led us here.

            I, myself, traveled through the area on several occasions, and while I appreciated the town, I was too much of a St. Pete girl to take notice.  Plus, David wasn’t in my life at that time, so I guess, my coming home to the Harbor would wait until we found our way to each other.

            When David and I decided to live together we considered a few areas as potential places to live namely St. Petersburg, Dunedin and Gulfport.  Yet, the thought of Safety Harbor didn’t come to mind until one day at breakfast I reminded him how much he had loved it here.  His face immediately lit up, and the next thing I knew we were in the car and looking at houses.  It was as if destiny had intervened because we found our new home that very day.  The house had all of the amenities we were looking for, a garage, double sinks, and, most importantly, it was within walking distance to downtown.  To top it all off, David even found his new pub, Nolan’s, that day when we stopped to have a stout ale and Craig’s wonderful sangria. 

            From the moment we moved here we fell deeply in love with Safety Harbor.  The gorgeous oak trees strung with Spanish moss.  The eclectic, well-loved houses blending in together.  The beautiful gardens and intriguing art sprinkled throughout the neighborhoods.  The Spa perched serenely on the edge of Tampa Bay.  Biking through Philippe Park and along the pedestrian paths nestled amongst the mangroves.  Watching birds soar over the water by the marina.  The sun’s rays cresting over the horizon at sunrise casting a pinkish hue over the boat docks and paths.  There is so much beauty in Safety Harbor; all of it unique and special to this area.

            David and I frequent the many restaurants in the area, and we always enjoy trying to decide where we would like to eat.  I am a daily visitor to the library as I am a voracious reader who just can’t get enough.  We always go downtown on Fridays for a drink and to stroll under the white lighted palm trees.  We also take our Saturday walk to the new fruit stand to say hello to Bill.  We have frequented Main Street Jewelry and admired Shawn’s skill in creating beautiful pieces of art.  We always go to Third Fridays to enjoy the music and see the vendors’ wares.  Mostly though, David and I enjoy strolling through our town and looking for a place where we can buy our first house.

            Safety Harbor is truly the brilliantly shining jewel of Tampa Bay.  It has a small town feel in the middle of three raging cities.  Yet, it is the people that make Safety Harbor so special for us.  They are always quick to smile and stop for a chat, and tell us what they love best about this place.  Friendly, quiet, serene and beautiful are words that describe the essence of Safety Harbor.  We are proud to call this place our home.  Like the Baranoff Oak Tree standing solidly outside of the library, we have laid down roots in a town that truly is a safe harbor.

The Gift

The Gift

Melissa 

            I kissed many frogs over the years in the hopes that they would turn into my Prince Charming and I would live happily ever after.  Needless to say, my fairy tale dreams were consistently, and often horribly, dashed.  I have been cheated on, dumped, told that it just wasn’t working out, and just plain hurt by the opposite sexes idiocy and misdeeds.  I know that I am not the only woman who has ran through the dating onslaught and emerged jaded and cynical.  I know that I am not the only one who has declared at the top of my lungs that “I’m done with men.”  There was even a very short time when I toyed with the idea of becoming a nun just to no longer have to put myself through the hopeless dating/relationship scene.

            Through all of my trials and tribulations, my parents were there for me, watching from the sidelines, cheering me on when it seemed right and supporting me as I licked my wounds after a dating debacle.  My mom always said not to settle, to wait until I found the right one who would be the right fit.  My dad also told me the same advice and tried to teach me how the right relationship would be.  He described it as being one full of love, support, respect, and most importantly he used the words, the relationship “just is.”  That piece of advice was the hardest one for me to wrap my head around.  I usually just thought he was full of it, and that the dating advice that I read in magazines and books was the way to go.  It goes without saying that that advice absolutely does not work. 

            As the years passed and I was approaching the point where I was going to consider myself an official spinster, my dad got sick and went into the hospital for what would be the last time.  I remember on my dad’s last day on this earth, we had a conversation in which I told him how proud I was of the many battles he had fought throughout the years when it came to his health.  He had persevered through so much, and always kept as positive an attitude as possible.  He, in turn, told me he was proud of me because of my own battles that I had faced in the dating department.  I scoffed, and he told me again what he had always told me, that he wanted me to just be happy.  He also reiterated his statement about the “just is” aspect of the right relationship.  I tucked it away in my memories, and focused on the more important events that were going on. 

            It wasn’t until after my dad passed away that his comments about a relationship began to come true.  By this point in my life I had moved back home with my mom so we could help each other during our time of need, and dating was on the back burner in my mind.  Nonetheless, I still had hope, so I had put my profile out on match.com., and it was on that website, just as I was about to shut down my profile, that I met David. 

            We had so much in common in personalities and desires, and after speaking on the phone we agreed to have a first date, which turned into a ten hour marathon.  That date was the best date I had ever had in my life.  David was adorable, handsome, sexy, a gentleman and funny all wrapped into one.  He took my breath away with his honesty and acceptance of me.  One date became another, and another, and now a year and a half into our relationship, we are happier than we have ever been in our lives. 

            David is wonderful.  He is charming, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding, loving and stable.  We have a healthy relationship that is based on mutual respect.  We are partners together against life, and we find enjoyment in each other.  David enhances my life, helps me to be a better person, and has taught me so many things about the positive things of life that I had forgotten.  He is everything that I want in a partner and more.  He is my world, and I love him completely.

            I also know with every shred of my being that David is a gift from my dad.  My dad was in a position where he was able to find my perfect match.  He helped David and I find our way to each other.  He knew that we would be wonderful and dynamic together; that we were a perfect match in every sense of the word.

            So, on this day, I say thanks to my dad for helping me find David.  It is a wonderful gift when your dad points you in the direction of the man of your dreams.  And what is even more appropriate, I now finally understand his advice that the right relationship just is.  David and I just are, and it is wonderful.