Now, There is Hope

Now, There is Hope
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Photo: The inspiring view from my office window this afternoon, overlooking Madison Square Park at the corner of Madison Avenue and 26th Street in New York City, U.S. of A.


“If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.”
Barack Obama at Grant Park after his election, November 4, 2008

Now, There is Hope

January 23, 2009, New York City:

I’m feeling post-inauguration glee.

For now I feel, despite eight years of being misled by a confederacy of dunces, we now have a true leader at the helm.

Moreover, he is black.

Wow, how did that happen?

I honestly never thought I’d see the day when we might have an African-American, or any “person of color” really, in the Oval Office.

I just didn’t have that much hope for the American public and I was convinced that prejudice would still reign over reason.

Thank God I was wrong.

Because, now, I feel anything is possible.

Because, now, I feel that indeed we shall overcome.

Because, now, I feel that after 40 days and 40 nights in the valley of death, we can now begin our ascent in earnest to the mountaintop.

Because, now, I feel there is hope.

And for the first time in my life, I actually feel proud to be an American.

Thank you President Obama for instilling some much-needed faith in me.

I’m ready to pitch in to do whatever I can to help this country, and this world, recover.

I’m ready to make an effort to do more for others and less for myself.

I’m tightening my belt, making “less is more” my mantra, and I’ve already signed up to help out at the Soup Kitchen next month.

I’m also resigned to spend less on things I don’t need and more on those things that make life truly meaningful—more quiet time at home, more time reading, more time creating, rather than consuming.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, I’m looking forward to spending more time with those I love—my boys, my beautiful girlfriend, and all my great friends and family.

Thank you once again for inspiring me Mr. Obama. You give God Bless America new and truer meaning.


O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
America The Beautiful, Katharine Lee Bates


“What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept, but rather seize gladly.”
President Barack Obama’s inaugural address, January 20, 2009

Her Apocrine Allure

Her Apocrine Allure
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

July 2, 2008, San Jose, CA:

“You’re trouble mister,” she smiled, pushing me away.

I was buried nose-deep in the heady pit of her neck, inhaling deeply, intoxicated by a sultry mix of feline heat and the poison she called her personal line of perfume.

It was a hundred and four and we were deep and punch-drunk in the heart of Texas, sipping on some sweating Lone Star and Tecate beers. Two empty shots of Patron lined with crusty-salt ( "training wheels" the sassy waitress called them) with half-eaten lime wedges sat next to the bottles on the bar. Old Elvis tunes rang through the joint from a jukebox in the corner.

You fooled me with your kisses
You cheated and you schemed
Heaven knows how you lied to me
You're not the way you seemed

She fanned herself with the paper menu, “Wheh! Oh, Lordy, Lord. I’m feeling hotter than a whore in church. What are you doing to me mister?," she intonated, like a siren wailing under the full moon.

I grabbed the arms of her stool and pulled her in again, my knee sliding in smoothly between her damp legs.

She pressed her naked knees together (she loved to wear dresses— "I have a whole closet full of them," she once beamed to me proudly, her dimples curling higher than I've ever seen before); she squeezed them together almost as if she was trying to exorcise that aching feeling; the one that I now sensed. Much like a K9 smells through to a femme fatale tightly wrapped in black leather or a seisomograph feels the trembles of trouble at the fault line, I felt something ornery acoming on, a certain redolent pulsation now emanating from between her whet thighs.

Looking awry at the floor with a shy smile that almost fooled me, she spoke softly, demurely asking, “Have I ever told you that I’ve got a problem with my knees?”

I cocked my head in the same curious manner that dogs do when their masters confuse them, and then squinted, trying to see through my suspicious mind, furrowing my brow so that I just might remember.

Alas, I was caught in a trap, and I couldn't get out, even as I gave one good last shove of the surly lash that was now cocked warily, like a pious pirate ready to plunder, above my one good eye.

Knowing I was hooked, she placed her hands, one atop the other, on my captive knee. And then, looking at me straight in the eye, she leaned in to whisper, al the while digging deeply, “…You see, the problem is that whenever I’m around you, I can’t seem to keep them together…”

Momentarily dazed and confused by the vertigo of her allure— the girlish voice meant to disguise a vixen's intentions, the apocrine waft of her perfume that was now pulsing in synch with the aching drumbeat of my desire, and the sharp pangs that were now coursing up my thigh as she pressed her sharp nails into it— It took me a long moment to understand.

Once she saw the slight curl of my lip, the reassuring tell that told her that, indeed, I felt the pain, she informed me through clenched teeth and a wicked smile of satisfaction "'Vamp,’ the color is ‘vamp,' mister.”

It was then, then that I understood.


"What is second sight? A gift? A training? Or is it simply that suddenly within the brain a thousand impressions, ideas, sights, sounds, and smells coincide to provide an impression of what is to be? The mind gathers its grain in all fields...” Louis L'Amour

*

(R&O thank you for the inspiration)
Lorenzo

It was a good 40 years…

I did it my way...
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I’m dying…

Which is merely to say, acknowledge, accept—that I’ve likely entered the latter half of my life.

After all, even The Chairman of the Board, Ol’ Blue Eyes, the once-immortal Mr. Frank Sinatra eventually had to die too, at the ripe-old age of 82. Both my grandparents lived into eighties as well. And my maternal grandmother passed away at 94—so I’m not really worried…

Although, I did wake up with a sore throat this morning.

In the past, usually I’ve thought a sore throat was just a sore throat, and nothing more to fret about. However, lately, I’ve worried a little more about how, for the last 16 years, I’ve tried to make up for the first 24 years of being relatively straight-and-narrow.

In particular, I’m referring to the regular-irregular indulgence of-in tetrahydrocannabinol.

Hence, I’m slightly more paranoid than usual about my “sore throat.”

Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m dating a doctor who tells me about her dying patients, almost daily.

In fact, in the last 40 days I’ve heard the word “metastasis” 10 times more than I’ve heard it during my first forty years.

Hence, I woke up this morning a bit more worried than usual. Hence, I thought, “Regardless, nonetheless and allthemore—it’s been a good 40 years.”

I’m satisfied that if I were to die today, that I’ve left behind a legacy for my boys, which readily conveys how happy and how exuberant I’ve felt about living. And that, hopefully, will likewise inspire my children and others to feel the same about this wonderful life.

Hopefully, I will live another 40 happy, healthy and fruitful years, if only to enjoy my night on earth just a little longer.

Thus, I’ll think positively, and, for the moment, believe that I will survive my sore throat—especially since it went away an hour after I woke up…

(Although, I’ve still got that certain dull heaviness in my chest that seemingly makes it hard to breath every once in a while—the metastasis pressing against my lungs and all…)


And now, the end is near,
And so I face the final curtain.
My friends, I'll say it clear;
I'll state my case of which I'm certain.

I've lived a life that's full -
I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets? I've had a few,
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course -
Each careful step along the byway,
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew,
When I bit off more than I could chew,
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried,
I've had my fill - my share of losing.
But now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that,
And may I say, not in a shy way -
Oh no. Oh no, not me.
I did it my way.

For what is a man? What has he got?
If not himself - Then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way.

Yes, it was my way.

— My Way, Frank Sinatra —


Note: Because I believe it is important to give credit where credit is due, here is the story behind this seminal song in Sinatra’s repertoire, according to the writer of the song, Paul Anka, as relayed on his website:

Paul first heard the French song, Comme D’habitude (written by J. Revaux, G. Thibault, C. Frankois), in the summer of 1967 when he was in Europe. Although it had different lyrics and a much different feel, Paul instantly connected with the melody. After running into Frank Sinatra, in Florida, who mentioned retiring sometime soon, he asked Paul when was he going to write something for him...so Paul, determined to do just that, returned to New York, sat down at the piano at 1 a.m. and wrote the song. Five hours later, this seminal composition was finished and was sent to Sinatra. After hearing the song, retiring became a distant memory— ‘My Way,’ went on to become Frank Sinatra’s signature song, and one of the most recognizable songs in the world.

Reversal of Fortune

Fun With Two Lorenzos
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Reversal of Fortune

Funny how easy it is to feel like you’re on top of the world one day, and then feel like you’re at the bottom of the barrel the very next.

And vice-versa.

Last night, I experienced just such a change of fortune, as my flatmates, Dr. Lorenzo and Jane hosted a belated birthday dinner party for me. In attendance were Caroline, Ezra, Robert and Stephanie.

Catered by L&J, we all sat down to a sumptuous Mexican meal of tacos: corn tortillas stuffed with superbly sautéed chicken, peppers and onions; freshly cut cilantro, tomatoes and limes; jalepeños, guacamole, pineapple salsa and lots of cheese (because as Enzo, my oldest son, loves to say “Papa, Mexicans love cheese! They like to put cheese on cheese.”).

Needless to say, the libations overflowed and laughter careened throughout the evening, eventually carrying us all out and onto Havana Central at The West End, where we danced the night away, until midnight, when age became of us and we decided to let the college kids continue on with the revelry.

So, once again, I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have such great friends. Once again, my companions helped me see the light at the end of the tunnel. And once again, I could rightly smile again.

Thank you one and all for making 40 years extraordinarily meaningful.

Lorenzo




"Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.">

— Mary Schmich