Archive for February, 2012

Got guts?

written in Dads last journal.


Day Ten

I tried to do ten photos in ten days but it took me almost 11 weeks. Anyway this is a photo of my keys. Three years ago I only had three keys. The key to my car. The key to my locker at YMCA and the key to my storage unit where I kept a couple of boxes of “stuff” Now they are filled to keys to many doors. Alot can happen in three years.

My keys hold a Giants 2000 Super Bowl metal logo. This used to be on the keychain of our late aunt Geraldine Jones. The Giants were in the midst of a four game losing streak when I put it on. At seven wins and seven losses they were a real longshot to get into the playoffs. They ended up being the first 9-7 team to win the Superbowl. I like to think that only because of this keychain did the Giants win. But I also believe that the ghost of Geraldine Jones was in fact on the field and helped the Giants to recover one of their own fumbles.

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A day on the Lake (PTMYT)

YES. This is indeed Rebel! Echo Lake Park Westfield NJ

From Photos That Make You Think: Feburary 2011 (click here)
A closer zoomed in look can reveal many things. Perhaps that may be Beverly and Glenn with him.


The strange things I found out in Las Vegas

This was taken in July 1975. Actually a year when the Grateful Dead "retired" Although he has seen many concerts he did tell me that he wasn't a real full fledged Dead Head but that they did indeed "make some good music"


the man in the window

what is a blog and why am I going to be in one seventy years from now?

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the Hartman’s

The Hartman's

a really hot hot summer day in late 1960’s my mother asked me
what i wanted for my birthday dinner
hot hot oven and no aircondition ing
ok my favorites hamburger and frenchfries and here we were lined up
on the long table(hand crafted) Later:
Mr. Hartman arriving like an anthology of darkness, writing his lifes numbers in little black books
and sometimes he would write to God, skipping through Jesus and right to the
boss of the house always six feet taller then anyone else, he never
wore jeans and grew tomatoes and roses

With the cuckoo clock on the rec room wall
scaring the simplicities of childhood right outta my ripped spaceman-pajamas. Modern
kitchen catching Thusday nights setting sun”Dad is gonna KILLYOU when he gets home
and yet”he never did murder.Just sits down to steak and mashed potatoes laced with speed
“Pretend we’re an unexploded bomb (she shivers and sighs”

These two that got married in the rain one soft June anniversary day in who knows when
nineteen hundred and who cares. They drank and gambled fought and loved.
After too many cigarettes and Rock and Ryes on the rocks the kitchen walls
collapsed and woke the ten children out of deep dark dreams

you are ATOP of a mountain of stairs The worn out gold shag carpet path
holding your siblings hands Down in the valley of kitchen the scream ing makes no
sense. Constant.
A freight train flying by at top speed endless your necks straining for the end somewhere the caboose please
God help the world is ending when your parents are drunk and fighting bells and lights flashing
finally from the top of the mountain fog in the sobbing, someone cries out PLEASE STOP

You are past boundaries of late night unheard of in your age.

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Geraldine Jones

circa 1945 -perhaps Westfield-

Long overdue, I know. Geraldine Jones 9/4/29 to 9/5/11. Rest in peace. A wonderful woman, wife, sister, aunt, mother, daughter and friend. For the most of the Mighty Ten we lost touch with her and her family soon after Dad died. Our aunt Gerry. Our fathers sister. I was mightily blessed to have made a very slight connection with her right before she passed away and it brought back so much to me at the time and even now it still does. It all happened so suddenly and all at once, finding Gerry and Robert, Diane, Dennis and Bill, the losing Gerry and then….that dream-like sequence of events where I was actually visiting Robert at his home (Rock and Roll museum), the jet-lagged visions of Fort Dix, Brooklyn, Tin cups, Jay in full military garb, his smile and southern accent, Gerry’s screeching yelling at us crazy kids to stay in the basement. But most of all my memories of her are the time she scooped me up and took me to Sacramento Ca. In 1975. Reno, Los Angeles, Nevada, Disneyland and maybe I would have stayed there forever if she didn’t finally pay my way home because mom couldn’t. I could have been George Jones. I have always missed her and I always will. Not many in the Hartman family remember her. She slipped away so quickly and silently….right before I was going to see her. That’s what hurts so much. I had so many questions and now maybe they will go unanswered forever. God bless her soul.