HAPPY ENDING...SHORT STORY

Posted--a day late!--in dVerse

ALL IS WELL THAT ENDS WELL

This is one of a thousand fond memories

About five years ago I was playing (violin) a gig on the top floor of a newly-constructed-but-not-quite-finished luxury condominium.  Prospective wedding clients of mine--she and her fiance--drove there to audition me on penthouse balcony overlooking miles of sandy beach and sea.

I passed the test!  They hired me on the spot, and paid me half the fee in advance, to play the music for their wedding.  Two months later, the to-be bride called me.  Through tears she said the not-to-be groom had jilted her.   She asked if I'd return her deposit. I usually do not return deposit money, but she melted my heart--not a difficult task--grin!--and I sent her the check.

Two years later she asked me to play for her "for sure" wedding (another groom!) to be celebrated on the beach.  She recalled that I had returned her money.  I told her my fee had risen...by one dollar--she laughed.  As we were talking, I jokingly mentioned that she probably "...won't remember what I look like, but I'll be the fellow wearing a tuxedo, carrying a violin."

Her instant response, "Well, you won't remember me either, but I'll be the girl with the sweaty armpits!"

(She became a most happy-and-pretty bride on the beach at Naples' Lowdermilk Park that day, May 14, 2005...and nobody realized she was wet under her arms, except the violin player, me--steveroni)

<a certified reworked re-post--Steve E>

Mooooo

Things could be worse!

Image:

magpie tales week190

"H E L P !"

I see them 

coming, in the light 

one carries milk bucket

other, a bridle and saddle.

me won't know whether 

to kick or bite

HELP! YELP!

INCOME TAX EXTENSION--LAST DAY

OK, I have hired an accountant this year 

to help me with taxes.
Introducing:
SAM HAMSTER
Accounting Master recently retired from

U.S. Internal Revenue Service

CONVERSATION

"Hurry up, Sam!", I shouted

"I am, I am", he said.
"taxes due last April--
then I heard you mention
a six-month extension."

"OKAY, so why aren't they done, son?"

"Hey, I'm just a one-man Ham.
gimme a little space
you can SEE I'm in a jam
what a MESS, this place.

"Today is Saturday. I
Promise to be done soon...
If ya get off my back,
By Tuesday at noon."

"So," I explained, "let's quit
this silly writing and get to work.
Don't want the IRS to see us shirk.
We're gonna do it fast,
even if only half-as*ed."

--steveroni

QUOTE: 
"Friends say I procrastinate--NO!
I just do things at the last minute!"

PEACE and LIGHT!

TIME? Magpie #189

Time...suggested by photo on MAGPIE for Mag #189

image by crillib 50

TIME

Woe is me!

Time is against me

Time is my enemy

Time is that troubling 

"dimension", which I

sometimes question

We call it morning (12 AM)

during darkest night.

Time...a calendar counter

measures everything;

sports, music, industry, science.

Then, there is:

"BE ON TIME, YA HEAH?"

Yesterday and Tomorrow--

are they part of time?

Is time a fundamental 

structure of the Universe?

OR simply is it

"time that keeps everything

from happening at once"?

(Maybe Eternity is now.)

Does this moment have 

no true beginning, nor end?

Forgive me, clocks, but I 

believe you're all phonies. 

Has anyone else arrived

almost before they left?--grin! 

Mind-boggling, I tell you!

Say "old man" if you like

but it's the body which is old.

Not me!  I feel like we shall all

"Live Forever"

PEACE and LIGHT! 

--steveroni

CANDID CAMERA

HOLD STILL! 

LOOK UP! 

SMILE!

Awww....forget it---just look natural, 

do what you are doing, OK?

click....click....click.  Thank you.  

Got a GoooD shot!

I posted this in your bathroom mirror.

GO LOOK NOW!!

--grin.

--steveroni

PINK UMBRELLAS

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub

TUESDAY @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week #116

PINK UMBRELLA

she drops something, a purse?

every day I see her

on my way. I greet her. (wave!)

she, shuffling along--

while speeding in other direction

me, singing a song, or whistling

a few seconds, I make U-turn,

picking up heavy, sagging bag.

strap it on and ride

to catch the caravan.

six smiling children and mom

escorting to school the two...

beautiful sight to behold

and I think of you.

family needing shoes and shorts,

as tears slide down your cheek.

no fancy satin, lace, 

(but each--clean face!)

I observe how

in warding off early morning sun

each older holding finely made (gifted) umbrella

over heads of younger--they all move as one.

first fearful, (children often balk),

each has to climb my bike to see

if their feet might reach the walk.

none.  but leaving "presents" for me

by rubbing faces on leather seat

speaking in only language we know:

laughter and smiles everywhere,

mom happy with her bag. oh's and ah's

from kids. mom's only refrain

"gracias...gracias!"

walking away from me,

seven flower-pink umbrellas

--steveroni

♥

Every morning I see near a dozen families 

walking one or two children to school--but   everybody--young and old gets to go, enjoy the morning air, sunshine. Mother and little ones pushing other littler ones in carriages.

Our neighborhood is multi-racial and multi-national, many immigrants from S America, Cuba, Mexico, Portugal, Haiti, Jamaica...and we all get along. 

daily, these meetings are my morning prayer

Poor, yes. But rich?...OHH, YESSS!

♥

DOGGONE, it's Mag Week #188

Tess gave her friend/bloggers 

this picture/prompt, to write 

something, then post on "our" 

MAGPIE, week #188...JOIN us?

A SHORT STORY

a Native American (mis-named "Indian")

large as a hairless simian

walking with his dog one day

as time would have it so

this was many moons ago

difficult to keep dog at bay

happily yelping, cavorting,

running, generally sporting--

dog ran right off the cliff

owner, tear-eyed and wan

cried softly, "DOGGONE."

and that's how the
word came to be

you see?

--steveroni

A LOVE-LIFE in dVerse Pub

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub

TUESDAY @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week #115

A LOVE-LIFE

before, during, after fame

does not love-its flame

continue the burning

 never adjourning?
  

once

loved by an artist who

travels every place

the world over,

dancing on her toe

now

oh! I miss her face

God, I miss her so...

not secret our love,

neither was for show

remember

two beautiful trees

grew side-by-side

roots entangled

but never tied

and so

we met--before fame.

even during, next,

shall not the flame

continue its burn?

truest of loves

have no adjourn...

now this

we shall meet, and greet

on street or shore...
"Merely this, and
nothing more." ♥

--steveroni

(Sep 2013)

Moth and the Lamp--Mag 187

Published to Magpie Tales week #187

A picture-inspired write. Do it, 

then link your post to Magpie Tales 

the moth and the lamp--casar santos

ON MOVING ON

where does little one go

who formerly followed flow 

of warmth and light

which so excite 

when power shuts down?

does she simply hover

like abandoned lover

making no sound,

fall to the ground

or does she

at time when he

calls it the end

send heart-vibes

around earth's bend

is she who flew

with someone new

to experience blame

for hovering around

a hotter flame

Never...

Ever

steveroni

Sept 2013

WHY NOT TAKE THE TRAIN

Love Train: Story 1

This year 2005--Valentine's Day was celebrated four successive nights on the Dinner Train--accompanied by a Mystery Theater group and a strolling violinist (me!) During the first night I decided to log some observations, chiefly for my recollection. Five long, old-time coaches are transformed into a restaurant, strung out into five dining "rooms". An old diesel is attached behind train. Also an old 1920-styled passenger car is connected in place, for use of the theater actors and me. Seats, bathroom, and floor in "our" car--called the "Green Room"--are covered with thin layers of eighty-year-old coal dust, green, of course! This is real nostalgia! Trip begins in Ft. Myers, Florida and whistles its way north for about two hours. Then we perch on an unseen, dark bridge over a large bay (appearance is that we are sitting right on water).  Dinner is served, after which everything speeds back to the terminal. "Terminal" is an assemblage of a couple trailers (mobile homes) dressed up with lush tropical foliage and faux brick, located on property (also old) of an abandoned shopping center. Tickets, excluding tax, tips, and drinks, are about seventy bucks a head. So that sets the scene.

In all, I entertain four hours with two ten-minute breaks--I bring coffee from home. They always offer me dinner, but there's absolutely nowhere to put down my violin, and it is only with great balancing skill that I can get from car to car without hurting me or the violin. Walking (swaying, twisting, bouncing) from one car to another, I go through smokers' haven, a "breezeway" between pieces of train, joined together (I always pray that is so!) While planning what to play for the next group, someone yells out "PLAY CHARLIE DANIELS!" (He must be the only guy ever to play country fiddle?) So, I break out some "Orange Blossom Special" and "Freight Train".  They hoot and holler.  I spot an elderly couple (lots of older folks aboard, that's good) and play, e.g., "I Love You Truly". Atmosphere goes from boisterous boil, to calm, satisfying simmer. An 8-year-old girl asks why I play so fast ("Flight of the Bumblebee"), and I tell her because I am in a hurry--and everyone laughs.

During nine years on this Valentine gig, I've noticed that people really enjoy the food. With a restaurateur's brain, I watch how they eat, notice what's not eaten, and overhear comments only a strolling performer can note--i.e., they *love* the soup, chicken is cold, etc. It is difficult to serve several hundred people at the same time, in the separate Pullman dining rooms. All food, drinks, on trays shouldered by waiters, must be carried through those "breezeways"--actually outside. I feel compassion for the staff. So the "table-wait-time" makes my musical contributions useful. The Mystery Theater group is a band of seven theatrical warriors, who break up into segments, and traipse from car to car to performing their show. I work around them, no easy task. How they keep track of which car they've been in, and which of their group has performed where, I'll never know. They are true professionals.

One lady asks me to play "Happy Birthday" at her table, just as a segment of the "show" enters the car. Moving on, I say "I'll be "Bach" (like Arnold Schwartzanegger)...and...later, I forget which car, and which table asked for the birthday tune, so I move through all five cars playing "Happy Birthday". In time I spot a smiling woman who says, "You REMEMBERED!" Note: Six more "birthday people" I discover during this set.

My first "accident" in nine years occurs this night--my bow arm knocks over a lady's tall Margarita--right into her soup. She yelps, "It don't TASTE like tomato soup!" Thankfully, it doesn't spill onto her jewelry-be-gowned person. Anniversary Waltz is good for THREE 50th Anniversary celebrations. People arrive from all parts of South Florida and tourists from Europe, China and all over the globe, to ride this train. Some groups board the train from chartered buses.

I make $64 in tips during first night this year. My story set out to be one lengthy single posting. It has gotten away from me, so I've decided to go on the installment plan. There is more! End Installment 1.

PEACE and LIGHT.

Steve E.

AS SHE WALKED AWAY

♥ HAPPY BIRTHDAY to DEAR FRIEND ♥

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub

Today @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week #114

PHOTO BY Chandra Sugiharto

my friend, do you really know

where you go, or why?

is to mountain, sea

or big-city spree?

from foggy morning's

damp are you running...or

walking toward something new?

sophisticated lady, you

still smoke and blow

rings at ceilings

in subtle, yet carefree manner?

"do not wait, waiter--but now!

set by me here

caramel-colored beer!"

(white foam topping?)

morning walk, "cool" style?

or running for life, in fear...

are you yet not realizing,

many friends all are near?

know that everything

ends same way.

as in "all okay"

so 'til that day,

hear what the monk

had to say:

"all life, same.

divided in two,

frozen stream--

burning flame.

that hottest fire

...is love."

that is all what is

in the end! nothing ever more

shall inhabit space beyond that door

except undying, unending love.

truth

unlimited

infinite

The feast of Nin

Published to Magpie Tales week #186

A picture-inspired write. Do it, 

then link your post to Magpie Tales 

ISLAND MASSACRE

On this, the Feast of Nin

sounds of battle-cry

overwhelming, stunning din

echoing from earth to sky

Squirting, sometimes gushing

sounds of blood rushing

as rivelets begin claiming their 

muddy-red little banks

"Vikings give none and take all,

our small garrisson about to fall,

Hide the women, hide children,

silver, gold, stone, from Vike-men.

"Under secret panel in church floor

is the very ideal place to store",

said the People of Scotch

who spoke in antiquated Thracian

(At least, in my imagination!)

None got away alive

in that year 13-75.

A non-historical account by

steveroni

Let'sTake a "Trip"

A Trip in Jazz.  

Inspired from a Blog Post by CLAUDIA ...

in dVerse, Gay is asking for a poem topic, 

"something" about jazz.

PICTURE CREDIT

Thanks, Claudia

Wow, what a trip!

...enjoyed the ride, 

and all the while 

playing the tones

--and the deep notes

whew--I love jazz, 

remembring when I'd 

trouble myself, 

try to pick out the tune, 

unknowing that just to

let it be happening 

is best. 

Alas! The beat, 

mental gymnastics,

intricate "tonguing"

...scaling heights 

then drowning in it all.

Feels like never 

will touch ground again, 

feet...but finally all 

settle into nice, warm, 

fuzzy happy again.

Jazz, Love, I've always known

same could be played again, 

but never retrieved as before

--being ever a new score,

spontaneous imitations

improvisations

which at once

chill, thrill, "kill".

Jazz, you ghost! 

Continually haunting my house,

you keep me 

lovingly addicted...

steveroni 

2013 Sept

MARY and ME--1974

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub

Today @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week#113

Mary--

I didn't even know her name. She saw I was adrift. Sober ninety days. Living in Alcoholic limbo. She saw in me fear, hopelessness, despair. June 1974 she simply handed me a brand new Hazelden 24-Hours-A-Day-Book©. She did not bark at me to "Get a sponsor" or "Work the Steps" or "You're gonna get drunk again" or "You'll never make it"... She said only, "Here--read this every day". That was thirty-nine years ago. And I still read it every day. And I'm still sober--2013. Sadly, Mary didn't make it, died drunk several years later. God bless her!

Then it was I had found out that God does not talk in thunderous bass voice from the skies. He speaks through others, often people with quiet voices, passing on inspired, gentle suggestions put in their heads. It's the way I see it.

PEACE and LIGHT

steveroni

LET SMILE FOOL YOU NOT, BOY -- MAG 185

Published to Magpie Tales week #185. 

Picture-inspired write. Do it, 

then link your post to Magpie Tales 

Rockwell's Illustration (above!)NOT Rockwell's words (below!)

"Heh, heh, so boy

you think $22 is

high price for

dish of ice  

cream?

Boy, just wait until you see

How much it cost, for me

to not throw you off train

in windy, cold, rainy

Cincinnati..."

--steveroni

I remember being in dining car around 1952
and almost "died" from sticker-shock.
I lacked proper amount of funds.
They were not nice to me.

THE POWER OF "THEY" (almost)

THEY OR THEM

(So WHAT!)

"Which way did they go?"

Who are they?

Just WHO do they think they are?

They may be those--or

him-or-her-or-them.

My memories stem

from childhood days

They said

"Don't touch this", "don't do that"...

"he's just going through a faze".

They told me

"Don't swing cat 

by tail that way!"...they 

said to me, "Be Good BOY!"

I mumbled someting like "joy..joy"

They always said to me,

"Have FUN!!!"

as I left for work.

DUHH...Ummm--FUN?--Yeah!

In fine restaurant,

it is they--who, upon being seated

enjoy most "stimulating" conversation:

The food they ate last night, last week...

maybe even last year!

THEIR question of the night

(after food has been served)

"What did YOU order, Junior?"

(mumble): none of your business.

Dinner chat:

Food they'll eat tomorrow, next week,

late-night TV, siestas,

daytime shade they seek

and--what a BUSY life-style they lead:

"T'is MY day to watch-for-the postman;

...we take turns..." they smilingly say.

"They" said this would be a stupid blog post.

Have to admit, sometimes they are RIGHT.

Which is reason I'll end this now.

WHAT? You say that

I may be "they"...or them?
SO WHAT?

I--and they--wish you PEACE and LIGHT

--steveroni

MY FATHER-- "POP" (dVerse OLN 112)

A BLOGGER Friend posted about her father.

The few lines inspired me to bring HERE to 

dVerse Poets Pub and grille (gotta eat, too!)

one of a thousand memories of my "POP". 

Hope you enjoy it.

Steve Elsaesser, c.1968, Naples FL

He said to me..."THIS is my favorite picture"

As posted on Friend Susan Deborah's BLOG:

Yes, Dear Susan Deborah, those days WERE different. It is always so.

My father, another Steve Elsaesser, also was a story teller, from my earliest memory. It had not yet occurred to me that the blind can "see" things in a story--as in life--of which others had lost focus. AND...his stories ALWAYS changed just enough that ya didn't want to miss a single word.

After age 50, when he could no longer hear, children would flock to gather around him to listen..all ages. He always made his tales a learning experience, some morality, some memorable "bon mots" therein.

When he could neither see nor hear, he only knew children were present if they touched him. And they DID! Always, the fearlessness of children around him astonished me.  

Adults would give us a LOT of room to walk by, so they would not have to "look at" his disfigured eyes nor--OMG!--"touch" him.

Meanwhile, young people, ages 2-13 would climb all over him in the sand and water at the beach in Naples. HE LOVED IT! It seemed to me that children would and did realize (somehow) that his ("Broken eyes", they called them!) could "see" God in everything...everywhere. (His occupation: dairy farmer.)

Thanks for bringing back that memory to me, Susan Deborah!
PEACE and LIGHT!

--steveroni
September 2013

MAGPIE TALES week 184 SONG BIRD(S)

Published to Magpie Tales week #184. 

Picture-inspired write. Do it, 

then link your post to Magpie Tales 

 art by Jeanie tomanek

courtesy of The Mag 184

Song Bird:

Hello, Pretty One--Yes, YOU! 
With wings and things,
sharpened head-ring,
anklet replacing boot!

She:
Shhhh! We must not sing so loud...
behind us is that man in the cloud
who spys on me.
I flee to be free. 

Song Bird:
I help you escape, now.
Freedom also my desire.
Jump down from that tree, girl;
set your wings afire.

She:
So afraid, that I might land
on that antique-mobile, but
will try to hit the sand.
Will you hold my basket, Bird?
But...OH!  You have no hand.

Allow me to sing a short poem
which I read on this blog one day...
it is for you, Song Bird,
listen now to what I say:

She:

has become

a most beautiful

Song Bird

♫♫♫

♥

Fly little bird 

Fly if you must

All this is because 

Your lack of trust

Has overcome your

Knowledge of love.

Cavort on beaches

And notice above

White dove...

That'll be

Meee

--steveroni