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Perhaps a new tradition for my blog; dedicate to someone who makes a difference in my new life as a writer. Dolores R. is in my writers’ group (and FB friend) which I hardly ever get to. We’ve never met. I suppose we’re enigmas to each other. Bless the internet, emails and her constant words of encouragement, support, advice and good soulful nature.

Rambling is a word like a bird in a cage in a mine foretelling the next several paragraphs. A favorite cerebral game watches the bird’s well-being and let random thoughts scratch the cage wall, escape and make me wonder why the thought was there. Like right now. Snow has fallen. It’s 1957 Newark. I work for a grocery store and I have to deliver four boxes of groceries on my sled (I’m so tempted to say the sled was named ‘Rosebud.’) to an old woman (barely older than I am now, probably) Eight blocks downhill and a near sled escape then three flights of stairs to an attic of sorts; four trips so it was like twelve flights up. The only words spoken were an inquisition why I was so late. I should’ve said there was a lot of sled traffic. Then the door closed with no tip. Tips sustained me, provided the bulk of my income for Saturday movies at the Park Theatre. I should’ve been more proactive. That old lady has bothered me since Eisenhower was President to just yesterday, watching a brown Louisiana pelican try to walk, while covered completely with BP’s sludge oil.

Earlier today a report came out about an MMS oil drilling government inspector high on crystal meth(amphetamine). Back in those days when I used a sled, amphetamine was all over the place. Drug companies marketed it for dieting to housewives. Truck drivers readily popped them on long hauls. It kept them awake. Students partied for a whole semester then took amphetamines for a few weeks straight to study for finals. Once finals were over they forgot everything. Then there’s the legendary story of a British writer who was told he had six months to live. He took amphetamines for six months and wrote an amazing (albeit schizophrenic) novel and didn’t die! (happy trails and endings) Once you throw amphetamines on the cover of a magazine, they get banned in Boston and the rest of the country while tobacco is still king.

Back in those sledding days, we had air raid drills, hopping under our desks, some still with fossils from inkwells. Communism was alive and well. Joe McCarthy. Nikita Kruschev( I think his daughter lives here) ‘I Led Three Lives’ was yesterday’s equivalent of ‘Lost.’ I suppose. Literary license. Rambling again. Point being there were ‘isms’ growing up and many are gone now (like the wall Reagan wanted down), replaced by new ones. Objectivism was Ayn Rand. Man must exist for his own sake. Selfishness is a virtue. And funny thing, I like Howard Roark. Maybe it’s why I went my own way and controlled my words and novel. Altruism. Some might say you’re trying to make yourself feel good, therefore selfish. ‘Isms’ change over time. I watched You Tube the other night; really powerful videos on the rise of Nazism. I’ll never understand. Or maybe I will.

Maturation is insight, perspective and grasp. Maybe I’m getting there. Maybe it led me down the road to environmental awareness. Maybe the only real ‘ism’ left on earth should be environmentalism. I just shrugged my shoulders at the white computer screen, labeled Document 1) More rambling. When I was a senior at Rutgers, studying for finals (with some chemical help) the Jets and Joe Namath were getting ready for Super Bowl III. What a time to be young and in love with football. Debate raged within my study group who was going to win. Baltimore was an overwhelming favorite. I yelled across the table. “There’s something in Joe Namath’s eyes. He knows something.” That yell brought in an official from Rutgers Law School Library. We were escorted out. Why were Pharmacy school students there anyway? I said, “Because it’s quiet.”  A few hours ago the NFL announced the 2014 Super Bowl will be in New York-New Jersey. I live in New Jersey. This weekend is Memorial Day. The real Jersey Shore is open for business. One of these weekends, I’ll make my way down to the boardwalk for one thing; French Fries in a paper bag doused with vinegar. I’ll smile because I ordered the largest sized bag. Part of that particular smile is my arrival at maturation, environmentalism and knowing when to be indulgent.

CONTACT INFO:  website:   http://vichywater.net

FACEBOOK:  Cal Schwartz

Twitter:  Earthood

email:  earthood@gmail.com

Maybe go to vichywater.net, check reviews for the novel. Maybe read it. Have a wonderful holiday weekend.

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