Molly Malone

 

I was as lonely as a fat guy at a super model convention.  No female prospects in sight. I had left a fine and pretty lady in New York (actually, she left me) for life-affirming adventure.  I wanted mettle-testing physical exertions, education in something other than being stupid, and I needed to grow up, all via the United States Army.  After training in Missouri, Arizona, and Georgia, I was now in Hessen, West Germany.  Dear Lord, what have I done?

   My flash back will bring me to a time, many moons ago, April 1987.  I was as lonely as ever, having just returned from a cold and rainy 20-day U.S. Army field exercise. This West Germany-based U.S. Army infantryman was very proud to be serving in the American forces abroad, yet, the guarantee of Europe that voluntary enlistment provided did not include finding a girlfriend.  There was nothing in my contract saying that after 1,000 push-ups there would be a beautiful woman for me.  Enlistments would have been much higher had that been in the contract.  Times were tough, yet, I was free, to a certain extent, and fully immersed in U.S. Army life. They controlled me, yet, on the occasional weekend pass from military duties, I was “free” to pursue nice young ladies at my own pace, always aware that the West German Polizei (Police) might take me in if I violate any of their laws.  I was a good man and had no intentions of breaking any laws or rules.  I asked God to send me someone to love, in the form of a smart and curvy West German or, for that matter, a lady from anywhere.

   On the big weekend nights out, most of the single U.S. Army soldiers, many hot-to-trot after three weeks in the German forests and fields, were ready for beers and Frauleins.  Most G.I.s on my large U.S. Army post would flock to Frankfurt, Wiesbaden, or Giessen to go to the big disco clubs that had many German women, and, conversely, their German boyfriends who hated the American soldiers. (G.I is General Issue, Government Issue, a term used to encompass enlisted soldiers, used predominantly in World War II, and beyond).  When World War II ended in Europe in May 1945 after the American, British, and Soviet defeat of the Nazi Germans, the U.S. Army stayed and occupied West Germany and West Berlin from 1945 to 1990.  Upwards of 450,000 American troops were stationed in West Germany until 1990.  West Germany, reunited with Communist East Germany in 1990, is a part of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, which, since 1949, has protected western Europe from Communism and foreign encroachments.  An attack on one was an attack on all. 

   Passing inspection of our weapons, our cleaned Army gear, and 13-ton M-13 Armored Personnel Carrier, we were once again prepared to protect the frontiers of freedom along the West German borders with East Germany and Czechoslovakia. 

   After a “rewarding,” 20-day U.S. Army field exercise, we were “free!”

   Three Army buddies of mine and myself decided to go to Marburg, a German college town to our north, and see what and who we could find.  This was not a military town, nor did it have a huge disco or huge clubs for American G.I.s to crowd and ruin any shot I may have had at meeting a nice woman.  I was in great shape, yet I was just a regular guy, with no outstanding attributes, no super handsome looks, or super-Army strength.

   Catching our collective eye was not a German bar, but an Irish bar in Marburg. “Molly Malone’s” was the typical watering hole, as seen in any European or American town.  The bartenders spoke German only, and most Germans refused to speak English to Americans in West Germany.  A long bar, lots of booze on display behind the bartenders, wooden tables and chairs, and a stage for a music band that was to play later that night.

   Alan from Mississippi, John from Massachusetts, Mike from Maryland, and I sat at a nice table, very eager to eat, consume alcohol, and search for ladies.  There were five young woman at a table very near us, so, after some reassurances from my large beer, I noticed a cute girl looking my way.  As I looked behind me to confirm that she wasn’t glancing at some fella behind me, she pointed to me. Me!  I ditched my friends in mid-sentence and tried to be cool and saunter over to her table.  “Guten abend, Ich heisse Richard.” “Und Sie?” (“Good evening, my name is Richard.  And you?”)  I was so spectacularly cool.  The enticing young lady, maybe 20 years old to my 26, soon to be 27, answered in perfectly fluent German “Karla.”  Wow.  I got past the first obstacle, regular speech. My German was like a 3 or 4 out of 10.  I could converse with a child, but adults would soon find out that I was not fluent at all.  Initially impressive, my German vocabulary and sentence forming ability ran dry in 4 minutes.  Karla insisted that I speak English and said that she was “impressed” with my German considering that I had had no formal language training.  Actually, I had taken some German classes in college prior to joining the U.S. Army, which did not fully prepare me for full immersion into the German society.  If in a language predicament, I could always scamper back to my U.S. military post, to the security of speaking English to English speakers.

   This cute and smart University of Marburg college girl, Karla Schoenbrunner, was beginning to take hold of my being, of my heart.  Was I falling in love after 5 minutes, or was I already in lust?  I needed a woman real bad, yet was willing to engage Karla with good listening and sharing feelings.  Who was this man?  It was me.

   As our conversation continued, my pals Al and Mike and John were catching some rap (conversing with) the other college girls at the table.  Three of the five girls were German, and Karla and another girl were Americans studying abroad in West Germany.  This bar was great.  We, as American soldiers, were the anomaly, we were the cause for their collective excitement.

   Painted on the bar wall were the words to the bar’s namesake song, “Molly Malone.”  “In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Karla Schoenbrunner (Molly Malone)…”  My feelings towards Karla were most certainly, “Alive, alive, oh!”

   The lovely Karla and I continued conversing, enjoying our words, each other’s faces, and the thrill of meeting someone who was entirely not of the other’s realm.  She was an upper middle class girl from Pennsylvania, attending a prestigious college there, and I, a middle class U.S. Army soldier from New York.  If not for this wise and woman-seeking excursion to Marburg, away from the loud and ever-present U.S. soldiers in West Germany, I would never have met Karla. 

   The detail that secured her liking me more than the next bloke, was my knowledge of and appreciation for the music of an English rock band, Roxy Music.  A Roxy Music song played on the bar’s juke box and we both sang along.  Their hits at the time were “More Than This,” “Love Is The Drug,” “Angel Eyes,” “Avalon,” and other 1970s and 1980s songs.  She was impressed by me, and I was totally enraptured by her.

   The pints of Guinness Stout loosened our lips and whetted our minds as our conversation turned deep and existential.  Wow.  It’s been a few years since I’ve had a deep talk with anyone.  I was falling.  We hadn’t even kissed yet I wasn’t at that point.  Neither was she. 

   Since our 7:00 PM arrival to Molly Malone’s, it was now closing in on midnight. Karla and her friends had to get back to their dormitory on the university campus.  My coming home with her was strictly “Verboten” (Forbidden).  Me and my pals had to go home, back to our Army post.  A 100 Deutsch Mark ($50.00) taxi ride back to post was in order.  There was no romantic kiss goodnight, yet the groundwork for something very nice with Karla had be placed down.

Gute Nacht, meine hubsche Frau.  Good night, my pretty lady. 

   Karla was not available the following two weekends, as we planned a get together three weeks from that Friday night.  I could hardly wait.  U.S. Army duties and maneuvers occupied most of my time for the next three weeks.  A perfume-scented letter mailed to me out in on a field exercise stirred my feelings.  I hoped that she was as eager for our next rendezvous as I was.

   The songs of Roxy Music had gotten me to the next level.  I even wrote a poem about Karla.

It was April 1987 and I was hopeful that there would be “More Than This.”

 

Richard Melnick.

Haiku

 

Grey whispers steal light,

Trees fade, shapes melt in the white,

World hushed; secrets kept.

Georgia - Jan 2024

The Horizontal Forest of Middle Village

 

I came upon this curious annual horizontal forest at Juniper Valley Park while meandering through this oasis from city life the other day. It is a curious forest that grows up upon the cement tiles along the West side of 80th St. as the road transverses the park. There are Douglas Firs and Blue Spruce, Pine Trees and many other species. Some are 12 feet long while others are only two feet high, but they are all the discarded remains of the holiday season still exuding a strong evergreen aroma. Most are bound holding their limbs down as if they had been kidnapped and some are covered in a plastic bag to stifle their protesting cries of abandonment. Some still have ornaments that had hidden themselves away from those who stripped the trees of their ornaments and finery. Occasionally tangled tinsel that ostentatious cousin of common Easter basket grass can be observed that usually dance together around vacuum spindles after the two holidays pass. One small tree even has a tree stand still attached! All the trees look lonely and forlorn after having been the center stage of joy and celebration during the holiday season, only to be discarded like last year's fashions. Twenty-five million of the comely conifers lie cold and bored waiting for their future to be revealed in similar temporary forests all over the country. I wish I could explain to them that they have nothing to fear as they will be grounded up and seeded through parks and gardens as mulch to enrich Mother Earth and be intimately involved in the rebirth of spring.

Jim-Jan '24

Bird TV

 

I live on the third floor and have a wonderful view of trees and buildings and cars and sun. There are tons of birds around, sparrows, starlings, pigeons, crows, geese and an occasional seagull. Seagulls don’t come around much because they are scavengers and head toward the garbage heaps about four miles from here.

Geese and crows eat worms and bugs and don’t like bread too much.

Pigeons are fat and lazy and keep themselves at train stations and odd cement squares that separate forks in the road.

So we are left with sparrows and starlings mostly. There are so many in the winter and less in the spring because in the spring there are loads of tasty bugs to be had.

It is now winter and these little fat birds are hanging around in abundance on the wires and posts and roof tops outside my window.

I get around to feeding these marvels at seven in the morning. At least fifty birds are waiting and another twenty five stop by after the initial feeding frenzy for crumbs on the sidewalk and whole pieces on the windowsill.

Out the window I throw at least eight cut up slices of bread every day in winter for my birdy friends, then I shut the window tightly. Bird TV has begun. My two kitties’ arrange themselves like statues in front of the window and I sipping tea sit at my table and watch the show.

Bobbing and weaving and fighting and cooperating birds muscling around for their fair share of free bread. The kitties try and pounce at the chubby and plump starlings. After realizing they can’t get through the window they sit and watch.

This is our everyday morning routine. Me and my two cats and a show of feathers, wings, little legs and beaks. Brown and black and gold and yellow colors.  Chirping voices remind me of the freedom to fly, the hardships overcome and willingness to be brave.

For as long as I live here I will feed my bird friends every day and enjoy their entertainment. Tweet, tweet, chirp, chirp.

Georgia

Music and Love

 Writing Prompt:

Write the beginning of a new story in which a fictional character falls in love with the help of music.

In the cacophony of the city existed an unpredicted tune that will bring two strangers together.

In his daily mundane routine Oliver became aware of smooth background jazz of Dave Brubeck. Brubeck’s “Take Five” was sweeping and dancing through the air.

It was raining as he stopped at the coffee shop. This was part of his usual routine and habit. He sat at a table looking around lost in thought.

The barista changed the entire energy of the coffee shop by playing “Moonlight Sonata” by Beethoven. Oliver didn’t mind, he was winding down after a long day. The music unexpectedly resonated deep within.

As he was glancing around, he noticed an attractive young lady. Becca was engrossed in reading at the corner table not noticing Oliver. To Oliver she was familiar. He felt connected to her as if the music had invisible strings connecting them.

Each note became a love language, evoking vulnerability, a spell cast, and wordless words not yet spoken.

At the last chord Oliver found the courage to approach Becca. In this small coffee shop under awkward hellos, raindrops, cascading music, enchantment and mystery begins a serendipitous new love story for two solitary souls.

Georgia
Jan 2024

What I Learned About Apples

 

What I Learned About Apples

Written from a school grade point of view, although I didn't know this in 5th grade.

The crisp winter apple this crisp winter day.

Holds in its core an apple array 

Of traits and tastes, of tints and shapes 

Which the apple in my palm does not itself display. 

Each potential apple, each seed deep in its core,

Holds different heritage in its DNA store. 

The world in its multiplicity can make apples galore

Of reds, greens, and yellows I really adore.

The flavors can vary from bitter to sweet

And each seed has a path it is destined to beat.

 

Not like its core-mates, not like its parent,

What the seed will become is not all that transparent.

The apple of knowledge, the apple of history,

It's hard to trace its genealogical mystery.

As I ruminate and munch, and savor the flavor,

for lunches and snacks, this fruit's just a life-saver.

Marsha

The Windy Weigh-In

 

As in grammar school when that sobering time came to file into the classroom to find out whether the student had truly been paying attention, taking good notes, doing their own homework and studying diligently, it was time for the final exam, or in this case of a Weight Watchers meeting, The Weigh-In. During the winter months, in preparation for this sobering event, light summer clothing was generally worn under the necessary heavy winter coats, hats, gloves and scarves. All were deposited on the chosen folding chair, as wallets change of a dollar, house keys and timepieces were discreetly tucked away in the tips of one’s shoes for the men or pocketbooks for the women.As with grammar school you could tell who had prepared for the day with the tell of an overly sunny disposition, a-lighthearted air, straining at the leash so to speak, eager to stand on the scale of reckoning, an earthly judgment day, as it were.Meanwhile those who had not been so diligent walked to the scale as if they were walking to the electric chair, having been seduced by the exhaust of a bakery on their weekly sojourns or sauntering down the cookie aisle of their local supermarket with Velcro tipped gloves!

 

            Everyone was hungry having been good on the previous day, not unlike cramming for the final exam. I waited patiently in line until my turn came for that moment of truth.I stepped gingerly on the scale and as the machine calculated I was amazed to find out that I had just left the 15% club my code word before being under 300 lbs. I felt as light as a feather as I stepped off the scale to a throng of congratulatory exclamations by the Weight Watchers representative and my peers! I was proud that I had stuck to my objectives for the week. After the meeting ended, we all made our way to the exits and filed into the parking lot behind the Metro Mall as the M train was pulling out of Metropolitan Avenue Station, to the left. Just then a huge gust of wind no longer blocked by the train game streaming across the wide-open parking lot, and I was lifted off the ground and up into the air, floating away from my compatriots as they struggled to catch me as I ascended over the parking lot. Everyone on the ground looked amazed as I floated away, and some faces seemed congratulatory while others seemed annoyed that this was some excessively ostentatious trick of showy bravado. There was no trick and I could not explain the situation as I floated over the BJ's tire center then Christ the King High School,All Faiths Cemetery South and then across Metropolitan Ave into All Faiths Cemetery North where I eventually grabbed hold of the top tree branches pulling myself down to the tree trunk and climbed back down to Terra firma. I immediately searched for and put a large rock in each of my coat pockets so that this unfortunate incident would not be repeated in the future. In retrospect I have recently read a quote by the contemplative Buddha stating that “If you wish to fly give up everything that weighs you down “.

 

                                                                                                                               Jim-Jan 24’

Old Friend

 

I have one friend from childhood. We met when I was 15 and he was 17. We used to play guitar and piano together. His family was wonderful. His voice was like velvet. We had tons of fun and we were a couple for two years. He went his way and I went mine.

We reconnected a few years later and the same thing happened.

It’s really strange because for the following years we ran into each other often. We could not get away from each other. We couldn’t be a couple for unknown reasons. But we always kept in touch with each other.

When his Mom passed away, we reminisced about how we all used to sing together. I said my goodbyes to this wonderful lady who really welcomed me.

Every year at Christmas we exchange Christmas cards and each year my dear friend would burn a CD for me of old movies and Jazz music and other subjects we were always interested in. One year he sent me an old VCR tape of us at his house on Christmas. I cried when I saw this. We were so happy.

This year I got my Christmas card with a CD and the only words on the card were “It’s been a rough year.”

I do keep in touch with his sister too and she said that my friend is suffering with back problems, blood problems and some other dangerous stuff. My friend does not want to need my help because he has a support system.

We don’t run into each other anymore. We have chosen to remember all the good times, the conversations, the connection we had in these past five decades.

I guess that is how it is when you finally get old enough to realize how much you really loved each other and how it is too late to have a life together.

I will always remember my dear friend and if we are lucky perhaps, we will meet in the afterlife.

Georgia