I was a boy scout. My youngest son was a boy scout. He worked very hard and earned the rank of eagle, of which I am still very proud. I was even a scoutmaster in his troop for several years. I was such a good scoutmaster, so proficient was I in leading these boys that I had my salary doubled not once - not twice - but three times.*
My boyhood time as a scout had a profound impact on me and still does to this day. I have even taken part of the Boy Scout Dogma, the Scout Law, made it my own and use it everyday as a guide - a road map to take me to the moral high ground that I believe God might expect me to reside.
I try each day to be...
#1 - TRUSTWORTHY - Trust is the interest paid on how far others will allow me to become a part in their life, how far they will put my needs before theirs. I must be worthy of that trust - I must earn it.
#2 - LOYAL - To myself and to others. In order to support and uplift people worthy of my loyalty I must believe in them and always give the benefit of the doubt.
#3 - HELPFUL - I must be aware of those around me who are in need and as long as I don’t violate any personal or social rules offer my assistance when I can.
#4 - FRIENDLY - In order to have friends I must first be a friend, and I like having friends.
#5 - COURTEOUS - Courteous to individuals and groups that do or don’t deserve it. Especially to those that don’t deserve it., for I have no way of truly knowing the difference.
#6 - KIND - Kindness is the sugar used to sweeten the sourness of life.
#7 - OBEDIENT - I will always have masters - but, even my masters must defer to someone. I must obey in order to be obeyed.
#8 - CHEERFUL - A smile can turn an unbearable task into a bearable one - either from another coming in or from me going out.
#9 - THRIFTY - with money - with possessions - with life and love. Nothing lasts forever, and with most essential things - when they are gone - they are usually gone for good.
#10 - BRAVE - Not being scared is not the same as being brave. being brave is standing up for what I believe to be right even though I am as scared as I can be.
#11 - CLEAN - my body - my mind- my surroundings. I always leave these areas cleaner than I found them - especially my mind.
#12 - REVERENT - I must be humble - I must walk with my head high - there is a time and a place for everything - I must respect myself - I must respect ALL living things and everything I see and don’t see is alive - I must respect God.
This is my moral compass - my spiritual roadmap. This is how try to live my life, lessons learned years ago that I attempt to maintain. Oh yeah I’m also pretty good camper, a good very happy indeed camper.
Have a great day...I know I will.
* (0 x 2) + (0 x 2) + (0 x 2) + (0 x 2)= 0
JUST A POST FROM A NOT QUITE OLD YET MUSICIAN WITH A STUPID BROKEN BRAIN CONDITION THAT ANYONE CAN GET - ANYONES BRAIN - YOU DON’T HAVE TO USE THAT BRAIN MUCH OR EVEN TAKE IT OUT OF THE PACKAGE.
Some people light a candle and curse the light, they blame God for the cards they have been delt. I can't do that, there have been nights however, long, sleepless, and painful nights that if I were to find the repsposable party for my parkinsons induced steel wool hayride I would not hesitate to stick a size ten boot upside their rear. If God, The Universe, my Dentist, my Cat, or anything else I might believe is responsible for the things that happen to me, hell, it could be that giant, well dressed Giraffe I’m always talking about, if I were to find out they were responsible I would be mad at them, and use my boot in the afore mentioned manner, but I would not blame them,. Blame and self pity are roommates, they are both the same size and wear each other's clothes.
When I go to the beach I sometimes wonder will this be the last time I ever do this? Then I reflect on all the children that are born everyday blind, the’ll never even know what the color blue is, the color of a clear summer sky as it cradles a slightly darker blue ocean. There are many in this life who have it much worse than I do.
I go camping and on a long hike - will this be the last time for this, maybe the last time...I don’t know. I then think of the 19 year old soldier coming home from a futile war somewhere - a distant land were they left behind their legs. Or I remember a good friend who spent his adult life in a wheelchair. There are many in this life who have it much worse than I do.
There are many examples were a person is robbed of a basic human ability; I was blessed with a doozy, parkinsons is not a disease you die from, it's one you live with, you live with it everyday as it slowly robs you and what it takes it doesn't give back. Don't bother calling the police they can only intervene after it's too late. You never get better in almost all cases it only gets worse - I can look forward to a lot of last times, but we all can. The key is to realize that there can also be a lot of first times ahead. Since my diagnosis I’ve performed a stand-up comedy routine - produced a solo CD of songs I wrote - been to Paris twice, Jamaica and LA - developed a solo music act - I started a blog that I am using as the backbone of a book I am writing about my life fighting pd - and I am working on my next CD. I also have started a new journey down an untraveled turnpike as an artist , a painter. - I have been met with to what I feel are positive and encouraging reviews I am a passionate painter that paints emotion. using color - line and shape instead of notes and words to tell the story i am obligated to tell
I am not giving up - I am not slowing down. I am not engaging in blame and feeling sorry for myself, for there are many in this life who have it much worse than me. I am reminded of the old platitude but with my added twist...
I was complaining about having a brokeN brain until I met a man with no head.
Have a wonderful 2015 and my it be filled with serendipitious creativity that makes your heart and spirit soar with joy. I promise to talk less this year about what has taken from me and more about what I have been given.
Have a great day... I know i will.
I JUST WROTE THIS SO I MIGHT AS WELL POST IT
If I were to find myself in motel conference room with 30 guitar players and their instruments, 30 guitar players with varying degrees of skill and experience, from virtuoso to novice, seasoned pro to garage band beginner. If I were to wake up in this performers purgatory, and told by a man whose jacket did not match his pants, that I had a new job and that job was to pick the best guitar player in the room., not only would it be one of the most amusing and engaging first days on the job, but also one of the easiest - easiest because I would only have one category, one criteria in which to decide the victor of this redundant competition.
To me a true musical experience is the transfer of the passion of the music - through the passion of the performer - to the passion in the soul of the listener. Simple as that. Technique, Virtuosity, Musicianship even playing the right notes and being in tune may help with this transfer of this passion., but no matter how shiny and bright - fancy and new your fleet of limousines is - if there ain't’ no rich people to haul around you will soon be out of business.
So, it would be an easy job, for I would rather listen to the least experienced with the least amount of chops playing one chord - one note with passion, than the most experienced virtuoso phoning in the most difficult piece in the world perfectly.
I would easily find the kid playing with passion. I assume it would be a kid because as we age life and it’s responsibilities trend to suck the passion right out of us leaving us to nostalgically long for our youth. It doesn’t have to but if you let it... it will. I refused and still fight this "good ol’ days" syndrome. i did not peak in my early life, hell, I haven’t even began to peak. The more i think about it I realize that I will never peak. My best days are ahead of me and always will be; I will ride my passion like a Chuck Yeager, ride it till I leave this earth never looking back.
Passion has a way of making itself found, for passion seeks after passion and I am a very passionate man. Ask my wife. The journeyman passion that lives in me would lead me to the amateur passion in that kid and I would tell the most passioeservednate - the best guitar player in the room where to pick up their reward and when.
Oh, one thing though - the kid would have to show up on time.
Live your life with passion, for it is the wealthy party person renting the limo in your heart.
I was taught, as many of you were, that hate is a negative, destructive, albeit extremely powerful emotion. and although it can be found everywhere and within everybody I was taught that it was wrong and was to be avoided. I was brought up to love my enemies as Jesus said too, or at least try.
But there is now an enemy in my life, an enemy that is one of the worst a body could have. An enemy that has no body or soul, but it is still capable of destroying my hopes and dreams, my present and my future. I don’t know if it even exists in any tangible form other than the summersaults it does in my brain. It’s name honors the man who first recognized it’s cavalcade of symptoms, a scientist named Parkinson. I don’t hate this man Parkinson, but I hate the disease named after him I HATE pARKINSON’S DISEASE. I hate it with a passion, a passion that I have, up till our introduction some 10 years ago, reserved for people, places or things that I love. I hate what it has done and continues to do with my earthly body using Samurai intensity and skill. I hate what it has done and continues to do to my family and friends who watch helpless my long slow decline. I hate parkinson’s disease, and it’s OK. I believe it’s OK to hate, sometime it’s your only option.
It’s hard to fight a battle when you don’t know who your enemy is, and living with parkinson’s is a battle. an hourly battle that only stops when i am asleep , ah sleep, golden sleep, how I long for your warm embrace - your kiss of normalcy. I wake up every morning - stretch my tired, abused and bullied muscles. I then think of all the wonders in my life and all that I have to look forward to and live for. These are the things that get me out of bed. See, I don’t hate my life, my condition, the piss poor hand i’ve been dealt, quite yet contrary. I LOVE MY LIFE - I love my wife, my family. my creativity, my mere existence, and i would’t change a thing even if I could, for it is all in the Universes plan. These things that I love get me out of bed, but it’s my hatred for mr p. that keeps me out (mr p. is what my wife Kath-a-leen the Garden Queen and I call this adversary who has decided for no reason to invade our peaceful life - notice how I never capitalize parkinson’s or cancer crohn’ s or ms - they don’t deserve that respect.) it’s my hatred for mr. p that fuels this military machine of Life, Love, Strength, Creativity and Beauty that I have had to become.
parkinson’s attacks you when least expected, always using different tactics. So I must be ready, and my hatred keeps me ready - keeps me spry - keeps me fighting. I will not let him win. Sure we all die, but I will be damned if it will be at his hands. I will not starve to death because I have no appetite or I’m unable to process and acquire nutrition from the food I do eat, I will not develop Pneumonia because my swallowing ability has been compromised to the point that my lungs fill up with fluid every time I eat or drink. I will not die from a stupid, avoidable fall because my balance has defected, I will not kill myself or give up the fight because of depression. I will not let the nearly constant pain, loss of independance and basic physical abilities ruin my life. I will not let these things take my joy, destroy my happy and cause me to surrender. I refuse. It’s because I hate him so much and I love my life and myself so much that none of these things, or the myriad of other weapons this insidious, relentless, industrial strength enemy uses, will ever happen. Because I love what, who, and where I am and I HATE with every fiber of my being this unwanted enemy. He started it, he made the first move, but I refuse to let him make the last.
If it takes hatred to accomplish this then I feel that it’s OK to hate... I think Jesus would understand.
Have a great day.. I know I will.
I have been given a special gift that I must always be thankful for. I used to worry and wonder what God has planned for me with this whole parkinsons habitat I am forced to now live in. But it is time that I relax and enjoy the scenery - explanations and reasons of why and what now are to be left at the door.
I feel that I could be turning into a conduit, a vessel from which answers to questions that cannot be explained by logic and thought flow. I write with a fever - a fever that earthly drugs cannot break - a fever that cannot be measured by any manmade device. I am lucky, I am blessed. I have no clue. I am simple. I am waking with giants, their shadow blocks the sun of my ignorance. I am as God intended me tp be. I am loved. I am whole. I am the reason that I am. I am a man without a plan with no known destination, no road map and no material form of transportation, but I know for certain that I will get to were I am going. I know for certain that I will have one hell of a good time when I get there, and I’m beginning to think the ride won’t be too shabby either.
The following is my reply to a comment on my blog from a lady whose husband has parkinsons and gathers strength from my reports...
Thank you for your comment, it is good to hear when the midnight ramblings of my fingers on the keyboard are helping someone, especially a fellow pwp. (person with parkinsons)
It’s a symbiotic relationship, for I am given hope - courage - and strength every time I receive a comment such as yours.
Sometimes, even though we know, it’s good to be reminded that we are not alone. Tell your husband to always stay in the fight and that you have his back.
We are like a Blitzkrieged London - so naturally Winston Churchill comes to mind.
“We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
TODAYS ADDITION TO THE LEXIWRONG
The opposite of Hypothetical - Instead of saying “suppose, I show up for work naked” you actually show up for work - Naked
MY FATHERS NAME WAS PAUL BUT HE WAS NOT THE WALRUS
A HAPPY POST - MY FRIEND - MY LUNCH
I promised a happy post, I try to always make it at least appear that I deliver. After writing my last diatribe of suffering I rested my eyes for a while and drifted off into a place where the pain became only a memory. A memory like the fallowing anecdote, only the anecdote is a happy memory. A happy memory from my very happy childhood - a tale of a little boy and his best friend for a day.
I woke up to another day in second grade. I had no earthly idea that it was to generate a memory - a memory so precious and pure yet so strong and insightful that it would, fifty years later, be one of the pearls that I hold dear. My mom prepared my lunch, and placed it in a reused paper sack. My route to school took me by a small drainage ditch where I stopped and looked to see what my lunch would be - carrots, celery, peanut butter jelly sandwich, and one lonely hardboiled egg one lonely hardboiled egg that looked likes he needed a friend.
I have an incredibly vivd, almost debilitating hyper active imagination, always have, always will. I will never give up my ability and desire to pretend, to pretend like I did when I was a little boy.
After moments of empathy and refection I took the hard boiled egg and using a black crayon I drew on him two eyes - a nose - a mouth - and a hat. This was a golden moment - I had created life. I had created a personality. I had created a new best friend and one does not eat their best friend for lunch. So, I did what best friends sometimes will always do; I carried him all day safely in my pocket..
But some frendships aren’t allowed to last. I took Eggman home and finding him a good egg home behind the couch, I completely forgot about him. He stayed in his new home until weeks later when my mom discovered the source of what had become an unforgettable odor. My best friend for a day - my creation - my imagination - my Eggman.
I did it again!!!! I was in the middle of a very alarming post - right in the middle when my flailing arms and writhing torso hit the wrong key and erased the entire essay of agony on my life of late. This is for the best. I used a very powerful (and offensive to most) word, something I rarely do in my writing. It wasn’t required I used it gratuitously and for it’s shock value. I admitted that I was a coward or at least capable of cowardly actions - I did not buck up - I did not keep a stiff upper lip - I did not set a good example - I failed - I no longer inspired, but rather retired to the land of self pity.
I am in pain - extreme pain - emotional as well as physical - and that pain is causing me to lose sight, causing me to stumble in the darkness of that loss. I am tired - extremely tired and that fatigue is clouding my mind causing me to forget all of the wonderful things I have or have yet to receive. But, just as I know that I will talk again, I will be understood, I also know that the veil of darkness will lift. Just as I know I am strong and I am loved and the disease called parkinson’s will not triumph over me, I also know I will receive rest and respite from my weariness. I must be patient.
Life is from God, death is from God, health is from God, disease is from God, pleasure is from God and pain, yes pain, is from God. I cannot pick and choose what God is going to give me, there is no shaking of the carefully wrapped present under the tree to discover what my creator has in store. I must take the darkness with the light - the evil with the good - the pleasure with the pain. This is what I believe - this is what I believe to be true - this is what I believe to be true for me. You must discover what is true for you.
Being the oldest man in my family, the honor of saying grace has been bestowed upon me. It is an honor and a sacred obligation, even though I see things through a diffferent prism than most of my family - they respect my beliefs (or lack thereof). I do so love my family. This prayer is a very special time when everyone stands in a circle, holds hands - shuts their eyes and opens their ears to hear what my far away radio signal of a voice has to say. A while back during this special time I came up with the most absurd and illogical statement I have yet to make. A statement that I now include in every prayer I make (if only to myself).
MY HUMBLE PRAYER OF THANKS
Dear Great Giraffe (my name for God) thank you for all the good things in my life, there are too many to list right now, and thank you for the bad things in my life, of which there are also quite a few, for it is by these bad things that I become able to tell the difference between the two. And most important dear God, my own personal God, to whom I owe eveything and nothing at the same time, thank you for the difference.
Way to make money #278
Develop a web persona called “The Answer King (or Queen)," state that you have been blessed with the power to answer anyone’s question no matter how complicated or personal it is. You will do this within a 24hr period for only $19.95 charged to their credit card. You are so self assured of this gift that you promise to pay $1000 to anyone that can pose a question you can’t answer. Everyone will think they have a question that will stump “THE ANSWER KING" - everyone wants $1000! Set if up though so that the asker must charge their credit card before submitting their question. Here’s the rub... At no time do you claim that your answer will be correct, only that you will answer. You could even give the same answer to every question - "I can say without trepidation, that is the most amusing question I have ever been asked, and the anwswer is exactly what you think it is." Of course most people will think they have been ripped off, rightly so, but this is a numbers game and there is a percentage of folks that either through embarrassment, laziness or a combination of the two will let you keep their $20. That, minus the small overhead needed, is pure profit.
How to Iive your life like Tom Sawyer, with out having to go barefoot
My executive officer Chris, is a pretty handy fellow, another jack of all trades master of none like myself. He is also a self starter. I can ask him to complete a task and he will with or without my supervision. Once I am sure that he understands the verbal hieroglyphics I use to replace English, once I am sure our ducks are on the same page. I can relax having confidence in his abilities. That is the quality of good XO.
We have the original coal burning fireplace insert that came with this beautiful old lady of a house. It has been in our backyard ever since we bought her around 25 years ago. We don’t want a fireplace inside this house made of fat lighter for several reasons. FIreplaces, coal or wood, are inefficient heating systems with most of your warm air going up the chimney. They are dirty, polluting your air like it was the fifties when it seemed like everyone chain smoked inside. This is a coal burner, the worst offender. I don’t know if one can even buy coal in small amounts anymore. And, let’s face facts, it never gets that cold here anyway. And reason number one... we live in a house made of what is essentially fat lighter. Any questions?
I am a big proponent of repurposing. It leaves a smaller carbon footprint than recycling and is fun challenge that can save you money. Anything can be repurposed into an art project, that’s no challenge. I like to take an item that is destined for the landfill and turn it into something useful, used frequently, a one of a kind head turner that I could not buy new at any price. Quite a tall order, and I think Chris, along with my, also smart, son Donovan, helped me to realize this latest trash into treasure conversion. We turned an old piece of cast iron that had been cast away into a center piece of our Gr00vyLånd outdoor kitchen. We turned that old fireplace insert into a fabulous outdoor charcoal grill and oven.
Here’s where Chris comes in, here’s where two heads are better than one. I had thought about making a grill out of that heavy relic for quite some time, but I only envisioned it as an open grill, good for hot dogs and hamburgers maybe steak. Chris saw potential beyond that. He fashioned an old sheet metal road sign, a true repurposing project should not require a trip to home depot, attached it to the back side and taking the cover that I was going to use as decoration turned it into an oven/grill suitable for cooking chicken, pork, slow coked bbq, even baking a cake (with the help of an old oven thermometer).
The burgers we cooked last night on its shakedown bar-b-que were fantastic. It would be impractical if were a large family since it is rather small, but there’s usually no more than four of us at any given time eating together. It’s size and lack of features such as variable heights and cleaning access might pose a problem to frequent cook-outers, but since we like to eat low on the food chain and don’t grill as much as most it should serve our purposes well. Plus It looks really cool and didn’t cost us a dime. Didn’t cost us a dime unless you count the salary we pay Chris. And that is money well spent, because a good second in command is hard to find and worth every penny.
PS here is the hierarchy of command at the AndyVerse.
Kath-a-Leen The Garden Queen - Commander-in-Chief
Andy - Full Bird Colonel
Chris - Major
Donovan - Classified
Nancy-Laurel - Civilian Advisor
I am sitting in my 3rd Floor Moon room , home to the famous red velvet Oscar Wilde Love-seat. I am sitting, listening to the forgotten rain, rain that fell on many before me and will fall on many after, never to be remembered as it marches to the sea.
Thank you for letting me into your life - thank you for allowing me to dilute the poison of parknson’s with your love, and rest assured I would do the same for you. I only hope, for your sake, I never have to.
I make hay, but I’m no farmer!
I’m back - after 2 hours of well built, gormet, hand crafted and life renewing sleep ( I prefer quality over quantity) I truly feel physically fantastic right now..right now, so I am going to make hay while the sun shines. During these rare times - these golden, delicious, desert moments when parkinson's and all of the cheap baggage that goes with it become a distant nightmare (if only for a few minutes) - when I feel good like this I make hay - I create.
I create my rear end off, be it writing songs or recording music in my 3rd floor MoonRoom where I am closest to my muses, muses I have all to myself because all of the other creators in Riverside or either asleep or too drunk to be taken seriously. I make hay - I create - I make music...
Maybe I turn on the many colored lights in my backyard Gr00vyLand and go into my shed of redemption - inspiration - creation and paint, paint like a soul delirious with fever - burning with a passion that must be shared - a passion that cannot be put to bed - that cannot be lulled to sleep. I make hay - I create - I paint ...
Or, as is the case this night of forgotten rain, I sit at my well crafted Mac book pro and I make hay - I create - I write - I write like I have never written in my life - words pour from my fingertips - words into thoughts into ideas into realizations and back again. My lost but now found words are the foundation of my spirit, my connection to all that is real and unreal, words that now cannot be understood or comprehended by any other means. Huh? Wha?
My 17 year old orange cat - Chainsaw, also makes hay. He just entered the room trying his best to communicate with me. Most likely telling lies about his exploits down at he King St. party ghetto. He is trying as hard as he can, but I can’t fully understand him. I am receiving maybe 10%. Even if I did speak the language of Meow his old weak voice can only do so much, he realizes this so he gives up. He leaves the room discouraged - defeated - depressed and still drunk, he leaves the room and goes downstairs where I will find him passed out in my “Big Red Chair." Maybe I should get him his own laptop.
I have to be quiet during these late night sojourns into the nether regions of my mind. Very quiet... too quiet. I do so dislike using headphones, for music is designed to be introduced to the WHOLE body, not just the ears. But I use them out of respect for the others that call this wooden spaceship home along with me. This wooden spaceship that has the ability, the desire, the wherewithal and the time to take me any were in the universe I wish to go. It is so quiet that I can hear, through my redundantly insulated, soundproofed walls, the "Oh crap" birds as in “Oh crap it’s late I have to be at work in 2 hours. They don’t bother me in the least, for I don’t work anymore - I create - I make hay.
LATE NITE FROM THE GARDEN gv00yLånd çåµπ¨ß
HERE is a common question asked by the self help industry
And one I found asking myself the other night...
Do I want to be happy or do I want to be right? Since the definition of what is right can be a million times more complicated than the definition of what is happy (simply: if you feel happy - then you are happy) Being right is for the history books - it is for the ages; being happy is for the now - it is for the heart. Since it so much of a lopsided question, a lopsided equation, the answer is deceptively easy.
I, like the simple man I am, do not hope for complicated scenarios. I, like a river from mountain to the sea, opt for the path of least resistance - I, like every true and honest human born, wish to be happy.
stolen from www.psychologytoday.com
“Abraham Lincoln lost eight elections, failed twice in business and suffered a nervous breakdown before he became the president of the United States.”
This is my favorite photo of my wonderful wife of 30 plus years. She has a smile that could power a small town in Geogia but she doesn’t because out would cause a power plant reduction in personnel and she wouldn’t want anyone to lose their job - it’s OK I don’t mind she is happy recharging my batteries as needed. which makes her smile even more which charges up my batteries making her smile me charge smile she smile charge...................she is such a doll
— with Kathleen Noell King.
CRUEL JOKE I WOULD NEVER PLAY #6754
I like to get into an intense and personal discussion with someone I do not know well at a party of other public event regarding parkinsons disease, we focus on my personal journey through the land of Huh? Wha? Shake ‘em if you got ‘em and I state that I have been diagnosed with pd now for over 10 years. They lean forward and follow my every word. I then proclaim with a full house poker face that I am in “stage 4” and my doctors expect me to enter 'stage 5' at any time, hell, I could already be there. Here’s the funny part... I laugh and say “I could be in stage 5 right now... stage 5 where it becomes airborne and quite contagious”
Now aren’t you glad that you understand only 15% of what I say. It’s for your own protection.
NOTE: Like I said this is only a rehtorical joke that I would never really play on someone. They don’t even have stages for parkinsons... or do they?
I have always enjoyed life more if my neighbors and I become friends. I enjoy life more if my neighbors and I share common likes and dislikes - share enough to become friends, become friends not because of proximity but because of commonality - the way a person should pick their friends. The fact that you see each other daily and basically share the same air only bolsters the intimacy of this primitive and tribal circumstance.
I am happy to report to you that after 25 years of tenants in the rental property next door to my very spatial, special and spectacular house in Riverside (The Paris of Jacksonville) After 25 years of renters ranging from Pentecostal Holiness bathed in the blood - speaking in tongues Pentecostal Holiness who wouldn’t give me the time of day to Gay All Night Rave-on Party clowns who wished they could give me and/or the beautiful Kath-a-leen a lot more than the time. After this 25 year old cavalcade of miscreants, misanthropes and malcontents I am happy to report that I am finally able to enjoy my life a little bit more, for I now have a friend who lives next-door.
Andrew Milton was born in England - the home of Shakespeare, the Beatles, and Fish and Chips., As a matter of fact Andrew once had the Beatles over to a backyard party where John Lennon quoted the Bard while Paul rode into town and picked up Fish and Chips, enough for everyone except Ringo. See, Andrew, whose name is a lot like mine only longer and harder to spell, would get all of these jokes, the number one requirement I look for in a friend. I don’t care who they voted for - which god they worship - how much money they make - where they are from or were they are going - I don’t care what color they are or if they wear boxers or briefs, my friends must get my jokes, this is very important to me - as important as Jello.
Andrew never met the non-parknsons Andy, but I feel he somehow is able to use some form of internal vision time machine matrix. After all Dr. Who is from England where everything is the same except all is just a little bit smaller and the taxicabs are black. Andrew can see past my distorted facial expressions, he can see past my inability to talk and be understood, he is like that weird seemingly intelligent ball like thing that chased that poor spy down every time he tried to escape from that British Government psyco-prison. It seems as if Andrew has known me all my life and refuses to let me escape from a pre-parkinons, life is but a funny dream, Andy, to a post diagnosis, serious as a 12 hour brain surgery, moan and groan Andy.
Andrew especially likes to pop up out of he water when he hears me try to say a word and instead that word itself pops up in his mind completely different and out of context - exactly the same but with a markedly dissimilar size and color. He relishes these tidbits of confusion, these pockets of misunderstanding. He writes them down, saved for prosperity. Sky Pizza is one of these lexiconic playtoys. He was over one evening back when I first started working on the Garden of Colors and asked of the whereabouts of our roommate Nancy-Laurel Pettersen. I said, in my best lost in the big city voice, that she was up in her room on a Skype conference call. This turned into an unlikely Nancy-Laurel enjoying, in privacy of her bedroom an unobtainable delicacy known simply as SKY PIZZA.
Yes VIrginia there is a SKY PIZZA, just as there are Russians in with my paint brushes, and cows in my Grandmothers Motel. There are all of these things and more - all out of thin air - all out of context and all just as difficult for me to say - speak - articulate - ruminate - enunciate. Andy and Andrew don’t care - we can see it’s only deep fried fish and french fries rapped up in newspaper and sold in town, it’s only a press conference by the Fab Four where we find America by turning left at Iceland, it’s only a Shakespeare play where the ”Nothing”, in much ado about same, means something complete in its disnothingness. It’s alright by me - this is alright because for the first time in 25 years I am finally able to enjoy my life a little bit more, for I now have a friend who lives next-door.
just say yes!
meet Andy Ward King, a professional musician and artist until a diagnosis of parkinons dsease at age 49 forced him into an early retirement., he now uses his music, his art along with the whimsical world he has created in this blog as therapy to ( as he puts it ) outsmart his brain and make the daily battles with parkinson’s a little bit easier, to give him that all important reason to get up on the morning, to make his life worth living. Andy has learned how to say NO to gving up \ NO to depression and apathy \ NO to following willingly the road of decline that stretches before him. he learned that to say no to all of these things all one has to do is say yes. Andy has learned to just say YES to life/\\