POEM- "RAINING"

RAINING

Blatantly divine, this moment in time,

Where the sun takes a bow and leaves,

My shadow deserts me, under cover of grey,

As the rain descends to conceive.

As the dry turns to wet, and day turns to rain,

No thought comes about to escape,

For me, it will cleanse not only my skin,

but my thoughts leave my mind quite agape.

Like applause from a crowd, the rain sings a song,

Eyes closed as a grin breaks my face,

Head tilted back as I wait for the Sun,

To quietly return to this place.

THOUGHTS FROM MY HEAD-POETRY

A PAUSE IN TIME

Palms to forehead with the shades drawn tight

This momentary solace from this tiny squall

Just feel nothing until there's something

Then draw your air deep, deliberate

This daily Ritual a necessity of ways

To calm these moments when it rains

To catch a falling self just in time

Then sleep again, for tomorrow comes more

No fight is won with bags of stone

Cleanse the mind, you know just how

A moment, a piece, a breath, you halt,

To think of new ways to cope.

ASCENSION

To stay and play is the way today to say

"I'm here to steer clear of fear"

And this way I may delay the fray.

I know it's slow to show the foe

that in me you see I'm free to be me

And tow the crow that slows my row.

And that I sat like a fat cat on a mat

with this I miss the dismiss of the abyss

And sky high, I fly, with open eyes I rise.

Movie Review- THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST

The Passion Of The Christ- 2004

Directed by Mel Gibson

   For a man who has struggled with faith through most of his adult life, One cannot read this review without knowing that this film has changed me, yet this review comes only after seeing the film for a third time since it's release in 2004. An eye opening epiphany, this film brought me to tears more than once, as a man who not only believes in God and Jesus, but now has a further understanding of the Love that is Jesus Christ.
   Today is Monday August 20th, 2012, and it should be known that my sister Debi and I had a conversation last night about Love, Christ, and the differences of man, among other things, and upon saying goodnight to her, I felt it prudent to seek the message of this great film in a new light. Realizing it is an interpretation, it will be a catalyst for future searching that I will take to find in me the answers that I seek.
   The controversial Gibson has brought forth an interpretation of Christ's last hours in a way that I now see as an homage to the sacrifice that Jesus made for all of us. As I said, this is the third time I've seen the film, but for reasons I am still processing, I personally received more from today's viewing than either of the last 2 times. It's almost as if I have no memory of watching it before, and it was fresh and new.
   From the opening sequences of the betrayal by Judas, I felt pain and sorrow for Christ. As he was taken away by the men of the Pharisees, I was angered by the indifference that a few pieces of silver would make for Judas. As Jesus was brought to his accusers of blasphemy, his silence at times when asked to speak for himself was in my eyes his way of telling them that there were no answers for which the questions they asked. "Forgive them, Father....they know not what they do."
   Jim Caviezel is superb in every way an actor playing Christ can be, from the soft spoken guidance he offers his followers in the flashback sequences, to the final words spoken while nailed to the cross; "Father, into your hands...I commend my spirit..". Noticing Christ's eyes dilating as he died only empowered the moment, in a brilliant detail of Gibson's.
   Of course, the crucifixion was the defining moment of the film, but for me, I felt the greatest sorrow when Mary went to him as he carried the cross through Jerusalem. The scene was enhanced with a flashback of Mary running to Jesus' aid when he fell as a child. Comforting him with "I'm here...", both scenes combined to define an undying love a mother has for child, and in that moment, even a mother's love could not stop what was happening. Telling him "I'm here." warrants his response of, "See, mother...I make all things new."
   Jesus never screamed in protest of his accusations, he simply did what he did for the power that he was, the Son of Man, the Messiah.
   Even upon the cross, he said to another condemned man who confessed his crime to him, "Amen, I tell you, on this day you shall be with me in paradise." In what is another defining moment for me, this scene embodies the power of giving yourself to Christ.
   The Passion Of The Christ is epic, indeed. Mel Gibson's direction holds you from start to finish, and for me, a new understanding at age 39 of the sacrifice of Jesus, he who died for our sins. This is now a film I will never forget, as it will help me seek the answers I look for for the rest of my life.

"I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken" - Psalm 16:8   

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT 
By Dylan Thomas(10-27-1914 to 11-9-1953)




Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right.
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on it's way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.



 I forgot how much I loved this classic poem. Dylan Thomas died a few weeks after his 39th birthday after falling ill and slipping into a coma in NY during a tour. An alcoholic, he claims most of his poetic influence came from Mother Goose rhymes his parents taught him as a child. I'm the age now he was at his end, and I can only imagine what other beauty of prose might have become had he lived to an elderly age. 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dylan_Thomas

OK ORLANDO AREA PEEPS!! This is the 'Enjoy The City' Coupon Book! We're selling these to raise funds for My son Danny's High School Marching Band Booster Club. Over One Hundred area Merchants are featured in this savings packed book, including McDonald's, Del Taco, Winn Dixie(Publix Acepts these $5 off coops as well), Checkers, Tony Roma's, Planet Smoothie, More than a dozen Golf Courses, Avis $20 off weekly rental, Bowling, Medieval Times, Mini Golf, YOU NAME IT, IT'S IN HER

E!! All proceeds go to fund the Lyman High School Marching Band Booster Club!! ONLY

$20.00!!

This book pays for itself with the Winn Dixie Coupons alone!! This is a great deal! Thousands in savings, and it's for a great cause!! Won't you buy one or more today?!?! Message me if you're interested!! We really need to raise some funds for these talented kids, INCLUDING MINE!!

LET'S GO- BUY ONE TODAY!!

20 BUCKS!!

"BURIED" - MOVIE REVIEW

   Howdee do everyone!! Welcome to another Movie Review from Captain Random. Today's film is "Buried" starring Ryan Reynolds, and ooonly Ryan Reynolds. Well sort of anyway. Released in 2010, the film is an up close and personal account of a kidnapped contract worker in Iraq who wakes up in a box buried alive somewhere in the Iraqi desert. The entire film is shot inside the dark forbidding crate with Reynolds starring as Paul Conroy.
   Conroy is a contract truck driver who was in Iraq working for a company that transported supplies for rebuilding the infrastructure in areas affected by the ongoing conflicts there. From the moment he wakes up from being unconscious, we follow Paul in his anxiety of realizing where he is, and the first few minutes of the film show a screaming, scared man who is rightfully freaking out.
   The military convoy that was escorting Paul and his colleagues was hit with a coordinated assault by insurgents, during which most if not all of who he was with was killed or captured. His abductors put him in the "coffin" that he was in and buried him, his location unknown.
   As Paul calms down and surveys his surroundings, he realizes he has a Zippo lighter, a flask with some good stuff still in it, his medication, some empty pistachio shells, and of all things a cell phone. The phone was placed in there by his abductors, under the guise of him recording a pre-written statement to be uploaded to the captors. But Paul uses the phone, which is in Arabic, to contact various locations in the continental US, most importantly, his wife, but she does not answer.
   At one point Paul takes a call from his captor, who demands he pay them millions for his release. The back and forth phone calls tell us he's buried relatively close to the surface, but a contact he made with a representative of an organization who negotiates on behalf of US citizens is unable to trace the calls.
   The film continues for an intriguing account of a man desperate to get home, and frustrated that no one is helping him. He not only faces the idea of running out of air, but there are other detractors at work, notably a poisonous snake that makes it's way in(my favorite scene by far), the dying battery on the cell phone, and leaking sand that's now trickling in.
   The most emotional moment in the film was Paul's call to his mother, who is in a rest home with Alzheimer's.
   Reynolds is perfect for the role, and his portrayal of Conroy is an emotional testament to not only having the audience feel enclosed and trapped with him, but also addresses the socio-political issues of a war in a foreign land.
   The ENTIRE film is buried with him, and the only other person you see is a colleague of his on a video uplink on his phone, who by the way is also held captive elsewhere. The film builds from anxiety, to resolve, to his inevitable acceptance that he may not make it out alive. The ending was both intense and unexpected. I enjoyed this film, but it certainly isn't award worthy. Will Paul Conroy be rescued in time? Check it out. One to Ten scale.....a solid 7.
Capt. Random out.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 8

‘Tis The Season

“Do not withhold him from doing good, who is able:

If thou art able, do good thyself also”

Proverbs 3:27

Habitat For Humanity, The Salvation Army, Peace Corps; these are names synonymous with giving, helping, and building. These are the foundations of humanity. We all enjoy the look in someone’s eyes when we can help them in some way, regardless of how destitute. It could be as simple as money to pay some bills, to donations of goods or services, etc. Although I’ve never been on the streets, or living in poverty, I’ve been on the receiving end of gifts and help from family and friends. I am eternally grateful for this, indeed.

When I’m able, I love giving to others. And sometimes it’s in words. Recently, I’ve been amazed at how many stories I’ve heard of military people having their bills paid at restaurants, or someone in line at a grocery store paying for the person in front of them when they didn’t have enough money.

I worked for Sysco Food Services from December ’99 to April ’04 as a truck driver, delivering to restaurants, hotels, and resorts. Some of our customers were The Salvation Army, Second Harvest Food Bank, And the YMCA. I can tell you without a doubt, the people who run these organizations, at their very core, display a genuine desire to help others in need.

After I left Sysco, that Christmas, I decided, I could do something also. My time and funds were limited, yet I felt something is better than nothing. Even in the past few years, as the economy worsened, I found that I could help some in need in my own small way.

Since then, every Christmas eve, I’ve gone to a local Burger King, and purchased a bunch of cheeseburgers, and upon speaking to the manager, was able to get him to match my purchase with free burgers. I would leave the store with up to 20 burgers, have of which were donated by the store. My local Burger King has had the same manger since I started this tradition, Jose Acevedo. He’s been very understanding in my mission. For the past few years my mission was to feed the homeless on Christmas Eve. Where I live in Sanford is a mix of all classes of people. The west side of our town has million dollar homes, and south of downtown has a considerable drug and prostitution problem. I read some time ago in the Orlando Sentinel, that there are about 10,000 homeless people in the Orlando area. As of 2009, our population was nearing 3 million people. That’s one sixth the population of the whole state. As cities go, the homeless to sheltered ratio is average for the country. Sanford is no exception.

I would get my burgers and drive around Sanford searching for the destitute and downtrodden. Every year there’s new faces, but there are a few familiar ones each year. There’s a bus stop bench at 3^rd and French that is home to a 60 something woman with a shopping cart full of her life’s possessions, and she wears a heavy winter coat all year long. I’ve always felt for her since the first time I saw her. It saddens me to the heart to see her there, quiet, alone, taking what help she can. She’s been there for years, maybe long before I started passing out burgers.

The first year I went out, she was the first one I went to, and by the way, her bus stop is on the opposite corner from Burger King. I pulled up behind her in the parking area of the business and called to her from the passenger window. I tapped the horn and she glanced over at me with tired weary eyes. I asked her if she was hungry, and she suddenly became full of life. I told her I had hot burgers for her and she stood up quickly, and held close her thick dirty jacket and hobbled over to my passenger window. With a raspy worn voice she thanked me repeatedly for the food and told me that God would bless me for my kindness. I told her to try and stay warm, as even in Florida it can get cold during the holiday nights. I could tell immediately she was overtaken with joy at the thought of a meal, and a hot one at that. I know it’s only burgers, but to someone who goes too many nights without eating, it was like putting fuel on a dwindling flame, a flame in her soul that has long since died down.

That first night I passed out 16 of the 20 burgers I had. There was a man at the bus depot at Wal-Mart, and even a prostitute at a pay phone in the parking lot of a grocery store that had closed early for the holiday. I was out on the streets, driving around for about an hour, and I have to tell you, the feeling I got was tremendous. I didn’t give a million dollars to a soup kitchen, and I didn’t provide a warm bed, and I didn’t give anyone money that I didn’t have, but I did feed a few hungry folks on a cold night.

Each year that passes, I keep heading out on Christmas Eve, and for a few moments, I help some people in need. It’s not much, but it’s something, and it feels amazing.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 7

Have a Nice Trip

“A foolish son is the anger of the father:

And the sorrow of the mother that bore him.”

Proverbs 17:25

I am an attention whore. It’s that simple. I love being the life of the party, telling jokes, making people laugh, and generally acting like a mental patient. Combine that not so horrible quality with being a drama queen, which my wife has called me many times, and you have got a recipe for disaster. I don’t think I’m that dramatic, but when it comes out in my kids, I’m the one blamed for it. What can you do? It is what it is. I remember an incident when I was 12.

Hurricane Gloria ravaged Long Island in September 1985, and the first or second night after the storm passed, we were all still without power in the neighborhood. I remember noticing outside how dark the skies were, because there was so much less light pollution from the surrounding areas. The stars were so bright, I’d never seen anything like it. We all were outside on the front porch, enjoying the cool autumn air, since we had no power.

Dad suggested I go get the small telescope we had upstairs, so we could check out the night sky. I ran upstairs with a flashlight, and retrieved it from the closet and hurried back downstairs. As I ran out the front door, I tripped and twisted my ankle real bad on the bottom step. I flew forward violently, dropping the telescope, and landed flat on my stomach and chest.

Being the 12 year old “drama queen” that I was, I immediately started screaming and writhing on the ground like an idiot. I can tell you, that I wasn’t hurting nearly as bad as I was letting on, and as a matter of fact, my foot wasn’t hurting at all. I landed on my hands and stomach, and my palms were burning from the concrete rash, but it was my foot I was screaming to my Dad about.

Dad tried to console me, and I think Chris went inside to get what little ice we had left in the now thawing freezer. Nothing was going to help. I was “in so much pain”, I just knew it was broken. Finally, after 10 minutes of my charade, Dad and Mom agreed to take me to the hospital to have an X-ray done.

Dad and I went to the emergency room, and I think Chris or Jay tagged along. The time was about 9 pm I believe. After what seemed like hours, they finally took me in to see the X-ray tech. Keep in mind, I was in no pain at all. To this day, I still feel bad about this. The doctor came back after a while with the films, and much to my surprise, my ankle was actually broken. Apparently I had crushed one of the small bones on the right side of my foot at the top of the bridge. REALLY? Broken?

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, practically faking it, and it really was broken. In a weird, macabre sort of way, I was glad. I guess I thought that since it was broken, the trip to the hospital wasn’t a waste of time and money. The doctors wrapped up my leg in a cast, rigged me up with adjustable crutches, and sent us on our way. When we got home, mom was so upset that I hurt myself, she almost started crying. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, that I was “faking it”. Well, I guess after all, I wasn’t.

Many years later, when I was well into my twenties, I told mom about the “faking it” the night of the fall. She and I had a good laugh about it, after she called me a “stinker”. Mom uses that word almost as much as her elephant joke.

I still feel bad about lying that night. It wasn’t right. I put my need for attention ahead of my family’s needs. I guess I got what I deserved with the six weeks of healing afterward. Six weeks of sitting out of gym class, six weeks of no bicycle, six weeks of not going out to play. I made my bed. I had to lie in it.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 6

Divine Intervention?

“The Lord is your guardian; the Lord is your shade;

He is beside you at your right hand.”

Psalms 120:3:5

    There have been stories we’ve all heard of someone who was about to die, or suffer great harm who swears the hand of God prevented it at the last moment. The cop who’s badge stopped a bullet, the car teetering off a bridge, well you get the idea. Call it what you will, because while I believe everything happens for a reason, I also believe god helps those who help themselves. I’ve spent many years going up and down on the roller coaster of faith, but now I feel I'm more like a man on a lazy river ride. Slow and steady, relaxed, trying to enjoy the view.

    The birth of my children helped reaffirm some of my thinking, but one situation in particular had caused me to reach a little deeper.

    Some years ago, I was having trouble sleeping quite a bit. At least three to four nights a week, I was losing precious sleep due to nightmares and sleep apnea. It got so bad I was falling asleep at the wheel, micro sleep, that is, not only while in my car, but in my rig as well. It was scary, and while I tried to push through it, because I was scared of losing my livelihood, I also constantly thought about how I would cope with hurting someone, should I fall asleep in my truck.

    Some time in spring of 2003, I was heading South on US-1 in Port St. John, which is just north of the Kennedy Space Center. I was driving my truck, delivering for Sysco Foods, and the route was my regular run. I’ve driven US-1 a million times, and could do it with my eyes closed, but on this day, they really did close. I don’t recall the mile or so up to the traffic signal, but at one point, while traveling about 50 mph, I noticed the light was red, and in a microsecond, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop. Simultaneously I reached for the air horn, and shit myself, while I realized I was about to kill someone. Opposite me, northbound, was a car in the turn lane to turn west in front of me, and to my right, eastbound, was a car ready to turn left north bound across my lane of travel. This all took place in a fraction of a second, but I looked at the car straight ahead, and she was leaning all the way over looking on her passenger floorboard, and the car to my right had a full sized newspaper, fully opened, reading away.

   My light was red. One of those people had a green. Why were they each, at that very moment, preoccupied, so as to not notice 60000 pounds of stupidity barreling at either of them? They didn’t even flinch. If I was in my car behind either of them, I’d be on the horn screaming at them to ‘wake up’.

Did the hand of God help them that day? Or did he help me? I told Patty about what had happened, and I recall her saying something to the effect of it was God’s will that nothing happened. Look on youtube…search car/truck accident videos. Car drivers get killed even when the truck was going slower than I was.

    Divine intervention. I believe it happened that day. After I made it through the intersection, and breathed a sigh of relief, and I pulled into the parking area for the Banana River Shuttle Viewing site. I pulled the air brakes, folded my arms on the steering wheel, and put my head down for a moment and almost broke down crying. I was just saved from a disaster of epic proportions. I’ve thought about those two people, a woman and a man, who both appeared to be middle aged, and I wonder if they have kids. Are they happy? What do they do for a living? What were they doing that day? The woman was turning into a residential neighborhood. Did she go home and hug her kids, oblivious that she might have been killed a few minutes earlier?

The man on the right was reading a newspaper. Was he checking the times for a movie? Was it date night with his lovely wife? Was he going to CVS to get medicine for a sick child? Wherever they were going, they made it there safely that day, I assume. One moment in time. That’s all it takes.

I made it a point to get more rest. My schedule was hectic, and I went to work and asked to be removed from the 3 am Disney route I did on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could get more sleep. They were very understanding at work. Even today, I try to get as much sleep as I can, and although I'm driving a smaller truck now, I still have a commercial license, and still have to adhere to the hours of service regulations.

In November 2005 I crashed my car on the way home from work. I fell asleep at the wheel of my car, and plowed into a guard rail at 65 mph, breaking my right knee cap. It was 3 years after this incident, and was the last time I dozed off at the wheel. In my eyes it was isolated to that day, a fluke. I was tired. I closed my eyes, for maybe 2 seconds. That’s all it took. It’s my only accident, ever. Thank God it was a guard rail, and not someone going home to hug a kid. To this day, I am over a half million miles accident free in a commercial vehicle. It could have been very different.

Divine Intervention? Absolutely.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 5

Too Close For Comfort

“The robberies of the wicked shall be their downfall,

Because they would not do judgment.”

Proverbs 21:7

One warm summer night while driving my taxi, I came upon the unfortunate instance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I drove a cab for a few years without incident. It’s not like I was in NYC or Chicago and 99% of the time I worked the tourist areas. This one night I remember was particularly slow, so I hit the street calls on the dispatch computer. There’s usually enough to go around in the attractions, but that night was quiet.

I was working the Kissimmee area east of Disney, a big lower middle class region south of Orlando. As I was heading south on John Young Parkway, I took a flag down at a shopping center. He appeared normal at first glance. Jeans, blue and yellow windbreaker, and clean shaven. I was so used to families at Disney sometimes needing to use the front seat too that it didn’t occur to me to lock the front passenger door while I worked the streets. In hindsight of the situation that was about to occur, I’m glad he was up front.

He entered the cab and sat next to me. He asked me to bring him to Vine and Hoagland, which was about 4 miles away. I was about to ask him how his evening was going when he pulled a knife, pushing it against my right side, grabbing my collar and telling me to hand over my money. I tried to stay as calm as I could, and at first was reasoning with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He yelled to me to “shut up” and had me turn right on Carroll Street a dark 3 mile long 2 lane road lined with cattle farms. In his eyes it was a perfect spot to rob me. At no time did I ever think I was going to die, but I was frightened. But I wasn’t scared enough to not try to keep him from hurting me. As we drove further down Carroll Street he told me to give him my wallet. The whole time he had his knife pressed into my side. I said “OK” and slowly retrieved my wallet. All my earnings were in my front right pocket, so I thought it was now or never. I decided to try and stop him.

His first mistake is when I went to hand him the wallet, he kept his left hand on my collar, but took the knife away from my side to grab my wallet. When he reached up, I slammed on the breaks hard and fast, throwing him into the dash board and windshield. He of course neglected to put on his seat belt when he got in, intending to rob me and make a quick getaway.

As the car slowed down we started fighting. We were grappling at each other, and all I cared about was avoiding getting stabbed. For a moment he got his right hand loose and swatted at my stomach with his knife. It wasn’t very sharp, but it did tear my shirt and scratch my stomach. I elbowed him hard in the face with my right arm, and at that moment he decided maybe he bit off more than he could chew. I mean, I was like twice his size. I give him credit for trying, but I wasn’t getting robbed that night. He opened the door while I was punching him with the back of my fist repeatedly. He quickly got out and ran fast west on Carroll into the night. For a split second I thought I could follow him while calling 911 but I decided to just stay there. I immediately called dispatch on the radio. They asked if I was hurt, I said not really, just shaken up. They sent the police and Fire rescue anyway, for a police report to be taken. It was standard procedure for the cab company, and even though this scumbag didn’t get my wallet or money, I did want to see him get caught. I had a lot of friends in the cab business, some I still keep in touch with even now, years later, and I’d hate to see this happen to them.

The cops put out a BOLO on this guy, and right before, they left the scene they told me another unit picked up a guy matching the description. I rode in the cruiser to their location to ID the guy, but it wasn’t him. They took me back to my cab and we wrapped it up. The fire department had left after they checked me out, but a cop stayed at the scene waiting for me to return from the attempted ID. Before I left, a K-9 unit showed up, caught the guys trail for about a half mile and then lost it.

I had my wallet, my cab, and my life. As I said, I never really feared for my life, but it did piss me off. I went home that night with my pride and my hard earned $80, still in my front pocket. I also had my .38 on an ankle holster, but I never had a chance to pull it. Looking back, it was a dumb place to carry while driving, and I was just too busy trying to fight him off. I can’t say for sure if I would’ve fired had I grabbed it, but considering his cowardly demeanor, I might not have needed to shoot him.

When I got home, Patty gave me a big hug and kiss and shook her head, tongue in cheek, as if to remind me what a disaster I was. I know she was glad I was OK. And so was I.