The Land

 I was zipping along I-79 when the song came on... i immediately thought of two things, the first was Pops, the song in question, Middle America by Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, was off a record that came out two days after my father died, but this song had been the first single and had been playing on the old satellite radio for the last six months or so, Steve being one of my favorite musicians ever (i was an early devotee to the band Pavement) i was stoked to hear this new one and of course it became an integral part to the soundtrack of my life particularly at the time... the lyrics hit home in a way specific to me, a kid from a working class suburb who was now dealing with the terminal illness of his father, a man he loved more than anyone, his best friend, as it came on the satellite radio again i could feel my eyes well a bit thinking about hearing this same song as i drove back and forth from Pittsburgh to Cleveland to help my dad for all those weeks in February and March, in my car alone and singing at the top of my lungs as i'm prone to do when a song i love comes on... on this day with the boyos half-asleep in the backseat and the Breadwinner quietly sitting in the passenger seat my mind drifted to those days as a melancholy grin settled upon my stubbled mug... 

The second thought that sprung into my mind was from that old weirdo Robert Anton Wilson, the writer-philosopher-shaman and his thoughts and ideas on coincidence, how he felt there was more than a little coincidence in the coincidences that seemed to happen to people, mainly as if they were not coincidences at all but somehow willed into being whether consciously or unconsciously, an interesting theory and one i have varied thoughts about but it was interesting that how a song that was over five years old would come on the radio as i drove back to Cleveland for the first time since June of 2018 when i went to celebrate my Dad's life on the shores of Lake Erie, a summer day spent listening to stories and watching the sun set spectacularly behind the shimmering lake, there was something beautiful about the coincidence and symmetry of it all and though i'm not sure there is a word for it if there was i guess it would be called life... and death... and everything in between... (coincidentally, it was on Dec. 12, 2017 that my father told me he had cancer.) 

I'm not sure about the rest of the world because i really only know about my warped mind but i often have on ongoing inner dialogue that amuses and entertains me endlessly... we were driving back to my city to watch a basketball game, my hometown Cavs vs. the Los Angeles Lakers, now boasting Cleveland/Akron's favorite son Lebron James, it was a win-win, got to see my hometown team and the boyos got see their favorite player (as well as their old man's favorite player and his old man's favorite player)... and so i drove back to the house i grew up in, the house of Late Night Maudlin Street, the house where this man has put the demons to rest, where i've made amends with my mother and now have a good relationship with her, granted we don't talk religion or politics but there is no need to, neither of us is going to change our views so instead of useless arguing we just talk about other things, like an unstated rule... and it works... as usual my Mom had made chocolate chip cookies, some incredibly delicious and horrible for you concoction called White Trash which seemed to be some sort of sugar coated goodness made with all kinds of things thrown together... in true Rust Belt style, a dinner of beef brisket and everything that goes with it... the trip would be quick as we had to get back the next morning but having not been home in five years i was excited to see my hometown again... even if i kept it to myself... 

The trip got off to a rocky start mainly due to the I-mac being a specialist when it came to being a selfish, self-centered jackass which has become his MO these days... but the rest of us were still set on having a good time and we most definitely did... driving through my old neighborhood i felt a bit like a resident alien... as in a space alien visiting from what felt like another planet or alternate universe, it happens every time i return, all the things that have stayed the same yet so much of the landscape is changed, i look for things that aren't there, the buildings or businesses long gone, the bars i drank in underage, the budget movie theatre i went to as a teen, the mall basically empty, the Denny's where i hung out in my wasted youth scrounging change to buy coffee and toast or on a good night an omelet... and then without even realizing it, i drove by the place my dad lived... and subsequently died... i had forgot it was there but as i drove by i gazed upon it and felt my eyes begin to well once more (because i'm a fucking sentimental sort) before turning left and heading towards my Mom's place... 

The downtown of my youth has changed so much it's almost unrecognizable... the new bars and restaurants, certain streets now closed so that it's only foot traffic, new entertainment districts, the old clubs i danced in chemically enhanced until the wee hours now gone, but there was still Public Square and the Terminal Tower, the streets now filled with new businesses and bars to explore (if i had the time)... i was pleasantly content as i walked down the city streets talking with Disaster about the game and about his old man in his youth... and then of course there was the many times of smelling that sweet herb, the boyos and the BW even chuckled at how much weed was wafting through the air... my hometown, you can take the boy out of the city but you can't take the city out of the boy, i'd have fit right in blowing fat cones of the finest herb and wandering the city streets... like nothing had changed in 30 some odd years... Cleveland was still a rock and roll town... 

I missed my city... having not seen it in five years it had struck me how much i loved and always will love my hometown... from our pathetic and hapless sports teams, to the skyline, the lake, the neighborhoods i wandered and hung out in West Side and East, to my working class suburb and it's dwindling population, it's pink flamingos and pierogies, the brutal winter wind that blows in off the lake, these streets are like walking with ghosts, of myself and my friends and the people who have come and gone, of my father... pointing out places to the boyos (particularly Disaster) that was like giving them a history of their father's youth, of a guy they never knew but somehow still do... a character seen in old and faded photographs, i thought about my Mom's chocolate chip cookies, how she was now 78, how this river of life keeps flowing right  up until we go over the falls and into the void, how i loved these cookies, they were my childhood, a lifetime of memories baked into a few bites of deliciousness, how we all have these things (if we're lucky) that remind us in ways we can't put into words of our lives, things made out of love, i thought to myself how many more times would i enjoy these cookies? 

The next morning i rose to the sound of my Mom in the kitchen, i walked past my old bedroom, now and office... the old corkboard that covered the one wall was still there and in the upper left corner my masterpiece still hung, Sesame Streets Bert and Ernie done in chalk, done in roughly first grade, it's damn near fifty years old, it was the height of my artistic abilities, it has hung through my childhood, through my teens, through a divorce, a remodel, a remarry... i'm amazed it hasn't fallen apart... 

Standing in the driveway of the house i grew up in i took a long look around, as if i was soaking it in, not knowing how many more times i'd be here, understanding that at some point someone else would live in this house, the things we begin to deal with and understand as we walk towards that void, i still have friends here who want me to come back and hangout some weekend, something i'd like to do if i ever get the chance, to roam the city streets once again with the boys i grew up with, now men with their own families, it'd be a right laugh i believe as we sat around talking about where we were and where we are now, shit we never thought about back in those sparkling days of youth.. of course now i have a different home, in a different city, i'm not the son but the father (and one can apply any biblical references they'd like) and while my new home is my home, with the boyos and BW and cats, Cleveland will always be my home, spiritual and otherwise... even when i have no place to go... i love my city... always have... always will..