Tommy

Tommy
by Joye Roberts Fratoni on Saturday, 09 April 2011 at 17:58

My brother died last week. It sent me tripping down memory lane; or perhaps it was more like tumbling. I found myself cast into my deep South past on a farm in Alligator, Mississippi. That’s where I spent endless hours of endless days being entertained by him. He was three years my senior; described by teachers and friends as fascinating, brilliant. Talented Tommy Roberts in the Gifted and Talented Program; it would have been harder growing up in his shadow had I not loved him so much. He tolerated me well enough; let me follow him around day and night. He honored me with roles to play in the “Masterpiece Theater” of his mind. I was Robin to his Batman, Torch to his Stretch and more often than not, his partner in crime. I would love to say we continued down those fun, dusty roads to adulthood, but we did not. We emerged from the isolated South into cities full of more intriguing adventures for him. He with his friends and I with mine, we parted ways. He disappeared into college, drugs, and street-life; I into marriage, motherhood, and God’s gracious arms. We only spoke a few times over the years, but I inquired about him a lot. I used to keep bits and pieces of him tucked away in a memory box, a drawing he made, a story he wrote, a sketch, a painting, a scribbled note. It’s all I had of him. I threw some of that stuff away. Now I wish I would have kept more. Nevertheless, what’s done is done, what’s gone is gone, and life does and must continue on.

Things that Amuse me, Amaze me, and Confuse me

When I worked at Edgewood Flower Farm, old, old (98 year old) Mr. O’Ravez used to come out to the barn on occasion and say “I have a mystery.” Usually his mysteries were about cars that stayed in the parking lot all night or about how the left tire of his Park Avenue kept losing air (it lost more air every time he checked the air pressure), or about where his cane disappeared to and mysteries like that. Well, this week I have a mystery. My mystery is “How did Doug’s 1975 Red and White Torino win a trophy at the car show?” Yes, this is my mystery. It amazes me, amuses, and yet confuses me, too. His car (you know the one that not only I have complained incessantly about but the neighbors have as well) won the “Best Work in Progress” trophy. When Doug proudly brought that trophy home, I naturally assumed everyone at the show got trophies but he said “Nope, they did not”. Then I assumed his car was the only “work in progress” but once again he said “Nope, it was not.” So now I am just left to wonder...hmmm.

Another mystery I have is “Why do people find it necessary to celebrate Christmas in July?” I don’t understand this practice; it just makes no sense to me. But there are radio stations and entire TV stations that flaunt this practice as if it made sense or something. Then when rational people like myself complain (I mean don’t we get enough Christmas music or Christmas movies at Christmas time...which by the way starts way earlier than it used to) those people who think the practice is sane choose to call us “Scrooges”. Well, all I have to say is that I won’t even dignify such nonsense with a bah humbug! Hmph.

Another mystery I have is no mystery at all…it is rather a revelation, especially to me.
I have decided my whole life has been one big fashion faux pas. And, I have the pictures to prove it. And now that Sarah has started scrapbooking…I have the pictures to prove it all arranged and beautifully mounted in scrapbooks.

And my final mystery is “How did driving across the country and back make my tail bone so sore?” Seriously, it must be those uncomfortable seats in my car….I’ve been home for two weeks and I’m still sore.


I’ll blog about that trip on another day……

Winners and Whiners

So, I was thinking the other day that in the world we have people who win at games and we have others who lose and just get to whine about it. Being married to Doug, I have spent a lot of time being a whiner. It wasn't so bad when we were first married and played regular board games like Life and Monopoly or even Yahtzee. It wasn't even that bad when we played games with our friends and occasionally Doug would lose. But over the last few years I have really wearied of always, always losing, especially at my very own games. Doug's perpetual winning streak started a few years back when he bought me a Backgammon game for Christmas. I used to love to play Backgammon when I was young and have fond memories of it (including winning!). Not anymore. And this has nothing to do with skill. I don't really believe in luck but I have never seen anyone as lucky as Doug. There have been games when I took his dice and switched them for mine because he kept rolling doubles over and over and over. I seriously thought it had to be the dice. It was not. He continued getting doubles with my dice. This happened repeatedly in Backgammon until we finally just gave it up. Not long after that we bought Texas Hold 'Em (we even taught Mom to play). But of course Doug always wins. Because of skill? No! Because of luck, I tell you. Now most wives would not urge their husbands to go to Vegas to gamble but I am packing his bags and saying "Honey, go put this luck to good use. Win us some money, will you." He hasn't yet but I keep encouraging him. There is one consolation in all of this....I still hold the high score in Scrabble. Try as he might, he can not beat my high score. I think it's like 372 or something. Was it a fluke? Maybe... but never-the-less I still have something to gloat about! (that and twice in a row, I beat the pants off of him in pool)

First Crocuses of Spring

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?...

...it is the sun! I was really starting to get confused about what state I live in (physical not mental). You see, almost everyday for the last two weeks I have been waking up to the sun shining in my room. I squint and say "What's going on here?" Then I grab my little doggie, and say, "Billy, I don't think we're in Washington anymore." But seriously, it has been beautiful lately and I'm not complaining. Unfortunately, for the first week or so I didn't get to enjoy it because of finals. But this week, (I'm out of school for ten days) I've raked leaves, pruned all the roses, and pulled weeds. It's been great.

Spring

I saw the first spider of spring the other day. He was in my garage. He wasn't one of those big guys but he certainly wasn't little. I don't know why but I didn't have the heart to kill him. Maybe because he was brave enough to come out early and all...I don't know. Last year it only took the Orkin guy one visit to rid the house of spiders all year. I guess it's time to call him again.

Sad note...Ashly and John have left for San Francisco.

Poetry and a Midlife Crisis

When Doug had a midlife crisis a few years ago, he bought a replica (minus the black vinyl roof) of his first car, the 1975 Gran Torino. It cost him thousands of dollars. When I had a midlife crisis last week, I ordered used copies of the first Rod McKuen books I ever owned, "Seasons in the Sun", "Looking for a Friend", and "Alone". It cost me under a hundred. Interesting, huh.

So my resurging love for Rod McKuen's poetry is probably due less to a midlife crisis and more to PMS and the results of a personality test I took in class that happened to remind me of how much I used to love poetry. (Doug's resurging love for Torinos, however, was a midlife crisis...especially for me!)

Rod McKuen was the first poet I really loved. It was his poem "A Cat Named Sloopy" that ignited my interest. At 10 years old, I wasn't crazy about boys but more about my pets. Rod's love for Sloopy and her love for him said it best. When I graduated from pets to boys, Rod was still there speaking volumes. I bought all of his paperback books when I was seventeen, but lost them over the years.

Thanks to Amazon and Ebay I'm able to collect them again.

A Cat Named Sloopy
Rod McKuen

1For a while
the only earth that Sloopy knew
was in her sandbox.
Two rooms on Fifty-fifth Street
were her domain.Every night she'd sit in the window
among the avocado plants
waiting for me to come home(my arms full of canned liver and love).
We'd talk into the night then
contented
but missing something,
She the earth she never knew
me the hills I ran
while growing bent.
Sloopy should have been a cowboy's cat
with prairies to run
not linoleum
and real-live catnip mice.
No one to depend on but herself.
I never told her
but in my mind I was a midnight cowboy even then.
Riding my imaginary horse
down Forty-second Street,going off with strangers
to live an hour-long cowboy's life,but always coming home to Sloopy,who loved me best.

2A dozen summers
we lived against the world.
An island on an island.
She'd comfort me with purring
I'd fatten her with smiles.
We grew rich on trust
needing not the beach or butterflies
I had a friend named Ben
Who painted buildings like Roualt men.
He went away.My laughter tired Lillian
after a time
she found a man who only smiled.
Only Sloopy stayed and stayed.
Winter.
Nineteen fifty-nine.Old men walk their dogs.Some are walked so often
that their feet leave
little pink tracks
in the soft gray snow.
Women fur on fur
elegant and easy
only slightly pure
hailing cabs to take them
round the block and back.
Who is not a love seeker
when December comes?
even children pray to Santa Claus.
I had my own love safe at home
and yet I stayed out all one night
the next day too.

3They must have thought me crazy
screaming Sloopy Sloopy
as the snow came falling
down around me.
I was a madman
to have stayed away
one minute more
than the appointed hour.
I'd like to think a golden cowboy
snatched her from the window sill,and safely saddlebagged
she rode to Arizona.She's stalking lizards
in the cactus now perhaps
bitter but free.
I'm bitter too
and not a free man any more.
Once was a time,
in New York's jungle in a tree,
before I went into the world
in search of other kinds of love
nobody owned me but a cat named Sloopy.
Looking back
perhaps she's been
the only human thing
that ever gave back love to me.