Naughty & Nice

Santa Claus, a beautiful baby, loving friends, a gigantic chair, Christmas cheer, and a necklace that lights up. It doesn't get much better than this. All that's missing is someone on my lap. And a pair of jeans without a hole.

Dad's Last Waltz

My father didn't know that many chords, but like a great chef who can concoct a wide variety of dishes from a few simple ingredients, he got a lot of bang for his buck out of the guitar. The night before Thanksgiving in 2005, my family sat in the lobby of The Harborview Hotel on Martha's Vineyard. My twin brother Mike and my nephew Stephen, both accomplished musicians, entertained the whole family and the hotel staff with their guitar playing and singing. So did my dad. He couldn't play or sing nearly as well as my brother or my nephew, but he had a style and a way all his own. I took this picture of him that night, not knowing that it would be the last Thanksgiving we would spend with him.

Last Vestiges Of Autumn

A Japanese Maple in my front yard

Whose flames burn, then flicker

As the screaming brilliant colors of autumn fade into the silent white beauty of winter

Ron Rays

Note: I posted this story and photograph as today’s blog as well.

        Today, my last day on Martha's Vineyard, I made the twenty mile pilgrimage to Aquinnah at the tip of the island. Aquinnah. Land of colored clay cliffs, nude women, and the stoned, naked revelry of bygone days. Bygone days that used to include my best friend Ron. He died in a motorcycle accident on August 27, 2001.
        I went there to be with him today.
        And he showed up.
        I spent a total of five minutes at Aquinnah today, because it's very remote, and I had a ferry to catch. When I arrived, a hole in the foreboding sky was just starting to open up. As I stood there, thinking of my friend, the sky kept opening. The few people around me weren't paying any attention to what was happening above. They were looking at the beautifully colored cliffs. But I kept watching the sky.
        Within a few moments, light began streaking through the hole and illuminating the water below. As soon as that happened, I felt it.
        Nobody else on the beach was looking up. Nobody else saw what I saw. Or knew what I knew.
        My body started shaking, and I started crying.
        My old friend was communicating to me. In a way that only the two of us understood.
Ron said to me several times that when he died, he wanted his ashes spread over Gay Head, now known as Aquinnah. We didn't end up cremating him, but his words have always stayed with me. He loved it so much there. We loved it so much there.
        And now, after all this time, here we were again. This time, just the two of us.
        But instead of me spreading Ron all over Gay Head, while I was at Gay Head, Ron spread himself all over me.
        The moment I had to leave, the hole in the sky closed up. And he was gone.
        But he left me another priceless gift. A gift that he gave to me thousands of times when he was alive. He gave me a memory. He gave me a piece of himself. Forever. And no matter what, those are gifts that can never be taken away. Ever.
        Once again, thank you Ron. I love you. I always have. And I always will.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights Reserved.

Kneeling Sequoia

It's about time I posted a picture of a Giant Sequoia, the largest living organism on the planet. In 2006, I spent some time in Sequoia National Park. That place is the real Magic Forest. Being surrounded by thousands of enormous trees was at once very humbling and uplifting. I didn't feel small. I felt connected. And in that connection, I experienced a child-like sense of profound wonder, amazement, and jaw dropping "WOW-ism".  The least I could do was throw myself before the trees, half naked, my arms and heart wide open.