The Perfect Song Blog

My talk went well. There were a lot of questions when I finished and positive comments before I left.

I’m always so relieved when a presentation is finished.

We hadn’t eaten breakfast so I kept watch for a diner as we headed north for home. We were in the rural section of Maryland, then a very rural stretch in Pennsylvania. Finally, I spotted a garage which had Jackie’s Cafe and General Store attached to it.

There was nothing around but fields and little rolling mountains. When you find a diner attached to a garage, you are missing something in life if you don’t stop.

We entered a small general store with the usual shelves of junk food, candies and glass cases filled with Pepsi, Gatorade and five kinds of bottled water. We moved through an open door into the dining area.

We sat down at a table, brushed off the crumbs, forcing angry flies to move somewhere else. I glanced around. Five farmers from two generations sat at a long table eating huge burgers and plates of fries. Several wore baseball caps that were melded onto their heads. It was a saggy, comfortable look.

A large, oval white haired man with glasses and gentle blue eyes stared far away into the spot where the wall meets the ceiling directly across from him. He didn’t move.

Another couple walked in. The man was about 6 ft. 5 in and maybe 250 pounds. His female partner was 6 ft. 1 in. and maybe 175 pounds. They were rough inside and out but good-hearted, you could tell.

There was no music, just the sound of people talking in southern Pennsylvania accents. Leigh and I have traveled the country many times and I’ve found that in diners, people all talk about the same things: their kids, the weather, crops, health, politics.

We’re all unique, but we have more in common than we’d like to believe.

Everyone in the diner wore jeans or shorts, t-shirts, and everyone seemed worn by the weather and life.

Leigh wore a beige top and slacks. I was in frayed Dockers (yes I made a presentation to colleagues in worn, frayed Dockers. Nobody, even PR people paid to notice details, ever looks down at your ankles) and a dress shirt open at the collar.

No one paid attention to us.

A young waitress took our order. For detail freaks, on the road I always order a breakfast of two eggs, scrambled, sausage, wheat toast and Tabasco sauce. Leigh has two eggs over easy, bacon, wheat toast and one pancake. This never varies.

When we finished, I took the check to the general store counter where the young waitress was also manning the cash register.

“So where are you from?” She asked with the air of a young person desperately wanting to get out of her rural area where people still talk about what happened 50 years ago and judge people by what they did 25 years ago.

“Do we look like we’re not from around here?” I asked innocently.

She shrugged and nodded and I told her. She told me to have a nice day and I think she meant it. I wanted to talk to her and tell her she needed to leave and explore the country and her life and then maybe come back and appreciate her home and contribute to it, but we were just passing through.

We had our breakfast and she had her life.

Outside I took a picture and we drove off.

Our lives, and hers, continue on as they’re supposed to.

It’s 10 p.m. as I sit at my wireless laptop in a Days Inn & Suites, in Frostburg, Maryland.

Leigh and I started out this afternoon at 12:15 and arrived  five hours later. It  would have been faster without the construction on I-76 and I-68 in Pennsylvania and Maryland.  I’m giving the presentation to the University System of Maryland PR folks held at Frostburg State University in the beautiful Compton Science Center

Frostburg is a lovely old town laid out on a hill with restored buildings from the 19^th century.

When we checked in, I asked Leigh where the campus was she said, “The Acropolis is two lights down and to the left.”

“What’s the Acropolis?”  I thought this was a slang for the center of the campus.

“It’s a Greek restaurant that supposed to be wonderful,”  she said, reminding me how much she loves Greek food.  I shouldn’t have been surprised.  We found it on Main St..  The atmosphere was dark, peaceful, with wall drawings of Greek figures.  The cooks are Greek  The food subtle, fresh and authentic.

Driving back, a little old lady stopped in front of me and took a long time trying to back up into a parallel parking spot.  I slowly drove around here.  A pick up truck was coming toward me.  The driver was a type A dude with a big horn which he laid on hard.  He was probably in the right.  I shouldn’t have gone around here and I felt really stupid for doing it, but I think he was a little theatrical in his horn blasting.  Still it was a “cringe moment” (meaning I know I was wrong and cringe every time I think about it, and for the rest of my life I’ll never do it again).

Then I turned down a one-way street going the wrong way.

Fortunately an early evening fog was setting in and my white Taurus with the bright yellow “The Perfect Song” sticker faded into the mist so people couldn’t get on their cell phones and call friends and say “watch out for an idiot from New York State who drives around old ladies trying to park and then tries to escape by going the wrong way on our one-way streets.”

The fog was so bad  that  I gave up on finding the Frostburg campus.  We stopped at a Rite-Aid so Leigh could find a contact lense case because she’d forgotten hers.

I wandered around, listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival doing “Who’ll Stop the Rain” while looking at massage liquids.  There are too many choices anymore.  When “Who’ll Stop The Rain” came out in 1970, you had only Vaseline.  Creedence left the charts and K-Y jelly appeared.  Now there are liquids that heat up, make you tingle, and promise to make you think of Tahiti.

I don’t necessarily want to think of Tahiti when I make love.  And I don’t think certain body parts should have liquids applied to make them tingle artificially during sex.  Creedence wouldn’t have wanted them either.  Creedence is more of  the “Run Through the Jungle” type.  I think they would frown on any liquid that makes your wiener warmer than it’s supposed to be.

Back to our room.  Prepare for tomorrow’s presentation.  Answer emails.  Read.

Leigh and I sit in the Jacuzzi.  She likes it hot and I lose a lot of fluid sweating.

I wake up several times during the night, thinking, I suppose of tomorrow’s presentation.

I always get nervous before a presentation because, basically, it’s a show, and when you do a show, you put everything into it.

It’s a moment in time that you never get back.  So you give it all you’ve got.

More later.  Here’s a photo.

I was just checking my traffic facts (well, I do every night) and was amazed to find I have readers in 25 countries around the world.  There’s a big readership in Panama (thanks, folks) as well as groups of readers in Europe, Russia, Canada and the middle east.

I get involved in the regular postings that I forget that all this started with the Perfect Song Website, whose original purpose was to promote my novel, The Perfect Song.  The book, which still gets glowing reviews from readers, is available at Amazon.com or iUniverse.

All proceeds from the book go to the Perfect Song Scholarship Fund at Mansfield University for future writers.  So if you buy the book, you’re helping future students.  If you want to read the book for free, it’s on my website.  I also recorded an audio version.  Then, if you want to make a donation, you can do it on the site through paypal or send a check to the Mansfield University Foundation, Mansfield, PA  16933.  Mark it: The Perfect Song Scholarship Fund.

Thanks to all my “perfect songsters”  for letting me share my life and thoughts as I make my way through this adventure called life.

As I came out of Tops today there were three adults making and selling cotton candy to happy little kids.  I looked to see what organization it was.

The sign said, “All proceeds go to the Juveniles With Diabetes research.”

Hmm.   Raise money for diabetes research by selling pure sugar to kids.

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As I pulled onto the Exit 49 ramp on my way home, a  ’57 black Chevy passed by me.  Driving was a man in his 70s and riding was a woman who looked to be his older sister.  I wouldn’t have given it much about it if it hadn’t been for the huge orange flame decal along the sides of the car.

As the old gent eased out onto the highway, I was taken back the 1950s — sock hops, cherry Cokes, five cent burgers, and cigarette packs rolled up in your t-shirt sleeve.

Somehow,  a ’57 Chevy with orange flame decals didn’t seem to fit a 70-year-old man even though it was probably his.

I’ll bet he was cruising around looking for a vintage Ford to challenge him to a round of “chicken.”

Wow, where are James Dean and Natalie Wood when you need them?

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In Lawrenceville this morning I pulled out onto the highway, seeing the car that was coming but he was far enough away that I had time and the speed limit was only 35 mph.

I must have made the driver, a middle aged guy, mad because he stomped on the gas until he was practically riding my bumper.

I know he thought he was proving something to me. And he was.  He was living proof that some middle-aged men have the emotional ceiling of a 15-year-old.

As soon as we were on a small straight stretch he must have laid the pedal to the floor because he suddenly passed me then yanked in front of me so close he  nearly clipped my front bumper.  My middle aged man was showing me that he was mad and how good he could drive when he was angry.

I had to smile.  He was obviously a stranger in the area or he would have known that there was no other place to pass for five miles and he was now stuck behind a slow moving pickup truck.

This meant he had me in his rear view mirror for five slow miles.

Yes, Mr. Anger, I’m right behind you and I’m in no hurry.  I wish you were mature enough to feel sheepish but with a testosterone flare-up like that you’re probably incapable of adult feelings.

When we entered the four-lane he hit the gas again, passed the pick up in front of him and roared around the curves, happy, I’m sure to get away from me.

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Had lunch yesterday with a friend who I’ll call Stacy. We are in a small town restaurant  that I’d never been to.  People knew her my Stacy, but not me.  They stared quickly and looked down at their food. They kept glancing up at us and looking back at their food.

“Stacy finally leaned forward and motioned to a woman at a table to our left.  “She’s  a friend who works at the bank,” Stacy explained. “She’s wondering who you are.”

When we finished eating Stacy went over and spoke with her bank friend.  As we got into the car, Stacy laughed.   “This will be all over town before the end of the day.”

This morning Stacy said, “By four o’clock it was all over town that I had lunch with a man in a suit.”

“I’m disappointed that it took four hours,” I said.  “We had lunch at noon.”

“Well,” Stacy explained, “My friend has to work until three, so really it only took one hour for her to spread the word!”