Tree Swing

I want to climb inside your mind.  Sit-on-the tree swing in your brain

It nearly killed-me-to pull away from your hug in the rain

I want to empty out the foam-peanuts crowding-the-space in your-head

Want you-to clear a path for me that leads right to your bed

(Chorus)

It hurts me not to reach for you.  Kills me not to touch

I have to sit down on my hands.  I want you, oh, so much

Hurts me not to tell you what I really think of us

Have to clench down on my heart.  I want you, oh, so much

It hurts to trace your winsome smile.  Watch your lips not kissing me

It wears me down to hear your voice, so salty like the sea

It hurts to look into your eyes, they’re so painfully pale blue

Want-to-punch-out the in-ev-itable good-byes I’ll say to you

(Bridge)

The thing is___I’m pretty sure you’d melt into to me

The thing is___I’m pretty sure that you’d cave

The thing is___I-think-you’d hug me all day in the rain

The thing is___I think it’s me that you crave

I need to barricade my brain from caring about what you say

Need-to-slowly inch away from you so it hurts less every day

I need to dig a moat ‘round you, restrain my body from yours

Need to pile the fur-ni-ture in front of my desire’s door

(Repeat Chorus)

Want-to nestle in your shoulders, wear you like a sweater that fits

Want to rip up all your suffering, tear it into small bits

I want to calm your cluttered mind.  Sit-on-the tree-swing-with-you in your brain

It nearly killed-me-to pull away from your hug in the rain

Sand Boxed In

I was single all through my twenties and for the first half of my thirties.  Folks used to ask me if I was gay, as if that would somehow solve my problem of being single, like it was psoriasis.  “I have a lesbian friend,” they would say.  “I bet she’s perfect for me,” I would answer, “but I’m not gay.”  I was just waiting for the right smart, funny, kind man to come along.  I realized too late that I missed the first round of marriage by not marrying my college boyfriend—who became a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle—or any of the Eurojerks I dated while backpacking through Europe.  I had no regrets although that Eurojerk phase lasted much longer than it should have, but marrying Costis, Isaac, JeanPierre or Kort was the right thing not to do. 

During my late twenties-- as my weekends filled up with friends’ weddings, I continued to date all the musician/filmmaker/carpenters who were left.  They were all named Dave and I dated many of them.  That’s not completely true-- I dated all of them.  At least all of the ones named Dave.  It was about then that I began to tell people that I had skipped my first marriage and was waiting patiently for my second.  Because people seemed to notice.  It seemed to bother them that I wasn’t married.

One day I found myself sitting in the middle of a circle of chairs at the beach.  Reading and chatting in those chairs were my friends and their spouses.  Their children played in the center.  I was laying on my stomach on my towel making lazy designs in the sand with a stick.  I always enjoyed my friends’ kids as I inherently like them and was looking forward to having my own one day.  So we took turns, a four year old girl, and I, drawing faces in the sand then erasing the other one’s with the sweep of a hand.  Back and forth we did this, wordlessly for a while until finally she spoke. 

“Where is your husband?”

“I don’t have one,” I said. 

And then it hit me.  I understood that it was my job in this moment to lay the foundation for this little girl’s future as a confident single woman and productive member of society, so I made sure to keep my voice chipper so as to convey to her that she wouldn’t be any less of a woman one day if she weren’t tethered, by law, to a man.  One day she might take me to tea at Bergdorf’s to thank me for giving her the chutzpah in that seminal moment on the beach, when she was four, the moxie to go it alone and seek her fortune and happiness, knowing that if she were internally contented, that her inner radiance would dazzle all who came into contact with her and that one day she would meet a smart, funny, kind man in due time.  I continued to make designs in the sand and radiate wholeness.

“Why don’t you have a husband?” she said, and then she added, “What’s wrong with you?”

Huh, I thought.  So we’re going to play it that way, are we?  Well then you can kiss tea at Bergdorf’s goodbye.

            I leaned in close so that none of the adults could hear me, then looked into her eyes and speaking in a steady, hushed tone said, “There’s nothing wrong with me, sweetpea.  I’m just patiently waiting for your parents to get divorced so that I can marry your daddy.”  That shut her up.

Ocean Classroom

Growing up in Toms River, N.J., John Petrillo never liked school.  “History was the only subject that I did homework for,” he said.  But he loved to sail.  “In high school I thought, ‘There must be something wrong with me.’  I went to college anyway.”  For his final semester at Carnegie Mellon, John applied to study at the Sea Education Association. (SEA.org)  He studied marine sciences, history and literature; physical oceanography; and maritime ways of life.  It was the first time he could remember connecting with his subject matter.   Along with 23 other students, John lived for 6 weeks in Woodshole, Mass., then 6 weeks aboard a 200 ton, 135 foot sailing vessel.  Also living aboard were 4 faculty, a professional crew of 13 and one cook.  “It’s then that I finally liked school,” John said, “I became enamored with studying.

While living aboard, John learned celestial navigation, how to clean and operate the vessel, what it meant to ‘stand watch’ and how to get along with strangers in very small living quarters.  “It felt nice to actually be interested in what I was learning.”

After college John worked at the Maritime Museum in San Diego, The New Bedford Whaling Museum, Mystic Seaport, and as crew on a tall ship—13 sails in all.  He earned his Masters in American Civilization at Brown where he studied Caribbean and Polynesian history and literature, whaling lore, whaling ship logs and scrimshaw art.  He can even discern fakes.  Then his dream came to fruition.  He landed a position as head educator and humanities professor for high school and college students with Ocean Classroom Foundation. (oceanclassroom.org)

For 8 years, John taught history and literature at sea to high school and college students.  For 4 months each semester, the ship sailed 6,500 nautical miles and spent about 40% of her time in port.  Once there, students would visit Botanical gardens or learn marine biology via snorkeling, etc.  “They had no TV, phones, computers or running water.  Showers were buckets thrown over the side, hauled up and dumped over us.  There was a GPS on board, but only for emergencies; all navigation was made by students using a sextant.”  The ship might be at sea for up to 17 days, in which case students would read, do homework, write papers by hand—or stand watch, which included 4 hours shifts at the helm, on bow lookout, boat checks and kitchen duty.  “Smoking and drinking was forbidden, zero tolerance; exclusive relationships were curtailed.” I said, “That must have been challenging.”  John said, “I learned a lot at reunions,” and smiled.

Now John is getting his PhD in Learning Sciences at Rutgers’ Graduate School of Education.  “I'm studying how kids learn in informal out-of school contexts--experiential and outdoor learning.  I want to open a school that creates deeper learning and understanding through hands-on approaches using Barnegat Bay as the curriculum’s focus.” 

So much for the kid who never liked school.  

John Petrillo has a Masters License to captain a vessel up to 100 tons.  For photos and to read student and faculty diaries, visit oceanclassroom.blogspot.com.

Marbles

Found a marble__ in my pocket

Lost the marbles in my brain

Found the nerve to__ tell you bye

Now it’s drivin’ me insane

Lost the will to__ let you hurt me

Found the reasons in my heart

Now I’m free to__ love another

Lost the know how where to start

(Chorus)

I used to worry that I’d lost you, expecting you to leave

Now I feel much better—I can finally breathe

I used to worry that I’d lost you, panic that you’d gone

Now I feel much better--  I’ve kept calm carried on

(Instrumental)

Lost the need and desperation

Found my wayward self-respect

Now I’m sleeping much more soundly

Have more ti-ime to reflect

(Bridge)

Youuuuuu didn’t treat me very well

Made my life a living hell

But my desires I couldn’t quell

IIIIIIIIIII couldn’t seem to pull away

At least not until today

When I found the voice to sayyyyyyyyy

I have to leave you, I have to leave you

Found a marble__ in my pocket

Lost the marbles in my brain

Found the nerve to__ tell you bye

I must have been insane

Lie Here

(Intro- sung/spoken)

Sometimes when I first wake up, before I open my eyes

I have a little chat with myself

I glance at the alarm clock then slowly realize

I should get up-- or I could put this morning on the shelf

The guilt sets in as I-I ask my conscience for permission

I can’t seem to stop this pen-chant for self-admonition

This goes back and forth for minutes though it feels like hours

Should I get out of bed,

or remain in my head.  I really need to shower

Why wouldn’t I stay asleep when I could be dreaming of you?

Why wouldn’t I stay in bed when there’s so very much to do?

(Song)

Let me lie here__Quietly thinking of you

Let me lie here__With so much to do

My eyes have just opened__I’m still in my bed

But-I can’t still the mem’ries__Of you in my head

It’s time to get up__Get-this show on the road

But-I can’t move a muscle__My heart is too heavy--  a loaaaaaad.

Let me lie here__With you in my heart

Let me lie here__Knowing not where to start

My lists are all waiting__With hands on their hips

But I can think only__Of your tender lips

It’s time to get moving__I really will try

But I keep on replaying__The last time we said--  good-byyyye

(Instrumental)

(Bridge 1)

The morning has come__And you’re far away

I’m left to imagine__What you’ll do today

My day has begun __Yet I can’t move an inch

Without your arms wrapping me__ Up in a clinch

(Repeat first verse)

(Bridge 2)

Oh-oh-oh let me lie here__ with you in my heart

Wrapped up in blankets and yearning

Let me lie here__ so far apart

Alone in my bed but so crowded by burning… desires

Let me lie here__Quietly thinking of you… mm-mmmm

Derby Queens

I wore leather and brought ear-plugs.  I expected a dark, smoky room.  I expected adults sitting on sticky beer-spilled seats, elbow-to-elbow and tough.  I expected swearing and loud shouting, fist-pumping and screams, but I didn’t expect what I found.  The Morristown women’s roller derby scene was charming.

Smack in the middle of Morristown proper is a large, covered, cinderblock building one story high.  It houses a roller derby rink or flat track as it’s called because it’s skated on a gym-type floor without banked sides.  The course itself is delineated by a single ½ inch rope taped onto the floor in a large oval with an island in the center.  In the center island wander various judges with clip-boards and whistles.  On the night I was there one judge was wearing candy striped socks and an apron over her skirt; another wore a pink tutu.  Out of bounds, along both ends—in their own folding chairs— sat families!  Parents, grandparents and children of all ages!  The lighting was bright, the mood was jovial and the entertainment was fast moving and fascinating.

The Jerzey Derby Brigade is two divisions of competitive skaters—varsity and JV-- comprised of area women, some of whom you would be surprised to find derby skating; some you wouldn’t.  The night of the season opener—they play April through November with summers off—the two divisions played each other.  Eighteen women took on one another in what was an educational and delightful early evening’s entertainment.   Captains Doom Hilda and Easthell Getty led off the game at 7pm sharp with stars on their helmets, which meant they were the jammers.  As such, they were saddled with the mission of skating through the pack then lapping as often as possible without being bulied to the ground or nudged out of bounds.  They wore fishnets and knee-pads with satin shorts and tight tops.  The captains were supported by co-captains Baked Beanz and Bruta Lee and flanked by team members in braids and pig-tails with and names like Anita Chainsaw, Inna Propriate, Assault Shaker and River Slam.  One of the girls had a peplum of lime green feathers along her backside and tattoos were too numerous to count.

As wacky as their outfits were, these girls wanted to win.  I watched coaches Beast Witherspoon and Syd Deuce call plays from the sidelines and when players were occasionally fouled, the offenders skated over to a row of elementary school-sized chairs designated the penalty box.  Parents, friends, and the children of these rough and rowdy women called out “Go Mommy!” from laps.  When the pizza order arrived-- slices sold for two bucks, as well as soda, chips and Derby Brigade T-shirts. 

One of the guys on the sidelines was particularly vocal, supporting one of the more wily skaters as she circled gracefully, earning points for her team.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“That’s my girlfriend,” he beamed.

“Awesome.  What does she do when she’s not skating?”

“She teaches fifth grade.”

Of course she does, I thought.  Talk about blowing off a little steam.  I learned that the women are mostly between 20 and 40 years old, but that the oldest skater is in her late fifties.  I learned that there is an attorney, a government worker and a librarian among other 9-5 working-women and that most of them are moms.  I learned that his girlfriend Maggy Kyllanfall loves the game, which was clear to me by her steely focus and enthusiasm on the track.  I would have awarded her the MVP award.  He was clearly proud. 

He taught me that there’s no elbowing in the game and no pushing from behind.  The blockers can’t trip, kick or grab-- all things the delightful color commentators had said as they bandied on mics over a background of energetic rock music.  They did a terrific job of explaining the game to the audience every step of the way.  Their banter was playful and informative and I learned more than I ever could have imagined.  Then, at halftime, referees William Skatespeare, Hannibal Hector and Stud Muffin blew their whistles, the skaters cleared the rink and we readied ourselves for the half-time show.

This show was cast by what appeared to be the entire roster of dancers enrolled at the Peter Smith School of Irish Dance, established in 1956.  Out they pranced, dancer after dancer, resplendent in parade-worthy sequins and the curliest, bounciest hair you ever did see.  They high-kicked and hot-stepped to the friendly trill of accordions and Irish pipes and the smile never left my face.  Each class dazzled us with their fancy footwork and pristine choreography.  Each dancer’s costume was more colorful than the last.  The audience was roused to clap along and we did so, happily transported to our own Brigadoon, nestled in the middle of Morristown, during a women’s roller derby match; only in New Jersey. 

The second half of the derby concluded with the winners taking a victory lap and receiving hugs and flowers from their families.  By 8:30pm they were pulling up the tape on the floor as folks folded up their chairs and took little ones by the hand.  I folded my programs for the Jerzey Derby Brigade and Irish dancing.  Both were recruiting new talent and both seemed like a lot of fun, though tons of hard work and a big time commitment.  I considered this then concluded: Why choose when I can have both?  You bet I’ll be back.  Oh, I will.

Ninja Man

You came out of nowhere___ landed on my roof

Soundless in your crepe soled shoes___ attitude aloof

Shimmied down the drain pipe,__ balanced on the ledge__

Dark as the night sky__ keeping me on edge

(Chorus) 

You can be my ninja man, but don’t you steal my heart

I’ll need it to get over you; your vigilante follow through

You can be my ninja man, but don’t you steal my heart

Eviscerate me with your eyes,

Disembowel my laissez-faire guise

But let me have my silent nights

And__ sword fights with youuuuuu (guitar stops) My love, my ninja

You slipped in through the window, ___ me in my penoir set

Lounging on my__chaise lounge,___ I’ll never forget

You came upon me stealthily, ___ all spider arms and legs

I asked if you were hungry,___ said, “Would you like some eggs?”

You nodded through your face mask,___ and said, yes please.

I made you an omelet, ___with extra grated cheese

Made you toast and bacon, __then peeled back your hood,

I said, “Hey, wanna spend the night?”  You said, (in low voice)_“I would if I could.”

(Spoken like Johnny Cash)

“But I got some ninja doins’; ninja issues to work through__

Gotta throw me some ‘a them ninja stars, got ninja things to do___

Gotta settle some ninja business__ on the other side of town,____

But if you’re ever makin’ eggs again, I just may__ come around.”__

I said (Chorus)

(Bridge) 

A few weeks later, I got the worrrrrrrd

wasn’t told directly, I overheard

You limped up to me like a champ___

___knocked over a table lamp

Bled all over my Pucci night gown

Seems there’d been a ninja scuffle

on the wrong side of towwwn (the wrong side of tow-ow-own)

You let me clean your wounds that night

We didn’t eat eggs__ and didn’t sword fight

I rocked you gently,__ until you slept

I loved you gently,___ (guitar stops) my love my ninja

Then I whispered (chorus)

(repeat to end “My love my ninja” 2x)