From the Edge / Bill Dixon

From the Edge/Bill Dixon

From the Edge/Bill Dixon

I liked cat houses as places to sip adult beverages, thereafter. Also, they were typically cleaner and had colder beer than the alternative beer joints, plus a “security officer” or two to look after the paying customers. They had a bathroom, too, instead of having customers go out the side door, and pee in the weeds. Lee offered all those services, as well. We immediately established a mutually acceptable relationship.

From the Edge/Column

From the Edge/Column

Things started to come apart: we blamed each other for things little and large: cracks opened. Staying in the same house got progressively harder for us. I have to take responsibility for doing nothing to change the direction things were going. It really was my fault, and I’d declined a wonderful opportunity and wrecked almost twenty years of our very excellent relationship. Being pig-headed is an expensive behavior form, but I fit the definition, nicely. By mutual decision, I “temporarily” moved into a small campus area rental property we owned. I strayed. I strayed a lot.

Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

The photo above is of me talking on a telephone when telephones were for talking on, not typing out messages to one’s friends with your thumb, or playing games, or getting directions that get you lost anyway. We still use a land line in our house, although my wife and I both have cell phones; or mobiles as they are called in the rest of the world…

Bill Dixon/From the Edge

Bill Dixon/From the Edge

Everyone develops a system of rationalizing their more aberrant behavioral issues, I suppose, and I have developed mine. I don’t watch much television. (Here comes the rationalization)….In Maine, I don’t have any means of doing so: no cable, no antenna, and absolutely no interest in turning on the tube even if I had the means to do so. Accordingly, for nearly six months out of the year, I don’t watch any TV at all − as in none!

Then and Now

Then and Now

I must admit that when I learned what was in the rooms upstairs I was rather curious and kept peeping through the forbidden door’s keyhole, but all I could see was a dark stairwell. I was told that the door was only open on one day of the year, the anniversary of the dead Massimo’s resurrection and return to heaven. On that day, I was advised, my apartment would be invaded by an array of priests, bishops, and cardinals, and maybe even the pope himself, who would be coming to pray, light candles, and spray incense on the stuff in the rooms above. I would be permitted to stay and see the ceremony if I didn’t interfere. I hoped that I might even be allowed upstairs to look around.

From the Edge

From the Edge

I had no schedule or set destination, so I just rolled along, headed west. Out in the open country areas, I took my time and took in the scenery. Farms and woods, rolling fields, late September at its best: it was glorious weather. I thought that perhaps I’d treat myself, and find a cheap motel and crash that night. Maybe have a beer or two in a bar within walking-distance of my motel. It was a good plan. The next day, I drove into Minnesota, which was beautiful in the first days of autumn, with the farmers harvesting their crops and bailing hay for winter feed.

Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

The historically cold winter has finally left us. As it’s warmer now, we have the windows open; no air conditioning for our 150-year-old farmhouse. One thing my wife and I dislike about Florida is the need to have one’s air-conditioner cranked up all year long. Living on the side of a hill and having twenty acres of woods and fields, surrounded by a 700 acre state park, we enjoy having the windows up to let in a fresh breeze. Unfortunately, the open windows also let in the noise…

Then and Now / Steve Poleskie

Then and Now / Steve Poleskie

I have begun writing this on the evening before Thanksgiving Day. Outside it is snowing and has been since morning. Over much of the northeast the snow has closed down airports and stranded thousands of travelers trying to get home for the holidays. I, however, am sitting here comfortably…

From the Edge / Bill Dixon

From the Edge / Bill Dixon

Everyone, I suspect, writes for very roughly similar reasons, but I’m wrong often enough to cast some doubt on that that supposition. My own writing seems to retell tales of things centered on past experiences…

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History…

The name Ragazine was coined in the mid-’70s in Columbus, Ohio, as the title of an alternative newspaper/magazine put together by a group of friends. It was revived in 2004 as ragazine.cc, the on-line magazine of arts, information and entertainment, a collaboration of artists, writers, poets, photographers, travelers and interested others. And that’s what it still is.