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A Cleveland Journal~2010.
Cleveland, Ohio~2010-1959.
By: Steve Renko
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| Thursday, 20-May-2010 10:00 |
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"Sudden Drop Off."
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"Southern Shores of Lake Erie."
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| 22:12 |
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"Freezing Weather Tree."
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| 22:14 |
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"Niagara Falls."
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| 22:16 |
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So what was in the air cells today? Today the aircells didn't wait for a public bus to pick them up. Actually, they walked with the briefcase. It was a Thursday, afterall. Retirement is in on the scene. The vehicles moved automatically east and west on the extinct Indian trail. The authorities have named it, officially, state highway 283. State highway 283?! The extinct Indian trail has some ring to it. This trail is conveniently located on the southern shores of Lake Erie.
Lake Erie is a shallow lake as geography goes in measures and interests. The Roman Army never marched on the shores of Lake Erie. some public relations guy suggested this is really the "north coast." There is no north coast on the southern shores of Lake Erie. There was a nearby war between the British, the young US government and French fur traders. There is no public interest in a war that might have taken place in 1812.
No, this lake is a quiet collection of water. Eventually, it flows by the state of Pennsylvania and the state of New York. When it reaches that catarract that sudden drop off after the electric companies use it for their electric candles a huge scene will demonstrate the power of flowing water into stubborn rocks that only move when they have to move.
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| Saturday, 20-Mar-2010 13:50 |
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2010. 03-20. Sat. 13.30~A Cleveland Journal.
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2010. 01-23. Sun. 15.01~Cleveland Lake Erie
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| 13:48 |
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1. It has been a while since I have been in here. What has been occurring? I have selected this title, "A Cleveland Journal." Perhaps it's crap from the past, personal and now outdated. I have lived in Cleveland, Ohio, perhaps, for too many years. At least I wrote my journal notes across the years. I am tired of wondering this many years what is up. I am rambling here.
2. It is hard to start a sentence. I have angst and anxiety. What does that mean? As a writer I need to express myself in personal specifics. I am going to write this as if no one will read it. I can be me. I like this random rambling as I most certainly don't have it chronologically together. Maybe that's the way I think.
3. I could use a cup of coffee. My daughter, Caroline is watching "Sister Act" via cable television. Anne is my wife who is currently driving to work. I worked yesterday. I will be retiring next month from the Cleveland Water Department. I have worked there 35 years, plus. I am not sure what it was and where it went. I do know now that I was going mental the last few months. A new system was brought into service, but, it is not what its cracked upto be each day its working.
4. There were two persons involved who spent each day telling me and other employees what we did wrong on the accounts the previous working hours. Bob and Sue were persons who reviewed the paper work from the previous 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. routine. Well, they always saw to it that something was wrong. For over twenty years that I was under their personality those hours all they did was tell me what I did wrong.
5. I am detoxing from what I went through and need the clearing for the next 50 years. Yes, I am optimistic about my next fifty years. I am taking care of my wife and adopted daughter. I am following in the steps of Jesus Christ. Now, my life is making sense. First, this flowing stream of ramblings so that I can clear the decks, clear the stream of my life of emotional junk. Stay tuned formy junkie emotional ramblings. I feel better already.
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| Sunday, 8-Feb-2009 04:26 |
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2009. February 3rd. Tuesday. 08.15
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2009. February 3rd. Tuesday. 08.15. Steve Renko Blog.
This is how I started writing back there in 1968, pen and paper. Across the years free poetry, none rhyming poems was the hit of my success. The very fact I was writing made it a success. As yet, no one had rejected it, nor was any one’s approval required. I never did publish out there in the real world, in the land of publication, where those real authors had their books immortalized. I daydreamed about it. As much as I imagined publishing poems as I felt they were great in their own right I was easily defeated with criticism and subjective opinion. What did I know? What I did know was very little. I was naturally talented with imagination and creativity. What I was missing was a mentor. I had plenty of tormentors across those years, very few mentors.
In 1968 I was in high school. I was attending St. Joseph High School at Lakeshore Boulevard and E. 185th Street. That made the school on this side of Cleveland, Ohio. It was an all boys school. The girls school was down the Boulevard, Villa Angela Academy. The city population shifted, moved re-arranged itself so much so that the two Catholic high schools had to merge to survive financially. If the Pope had sold some of that Vatican gold maybe, just maybe, the Catholic schools would be amongst us to this day. Today, St. Joe’s is a co-ed high school. It is more expensive and full of students inside different music, attitudes and fashion. That was my high school up to 1971. Today’s boys and girls would react to 1971 as ancient history.
The start of my poetry writing was back there in 1968 in that sophomore year learning something from the blah blah teacher while I entered free flowing words in a ring binder notebook. I kept the original notes for years. After I moved out of my parents house in March 1975 I still had them somewhere. They didn’t see the years ahead. I threw them away, frustrated and demoralized at the daily grind of emotional confusion. It is 8:20 a.m. in downtown Cleveland. I am daydreaming and I am feeling what I believed I was in 1968, a poet.
The sun is shining over Cleveland this Tuesday morning. Over the weekend, Pittsburgh won another Super Bowl in Tampa, Florida. They outplayed the Arizona Cardinals. This was the Steelers 6th Super Bowl win. How many have the Cleveland Browns won? They are thinking about it. They have been thinking about it as many times as the Steelers won it. The other sports team in town is winning handsomely. The NBA Cavs are tops in their division and are in the top four best teams currently. They are up there with the Lakers, the Celtics, and the Magic. The Pistons are not making an impact this season.
Going about God’s business so that my life has a meaning. What does my life mean to me? It means I lived long enough to feel the need to satisfy my Holy Spirit messages that I do something of value, be an example.
I am here in this department where the paper is on the left hand side in the morning. By the 5 p.m. hour it will be on the right hand side. Amen!!
Writing is a daily pre-occupation for my personality. As I have to have music everyday, I must write, also. I am a blogger now. It’s the latest craze. Anyone can publish now-a-days their material via the Internet. Rejection is no longer a road block. The only blocks I have are the other kind, especially, procrastination. If it wasn’t for procrastination I wouldn’t get anything done.
How do I compose this blog, I do something else during the daytime, Monday through Friday. I want to blog the years and years of frustration. I have emotional issues. I have mixed up feelings. I have to discover that I have had a good life. Do I have to walk through the emotional junk yard near the shallow lake by the crooked river to get to God’s plan? There’s a learning lesson there. Joel Osteen always suggests in his messages to appreciate everything, everybody, or any reason. God sent one of His messengers to whoever wants to listen. Joel Osteen is one of God’s messengers. He’s good for a message once a week on cable TV. Then there’s his everyday message, weekdays via my email address. I had a large emotional junkyard in my whispering mansion, around it. I call my mind a “whispering mansion.” Through these blogs I hope to be a narrator in the first, second and third person. I do have a bitch personality at times. I hate when that happens.
The USA and the world economy are in the tank for years to come. Thank God Obama was elected by the American people as our next president. I am fortunate to have a daytime job with a regular cash flow. Our health care is very inexpensive. Anne is my wife now for two years. We have survived and enjoyed the bonds of marriage. It is going on two years we are married.
Anne works, also. She has her own place and income. I hesitate to name the place just because it’s early in the blogs. What is more important here is that our faith in each other includes the rules of reality, a job for the both of us. An income on a regular basis. We have good health care, rather inexpensive. Such a deal. The cash flow that comes from my job is limited in resource and outcome. Still, I find something else to do in between. I do have to act as if I am working. I must produce something as daily production numbers are officially recorded. They act like they pay me. I act like I work.
The Cleveland scene is not Hollywood. Yet, it might as well be a set with actors and actresses. I’ll name it “Club 12.” It is named “Club 12” for obvious reasons, legal and the freedom to say something. It isn’t as if they’re going to listen to my complaints. Back to that paper route so as to produce something for the likes of Bob. Bob is an almost important person. He is almost a manager. He is like a supervisor. He acts like a supervisor when he wants to be one. We nod and pretend to obey. Bob doesn’t like to send emails when he is in charge. That means Sue is away for the day. The other important person, what shall I call her, “Rude” that be it. Rude is, well, rude. I know this is subjective to my angle of interpretation, but, that’s OK, it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to.
3. My favorites across the decades have been movies, television programs, plenty to eat at home, traveling outside of Cleveland to places like, Zagreb, Croatia, Dubrovnik, Croatia, Albuquerque, New Mexico, Vancouver, Toronto, Homes County, Ohio and Niagara Falls.
--Two dollar bills can’t make a go of the pennies, nickels and dimes that linger out there in someone’s pocket, purse, briefcase, or a window sill near the morning sunshine across the shallow lake, Lake Erie, as it’s known on the maps. (09.16)
4. Are you one of those packages that arrives early, stops late, then is left to stand at the RTA bus stop at East 9th Street going east in the weekday evening hours? Perhaps not! With briefcase in hand I am in the right place.
5. Advice comes from prayers.
6. A professional does not like nor dislike. A professional does the job. I’m still arriving at that piece of advice. I do like it. There is less wear and tear during the daylight hours.
7. The Beatles were a favorite in the 1960s. They wanted to hold someone’s hand, they tried crying instead. Baby wanted to drive Paul’s car, John tried crying instead.
There they were out of the Norwegian woods, walking across the street from Abbey Road only to experience Paul’s almost death scene later followed by John’s real New York City death scene. A reluctant personality trapped inside a personal hell room pointed and said shoot here. Listening to the devil’s voice the full metal jacket hit the spot. John fell there migrated to strawberry fields, forever. Yoko went on to have her Ono, three Beatles turned into two fab boys with George leaving the scene quietly after the second hand smoke did him in close to but not in Penny Lane. Ringo and Paul just weren’t the four lads anymore. On their own with postcards and a flying nostalgia machine individual songs only reminded the walking public that the dark side of the moon now rule inside the wall full of animals.
Modern talking took over along the Croatian seacoast resort cities. The walled city south of the original capitol succumbed to the Yellow submarine crowd. A gypsy plied her physical wares for a backpack far far away from a mother rose and an ex-prisoner of war. Mr. Child wore his heart on the sleeve. Friendly strangers blossomed under the big lamp. A dog was seen licking the hot beach sand sun. No one noticed expect the man in a three piece pin stripe suit with a farm town compliment inside his coat pocket. (10.35 a.m.)
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| Saturday, 10-Feb-2007 20:51 |
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Saturday Afternoon Hours In Cleveland
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Couple of Months
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| 16:11 |
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See Through Denial
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| 16:12 |
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This is a cold Cleveland Saturday this afternoon outside. Inside it's cozy, and very creative. I didn't need to go out grocery shopping this afternoon. Anne and I went grocery shopping during the week. I called my mom just in case she had any needs this afternoon. I write her bills for her. She will be 81 years old next month. Our dad died two years ago, plus a couple of months. It was a shocking experience. A crack in the sky occurred. That crack came from the see through denial. How the denial was there all those years I was sober. I have been sober for twenty four years. But, something was missing. What was missing was my acknowledgment of Jesus Christ being my Saviour. Now, that harmony is restored in my life.
I didn't trust my father. Two weeks ago I came to terms with my father and that trust. I'm not mad at my mom, anymore. I am in touch with my life, what to do and how to do it. God will provide every day. Prayers are being answered. What was missing for twenty four years of sobriety is now clear, I have acknowledged Jesus as my Saviour.
Anne and I are living our life. Here I am at 54 years into my life. My midlife crises is crunching and grinding my angst, my anxieties, my phantoms and my thin veils of darkness. I walk the path of light so that I may work His will everyday. And, so it goes.
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| Thursday, 8-Feb-2007 15:53 |
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| 16:00 |
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With so much a available on the Internet, plus a business of my own I am cruising all over the Internet. Here I have a few minutes to post something while the very cold air outside lingers over the city of Cleveland.
***
I am getting over the shock of my father's death now two years later, plus two months. I didn't know how hard it was going to strike at me and it would crack open other subjective issues, as a result. Loneliness is a nearly invisible phantom to play with from childhood now to my middle age crises. The chaos, the conflict, the confusion has taken it's toll as if this was the battle for my life. I have my life and I have Jesus Christ as my Saviour. The long night has been broken by dawn. It took a miracle to see the sunrise...and the guardian angel that protected all the while till I acknowledged Christ as my Saviour.
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| Wednesday, 6-Dec-2006 13:10 |
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Re-Entry
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I. Me. Mine. 2006.
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| 13:12 |
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I haven't posted anything here for many months. I have drifted away and unsure what the everydays will bring to my midlife crises. I found my fotopages, again. I have some additional experience I had not had last time I was cruising and parking here. I missed this place, this location on the web. Fotopages, be that as it may, is still free. I need and require free web sites. I noticed all my parked materials are still here. Thanks fotopages. This is my re-entry into this location on the web. I love to compose words and add photos with it.
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| Saturday, 25-Dec-2004 00:00 |
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Merry Christmas! From: The Automatic Pilot.
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Merry Christmas this extremely cold day in Cleveland. Yes, my dad died a week, ago. No one else in my family died since then. This is but a mixed bag this thing called life.
While we sorrow and worry and try to keep our asses warm here in Cleveland, I can't help but push and lift one leg after another, walking like a popsicle into the minute after minute that just was before me, now an immediate past, now a memory, now wondering what the hell happened, now drinking my coffee, now into only an automatic session that the navigator put on automatic pilot.
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| Thursday, 23-Dec-2004 00:00 |
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Merry Christmas.
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Merry Christmas In Croatian.
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Death Notice in the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
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Good bye, dad! Wednesday, 12-22-04.
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To my dear friends here in fotopages, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas.
On behalf of my family, thank you for your thoughts and prayers and wishes and just being concerned and interested and kind. Kindness speaks for all you who have stopped here and asked and inquired and posted messages.
You have comforted my moments.
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| Monday, 20-Dec-2004 00:00 |
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My Dad. Joe Renko, 1925-2004.
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Joe, my dad. Rose, my mother. Photo: December 2003.
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After a long and hard struggle Joe, my father died of post surgery complications.
He had an aneurysm, had it surgically removed. The post surgery recovery was difficult and troublesome. The doctors did what they could. He had great love from his family, friends, and friendly strangers. Technology, nursing, medicine and his own personal will took him this far, enough so that he almost made it.
He didn't. He died Saturday.
On behalf of myself, my family, I thank each and everyone who has posted a comment here during my father's struggle. He enjoyed hearing that friendly strangers on the Internet wished him well. That impressed him. That added on the minutes to his daily life.
Thank you, my friends. Life goes on. I will not cry for him once. I will remember him for the rest of my life.
I am on funeral leave for five days. My mother needs me now. She is shocked and in thick denial. I'm in a thinner denial.
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| Sunday, 21-Nov-2004 00:00 |
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A Few Words Without Words.
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The photos will speak for themselves.
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Very insightful and worthwhile observations. 
