OK. More death talk.
Not that I've lost anyone else, I just felt the need to vent about it.
I HATE DEATH!
I'm sure almost everyone would agree with that. However, I'm scared stupid by
it. The mystery about the moment of death. What happens afterwards. Whatever
leads up to it. Everything afterwards here in the physical world. EVERYTING.
It started when I was very young and I know exactly who to blame. Garner Ted
Armstrong. If you've never heard the name before, he was a televangelist who was
popular in the 60's and 70's. I did see that his "ministry" still headlines a
television program sandwiched in some horrendous hour in the middle of the night
between infomercials. Which is actually where he belongs.
Armstrong had a radio program on my favorite station back in the early 70's. I
listened to the radio all the time. There was a stretch, during my junior high
school years, when I had been listening so much I went almost 10 days without
sleep. Each night I was listening to and participating in a talk show/trivia
game. It's a little hard to describe, but it was fun and I drove my parents to
distraction by making phone calls to be on the radio in the middle of the night
while they tried to sleep.
At this time my maternal grandmother was dying a slow and ugly death. All I knew
about it was how decrepit she had become and how I hated going to the nursing
home to visit. Not only was she very sick but I also had to deal with seeing
other elderly in all stages of illness and dementia. Not an easy thing for a
child. I persevered because she was my Nanna.
One night I happened upon Armstrong's program and he was spouting some horrible
bile of fire and brimstone. He pained a death in hell, separated from God,
suffering for eternity. It scared the hell out of me. I can recall sitting there
crying as I imagined my Nanna dying and having to go through the same things
this pinhead was describing. I was too young to be able to separate Biblical
mythology from reality. I might not have slept for another 10 days just from the
impact it had on me.
The impact of that on me emotionally lingers to this day. I have tried to take
lessons from my own mothers death and how she faced it with courage and faith
but I still tremble deep inside trying to imagine my own moment of death. All of
the worst case scenarios play out in my head. I don't like pain; so I imagine
all the painful ways to die. I wonder how that final moment feels. I read the
stories about near death experiences and hold on to the hope that those stories
are true. Then I read cynics who debunk them as a shared illusion, which our
brains sift together, all of the Judeo-Christian images for us to soften the
blow of death.
I'm hoping that, as I have seemed to have seen, a certain resignation and
acceptance will settle in long before I say that "big goodbye". That somewhere
along the line I will have the same courage my mother had. Until then I guess
I'll have to live with this dark cloud which haunts the back of my mind ready to
pounce out at me the same way Garner Ted Armstrong's viscous words attacked me
35 years ago.
I know it's not the "Christian" thing to say.....but if there is a painful part
of death, I hope Mr. Armstrong feels a little of what he gave a young boy
listening to the radio in the dark.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Saturday, April 24, 2004
It stinks that my recent posts all have to do with death. But, hey, such is life….right?
I have had two more deaths in relative proximity. Both of which, while not “close” to me, have been parts of my life for almost 30 years.
Larry Arnoff was the father of one of my oldest and best friends. I had met Karen in a junior high school science class. She sat directly across a lab table from me. Even though she started off kicking my shins on a regular basis, we have been the closest of friend ever since. I don’t know when I got to meet Larry for the first time but he certainly made an impression. I was a full-on pubescent who had a thing for his daughter. It seemed as if he used his gruff personality to try to scare me away even though he knew, with a insight I can now see at about the same age, that any “romance” at that age wasn’t going to be around very long. Karen and I went beyond that stage and are now as close as any two people can be. Some years later, Larry looked around and I was still there in his daughter’s life. I think he could see what we meant to each other and decided that it was a good thing. Either that or he just resigned himself to it.
As I grew into adulthood I began to feel a genuine warmth and affection from him. That felt good. I could talk and joke with him on an adult level and that increased the respect I had for him.
He was ALWAYS honest. There was a time, before the birth of my son, when I paid some attention to Karen’s new son. When I told Larry my wife was pregnant he replied with something like, “About time you had a damned family of your own and quit hanging around here!”. He said it with a smile but was am honest reminder that I was finally coming into adulthood. I respected him for that, too.
I will miss you, Larry.
The other loss in my life in the last week was Shirley Maiewski. Our paths crossed each other’s around the same time as Larry. She was one of the organizers of the Star Trek Welcommittee; an early form of Trek fan organization. In my early days of being a fan I read all about how fandom had started and all of these who had “blazed the trail”. I met Shirley for the first time at one of the last “original” cons in New York. I was an awe-struck youth, thankful to her for all she had done for fans and loved the fact that here was an adult reveling in the same things I was.
Years later I became a member of, and eventually president of the Boston Star Trek Association. At the time, it was the largest and oldest Trek club. One of the members was Shirley. We had meetings at her house in rural western Massachusetts every August. These trips became one of the highlights of the year. Not only was it a pilgrimage for any Trekker but it was a visit if a great place. Shirley always welcomed all of us with open arms.
Her home is a beautiful, old farmhouse right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. A large barn sits behind the house and the yard is sheltered by a giant elm. Each trip there was a step into another world. She had one room of the house dedicated to Trek. It was loaded from floor to ceiling with books, toys and paperwork. I’ve only seen pictures of Forey Ackerman’s house, but this room looked to be to be a miniature version.
The BSTA took pride in the fact Shirley was one of our members. She brought a sense of continuity to the “past” of fandom. She was also a great person to know. Her smile was one of the biggest I’ve seen outside of the Osmond family and her hugs were enveloping and warm. She was proof again that you meet some of the best people in Trek fandom.
I’ll miss you, too, Shirley.
I have had two more deaths in relative proximity. Both of which, while not “close” to me, have been parts of my life for almost 30 years.
Larry Arnoff was the father of one of my oldest and best friends. I had met Karen in a junior high school science class. She sat directly across a lab table from me. Even though she started off kicking my shins on a regular basis, we have been the closest of friend ever since. I don’t know when I got to meet Larry for the first time but he certainly made an impression. I was a full-on pubescent who had a thing for his daughter. It seemed as if he used his gruff personality to try to scare me away even though he knew, with a insight I can now see at about the same age, that any “romance” at that age wasn’t going to be around very long. Karen and I went beyond that stage and are now as close as any two people can be. Some years later, Larry looked around and I was still there in his daughter’s life. I think he could see what we meant to each other and decided that it was a good thing. Either that or he just resigned himself to it.
As I grew into adulthood I began to feel a genuine warmth and affection from him. That felt good. I could talk and joke with him on an adult level and that increased the respect I had for him.
He was ALWAYS honest. There was a time, before the birth of my son, when I paid some attention to Karen’s new son. When I told Larry my wife was pregnant he replied with something like, “About time you had a damned family of your own and quit hanging around here!”. He said it with a smile but was am honest reminder that I was finally coming into adulthood. I respected him for that, too.
I will miss you, Larry.
The other loss in my life in the last week was Shirley Maiewski. Our paths crossed each other’s around the same time as Larry. She was one of the organizers of the Star Trek Welcommittee; an early form of Trek fan organization. In my early days of being a fan I read all about how fandom had started and all of these who had “blazed the trail”. I met Shirley for the first time at one of the last “original” cons in New York. I was an awe-struck youth, thankful to her for all she had done for fans and loved the fact that here was an adult reveling in the same things I was.
Years later I became a member of, and eventually president of the Boston Star Trek Association. At the time, it was the largest and oldest Trek club. One of the members was Shirley. We had meetings at her house in rural western Massachusetts every August. These trips became one of the highlights of the year. Not only was it a pilgrimage for any Trekker but it was a visit if a great place. Shirley always welcomed all of us with open arms.
Her home is a beautiful, old farmhouse right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. A large barn sits behind the house and the yard is sheltered by a giant elm. Each trip there was a step into another world. She had one room of the house dedicated to Trek. It was loaded from floor to ceiling with books, toys and paperwork. I’ve only seen pictures of Forey Ackerman’s house, but this room looked to be to be a miniature version.
The BSTA took pride in the fact Shirley was one of our members. She brought a sense of continuity to the “past” of fandom. She was also a great person to know. Her smile was one of the biggest I’ve seen outside of the Osmond family and her hugs were enveloping and warm. She was proof again that you meet some of the best people in Trek fandom.
I’ll miss you, too, Shirley.
Monday, April 05, 2004
My Aunt Mary died over the weekend.
I HATE being in Florida!
Like Ole’ Blue eyes said, “…regrets, I’ve had a few…” Being in Florida is one of mine. Yeah, yeah….I know; I’ve got a good job, good friends and I’m close to my son. However, that doesn’t take away the pangs in my heart for being away from what I will always consider home. Rhode Island is where my family is, for the most part. It is where I grew up and where I had always imagined myself growing old and living out my life.
When my father died I picked up the responsibility of helping out the older family members. First it was my Uncle Kav and Aunt Ruth. I took them to doctor’s visits, had dinner with them, dragged over a VCR and movies to entertain them and spent time with them. Then, as I grew older that responsibility grew. I was always visiting sick family members in the hospital and at home.
Granted, being 1300 miles away from elderly relatives is not a difficult as being 1300 miles away from my son; I know I made the best decision I could have at the time. I still can’t stop the feelings that I had let down part of my familial responsibility. I make regular phone calls and always try to visit the rare times in back home. Of course more and more those visits are solitary ones to graveyards.
I have lots of good memories of my Aunt. When I was young they had a camper parked in the yard which was always filled with my cousin Cindy’s comic books. They were always the same ones and I read them over and over again. There was something different and exciting about just being inside the camper even if it was just sitting on blocks in the back yard covered in leaves. I don’t ever remember seeing that camper actually placed on the back of a pickup to go camping.
The house my uncle built for them was always a place of wonder for me as a child. It was a showplace which my Uncle Jim had designed and built himself. There were little touches which even a young child enjoyed. A laundry chute from the bathroom down to the basement laundry room. The toilet separated in the bathroom by a half wall and my uncle’s workshop in the basement.
The biggest area of mystery to the house was my aunt and uncle’s bedroom. It was separated from the rest of the house by a long, windowless corridor. I was never allowed to go down that corridor as a child. It looked much longer than it actually was. The chair rail and lack of lighting gave it the resemblance to “the last mile” the convicts walked in all those movies I had seen. Years later, when I was in my 30’s, the house was used as a staging/dressing area for one church related appearance or another and I was sent to that bedroom to change. I stopped for a moment at the top of that hallway. For a moment I couldn’t bring myself to take the first steps. I was breaking a lifelong rule, a taboo. The bedroom turned out to be a simple a functional room. That comforted me as my heart beat returned to a more normal level and the adrenaline left my system.
Her door was always open to me. When my parents joined them on cruise vacations I stayed with my cousin. She had a quirky sense of humor but when you were able to get her to laugh or even smile she made the room light up.
She taught me one of my biggest lessons of my youth. I had borrowed some money to help pay a traffic ticket. In my young, male mind I had to have the whole amount paid all at once. So, I kept saving trying to get it all in one lump but never quite making the goal amount. It had never dawned on me, at that age, to pay what I could as I went.
It’s ironic that she would pass with me owing her again. She had helped me out two years ago. I won’t go into the particulars of it, suffice to say I might not have learned that old financial lesson completely. Chalk up another regret, I guess.
I’ll miss you, Auntie Mary.
I HATE being in Florida!
Like Ole’ Blue eyes said, “…regrets, I’ve had a few…” Being in Florida is one of mine. Yeah, yeah….I know; I’ve got a good job, good friends and I’m close to my son. However, that doesn’t take away the pangs in my heart for being away from what I will always consider home. Rhode Island is where my family is, for the most part. It is where I grew up and where I had always imagined myself growing old and living out my life.
When my father died I picked up the responsibility of helping out the older family members. First it was my Uncle Kav and Aunt Ruth. I took them to doctor’s visits, had dinner with them, dragged over a VCR and movies to entertain them and spent time with them. Then, as I grew older that responsibility grew. I was always visiting sick family members in the hospital and at home.
Granted, being 1300 miles away from elderly relatives is not a difficult as being 1300 miles away from my son; I know I made the best decision I could have at the time. I still can’t stop the feelings that I had let down part of my familial responsibility. I make regular phone calls and always try to visit the rare times in back home. Of course more and more those visits are solitary ones to graveyards.
I have lots of good memories of my Aunt. When I was young they had a camper parked in the yard which was always filled with my cousin Cindy’s comic books. They were always the same ones and I read them over and over again. There was something different and exciting about just being inside the camper even if it was just sitting on blocks in the back yard covered in leaves. I don’t ever remember seeing that camper actually placed on the back of a pickup to go camping.
The house my uncle built for them was always a place of wonder for me as a child. It was a showplace which my Uncle Jim had designed and built himself. There were little touches which even a young child enjoyed. A laundry chute from the bathroom down to the basement laundry room. The toilet separated in the bathroom by a half wall and my uncle’s workshop in the basement.
The biggest area of mystery to the house was my aunt and uncle’s bedroom. It was separated from the rest of the house by a long, windowless corridor. I was never allowed to go down that corridor as a child. It looked much longer than it actually was. The chair rail and lack of lighting gave it the resemblance to “the last mile” the convicts walked in all those movies I had seen. Years later, when I was in my 30’s, the house was used as a staging/dressing area for one church related appearance or another and I was sent to that bedroom to change. I stopped for a moment at the top of that hallway. For a moment I couldn’t bring myself to take the first steps. I was breaking a lifelong rule, a taboo. The bedroom turned out to be a simple a functional room. That comforted me as my heart beat returned to a more normal level and the adrenaline left my system.
Her door was always open to me. When my parents joined them on cruise vacations I stayed with my cousin. She had a quirky sense of humor but when you were able to get her to laugh or even smile she made the room light up.
She taught me one of my biggest lessons of my youth. I had borrowed some money to help pay a traffic ticket. In my young, male mind I had to have the whole amount paid all at once. So, I kept saving trying to get it all in one lump but never quite making the goal amount. It had never dawned on me, at that age, to pay what I could as I went.
It’s ironic that she would pass with me owing her again. She had helped me out two years ago. I won’t go into the particulars of it, suffice to say I might not have learned that old financial lesson completely. Chalk up another regret, I guess.
I’ll miss you, Auntie Mary.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
April Fool’s Day is my “High Holy Day”!!!! I live for this day!
I revived a 25 year old joke and wore my clothes backwards to work today. I got some very interesting responses. I also did some mischief around the office. On one person’s desk I turned every picture in a frame upside down. I rearranged the keys on another person’s PC keyboard. I sent one friend an hourly sale report which showed she had no sales and I had over 800.
The best of the day was a joke I have been waiting to pull since the day we moved into this new building. There are time clocks, water fountains and urinals which are about 6 inches lower than the rest. This is probably done due to some access law for handicapped employees but it inspired me for something different. We have an employee who is just a little shorter than average. I took his nameplate from his desk and put copies over each of the “shorter” units. I overheard him at lunch asking all over who had done this to him so, apparently, he doesn’t have a clue. I will fess up before the end of the day. It’s a refreshing change to when people usually come running to me first when things like that happen.
My dad would be so proud!!!!
I revived a 25 year old joke and wore my clothes backwards to work today. I got some very interesting responses. I also did some mischief around the office. On one person’s desk I turned every picture in a frame upside down. I rearranged the keys on another person’s PC keyboard. I sent one friend an hourly sale report which showed she had no sales and I had over 800.
The best of the day was a joke I have been waiting to pull since the day we moved into this new building. There are time clocks, water fountains and urinals which are about 6 inches lower than the rest. This is probably done due to some access law for handicapped employees but it inspired me for something different. We have an employee who is just a little shorter than average. I took his nameplate from his desk and put copies over each of the “shorter” units. I overheard him at lunch asking all over who had done this to him so, apparently, he doesn’t have a clue. I will fess up before the end of the day. It’s a refreshing change to when people usually come running to me first when things like that happen.
My dad would be so proud!!!!
Friday, March 26, 2004
Being without a car does have its advantages.
OK, so it sucks most of the time!
There have been three straight days in a row I have been stuck without a ride to work and have had to resort to the old foot leather to get part of the way. I live 7 miles from work. There is a combination of public transit systems between the two counties between me and the office which, in theory, should be able to get me to and from on a regular basis. However, one of these systems is an “on demand” service which does not have any buses in my area early enough to get me to meet the other bus to take me right to the office. (More on this later) So, I have been walking 5 miles to meet with the one bus which can get me there. It has been cool enough and the sun just comes up as I walk out the door at 6:15 AM. Taking into consideration that 6 months ago I couldn’t make it more than 20 paces without getting winded I consider this a great accomplishment!
The 90-minute walk has given me time to listen to a Stephen King novel on tape and listen to one of my favorite morning syndicated radio shows. (The Bob and Tom Show, by the way!) I also get to ponder as I walk. Part of my route is along railroad tracks. Since I am technically trespassing and for safety sake I do not wear the headphones during this part of my walk. I am able to let my mind wander and wrestle with problems of the day as I listen to the gravel crunch beneath me feet, the birds wake and sing, the wind blow through the trees and make certain I do not hear the approach of a train engine or deputy cruiser.
As I was sitting outside of the local library waiting for it to open I simply sat, enjoyed the breeze and watched the slow dance of the clouds. I don’t think I’ve taken that kind of time just to be in a moment. It would have been so much easier, with a car, to leave my house 5 minutes before the library opened and to be there just as the key turned in the lock. This time I was able to wait and let each of the 35 minutes I was there pass in slow, easy succession.
A mother and little girl came up about 15 minutes before the door opened. The adult read the sign and turned the girl back to the car explaining the situation. A look of utter despair and exhaustion came over the child's ’ace. At her age 15 minutes was an eternity. That same amount of time meant different things to her and I.
To her it was an eternity. There were a million and one things that could be done in that amount of time and she wanted to be in the library NOW.
To me it was an endless parade of moments to be savored. A parade of which could have gone on forever. And that would have been just fine by me.
OK, so it sucks most of the time!
There have been three straight days in a row I have been stuck without a ride to work and have had to resort to the old foot leather to get part of the way. I live 7 miles from work. There is a combination of public transit systems between the two counties between me and the office which, in theory, should be able to get me to and from on a regular basis. However, one of these systems is an “on demand” service which does not have any buses in my area early enough to get me to meet the other bus to take me right to the office. (More on this later) So, I have been walking 5 miles to meet with the one bus which can get me there. It has been cool enough and the sun just comes up as I walk out the door at 6:15 AM. Taking into consideration that 6 months ago I couldn’t make it more than 20 paces without getting winded I consider this a great accomplishment!
The 90-minute walk has given me time to listen to a Stephen King novel on tape and listen to one of my favorite morning syndicated radio shows. (The Bob and Tom Show, by the way!) I also get to ponder as I walk. Part of my route is along railroad tracks. Since I am technically trespassing and for safety sake I do not wear the headphones during this part of my walk. I am able to let my mind wander and wrestle with problems of the day as I listen to the gravel crunch beneath me feet, the birds wake and sing, the wind blow through the trees and make certain I do not hear the approach of a train engine or deputy cruiser.
As I was sitting outside of the local library waiting for it to open I simply sat, enjoyed the breeze and watched the slow dance of the clouds. I don’t think I’ve taken that kind of time just to be in a moment. It would have been so much easier, with a car, to leave my house 5 minutes before the library opened and to be there just as the key turned in the lock. This time I was able to wait and let each of the 35 minutes I was there pass in slow, easy succession.
A mother and little girl came up about 15 minutes before the door opened. The adult read the sign and turned the girl back to the car explaining the situation. A look of utter despair and exhaustion came over the child's ’ace. At her age 15 minutes was an eternity. That same amount of time meant different things to her and I.
To her it was an eternity. There were a million and one things that could be done in that amount of time and she wanted to be in the library NOW.
To me it was an endless parade of moments to be savored. A parade of which could have gone on forever. And that would have been just fine by me.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
I was duped! When I was in New Orleans, I was duped by Oliver Stone!
In a recent post I mentioned how I went in search of Oswald connected historical
sites; the major one being the office he used for the Fair Play for Cuba
Committee. Well, what I thought I found as the site wasn't what I thought.
I went into my quest with only a vague recollection of where I was headed. I was
pretty certain of the cross streets for which I was headed and had an idea of
either 299, 201 or 701 Camp St. When I did find 701 Camp St I was certain I had
found the spot; it looked exactly as I remembered. That much was true. It was
exactly as I remembered it...from the movie "JFK"! I had found the location used
in the film but not the actual address.
544 Camp St was what I was really looking for. I found out my mistake when I
finally got home and referred to a book on the assassination. I really felt like
a fool when I looked at the movie. I may not have walked the same steps as Lee
Oswald but I did stand on the spot where Gary Oldman and Ed Asner were!
I now have a reason to return to New Orleans. OK, so going back just because it
is New Orleans is reason enough....but now I'm on a mission!!!! Emblazoned on my
brain for the rest of my life is that damned address; there's no way I'll ever
get that one wrong again!!!
The whole trip was great. It's always good to get together with friends from
around the region. There was some minor politics and personality tiffs with
which to deal, but overall it was a wonderful time. On the trip there we spent
the night at the Dolan's. My asthmatic lungs and nose may never forgive me. They
have two dogs and a cat. I spent most of the night wheezing and sneezing. The
hotel in Gulfport was nice enough. All weekend long I kept hearing comments on
my weight loss, which is to be expected since I had not seen most of these
people in 2 years.
I got to Sonic for the first time since my surgery. It almost became one of the
most depressing days of my life. I kept it very conservative, given the size of
my post-surgery stomach, and ordered a single burger, small tater tots and diet
Coke. It took me nearly 35 minutes to get down that whole damned burger, but I
did it! At times I wasn't sure if I was going to get through but I was
determined. While my whole outlook on food has changed it's good to know I can
still enjoy a few of my old vices from time to time.
I'm also glad to find one of those vices is alcohol. There are many bariatric
patients who can't tolerate alcohol at all after surgery. Also, because of the
smaller capacity of the stomach, alcohol can pass into the system faster. As my
surgeon puts it, "You'll be the world's cheapest date!". With me it depends on
what it is I'm drinking. Darker liquors don't seem to bother me. Whiskey and
beer can pile up inside of me like they always use to. On my trip to Orlando
last November I had a drink called a "Dirty Slut" which is made with
Goldschlager and some fruit juices. I guess it because of the amount of sugars
in the drink that if affected me very quickly with a small amount. Keep the dark
booze flowing!!!!!!
In a recent post I mentioned how I went in search of Oswald connected historical
sites; the major one being the office he used for the Fair Play for Cuba
Committee. Well, what I thought I found as the site wasn't what I thought.
I went into my quest with only a vague recollection of where I was headed. I was
pretty certain of the cross streets for which I was headed and had an idea of
either 299, 201 or 701 Camp St. When I did find 701 Camp St I was certain I had
found the spot; it looked exactly as I remembered. That much was true. It was
exactly as I remembered it...from the movie "JFK"! I had found the location used
in the film but not the actual address.
544 Camp St was what I was really looking for. I found out my mistake when I
finally got home and referred to a book on the assassination. I really felt like
a fool when I looked at the movie. I may not have walked the same steps as Lee
Oswald but I did stand on the spot where Gary Oldman and Ed Asner were!
I now have a reason to return to New Orleans. OK, so going back just because it
is New Orleans is reason enough....but now I'm on a mission!!!! Emblazoned on my
brain for the rest of my life is that damned address; there's no way I'll ever
get that one wrong again!!!
The whole trip was great. It's always good to get together with friends from
around the region. There was some minor politics and personality tiffs with
which to deal, but overall it was a wonderful time. On the trip there we spent
the night at the Dolan's. My asthmatic lungs and nose may never forgive me. They
have two dogs and a cat. I spent most of the night wheezing and sneezing. The
hotel in Gulfport was nice enough. All weekend long I kept hearing comments on
my weight loss, which is to be expected since I had not seen most of these
people in 2 years.
I got to Sonic for the first time since my surgery. It almost became one of the
most depressing days of my life. I kept it very conservative, given the size of
my post-surgery stomach, and ordered a single burger, small tater tots and diet
Coke. It took me nearly 35 minutes to get down that whole damned burger, but I
did it! At times I wasn't sure if I was going to get through but I was
determined. While my whole outlook on food has changed it's good to know I can
still enjoy a few of my old vices from time to time.
I'm also glad to find one of those vices is alcohol. There are many bariatric
patients who can't tolerate alcohol at all after surgery. Also, because of the
smaller capacity of the stomach, alcohol can pass into the system faster. As my
surgeon puts it, "You'll be the world's cheapest date!". With me it depends on
what it is I'm drinking. Darker liquors don't seem to bother me. Whiskey and
beer can pile up inside of me like they always use to. On my trip to Orlando
last November I had a drink called a "Dirty Slut" which is made with
Goldschlager and some fruit juices. I guess it because of the amount of sugars
in the drink that if affected me very quickly with a small amount. Keep the dark
booze flowing!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
It was 10 years ago today I moved to Florida. It’s amazing what can happen in a decade.
I can clearly recall my first drive down Gatlin Boulevard into Port St. Lucie. The nervousness and anticipation I felt as I got closer and closer to the house my estranged wife had rented but did not want me to move into when I arrived. When I had driven away from Rhode Island the car’s heater was blowing full blast, the ground was covered with snow and I was wearing a heavy jacket. Now, as I drove with the window open, I squinted into the sun and was wearing a light t-shirt and sweat pants.
The feeling of walking to a house my wife and children occupied that wasn’t mine as well was an unusual one. I felt like an outsider; someone who might have broken in through a window in the middle of the night and was slinking through the shadows.
That feeling in no way compared to the reaction I got from my son. He was only 2 and a half years old and I had not seen him since his mother took him and his older brother to Florida for “a visit”. We had talked a few times on the phone but to a child of that age the phone doesn’t really register. See him again was the reason I had worked three jobs for the previous five months and why I had driven 1300 miles away from my home. I came through the door and could hear his little feet pattering quickly towards me. My heart raced in anticipation. As he rounded the corner I could a first see excitement and happiness dancing across his face as he raced to see who was coming in the door. However, the moment he came around the corner it all changed.
In an instant his faced dropped. His smile disappeared and a look of puzzlement took its place. I could see the wheels turning as he looked up at, what to him at that moment, was an unknown face. My son had forgotten what I looked like! I think I could actually hear my heart break. It didn’t last forever, of course. His 32-month-old brain finally connected the right neurons and put my face together with the name “Daddy”. Just to see him looking at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” was enough to completely wilt me.
I took him in my arms and hugged him tightly. Then I tried doing something which was “just ours”. I don’t know when or where it started but Johnny and I got in the habit of head butting. Sort of our version of male bonding. It was the cutest thing to see him pull his head back to “wind up” before swinging his little cranium against mine. He always laughed out loud when we did that. I bumped my head against his and immediately got the same momentary look of knowing what we were doing but not quite remembering. I was curtly informed by his mother that, “We don’t do that anymore!” Apparently, he had tried this on a younger cousin of his and knocked the smaller kid flat on his butt. Silently, I cheered in parental pride but, given the circumstances, conceded.
Knocked him right on his ass with a head-butt……how cool!
I can clearly recall my first drive down Gatlin Boulevard into Port St. Lucie. The nervousness and anticipation I felt as I got closer and closer to the house my estranged wife had rented but did not want me to move into when I arrived. When I had driven away from Rhode Island the car’s heater was blowing full blast, the ground was covered with snow and I was wearing a heavy jacket. Now, as I drove with the window open, I squinted into the sun and was wearing a light t-shirt and sweat pants.
The feeling of walking to a house my wife and children occupied that wasn’t mine as well was an unusual one. I felt like an outsider; someone who might have broken in through a window in the middle of the night and was slinking through the shadows.
That feeling in no way compared to the reaction I got from my son. He was only 2 and a half years old and I had not seen him since his mother took him and his older brother to Florida for “a visit”. We had talked a few times on the phone but to a child of that age the phone doesn’t really register. See him again was the reason I had worked three jobs for the previous five months and why I had driven 1300 miles away from my home. I came through the door and could hear his little feet pattering quickly towards me. My heart raced in anticipation. As he rounded the corner I could a first see excitement and happiness dancing across his face as he raced to see who was coming in the door. However, the moment he came around the corner it all changed.
In an instant his faced dropped. His smile disappeared and a look of puzzlement took its place. I could see the wheels turning as he looked up at, what to him at that moment, was an unknown face. My son had forgotten what I looked like! I think I could actually hear my heart break. It didn’t last forever, of course. His 32-month-old brain finally connected the right neurons and put my face together with the name “Daddy”. Just to see him looking at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” was enough to completely wilt me.
I took him in my arms and hugged him tightly. Then I tried doing something which was “just ours”. I don’t know when or where it started but Johnny and I got in the habit of head butting. Sort of our version of male bonding. It was the cutest thing to see him pull his head back to “wind up” before swinging his little cranium against mine. He always laughed out loud when we did that. I bumped my head against his and immediately got the same momentary look of knowing what we were doing but not quite remembering. I was curtly informed by his mother that, “We don’t do that anymore!” Apparently, he had tried this on a younger cousin of his and knocked the smaller kid flat on his butt. Silently, I cheered in parental pride but, given the circumstances, conceded.
Knocked him right on his ass with a head-butt……how cool!
Sunday, March 14, 2004
OK, OK, OK! I haven't written in a while and LOTS has happened. My shit storm at work has continued, but I'm in too good a mood right now to get into it. I am en route between the Starfleet Region 2 Summit in Gulfport MS and home. Readers Digest version is this has been a working weekend for all of the Starfleet chapters in Florida, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. We get together for panels and discussions on running chapters, charity fund raisers, games and.....well,. some drinking.
Maybe a little more than "some drinking".
At first I didn't think I was going to be able to make it due to finances but thanks to some very good friends I ended up going anyway. Sandy and Bruce Dolan adopted me for the weekend and Jen and Steve Rosbury made sure I got to and from Summit. This weekend turned out to be one of the best yet.
We got to the hotel Friday morning and the Rosburys had already decided that since they were so close to New Orleans that a road trip was necessary and allowed me to tag along. The Big Easy has been on my list of places to see once I moved to Florida and I was excited about actually making it there.
We split up and I went on my own around the city. Six months ago, of course, I would not have been able to make it around the city like I did, so I have another reason to thank my surgeon.
I made my way to Napoleon's, one of the landmark bars in the French Quarter. I sat there drinking my beer and soaking in my surroundings. If I had the phone number I would have called my old pal, Bill Duffy, right from the bar stool!
After that I made my way to the building which had been the offices Lee Harvey Oswald had used for the Fair Play for Cuba Committee in the summer of 1963. To be walking the same sidewalks Lee had gave me chills. I was not 100% certain of the address but as soon as I saw the facade it was like deja vu.
I then went to the House of Blues; I would never had been forgiven by some friends if I had been that close and not stopped there.
We had two hours on a parking meter and I was there as the clock struck the hour. Steve, Jen and Rowan were being delayed. My anal retentive schedule happy side started to overload. I was stuck loitering around doing nothing waiting for my friends to return. Then it dawned on me....I was stuck loitering around doing nothing IN NEW ORLEANS!!!! Suddenly schedules meant nothing to me. I went to a hand rolled cigar shop, bought a fine smelling mild stogie and kicked back under the statue of Jean Lefite on Decatur St.
The entire weekend was fantastic. Summits are always a chance to reconnect with friends throughout the Region. I will go into more detail in another post but there is one moment I have to share. A dance on Saturday night turned into a marathon drinking party into Sunday morning. As my little post-surgery stomach tried digesting more and more alcohol I suddenly felt fingers roaming through my hair. While it has never been done to my hair before, I could tell these fingers were twisting and braiding my hair. I was just a good enough sport and just drunk enough that I went along with what was happening. I went from french braid, to top knot, to Pipi Longstocking. As I was sitting there with these poofed-up, fly-away pig tails the DJ decided to play "Oh, Mickey, You're So Fine". Something....oh, let's call it alcohol....gave me the inspiration to play along and grab two bright red napkins and lead the room in a cheer. OK, so maybe I would have done it all without the booze....but it definitely helped! I expect to see pictures flooding the internet within days!
To top the whole cheerleader theme for the weekend I was presented a set of red glittery pom-poms and megaphone at the Summit's closing ceremonies. I was a proud moment for myself and Starfleet.
There are other stories from the weekend and recent weeks I have to update. Included in this is that my phone is out for the time being, so internet access is sporadic. I want to update the blog.....really I do! Excuse me, but I have to go watch "Bring It On" for some pointers!
Maybe a little more than "some drinking".
At first I didn't think I was going to be able to make it due to finances but thanks to some very good friends I ended up going anyway. Sandy and Bruce Dolan adopted me for the weekend and Jen and Steve Rosbury made sure I got to and from Summit. This weekend turned out to be one of the best yet.
We got to the hotel Friday morning and the Rosburys had already decided that since they were so close to New Orleans that a road trip was necessary and allowed me to tag along. The Big Easy has been on my list of places to see once I moved to Florida and I was excited about actually making it there.
We split up and I went on my own around the city. Six months ago, of course, I would not have been able to make it around the city like I did, so I have another reason to thank my surgeon.
I made my way to Napoleon's, one of the landmark bars in the French Quarter. I sat there drinking my beer and soaking in my surroundings. If I had the phone number I would have called my old pal, Bill Duffy, right from the bar stool!
After that I made my way to the building which had been the offices Lee Harvey Oswald had used for the Fair Play for Cuba Committee in the summer of 1963. To be walking the same sidewalks Lee had gave me chills. I was not 100% certain of the address but as soon as I saw the facade it was like deja vu.
I then went to the House of Blues; I would never had been forgiven by some friends if I had been that close and not stopped there.
We had two hours on a parking meter and I was there as the clock struck the hour. Steve, Jen and Rowan were being delayed. My anal retentive schedule happy side started to overload. I was stuck loitering around doing nothing waiting for my friends to return. Then it dawned on me....I was stuck loitering around doing nothing IN NEW ORLEANS!!!! Suddenly schedules meant nothing to me. I went to a hand rolled cigar shop, bought a fine smelling mild stogie and kicked back under the statue of Jean Lefite on Decatur St.
The entire weekend was fantastic. Summits are always a chance to reconnect with friends throughout the Region. I will go into more detail in another post but there is one moment I have to share. A dance on Saturday night turned into a marathon drinking party into Sunday morning. As my little post-surgery stomach tried digesting more and more alcohol I suddenly felt fingers roaming through my hair. While it has never been done to my hair before, I could tell these fingers were twisting and braiding my hair. I was just a good enough sport and just drunk enough that I went along with what was happening. I went from french braid, to top knot, to Pipi Longstocking. As I was sitting there with these poofed-up, fly-away pig tails the DJ decided to play "Oh, Mickey, You're So Fine". Something....oh, let's call it alcohol....gave me the inspiration to play along and grab two bright red napkins and lead the room in a cheer. OK, so maybe I would have done it all without the booze....but it definitely helped! I expect to see pictures flooding the internet within days!
To top the whole cheerleader theme for the weekend I was presented a set of red glittery pom-poms and megaphone at the Summit's closing ceremonies. I was a proud moment for myself and Starfleet.
There are other stories from the weekend and recent weeks I have to update. Included in this is that my phone is out for the time being, so internet access is sporadic. I want to update the blog.....really I do! Excuse me, but I have to go watch "Bring It On" for some pointers!
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Well, it certainly was a movie!
I just went to see “The Passion of the Christ” and my head is still reeling. This film shows the potential there is in the medium. It was visually beautiful, intellectually stimulating, symbolically stunning, dramatically compelling and emotionally wrenching. It is once of the most visually stunning films I’ve seen in a long time. Each frame of the film could be taken, mounted and hung in an art museum; “Tess” was the last film that met that standard. There, do I sound like a film critic?
It has made me want to go back a re-read the bible, as there were a number of story points I don’t quite remember as they were portrayed in the film. The crucifixion has never been so realistically and graphically depicted. The violence in it made even stronger the sacrifice Christ made. In the past the images of his suffering has been clean and sanitized. Mel Gibson makes us feel each and every blow. Your own skin seems to rend and tear. The audience is battered much in the same way Christ does so we almost feel the same relief when he gives his spirit up to God.
The violence really isn’t anything worse than you’d see in lots of other films already out there. It’s probably hitting so many nerves because it’s the character of Christ. As I said in an earlier post, religion is always a sore point with people.
I can understand the trepidation of some Jewish people. However, the brutality of the Romans is presented as much to blame as anything the Pharisees did. The finger is not pointed in just one direction; there’s plenty to go around. Jesus’ knowledge that he is dying for all of mans’ sins is ever present. Along with that is the humanity of Christ. One of my favorite moments is when Mary decides to go to his side as he carries the cross. She has a flashback to his childhood, when he falls in a mirror of how he does under the cross. Her maternal instincts immediately jump to the fore and she runs to him. As a parent, I could identify completely and it tugged at me heart.
My friend Jim and I have had an ongoing debate about movies. To him movies are simply for entertainment; you should just be able to walk in, turn off your brain and enjoy the show. To me movies can be that…and lots more. Like any art form, they should be able to uplift and comment on the human condition. Even the simplest of movies should be able to touch you as a human being in some fashion.
Was it a perfect film? No. Is it a favorite of mine? Not really sure. But it is an important film I would suggest to anyone.
I just went to see “The Passion of the Christ” and my head is still reeling. This film shows the potential there is in the medium. It was visually beautiful, intellectually stimulating, symbolically stunning, dramatically compelling and emotionally wrenching. It is once of the most visually stunning films I’ve seen in a long time. Each frame of the film could be taken, mounted and hung in an art museum; “Tess” was the last film that met that standard. There, do I sound like a film critic?
It has made me want to go back a re-read the bible, as there were a number of story points I don’t quite remember as they were portrayed in the film. The crucifixion has never been so realistically and graphically depicted. The violence in it made even stronger the sacrifice Christ made. In the past the images of his suffering has been clean and sanitized. Mel Gibson makes us feel each and every blow. Your own skin seems to rend and tear. The audience is battered much in the same way Christ does so we almost feel the same relief when he gives his spirit up to God.
The violence really isn’t anything worse than you’d see in lots of other films already out there. It’s probably hitting so many nerves because it’s the character of Christ. As I said in an earlier post, religion is always a sore point with people.
I can understand the trepidation of some Jewish people. However, the brutality of the Romans is presented as much to blame as anything the Pharisees did. The finger is not pointed in just one direction; there’s plenty to go around. Jesus’ knowledge that he is dying for all of mans’ sins is ever present. Along with that is the humanity of Christ. One of my favorite moments is when Mary decides to go to his side as he carries the cross. She has a flashback to his childhood, when he falls in a mirror of how he does under the cross. Her maternal instincts immediately jump to the fore and she runs to him. As a parent, I could identify completely and it tugged at me heart.
My friend Jim and I have had an ongoing debate about movies. To him movies are simply for entertainment; you should just be able to walk in, turn off your brain and enjoy the show. To me movies can be that…and lots more. Like any art form, they should be able to uplift and comment on the human condition. Even the simplest of movies should be able to touch you as a human being in some fashion.
Was it a perfect film? No. Is it a favorite of mine? Not really sure. But it is an important film I would suggest to anyone.
Friday, February 27, 2004
There’s so much in this life which makes me shake my head. I am planning on seeing “The Passion of the Christ” this weekend. A good friend of mine, Jason, has invited me to go to a free show which his church is sponsoring. I understand how touchy a subject religion can be for people. There are few things more personal than whatever is a person’s belief is in a higher power. And that counts for whether they believe in a God or not. Either way, it’s a belief which strongly defines a person. If a statement is made about that belief you’re going to have a strong reaction.
#1 It’s just a movie. It’s a dramatic portrayal of the end of Christ’s life. It is not a documentary. Give a rest to all the criticism over its “historical inaccuracies”. I’m sure “Ghandi” reproduced conversations word for word and every moment of “Titanic” was just like being there. Why were there no outcries about the historical truths in “10 Commandments” or “The Greatest Story Ever Told”?
#2 I don’t blame Germans I know for what the Nazis did in World War II. I don’t blame Turks I know for the Armenian genocide. I only blame Milosevc for the atrocities in the Baltics. And I don’t blame the Jews for something a few religious/political leaders may or may not have done 2,000 years ago.
#3 Yes, it’s a violent movie. Crucifixion is a violent way to die. Maybe, being able to see a realistic portrayal of a crucifixion, and how long and torturous it was, we can really appreciate the sacrifice Christ made for us. Unless you were on Normandy Beach, you never really knew what it was like until the opening 15 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan”. Hopefully this film will do the same thing.
I am very glad the movie is generating discussion and debate no matter how myopic some viewpoints may be. These putzs who condemn it without seeing it and do so in the name of their religion or God flies in the face of what it is they are defending. Such an approach is intolerant and prejudiced; sort of opposite of what you’d think they’d be.
I’ll have a more extensive review after I see the movie, of course.
#1 It’s just a movie. It’s a dramatic portrayal of the end of Christ’s life. It is not a documentary. Give a rest to all the criticism over its “historical inaccuracies”. I’m sure “Ghandi” reproduced conversations word for word and every moment of “Titanic” was just like being there. Why were there no outcries about the historical truths in “10 Commandments” or “The Greatest Story Ever Told”?
#2 I don’t blame Germans I know for what the Nazis did in World War II. I don’t blame Turks I know for the Armenian genocide. I only blame Milosevc for the atrocities in the Baltics. And I don’t blame the Jews for something a few religious/political leaders may or may not have done 2,000 years ago.
#3 Yes, it’s a violent movie. Crucifixion is a violent way to die. Maybe, being able to see a realistic portrayal of a crucifixion, and how long and torturous it was, we can really appreciate the sacrifice Christ made for us. Unless you were on Normandy Beach, you never really knew what it was like until the opening 15 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan”. Hopefully this film will do the same thing.
I am very glad the movie is generating discussion and debate no matter how myopic some viewpoints may be. These putzs who condemn it without seeing it and do so in the name of their religion or God flies in the face of what it is they are defending. Such an approach is intolerant and prejudiced; sort of opposite of what you’d think they’d be.
I’ll have a more extensive review after I see the movie, of course.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Thirteen years ago today I was standing in Greenwood Community Church being married. It’s been a long strange trip from there to here. It’s an odd feeling I get every year at this time. I often wonder if other divorced people have the same thoughts on their “anniversaries”. As I’m sure every divorced person would say, “No matter how it turned out, the best thing to came out of it was my son”. OK, that’s true.
It’s not that I carry any kind of torch for my ex-wife. I have always liked the time travel theory of multiple time lines where every possibility are acting themselves out at the same time but in different “realities”; sort of like multiple lanes on a superhighway. Each decision we make changes us from lane to lane giving us our current reality. Somewhere, in one of those other lanes, we are still married, happy, and living a good life. But decisions were made and choices were taken and we are in our current reality. I have regrets, yes, but that thought tends to take the sting away from the quickly. Somewhere, the decision I would have rather have happened did happen. That I can live with.
I also wonder about my first wife sometimes, too. Because of our son, my second wife and I are in regular contact and know what’s going on in each others’ lives. We have even been able to move beyond some of the hurt of the divorce and can talk and laugh with each other again. I haven’t talked with my first wife in 10 years. What does she do? How did her life progress? Did she ever have children and what do they look like? Is she happy? Does she think of me at times? How does she explain me to any children she does have?
We were together for 6 years. Like anyone, we had bad and good times. I loved her. She was my first lover. She was also my first divorce and that cut deep. When you marry, you imagine that person will be part of your life “till death do you part”. It’s a little hard to let that go. For either of them, actually.
I hope they are both happy, more than anything.
It’s not that I carry any kind of torch for my ex-wife. I have always liked the time travel theory of multiple time lines where every possibility are acting themselves out at the same time but in different “realities”; sort of like multiple lanes on a superhighway. Each decision we make changes us from lane to lane giving us our current reality. Somewhere, in one of those other lanes, we are still married, happy, and living a good life. But decisions were made and choices were taken and we are in our current reality. I have regrets, yes, but that thought tends to take the sting away from the quickly. Somewhere, the decision I would have rather have happened did happen. That I can live with.
I also wonder about my first wife sometimes, too. Because of our son, my second wife and I are in regular contact and know what’s going on in each others’ lives. We have even been able to move beyond some of the hurt of the divorce and can talk and laugh with each other again. I haven’t talked with my first wife in 10 years. What does she do? How did her life progress? Did she ever have children and what do they look like? Is she happy? Does she think of me at times? How does she explain me to any children she does have?
We were together for 6 years. Like anyone, we had bad and good times. I loved her. She was my first lover. She was also my first divorce and that cut deep. When you marry, you imagine that person will be part of your life “till death do you part”. It’s a little hard to let that go. For either of them, actually.
I hope they are both happy, more than anything.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
My friend Harry gave me a really hard time about not writing for a while…so, here I am. And, boy has it been an interesting few weeks. There have been lots of business-like changes at work. Every day is another experience in living with stress. There’s lots of changes in the wind and no one knows for certain, unless you’re one of the higher-ups, what those changes are going to be. Everyone’s on pins and needles.
To make it even better I’ve been in a shit-storm of my own at work. For all kinds of Human Resource and legal reasons I can’t go into it here. The worst part of it is that friendships have been affected by bullshit. Or, at least, I thought they were friendships. We have a wonderful HR person in our division who has always been able to be something rare in HR, a human being. She and I have always been able to debate different aspects of “corporate life”. Weeks ago she and I got into a debate over relationships with co-workers. She holds fast to the notion that co-workers are only co-workers, nothing more. It was a very interesting debate.
Like a lot in my life, I relate to something from television. In the final episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” Mary Richards says, “Sometimes I wonder if the people you work with are just the people you work with; they’re not family. But then, I wonder, what is family. They’re the people who care about you and make you feel less alone. You are all my family”. Paraphrased, of course, but you get the idea. I grew up with my parents having close friends come from each of their work places. Shared good and bad times together and that closeness with my parents has filtered down to the next generation and even to the grandchild level in some instances. Some of my parents’ good friends/co-workers are also my good friends. They are family. How can you not spend 8-plus hours per day with people and not become involved in their lives? The idea that they are just the people in the cubicle next to mine is impossible to fathom. OK, there are some I wouldn’t want to be part of my life, but those that do come in are as cherished as anyone sharing my last name.
That’s the part that has hurt the most about my recent “episode”. The people affected by this have entered my life. We have shared meals, special occasions, emotionally wrenching times, laughs, tears and every other emotion you can imagine between friends. It’s not the actual incident that upsets me the most, but the fact they believe I would forfeit or betray their friendship in any manner. While I sit here and wonder if I ever really knew these people I also wonder if they ever really knew me not to know that I would never put loyalty to a friendship before any job.
Sometimes I am naive, I admit. I don’t always hear the scuttlebutt going around the office. I don’t catch all the nuances of situations. While, at times, I feel betrayed by the actions of these other people I still give them the benefit of the doubt that they were influenced by others; that they could not have betrayed our friendship either. I do that because I know that’s the way I treat others and expect it in return; you know, “do unto others”. I read that in a book somewhere once.
To make it even better I’ve been in a shit-storm of my own at work. For all kinds of Human Resource and legal reasons I can’t go into it here. The worst part of it is that friendships have been affected by bullshit. Or, at least, I thought they were friendships. We have a wonderful HR person in our division who has always been able to be something rare in HR, a human being. She and I have always been able to debate different aspects of “corporate life”. Weeks ago she and I got into a debate over relationships with co-workers. She holds fast to the notion that co-workers are only co-workers, nothing more. It was a very interesting debate.
Like a lot in my life, I relate to something from television. In the final episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” Mary Richards says, “Sometimes I wonder if the people you work with are just the people you work with; they’re not family. But then, I wonder, what is family. They’re the people who care about you and make you feel less alone. You are all my family”. Paraphrased, of course, but you get the idea. I grew up with my parents having close friends come from each of their work places. Shared good and bad times together and that closeness with my parents has filtered down to the next generation and even to the grandchild level in some instances. Some of my parents’ good friends/co-workers are also my good friends. They are family. How can you not spend 8-plus hours per day with people and not become involved in their lives? The idea that they are just the people in the cubicle next to mine is impossible to fathom. OK, there are some I wouldn’t want to be part of my life, but those that do come in are as cherished as anyone sharing my last name.
That’s the part that has hurt the most about my recent “episode”. The people affected by this have entered my life. We have shared meals, special occasions, emotionally wrenching times, laughs, tears and every other emotion you can imagine between friends. It’s not the actual incident that upsets me the most, but the fact they believe I would forfeit or betray their friendship in any manner. While I sit here and wonder if I ever really knew these people I also wonder if they ever really knew me not to know that I would never put loyalty to a friendship before any job.
Sometimes I am naive, I admit. I don’t always hear the scuttlebutt going around the office. I don’t catch all the nuances of situations. While, at times, I feel betrayed by the actions of these other people I still give them the benefit of the doubt that they were influenced by others; that they could not have betrayed our friendship either. I do that because I know that’s the way I treat others and expect it in return; you know, “do unto others”. I read that in a book somewhere once.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
I just had a fantastic visit with my sisters Kathleen and Joan. It was the first time Joan has seen me since a year before my surgery. She was more than pleased with my progress. We sat and shot the boll for a while, then went to lunch along with a visit to my office to show that off.
My relationships with my sisters have always been different. A major difference in our ages has always been a major aspect. There is a 15-year difference between me and the youngest of my sisters. I was always closest to my sister Elaine but we haven’t spoken in a long time. No, I’m not going into that here. Simplest explanation is that I miss her deeply. Kathy and I have always been close although we have always been the furthest apart geographically. We have always had the ability to pick up a conversation where we left off even if it had been a year since the last time we talked. Joan is the oldest and in many ways is what you would think the oldest would be. The BOSS. I love her as much as any of the others but because of the deeper age difference there will always be a slightly different tinge to our relationship. There are things I can talk over with one that I could never repeat to the others.
We never lived in the same house together save for vacations spent with each of them when I was a child. While we do love each other and are comfortable with each other I always wonder what they think of me as an adult. We do seem to have gotten closer since our mother’s passing. We talk at least once a week and catch up on family gossip and the latest goings on. We rarely, however, have deep conversations about life. The only times I have done that with either Kathy or Joan was around the time of mom’s death. Another reason I miss Elaine.
Again, don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t love and cherish my sisters or have a favorite over any of the others, I just don’t know how “normal” our relationship is. I can only hope other sisters and brothers wonder the same thing.
I loved the fact that they both laughed at my standup from the company talent show. We cried a little when we said our good-byes and when we talked seriously about my surgery. As much as I wonder about our relationship I can certainly know for a certainty that they DO love me and I love them as well. In retrospect, even tough I may have reveled in being “an only child” at home growing up I do miss not having had the sisters around to grow up with and become a “team” of siblings. None of the rivalry, secrets and intimate life together I see in other brother/sisters combinations.
At least, we’re still here and have another good 20 to 30 years to make sure we make up for all those things we may have missed out on in childhood have some rivalry, secrets and intimate life together through the remainder of our lives.
My relationships with my sisters have always been different. A major difference in our ages has always been a major aspect. There is a 15-year difference between me and the youngest of my sisters. I was always closest to my sister Elaine but we haven’t spoken in a long time. No, I’m not going into that here. Simplest explanation is that I miss her deeply. Kathy and I have always been close although we have always been the furthest apart geographically. We have always had the ability to pick up a conversation where we left off even if it had been a year since the last time we talked. Joan is the oldest and in many ways is what you would think the oldest would be. The BOSS. I love her as much as any of the others but because of the deeper age difference there will always be a slightly different tinge to our relationship. There are things I can talk over with one that I could never repeat to the others.
We never lived in the same house together save for vacations spent with each of them when I was a child. While we do love each other and are comfortable with each other I always wonder what they think of me as an adult. We do seem to have gotten closer since our mother’s passing. We talk at least once a week and catch up on family gossip and the latest goings on. We rarely, however, have deep conversations about life. The only times I have done that with either Kathy or Joan was around the time of mom’s death. Another reason I miss Elaine.
Again, don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t love and cherish my sisters or have a favorite over any of the others, I just don’t know how “normal” our relationship is. I can only hope other sisters and brothers wonder the same thing.
I loved the fact that they both laughed at my standup from the company talent show. We cried a little when we said our good-byes and when we talked seriously about my surgery. As much as I wonder about our relationship I can certainly know for a certainty that they DO love me and I love them as well. In retrospect, even tough I may have reveled in being “an only child” at home growing up I do miss not having had the sisters around to grow up with and become a “team” of siblings. None of the rivalry, secrets and intimate life together I see in other brother/sisters combinations.
At least, we’re still here and have another good 20 to 30 years to make sure we make up for all those things we may have missed out on in childhood have some rivalry, secrets and intimate life together through the remainder of our lives.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Things at work have gone through a major shake-up. Our CEO and a parade of others afterwards, in the past few weeks. There are all kinds of business and legal reasons, but the main things which affects me is that a friend is gone. From the moment I met him we've had a good relationship. He has always been approachable, interested and a good humor. I could always talk to him like an equal. In his time here, as part of a large conglomerate, which bought our company and took it public, he became Liberty. He was the personification of the company. When you thought of Liberty, you thought of Keith. He involved his employees and made life good for them.
There was one moment with him which I will always remember. At one point there was a major investigation of our company. It was a nervous time at work, which always seemed to magnify even the smallest of problems. You always waited for that moment when they would tap you on the shoulder and lead you away to Human Resources for that sudden “Exit Interview”.
I was sitting at work and a supervisor tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Jack, please come with me”. Mt desk was right near the door leading to the front offices; you could turn either towards my supervisor’s office or towards the corporate office area. My supervisor took the turn towards corporate.
My pulse quickened.
Upon entering the lobby you could turn either towards Human Resources or towards the President’s office. All sorts of reasons for getting fired began to dance through my head. Then my supervisor led me towards the President’s office.
My heart was pounding out of my chest.
As we got walked down the long hallway all possible thought seemed to leave my head. I was completely stunned and in no way could imagine what could possible have me headed towards Keith’s office. What on earth could I have done that was this bad?
At the last minute my supervisor opened the door to the boardroom and let me go in alone.
I think that’s when I flat-lined.
Inside were Keith and three, I would learn in a moment, corporate lawyers from Boston. It was explained to me that, in response to what had been happening they were looking for someone who could be considered “honest” who could give the most possible truthful answers about the allegations against the company and what may or may not have been happening on the sales floor. As the blood began again to flow and my breathing resumed I realized the position into which I had been placed. I was flattered and honored to be chosen as someone who could speak freely about any problems facing the company and to do so under a very stressful situation yet be allowed to speak freely in front of some of the most powerful people in the company. That has always meant a lot to me. A little warning before walking in the room would have been nice, though!
Joking with Keith on stage. Dropping him in a dunk tank. Making fun of his cheesy mustache. They are all memories I will cherish. There is also the regret that there will not be any more memories like those. Whether it’s right to get emotional over a work related situation like this is right or nt; I don’t care. I’ve lost a friend. I will miss you, Keith.
There was one moment with him which I will always remember. At one point there was a major investigation of our company. It was a nervous time at work, which always seemed to magnify even the smallest of problems. You always waited for that moment when they would tap you on the shoulder and lead you away to Human Resources for that sudden “Exit Interview”.
I was sitting at work and a supervisor tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Jack, please come with me”. Mt desk was right near the door leading to the front offices; you could turn either towards my supervisor’s office or towards the corporate office area. My supervisor took the turn towards corporate.
My pulse quickened.
Upon entering the lobby you could turn either towards Human Resources or towards the President’s office. All sorts of reasons for getting fired began to dance through my head. Then my supervisor led me towards the President’s office.
My heart was pounding out of my chest.
As we got walked down the long hallway all possible thought seemed to leave my head. I was completely stunned and in no way could imagine what could possible have me headed towards Keith’s office. What on earth could I have done that was this bad?
At the last minute my supervisor opened the door to the boardroom and let me go in alone.
I think that’s when I flat-lined.
Inside were Keith and three, I would learn in a moment, corporate lawyers from Boston. It was explained to me that, in response to what had been happening they were looking for someone who could be considered “honest” who could give the most possible truthful answers about the allegations against the company and what may or may not have been happening on the sales floor. As the blood began again to flow and my breathing resumed I realized the position into which I had been placed. I was flattered and honored to be chosen as someone who could speak freely about any problems facing the company and to do so under a very stressful situation yet be allowed to speak freely in front of some of the most powerful people in the company. That has always meant a lot to me. A little warning before walking in the room would have been nice, though!
Joking with Keith on stage. Dropping him in a dunk tank. Making fun of his cheesy mustache. They are all memories I will cherish. There is also the regret that there will not be any more memories like those. Whether it’s right to get emotional over a work related situation like this is right or nt; I don’t care. I’ve lost a friend. I will miss you, Keith.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
I am officially sick and tired of all of this noise being made over the Janet Jackson “wardrobe mishap” at the Superbowl. It was show business! That’s all. All this uproar and furor is so ridiculous. The damned story has been in the top five minutes of every newscast I’ve seen.
Was it staged? Was it an accident? Ohmigod, all the children who were watching! It was obscene! It was indecent! The NFL apologized. Janet apologized. The FCC investigates.
Aren’t there more important things to worry about?
I enjoyed most of the game and the accompanying advertising. The ending was a real nail-biter, which made for the first exciting Superbowl in a number of years.
My interest in football is all thanks to my friend Jim Langevin. I was never into football while growing up. My asthma kept me from being into sports. I had one brother-in-law who was coach of one of the top football teams in Rhode Island and every Thanksgiving at their house ended in a bowl game blaring from the TV. I was bored to tears. When I went to work for Jim as a driver in 1989 we quickly became close friends. He was aghast that I was not into football. One day he sat me down and said, “You are going to sit down, learn this game and like it!” And I did. Jim asked me who my favorite team was. I was stumped. “Well,” I said, “I liked ‘Brian’s Song’, so I guess the Bears.”
Since then I have spent weekends, on my own, watching games. When I worked at a radio station which carried Patriots’ games I went to the old Sullivan stadium. I wear team jerseys, hats and even have a commemorative Bears Superbowl winning watch. Thanks, Jim.
While I’m ranting on the insignificant….
I am also offended by the current advertising campaign by that popular “chicken in a bucket fast food restaurant”. I have fond childhood memories of making that special trip across town with my father to the only location of that restaurant in town when he would “spring” for a dinner of the greasy and spicy poultry. It was a big deal for a little kid. In the past few years they have been slowly re-crafting their image away from the Colonel (may he rest in peace) by dropping their entire name for the 21st Century, immediate gratification, short term memory, everything is an acronym KFC version. Then as we all decided to get healthy and Dr. Atkins told us carbs were dangerous and they began to tout themselves as “health food”. The final nail has been driven into the coffin in their “Kitchen Fresh Chicken”.
Do they think we’re that stupid?
Stop shaking your head; I told you it was insignificant.
Was it staged? Was it an accident? Ohmigod, all the children who were watching! It was obscene! It was indecent! The NFL apologized. Janet apologized. The FCC investigates.
Aren’t there more important things to worry about?
I enjoyed most of the game and the accompanying advertising. The ending was a real nail-biter, which made for the first exciting Superbowl in a number of years.
My interest in football is all thanks to my friend Jim Langevin. I was never into football while growing up. My asthma kept me from being into sports. I had one brother-in-law who was coach of one of the top football teams in Rhode Island and every Thanksgiving at their house ended in a bowl game blaring from the TV. I was bored to tears. When I went to work for Jim as a driver in 1989 we quickly became close friends. He was aghast that I was not into football. One day he sat me down and said, “You are going to sit down, learn this game and like it!” And I did. Jim asked me who my favorite team was. I was stumped. “Well,” I said, “I liked ‘Brian’s Song’, so I guess the Bears.”
Since then I have spent weekends, on my own, watching games. When I worked at a radio station which carried Patriots’ games I went to the old Sullivan stadium. I wear team jerseys, hats and even have a commemorative Bears Superbowl winning watch. Thanks, Jim.
While I’m ranting on the insignificant….
I am also offended by the current advertising campaign by that popular “chicken in a bucket fast food restaurant”. I have fond childhood memories of making that special trip across town with my father to the only location of that restaurant in town when he would “spring” for a dinner of the greasy and spicy poultry. It was a big deal for a little kid. In the past few years they have been slowly re-crafting their image away from the Colonel (may he rest in peace) by dropping their entire name for the 21st Century, immediate gratification, short term memory, everything is an acronym KFC version. Then as we all decided to get healthy and Dr. Atkins told us carbs were dangerous and they began to tout themselves as “health food”. The final nail has been driven into the coffin in their “Kitchen Fresh Chicken”.
Do they think we’re that stupid?
Stop shaking your head; I told you it was insignificant.
Saturday, January 31, 2004
It only took six years, but it finally happened. My PC got a virus. That’s why I haven’t updated in the past month. I had gotten my PC for free as part of a dot com business which traded the free computer for three years worth of marketing data through tracking all of my online time. Three weeks after my PC was delivered the company went under. So, technically, I got the computer completely for nothing. I then justified that I never took the time to back up that hard drive and all the lovely data. Now, I’m paying the price for it. Luckily, I had my previous PC in a closet. For computer geeks, I am working off of a Compaq Prolinea Net1/25S. This box is so old and slow that I can start loading a web site, fix lunch, get a drink and come back before it’s done. But, at least, I’m back online.
It has been an interesting month on many fronts. I had started a really nice entry about happenings at work; I’ll save that for another time. The Reader’s Digest version is that my company is undergoing a major management change and EVERYONE is running on sheer paranoia wondering if they’ll have a job the next day. Makes for interesting times.
That paranoia has taken up so much of my time at work that I haven’t had more than one lunch with “the young lady” and I’m beginning to feel as if I’d blown the timing on that. Not that I’ve given up, by any means; I just hope I haven’t blown it.
Johnny and I had a great week together. I can hardly wait to have my van back on the road so our visits can be a back on a regular schedule. He amazes me each and every time I see him. He is growing into quite a person. I hope our relationship and grow and develop as he grows to adulthood, as I never had the opportunity to experience with my father. I often try to imagine going out for drinks with a 30 year old Johnny. Of course, he was the major inspiration for my gastric surgery; standing with him at the maternity ward looking at his first child. Everything I’ve had to go through in the past ten years has been worth it for every moment I spend with him.
Now that I’m back online I will be updating regularly again. Hold back your excitement, please!
It has been an interesting month on many fronts. I had started a really nice entry about happenings at work; I’ll save that for another time. The Reader’s Digest version is that my company is undergoing a major management change and EVERYONE is running on sheer paranoia wondering if they’ll have a job the next day. Makes for interesting times.
That paranoia has taken up so much of my time at work that I haven’t had more than one lunch with “the young lady” and I’m beginning to feel as if I’d blown the timing on that. Not that I’ve given up, by any means; I just hope I haven’t blown it.
Johnny and I had a great week together. I can hardly wait to have my van back on the road so our visits can be a back on a regular schedule. He amazes me each and every time I see him. He is growing into quite a person. I hope our relationship and grow and develop as he grows to adulthood, as I never had the opportunity to experience with my father. I often try to imagine going out for drinks with a 30 year old Johnny. Of course, he was the major inspiration for my gastric surgery; standing with him at the maternity ward looking at his first child. Everything I’ve had to go through in the past ten years has been worth it for every moment I spend with him.
Now that I’m back online I will be updating regularly again. Hold back your excitement, please!
Thursday, January 01, 2004
Happy New Year!
Every year, at some point on New Year's Day, I remember Tony.
It was New Year's Day in 1978 when my friend, Anthony Scott Theisler, died after a drunken New Year's Eve that found him playing chicken. His car burst into flame after hitting another car head on near the beach where he lived. I don't remember who told me or how I reacted. To this day, I vividly remember being a pall bearer at his funeral. 16 tears old and carrying a friend to his grave four and a half months after standing at my own father's.
I remember moving his casket through the church past his parents, family and friends. The nervousness I felt, hoping my sweaty hands would hold. The biting cold at the cemetery and someone having to pull me away. I had been in cemeteries too many times and couldn't comprehend it all.
Tony was the son of a friend of my dad's, fellow police officer. During junior high school our parents had put us together hoping a friendship would grow. At the time, Tony was very ill, hadn't attended much school and didn't have many friends. Our parents had hoped our friendship would help Tony through his illness knowing I knew what being that sick was like due to my bouts with asthma. I did go over his house a number of times and when he entered the same junior high school as I did we spent some time together. As with many friendships, time and other interests took its toll, we drifted a little and finally different high schools made the final rift between us.
Tony started playing saxophone in the junior high school band and got better and better and better. So much so that, as 1978 approached, Tony was being courted to record professionally. He and I talked occasionally on the phone and I was excited for him and proud to know him. Something about him didn't seem right, though.
I never racked myself with, "What if I had known" or "How could I have been a better friend". Years later, however, when I was going through my own alcohol control problems, I did have his ghost to wrestle. I had been out drinking and drove home drunk one night. Just a mile from my house the road took a turn and I didn't. I hit a telephone pole and wrecked my car. This was long before DUI laws even existed and drunks were brought home to sleep it off. A family friend was the police officer who responded and he brought me right home. In my drunken stupor I lamented how I had let Tony down. For seven years I didn't drink. Every January, while I lived in Rhode Island, I visited his grave on this day.
These days I do wonder what might have been. Where would his talent had taken him. How would our friendship have changed. What would he have even looked like n his 40's. I have gone back to drinking. I have been drop down drunk. I have even driven drunk. Does that diminish Tony's memory or lessen the impact his death mad on my life. I'm not sure. I think he had other reasons for drinking that I never had. I could make some sort of philosophical stretch that his last moments on earth were more a race away from something than a race towards another car.
I also think the fact that I'm still alive says a lot, too.
I miss you, Tony.
Every year, at some point on New Year's Day, I remember Tony.
It was New Year's Day in 1978 when my friend, Anthony Scott Theisler, died after a drunken New Year's Eve that found him playing chicken. His car burst into flame after hitting another car head on near the beach where he lived. I don't remember who told me or how I reacted. To this day, I vividly remember being a pall bearer at his funeral. 16 tears old and carrying a friend to his grave four and a half months after standing at my own father's.
I remember moving his casket through the church past his parents, family and friends. The nervousness I felt, hoping my sweaty hands would hold. The biting cold at the cemetery and someone having to pull me away. I had been in cemeteries too many times and couldn't comprehend it all.
Tony was the son of a friend of my dad's, fellow police officer. During junior high school our parents had put us together hoping a friendship would grow. At the time, Tony was very ill, hadn't attended much school and didn't have many friends. Our parents had hoped our friendship would help Tony through his illness knowing I knew what being that sick was like due to my bouts with asthma. I did go over his house a number of times and when he entered the same junior high school as I did we spent some time together. As with many friendships, time and other interests took its toll, we drifted a little and finally different high schools made the final rift between us.
Tony started playing saxophone in the junior high school band and got better and better and better. So much so that, as 1978 approached, Tony was being courted to record professionally. He and I talked occasionally on the phone and I was excited for him and proud to know him. Something about him didn't seem right, though.
I never racked myself with, "What if I had known" or "How could I have been a better friend". Years later, however, when I was going through my own alcohol control problems, I did have his ghost to wrestle. I had been out drinking and drove home drunk one night. Just a mile from my house the road took a turn and I didn't. I hit a telephone pole and wrecked my car. This was long before DUI laws even existed and drunks were brought home to sleep it off. A family friend was the police officer who responded and he brought me right home. In my drunken stupor I lamented how I had let Tony down. For seven years I didn't drink. Every January, while I lived in Rhode Island, I visited his grave on this day.
These days I do wonder what might have been. Where would his talent had taken him. How would our friendship have changed. What would he have even looked like n his 40's. I have gone back to drinking. I have been drop down drunk. I have even driven drunk. Does that diminish Tony's memory or lessen the impact his death mad on my life. I'm not sure. I think he had other reasons for drinking that I never had. I could make some sort of philosophical stretch that his last moments on earth were more a race away from something than a race towards another car.
I also think the fact that I'm still alive says a lot, too.
I miss you, Tony.
Saturday, December 27, 2003
Ah, Christmas.
It has changed so much for me from when I was a kid. I think of Christmas and immediately get very vivid images.
Carroling with my church and standing in the cold. I remember our candle light services and the blind lady named Carol who sang "O, Holy Night". The years I would do midnight service at Greenwood Church as lector and having to sign up for it as soon as the next years' calendar went up in January. Visiting Santa and having a picture taken at Anne & Hope until age 10. I remember family gatherings at my cousin Kenny's and all those who were always there but aren't any more. Singing at senior citizens' homes with my high school choir. Turning on the lights around the house for my mother every night. How I hated to wrap presents because they never came out right. Buying presents for my Aunt and Uncle's dog, Dukie. The year I wrapped my self as a present for a girlfriend in high school and her parents actually let me lie under the tree. I proposed to both of my wives at Christmas. The look on my Auntie Alma's face when I announced the 2nd wife and I were getting married a little earlier than planned because of our son being on the way. My first Christmas with a family of my own. Each year since with my son and the anticipation of watching him open presents.
There are bad Christmas memories also. The year I answered the call a few days after Christmas that my Grandpa Cobb had died. The year my mother and I fought about having a Christmas tree after my father died. My first Christmas apart from my sons and the ugly scene with my ex and her family over presents one other year.
I guess I should be happy the good memories outnumber the bad.
One of my most lasting memories is how my father would wake me after "Santa had arrived". I would go to bed and a few hours later the man in red would come and I'd be woken up to see what he had left. I guess this was done because of my father's schedule at the police department. My parents' bedroom was right over mine, so my father would either stomp on the floor or hit it with a broom handle loudly to wake me. He'd yell out to me, "Jack, did you hear that?! I think it sounded like something on the roof! Better check and see, it might have been Santa's reindeer up there!" Sure enough, there were packages everywhere proving he had come and gone and I had just missed seeing him. It didn't dawn on me until years later that there was a whole other floor and ceiling between my bedroom and the roof, but it always worked like a charm.
When I became a dad I started a little tradition of my own which lasted for a while through the divorce. At my house Santa needed a little change from all the milk and cookie he had at all the other houses. When Santa came to the Eaton house there was pizza and root beer waiting for him!
This year has been great. The "young lady" was overwhelmed with my gift of a spa visit. Johnny loved what he got. I have also hit a milestone of sorts with him as well. Usually I would get his latest school photo as a Christmas present. I understood the situation given that my ex certainly wouldn't want to have to go out buying a gift for me and he is still young. He finally got me something else. And very thoughtful, too. A new shirt to wear. e had very quietly asked, a few weeks ago, what size I was wearing now. I never gave it another thought; just his keeping up with my weight loss. Then to open the gift that he had actually put some thought to was even more wonderful than the gift itself.
He and I have the whole week together. I am looking forward to every moment. Except, of course, when he goes back.
It has changed so much for me from when I was a kid. I think of Christmas and immediately get very vivid images.
Carroling with my church and standing in the cold. I remember our candle light services and the blind lady named Carol who sang "O, Holy Night". The years I would do midnight service at Greenwood Church as lector and having to sign up for it as soon as the next years' calendar went up in January. Visiting Santa and having a picture taken at Anne & Hope until age 10. I remember family gatherings at my cousin Kenny's and all those who were always there but aren't any more. Singing at senior citizens' homes with my high school choir. Turning on the lights around the house for my mother every night. How I hated to wrap presents because they never came out right. Buying presents for my Aunt and Uncle's dog, Dukie. The year I wrapped my self as a present for a girlfriend in high school and her parents actually let me lie under the tree. I proposed to both of my wives at Christmas. The look on my Auntie Alma's face when I announced the 2nd wife and I were getting married a little earlier than planned because of our son being on the way. My first Christmas with a family of my own. Each year since with my son and the anticipation of watching him open presents.
There are bad Christmas memories also. The year I answered the call a few days after Christmas that my Grandpa Cobb had died. The year my mother and I fought about having a Christmas tree after my father died. My first Christmas apart from my sons and the ugly scene with my ex and her family over presents one other year.
I guess I should be happy the good memories outnumber the bad.
One of my most lasting memories is how my father would wake me after "Santa had arrived". I would go to bed and a few hours later the man in red would come and I'd be woken up to see what he had left. I guess this was done because of my father's schedule at the police department. My parents' bedroom was right over mine, so my father would either stomp on the floor or hit it with a broom handle loudly to wake me. He'd yell out to me, "Jack, did you hear that?! I think it sounded like something on the roof! Better check and see, it might have been Santa's reindeer up there!" Sure enough, there were packages everywhere proving he had come and gone and I had just missed seeing him. It didn't dawn on me until years later that there was a whole other floor and ceiling between my bedroom and the roof, but it always worked like a charm.
When I became a dad I started a little tradition of my own which lasted for a while through the divorce. At my house Santa needed a little change from all the milk and cookie he had at all the other houses. When Santa came to the Eaton house there was pizza and root beer waiting for him!
This year has been great. The "young lady" was overwhelmed with my gift of a spa visit. Johnny loved what he got. I have also hit a milestone of sorts with him as well. Usually I would get his latest school photo as a Christmas present. I understood the situation given that my ex certainly wouldn't want to have to go out buying a gift for me and he is still young. He finally got me something else. And very thoughtful, too. A new shirt to wear. e had very quietly asked, a few weeks ago, what size I was wearing now. I never gave it another thought; just his keeping up with my weight loss. Then to open the gift that he had actually put some thought to was even more wonderful than the gift itself.
He and I have the whole week together. I am looking forward to every moment. Except, of course, when he goes back.
Sunday, December 21, 2003
Well, I seem to be back to my old habits of not writing for a while. I know I’m not working on the Great American Novel here, but I would like to be able to regiment myself a little better than this!
Actually, work has been keeping me very busy. Plus the fact my PC is so ancient it takes forever to do anything; that sometimes hinders me from posting. All is well. I feel as if I’m actually getting up to par as a Team Leader at work. I gauge that by the fact I haven’t been called in to my boss’ office in more than three days! I have had a few moments in learning to deal with people as a manager, but I’m still getting my sea legs.
Things are still on a positive track with the “young lady”. She is very sick right now with whatever is going around these days so we didn’t see each other this weekend as I had hoped. Thursday she did call me and suggested lunch together. I almost knocked over furniture running to get there! I have gotten her something very nice for Christmas I’m hoping will make an impression. She had been hinting recently about how much she wanted to see “Lord of the Rings” but ended up going by herself on one of her sick days. Then at lunch she very pointedly said that she would love to see it again! I am taking all of this as indications this still has very strong possibilities of going somewhere. I am doing my level best not to jump the gun on anything emotional with her. I figure any talk of “wherever this is going” would wait until after one or two more dates.
Patience….. patience. This is my mantra!
Thanks to Guardian Storage my Christmas has been messed up. I have been with them for 10 years. In the past year I have fallen behind a little and racked up some late fees. This I freely admit. I had been paying them, some times not as much as others, but paying them something on a regular basis even at the worst of times. Three weeks before Christmas they put me in a lien where I have to pay $250 by the 30th. I was livid. I was every worst customer I’ve ever talked with. I did try reasoning with the manager but his answer was, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to have this cleared off our books”.
My answer was, “When it’s cleared off your books, you can plan on my belongings being cleared out to another storage company!”
I know they have a waiting list. I know I’m not a big money customer. But I was a loyal customer for 10 years.
Ah, life in the big city!
Actually, work has been keeping me very busy. Plus the fact my PC is so ancient it takes forever to do anything; that sometimes hinders me from posting. All is well. I feel as if I’m actually getting up to par as a Team Leader at work. I gauge that by the fact I haven’t been called in to my boss’ office in more than three days! I have had a few moments in learning to deal with people as a manager, but I’m still getting my sea legs.
Things are still on a positive track with the “young lady”. She is very sick right now with whatever is going around these days so we didn’t see each other this weekend as I had hoped. Thursday she did call me and suggested lunch together. I almost knocked over furniture running to get there! I have gotten her something very nice for Christmas I’m hoping will make an impression. She had been hinting recently about how much she wanted to see “Lord of the Rings” but ended up going by herself on one of her sick days. Then at lunch she very pointedly said that she would love to see it again! I am taking all of this as indications this still has very strong possibilities of going somewhere. I am doing my level best not to jump the gun on anything emotional with her. I figure any talk of “wherever this is going” would wait until after one or two more dates.
Patience….. patience. This is my mantra!
Thanks to Guardian Storage my Christmas has been messed up. I have been with them for 10 years. In the past year I have fallen behind a little and racked up some late fees. This I freely admit. I had been paying them, some times not as much as others, but paying them something on a regular basis even at the worst of times. Three weeks before Christmas they put me in a lien where I have to pay $250 by the 30th. I was livid. I was every worst customer I’ve ever talked with. I did try reasoning with the manager but his answer was, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to have this cleared off our books”.
My answer was, “When it’s cleared off your books, you can plan on my belongings being cleared out to another storage company!”
I know they have a waiting list. I know I’m not a big money customer. But I was a loyal customer for 10 years.
Ah, life in the big city!
Sunday, December 07, 2003
My mother has been dead 4 years today.
I can still hear her laughter. I can still see her smile. I remember her touch. Her voice when she yelled, sang, whispered and just talked.
In one of my last conversations with her, I promised her that I would be alright in life. I often wonder how well I have kept that promise. Things happen every day that I wonder what she would have thought of the situation. I wonder how events in my life would have been affected if she were still alive. How she would have loved watching Johnny growing. How proud she would have been about my promotion at work. What she would have thought about my surgery. What she would have thought of the “young lady” and me.
My father has been gone for 25 years and I do think the same about him sometimes. Mostly when it has to do with Johnny and the ‘young lady”. What would it have been like to go out drinking with my father? How would his face have looked the first time he held his grandson? What would it have felt like to have him come visit me in my own house for the first time? What we he would have looked like at my wedding(s)? What would my last conversation with him have been like?
I envy my sisters for having known both of them longer than I did. They knew them when they were young and more active. They knew them as children and adults. My father, especially, was a different person when I was growing up than the one my sisters knew. He suffered two major strokes by the time I was 10 and it affected his personality. It wasn’t a Jeckyl and Hide kind of thing, but he was slightly altered from the person he had been. Right before I moved from RI I had tried getting together with one of his oldest friends and ask what my father was like when he was in his 20’s. I regret not having met with that friend; yet, anyways. Maybe pouring this out like this will encourage me to make a phone call at least.
Luckily, I had Johnny younger than my parents had me. I plan on having those drinks with him. Going places with him. Being there for him. Seeing things happen in his life that my parents missed. Or, I guess, those at which I missed having them.
I can still hear her laughter. I can still see her smile. I remember her touch. Her voice when she yelled, sang, whispered and just talked.
In one of my last conversations with her, I promised her that I would be alright in life. I often wonder how well I have kept that promise. Things happen every day that I wonder what she would have thought of the situation. I wonder how events in my life would have been affected if she were still alive. How she would have loved watching Johnny growing. How proud she would have been about my promotion at work. What she would have thought about my surgery. What she would have thought of the “young lady” and me.
My father has been gone for 25 years and I do think the same about him sometimes. Mostly when it has to do with Johnny and the ‘young lady”. What would it have been like to go out drinking with my father? How would his face have looked the first time he held his grandson? What would it have felt like to have him come visit me in my own house for the first time? What we he would have looked like at my wedding(s)? What would my last conversation with him have been like?
I envy my sisters for having known both of them longer than I did. They knew them when they were young and more active. They knew them as children and adults. My father, especially, was a different person when I was growing up than the one my sisters knew. He suffered two major strokes by the time I was 10 and it affected his personality. It wasn’t a Jeckyl and Hide kind of thing, but he was slightly altered from the person he had been. Right before I moved from RI I had tried getting together with one of his oldest friends and ask what my father was like when he was in his 20’s. I regret not having met with that friend; yet, anyways. Maybe pouring this out like this will encourage me to make a phone call at least.
Luckily, I had Johnny younger than my parents had me. I plan on having those drinks with him. Going places with him. Being there for him. Seeing things happen in his life that my parents missed. Or, I guess, those at which I missed having them.
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