"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx
Going to be busy for a bit, so I thought I’d air out the archives and leave you with some links to check out:
The Many Layers of Hell
Stupid Blog Mistakes
How Long Will You Keep on Blogging?
My Brother- A Simple Lesson In Physics
Jack’s Rule of Refrigeration
I am glad that I can’t see my reflection in the computer monitor. I am not up for seeing dark circles beneath my eyes and the new lines in my forehead. I am not interested in reality intruding upon my vision of myself, not at this moment.
Right now I am listening to the soundtrack to The Good, The Bad & The Ugly. It is a fine soundtrack and a favorite selection. Sometimes I put it on and pretend that I am the lonely gun slinger. I ride alone and apart, occasionally wandering into various towns for whatever purpose I find there.
The Ecstasy of the Gold is playing now. Later on I’ll try to come back to this and provide a link to it. It is fabulous music. Every time I hear it I picture myself on horseback. We are riding at a steady canter towards something that I can’t quite see because the sun is in my eyes.
People often mistake that squint for a steely glare. It comes across as menacing to some and sexy to others. What no one realizes is that here in the Old West I don’t have sunglasses and if I did, I wouldn’t be squinting.
I like hiding out here. It is one of the places where I take refuge when things get tough. Sometimes I take myself back to Jerusalem. Sometimes I roam through the Old City. Sometimes I go through Jaffa Gate and wander through the Shuk.
Eyes closed I focus on the sights, sounds and smells. In some ways it is not so different from L.A. Wander certain streets here and you here a mix of languages just as you do there. Wander certain streets and you can feel like you have stepped into another world.
The boys and I have been discussing failure. It has come up a few times and not just in the academic sense. We talk about jobs and relationships that didn’t work out. We talk about teaching our children how to deal with failure, whether it is even a topic that should be broached.
I always say that it is ok. My position is simple, it is something that they need to learn about. I don’t want to destroy their self esteem or wreck fragile egos. But I don’t want emotional cripples who are unable to cope when life beats them down.
Because the day will come when it will. The day will come when they fail at something and I want them to be capable of handling it.
Some parents always rescue their kids.I disagree with doing this across the board. It is is just asking for trouble.
One day I’ll talk to my children about my failures. I have a few to share. They vary in size and scope, but they exist. Some of them are painful. Some of them are embarrassing. I don’t know that I’ll share them all, but some.
I think that I have said enough for now. Time to return to that Nanowrimo, 50,000 words to write during November challenge thing.
It is just a hair short of 10:30 on a Tuesday night and I am floating between foul and fair, moods that is. I have plenty to be thankful for and a lot to be angry about. Another untimely death last week of someone I once knew, the BlackBerry and the damn tire have me wound up.
At the same time I have a sort of whimsical feeling. It reminds me a bit of the old days when I was a lad. Those days when I had my own apartment and no responsibilities at all. I spent more than a few nights floating on a raft in the middle of the pool.
Sometimes I’d spend the entire night on that raft. I’d wake up with the sun, feeling refreshed. Life was different then, as well it should be.
I hadn’t a clue that I’d ever be in the position I am today. Couldn’t have foreseen any of this. It just never occurred to me. As to whether that was ignorance, naivete or what I can’t say or care not to speculate about. It doesn’t really matter.
The BlackBerry took its final breath Sunday afternoon. Although I had backed up most of my data, there was a portion that I hadn’t gotten to. Its death was sudden so I never did get the chance to save those few things. Some simple messages that had more meaning to me are lost.
Sure, I remember them. The most important were seared upon my soul. You can call that melodramatic or hyperbole if you wish, but they meant that much to me. And the one who sent them knows that what I say is so.Not that it matters.
So here I sit, wondering how long I will be placed in the wonderful world of the absurd. This is not the life that I signed up for, but at the moment it is the one that I have.
I am doing the best that I can to make it all work. I think that I’ll end this here and start a new post to whine in.
P.S. I still submit 28 cards to Post Secret each week. Can you guess which are mine.
Superman– R.E.M. (An old anthem)
Candy Everybody Wants – 10,000 Maniacs with Michael Stipe
Red Rain -Peter Gabriel Natalie Merchant R.E.M.
More Than This-10,000 Maniacs w/o Natalie Merchant
More Than This – Roxy Music (high school is calling.)
Synchronicity II– The Police
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic– The Police (sometimes I dance with my daughter to this.)
Begin The Begin – R.E.M.
You’re The First, The Last, My Everything – Barry White
The Song Remains The Same– Led Zeppelin
Thunderstruck– AC/DC
Idan Raichel
I said that I would try to participate in NaNoWriMo. I figured that I’d tie it into a story I already started writing. I am trying to decide if I am going to integrate or substitute this post with the third one.
Who Broke Your Heart- Things You Might Not Know
The End of a Marriage
A 21st Century Break Up
And now on to our story:
I have a graphic memory. I dream and think in technicolor or maybe I should say high definition. My dreams are full featured spectacles. It is great when I dream about happy things, but not so good if they are sad or disturbing.
As a young boy I used to wonder if there was a way to control my dreams. I figured that it was nothing more than concentrating hard enough. So I spent more than a few nights lying in bed focused upon whatever it was that I was chasing. Some nights it was images of me chasing down fly balls in Dodger Stadium and or hitting the game winning home run. Other times it was me as a different sort of hero.
I suppose that it is fair to say that in many ways not much has changed. The boy grew into a man who still dreams of playing pro ball or of being a hero. All he needs is a chance. Although to be fair the man recognizes that some dreams will have to remain locked inside the vault.
It was the morning after and I was still in bed. It had taken hours to fall asleep. The news that she was single had a bigger impact upon me than I would have guessed it would. I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to play memory lane. I didn’t want to have one of those dreams and wake up to discover that reality was different than I might want it to be.
The meal with my daughter and the girls was grueling. They didn’t understand that some scars don’t heal. They didn’t understand that I much preferred the safety of my own life. Being single wasn’t so bad. I didn’t worry about forgetting special dates. Never had to try and decipher whether a look or a comment meant that I was in trouble again for some other transgression.
In concept it made a lot of sense to me to say goodbye to women. I knew what I needed to know. I had served a life sentence known as marriage. I helped propagate the species. When I was instructed to go forth and multiply I did it.I listened to them.
That is big stuff, my listening. Ask those who know me and you’ll be told that I have an amazing ability to suddenly go deaf. More than one person called it irritating, but me, I called it survival.
All would be perfect, or close to it, were it not for my daughter and the girls. Did I mention that they don’t like it when I call them girls. Sometimes I like to aggravate them by talking about how you can’t trust a broad, not a single one of them.
The thing is, they know me too well. They refused to let me bait them into a different topic. They have an agenda and I am at the top of the list. And people wonder why I say I feel like I have a target on my back.
Midway through our meal Sheri asked me if I remembered what her marriage was like. I smiled and told her that she should have married me. That earned me another one of those withering looks and a sharp rebuke from my daughter.
Great, and to think that I thought that I owned the look and the lecture she gave me. But because I am rarely at a loss for words I told her that I have been inoculated against that sort of thing. She of course didn’t care. Damn, if she isn’t like me. Moments like this make me wonder if I should be proud or frightened of her.
But I digress.
Sheri jumped back into her story and asked me if I knew how she realized that her marriage was over. I was tempted to provide another smart ass remark, but something told me that it was smarter to stay quiet.
“When I realized that I never wanted to kiss my husband again, I knew that it was over.”
“Well, we share that in common. I never want to kiss your husband again either. For that matter I don’t want to sleep with him, he snores far too loudly,” I said.
I know, the smart ass remark didn’t help, but how could I let that one go. Again she ignored me and continued on.”
“When you find the kind of love and relationship that you had you don’t let go.”
That wiped the smile off of my face. I looked at her and thanked her for her opinion. Before anyone could go on I explained that it had been made very clear to me that she was done. It didn’t matter what I wanted, or what I thought. She was done.
My daughter came around the table and hugged me. She told me that she had no idea that my feelings for her were so deep and that I owed it to myself to not just ignore the opportunity.
I was surprised by my anger. I did my best not to bark at her, but I am not sure that I was successful. “This is not reality. This is not some stupid movie where I get to ride up to her ranch, grab her and ride off into the sunset”
“She gave up on us and she gave up on me.”
For a moment there was silence. It took me a moment to realize that both my jaws and fists were clenched. I took a deep breath and thanked them for their thinking about me.
Sheri smiled and told me that she was sorry. In a soft voice she said that I needed to remember that some loves never really die and that we had been victims of bad timing. “Call her. There is a reason why you are being given a second chance.”
I smiled back at her. “I’ll think about it.” And then I said a silent prayer of thanks that none of them knew how hard my heart was pounding.
