My Dad's Better than Your Dad

Hi.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy New Year.

Hope you are well.  At least as well as I am, which is pretty darn good.

***

Dad

Dad turns 91 on Saturday.

Call him on the phone and he sounds younger than my 61 years.  He's WAY smarter than me (or you).  WAY better memory than mine (or yours).

Way nicer than me.  Maybe you.  (Probably.)

Dad is a kind man.

*

Lost count of the times/places he's been in the hospital this year.  Many.  His nurses and doctors ALWAYS tell us what a delight he is.  Even when he's sick or in pain or "wondering what the hell is going on."

Dad is loved by one and all.

I'd like to be more like Dad.

*

Dad has aged this year.  Dialysis sucks the impurities from his blood three times a week, and a bit of life too. 

But Dad never complains.  He is grateful toward those who love and care for him.  Doesn't want to be a burden.  Doesn't manipulate or bicker.  Zero guilt trips.  Doesn't make things worse. 

I'd like to be more like Dad.

*

Dad lives 150 miles away, over the rivers and through the woods.  I try to see him at least once a month.

We sat by Chickamauga Dam the last time we were together. 
Water was being released. 

Could you have fun watching water with your dad?
I can.

We had a good laugh at this house.

Nice view.  Crummy parking.

Never a burden to hang around with Dad.  He naturally knows how to get along.  Not in a phony, chameleon way.  He's himself with two people or twenty.  He's easy to get along with and he knows how to express himself without being offensive.

I'd like to be more like Dad.

*

Dad always makes me steak and eggs when I visit.  Big steaks.  Delicious, made his special way.

Yes.  Dad wears a skirt.  Took me a long time to deal with it.

Sure, he calls it a "lava-lava," but I know the truth. 
His decades in Hawaii tainted him.

But I hope I get to make my kids breakfast when they visit me in 20 years.

*

Yeah, he lived in Hawaii for 30 years or so.  Tough, but somebody has to, right?

Here's a picture I took at sunrise from the back door of his condo on Ala Moana Blvd, next to the Ala Wai Canal.

His front porch, known as a "lanai" in Never-Never Land, had a pretty cool view too.

That building in the middle on the left is Dad's yacht club.  Bunch of fun Hawaiian rednecks.  Great. Times.  Just beer and burgers in Paradise.

Watched the Braves win the World Series there in 1995. 
Idyllic spot.  Beyond a happy place.

Forgot how many times I went to see him.  Many. 

I always loved watching the happenings at Ala Wai Marine.

I never got tired of watching them work as I rested on the lanai.

Dad and I always began the day the same way.  Reading the paper and talking about what we read.

Sounds stupid; but, delightful memories.  Just hanging out.
Even though he wore a skirt.

I love Dad, but I don't want to wear a skirt.

*

Dad didn't always live on Ala Moana Blvd. 

He was the head of the condo honchos who sold the building to investors.  Afterward, Dad leased a real-live penthouse overlooking Diamond Head.

That. Was. Nice.

When people visited, I couldn't wait for them to ask for directions to the bathroom.  I'd tell them, "Go down the hallway ... and take the first, second or third door on your right."

Yup.  Three in a row.  Don't ask me why.

Dad's neighbor penthousers used to come to his place for the view.  His was unobstructed.  Theirs wasn't.

Ever seen the movie, "Close Encounters of the Third Kind"?  Remember the mountain with all the vertical striations -- like finger marks down the sides?  Diamond Head is filled with such crevices.  Used to sit for hours on Dad's lanai watching the sun illuminate and hide the holes in the side of the mountain.

Very cool.

I was there once when a president (Clinton?) came to town.  I went up to the roof and watched the helicopters fly in and land.  Laughed ever since about how the reporters were in the first couple of helicopters.  Just in case.  Ha!

*

Diamond Head is a cool place to hike.  The top of the old volcano was blown into the sea.  Read Psalm 46 at the top once:

1) God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.

2) Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change
And though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea;

Yup.  God is more faithful than mountains.

*

When the housing market crashed, Dad moved back to the condo on Ala Moana -- on a higher floor.

Perfect spot.

Dad's life has been amazingly blessed.
I do not believe in luck, but if I did ... Dad would be its poster child.

*

Is this getting too long?
Not that I care.
My dad's worth reading about.

I hope I will be someday.

*

Dad and I have not always been close.

I grew up in Rochester, NY.

Dad left for the bright lights and big city when I was young.
Happens.

Didn't see him much until I was in college.
That's when he called to chat.
I was rude.  Hostile, really.

Told him he didn't love me.
That he didn't even know me.
I was right.  And I was wrong.

That night he booked a flight for me to visit him in Marin County.
Helicopter from SFO and all.

Didn't want to go.  My girlfriend encouraged me to go west.

She drove me to the airport, where I got drunk.  Poured me onto the plane to Chicago.  Kissed me goodbye.

Got bumped in Chicago to first-class on later a flight.  Learned the words "Leave the bottle, please" from the guy next to me.  We *really* got drunk.

That's when flying first-class was like flying first-class.

Landed at SFO.  Found the helicopter.  Sobered up as I devoured the view of San Francisco, SF Bay and Marin County.  Stupendous.

Dad met me.  With my step-mother, Patsy. 
Interesting.

Moved there not long afterward.
Whatever happened before didn't matter.

I fell in love with my dad.  And Patsy.

And San Francisco.

And Sam's Anchor Cafe in Tiburon (where I met my first tattooed lady). 

Played pinball and laughed with friends most nights at Sam's. 
Good times on the bay.

Now, it's all snooty with uber-preppies in sailboats and dudes in Cigarette boats.

But it'll always be a dive to me.
Where the cook hung out with Gracie Slick
and I met the daughter of the head of the Republican Party.
Merry old times.

*

Moved to Alaska a year or so later.  Then, NYC, DC, and back home.

That's when Dad moved to Hawaii.

*

Dad has been everywhere.  I'm thankful he recorded some of his travels and memories for us a few years back.  Fascinating to listen to.

Dad loves to cruise.  Took one from Sydney, Australia to Singapore.
Honestly, do you even know where Singapore is?  Or if it's a city or a country?  I didn't.

Dad's been there a bunch of times.  Even has a favorite restaurant.

Dad has some pretty cool pals.

Yup.  He and Jack Daniels are lifelong companions.

Dad has influential friends too.  Like the guy who helped save the Apollo 13 mission.  (Played by the geek in Apollo 13.)

Seriously.  Here's a picture signed by everybody but the Wright brothers for his contribution to saving that mission.

Here's April, one of my favorite friends of Dad's.  She's a travel wonk in Honolulu.  She can get you into any place, any time.  Even knows the dives where you eat the world's best curry with the locals at picnic tables all schmooshed together. 

April got us on a dinner cruise -- for free, of course. 
We were treated like royalty.

We were so close to the hula dancer, I had to wipe her sweat off my glasses.  (Took much longer to wipe the smile off my face.)

I wanna have friends like Dad's.

*

We dragged Dad out of paradise and back to America a few years ago.  I'm amazed he still speaks to us. 

He lived life out there to the max.  Didn't own a suit or a pair of shoes.  Drove a beat-up old car that lost its shine decades ago.  Spent his money traveling and on nice places to live.  And on helping us visit him.

*

Dad isn't able to use the stairs at my brother's (MB) house. 
They're brutal.

Always reminds me of that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where Indy takes a step of faith.  Takes faith and a steady hand to descend these suckers.

Dad loves using an electric buggy in stores.

(Can't say the same for the poor people he mows down while shopping for my steaks and Diet Dr Pepper.)

My Dad is great.
I love him.
And he loves me.

He'd love you too, I'll bet.

I wanna be loved like my Dad.
Even by my kids. 
Even if I screw up.

Y'know?

*

Dad's at MB's now with my sister-in-law (SIL).

Dad's still reading the paper

and being loved on by MB and SIL.

*

Can you imagine moving in with your son and daughter-in-law and being welcomed and loved?  Dad is cherished more than you imagine.  Not just emotions or fluffiness.

Love in the form of scuffed up wooden floors that matter less than Dad.  MB + SIL gave Dad their bedroom and downstairs bathroom.

When Dad needs to see a doctor?  BAM!  They take him.
When he needs something at the store?  BAM!  He's got it.

Godly, Christian love from family members who know and experience the love of God and salvation through Jesus Christ.

When Dad needs a diet that is beyond comprehension?
My SIL sees that it's done.
Even over Dad's mini-grumbling ...
because my SIL loves Dad most.

*

When I visit?  He gets whatever he wants.
Even if it's not good for him.

Dad wouldn't have lasted this long with me caring for him.
SIL has stretched out Dad's years
and I will never be able to thank her enough.

*

Because of SIL, we'll celebrate Dad's 91st birthday this week.
We'll be happy and thankful for him
and all our days together.

And we won't think of the holes Dad will leave in our hearts when he's no longer with us.

Nothing and no one will take Dad's place.
Dad makes things better.

I wanna be like Dad.

*

Not dealing well with your folks?

Just
Get
Over
It.

Generations are meant to love and forgive one another. 

As all the John Wayne movies Dad and I have watched together say, "Don't burn daylight." 

I cannot thank God enough for these years, months, weeks, days and hours with Dad.

And I can't wait to celebrate his birth and life on Christmas Eve.

*

Dad's not my savior.  He's not perfect.
But people you really love don't have to be.

Y'know?

December Firsts

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Sorry I didn't have time for all the niceties last time, but I really wanted to go for a ride.  Different today.  Sunny but chilly, and the sun is setting.

Time to write.  For the first time in a month.

As in the past, I'm listening to Pandora as I write; specifically, the Robin Bullock station.  Sweet Celtic music; instrumental.  Love it. 

[Listening to Robin Bullock, Soldiers Return]

**

December 1st 2011

Remember the line in Casablanca when somebody asked Rick about what he was going to do that evening?  He replied, "I don't know.  I never make plans that far in advance."

I am at so many crossroads of life that I don't know which way to turn.
But I must make plans.
Soon.

Starting a part-time job in the morning.  Writing.  For a gentleman who owns three Web sites -- two are specifically related to two of my favorite destinations locally.  Places that make my life joyous.  Vacation spots that are not merely great reasons to live in my neck of the woods, but reasons to travel here from anywhere in the world.


Do I hope this new gig will be as fabulous as it could be?  Yup.  But, big disappointments are almost always based on irrational expectations.

I have much to learn ... and a few things to share.


[Norman Blake, Dry Grass on the High Fields]


Am I going to get my hopes all screwed up?  Nope.

Just gonna give it my best shot.  Ask for God's blessings. 
Weather the worst and hope for the best.

And be thankful for it all.

**

Always a Snag

Applied for a job last month.  Temporary.  Walking, lifting, bending, lifting, walking, gasping, lifting, walking and climbing stairs delivering packages.  Heavy suckers.

Yup, for you-know-who.

The opening was supposed to be from Thanksgiving until Christmas.

They called me today at 1:30 to ask me to come for an orientation in the morning -- the first day of my new freelance gig. 

Figured a package boy (PB) must've bitten the dust after a few long days.  They figured they'd call the old fat guy.  I kinda feel like the unknown crewman at the beginning of a Star Trek episode.  You KNOW he's gonna get phasered or photon torpedoed before the theme music kicks in.

The job pays virtually half what I expected and is probably twice as hard as I fear.

Asked if they have another orientation scheduled for Friday, instead of tomorrow.  They said they'll call me back if they do.

Figure they're bound to have another PB croak/quit by then. 
Maybe ten.

**

Lunch with BF

The call from PB Land came as I was returning a stupid purchase from a great big box store.  A space heater.  The box showed these HUGE flames inside a quaint replica wood stove.  Looked like it could melt icecaps.

Got it home.  Set it up.  Plugged it in.  Saw the knob to turn to adjust the intensity of the picture of the fake flames.  Seriously.  I bought an $80 replica of a stove with this WEENSY little heater screwed onto the bottom that emitted as much heat as a snake.

Dogs.

*

So ... I'm in line to return the fake heater.

Made me wonder if there's a TV show somewhere dedicated to filming idiots like me who fall for buying such jetsom. 

I can hear the emcee now:

"But WAIT!!! Here's another hilarious clip showing a chubby old guy buying The Fake Flame-O-Matic!!!  Watch!  Here he comes down the aisle.  He's looking at the box ... looking at the box.  He sees the picture of giant flames.  Yes!  You can see him squint ... wait for it ... wait for it ... THERE!!  We Got Him!  This guy is so stupid he's actually wondering if The Fake Flame-O-Matic will set his carpet and drapes on fire.  What a fool!!!"

<audience erupts into wild laughter>
<fade to black>

*

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.

*

So, I'm standing in line and I see an old friend, BF, smiling and waving.

Drove him to a favorite Mexican restaurant and asked for his opinions on a zillion things.  Great time.  Great timing.

Nice to have a trusted friend give you advice
knowing you don't have to take it
but that it's given in kindness
and with your best interests in mind.

Then he bought my meal.
Doesn't get much better than that.
:-)

Now, if I can only remember what BF said to do.

**

December 1st in the 90s

Yes, I obsess on my divorces.

Went through the bloodiest one almost 20 years ago.

Two days of "How do I hate thee?  I counted the ways. 
Time to tell the judge, our witnesses
and our tweenaged daughters."

Made it through.  Not exactly a big surprise.  Just a big disappointment.

Yup.  I had irrational expectations for that marriage and that spouse.
Ditto for her.

Divorce, which was once rare, is as common as having a car wreck.

[Aureole Trio, Down By the Sally Gardens]


**

December 1st in the New Millennium

After several years of legal (physical, spiritual and marital) separation from My Final Wife, December 1st rolled around again.

Survived my friendliest divorce.  Kind words.
Blessings as we rent asunder our marriage and parted.

Had lower expectations, but you always hope for the best.
Had the best times.  At times.  But then ... well, you know.

**

Still think it's odd that I've been divorced twice on December 1st.  Almost as odd as marrying two women born on the same day (in different years). 

More interesting facts?
Two had/have big hearts.
Two were the best at being girlfriends/lovers.

Two had the capacity to speak the truth.  One usually did.
Two had college degrees.  The smartest one didn't.

Two could charm the wings off angels.  One wouldn't bother trying.
Felt much love toward two of them.
One more than the others.

They all have loving friends and family.
I'm glad.

But that was then. 
Now I have grandchildren.  They're so cool.
With the rest of my family and friends, they're all I need.

**

Today

[Chris Procter, The Penultimate House (On Salmon Beach)]

Checked in with the unemployment office.  Reported my earnings and work search information for last week.  I'll get a check on ... yup.  December 1st.

Next Friday will be my final full check.

If you are vulnerable to freaking out, that'll do it.

*

The Downside

Angry at myself for not taking the time to write The Great Rural Novel since I lost my job in June. 

Haven't mastered French. 
No flights to Europe or train rides to NOLA. 
Very few motorcycle rides during the week. 
Zero naps during the day.  Zero movies/TV before 5 PM.

Zero dates.  Just life as it is.
Great but imperfect.

[Robin Bullock, Between Earth and Sky]

*

The Upside

I'm thankful for the time spent slogging through the world's most skronked manuscript.  Three authors, plus committees.  Too many cooks in the kitchen produced too many words/thoughts/rambling on the pages.

I learned so much in the process.  Loved every page, finally.


I've had time to visit my Dad.  Not enough. 
Especially with the three hospitals he's been in recently.
More visits to come.


Had time to volunteer at my daughter's used furniture store.  Fun times for me.  Way harder for her to open a store in this economy.  Think it's brought us closer.  At least she knows I'll always try to "be there for her."

*

It is stunning to me that all my bills have been paid on time for the past five months "out of work."  Simply a miracle.

The car runs well, in spite of having almost 331,000 miles on it.
The Bike runs well, even at 55,000 miles (a lot for a cruiser).

God has kept all my appliances working.
Haven't needed a doctor.
Only used credit a couple of times, mostly for convenience.

My freelance income has doubled since last year; if all goes according to plan, it should triple by the end of the year.

I'm getting along better with my brother.  Still haven't met my latest grandchild and The Princess hasn't been here in almost a year. 

The lesson is ... you can handle far more pain than you imagine.

[Kremidas, Sammy]

Even in pain there is much to be thankful for ... joys to acknowledge ... hopes to hope ... people to love and forgive ... and many ways to give.

**

90 Days

I'll be eligible for Social Security in 90 days.  Gotta begin making plans.  Or not.

[Robin Williamson and His Merry Band, Her Scattered Gold]

Here's the deal -- obvious to you, of course -- Social Security is for those who want to retire.  It's not part-time income until your ship comes in or a between-jobs supplement.

If you start, then stop, it's OK.  You just have to repay whatever they've paid you (if you're under 67 years old).  Oh, and it has to be in one lump sum.

Like that's gonna happen.

And you cannot work more than 30 or 40 hours per month.

<gasp>

I dunno.  Nice to have options.  Just don't have any idea which one to take.

Especially when the people at SS ask, "How much do you plan to make in 2012?"  Danged if I know. 

"Something between nothing and $60,000" is, evidently, not the correct answer.

**

The Good News

The Wise say "God doesn't steer parked cars."

Sounds good.

[Solas, The White Petticoat / Stan Chapmans / The Miller's Maggot]

If I don't make enough, I lose my house.
If I make too much, I can't get Social Security.
blah, blah, blah


Rich people problems.
Nothing more.

Not like most people on Earth who are fighting to survive in conditions that I wouldn't want to experience on a weekend camping trip.

I have four sinks in my home where I can turn a faucet for a drink of water.  My refrigerator has a fancy filtered water spigot.  I have two showers all to myself.  Three toilets.  A big fancy girl-tub by a picture window overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest.

Hundreds of millions of people do not have ANY access to clean water.


[Dan Crary, In Flagrante]


Laugh, but I have enough canned ravioli and other delectables to last a month.  My garage is bigger than the homes of most people on this planet.

And I'm whining about ... "Oh, poor me!  What ... ever ... shall I do?"

When the answer is: Whatever I want.  Whenever I want to.

I live in America.
I am healthy.
Money in the back.
Willing to work.
A few skills worthy of $25-50 an hour.  Far more, on occasion.

I have friends and family.
I live in a safe neighborhood.
No one's out to get me.

My life is blessed beyond the wildest dreams of virtually billions of people.


[John McCutcheon, Wind That Shakes the Barley, Morpeth's Rant, Staten Island]


Better than that?

I believe and I know this is true:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord,
"plans for welfare and not for calamity
to give you a future and a hope" (Jeremiah 29:11).


No divorce
no broken heart or broken dream
no job loss

no imperfection in life
can possibly negate
God's plans for my welfare and protection

and His plans to give me a future
and a hope.

Life is good.
God is great.

I'll be fine. 
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow: Pick One

Hi.

It's a nice afternoon and I wanna go for a ride on The Bike, so I'm gonna skip all the fluffy crap.

If I stop caring about how you are, I'll let you know.  I just don't have time to say it all again.  OK?

Good.


***


Church

Went to church this morning.  Heard my favorite preacher/example of Jesus tell us all to turn to "Ezra."

Thought ... Cool!  That's the name of one of my four grandsons -- and one of the two I get to hold.

*

Back years ago, I had a Bible study on the radio at 2 AM.  Yup, live.  Five days a week.  Used to preach a lot.  Led Bible studies.  Believed and preached every word of it.

Still believe it all.
Stopped preaching when the words were dishonored by my life.

Used to read and study the Bible two hours a day.  Even with little kids around.  That was the deal.  Worked at a Bible bookstore in exchange for reference books.  Read them.  Cover to cover.  Great big suckers.  Knew Albert Barnes, Matthew Henry and William Hendriksen and John Calvin and Adam Clarke as friends and companions.

Heard that Billy Graham used to read 10 chapters of the Bible a day.  Tried it myself for a year.  Read through the Old Testament three times and the New Testament twice.  Always read a chapter of Proverbs daily (and taught it on Sunday).  I was "in the Word" as they say.

So today.  Preacher says "Turn, if you will (why do they always SAY that?) in your Bibles to Ezra!"

Could not find it. 
Yes, I was using the big black Bible that I don't use very much.

Usually I stick with the red one that elucidates on the Greek verb tenses and specific nouns used in various passages.  It was a gift.  Even has my name imprinted in gold on the cover.

Who gave it to me?

An unnamed totally conservative very Christian Bible school and radio network based in Chicago. 

The occasion?  I was invited to be on what they called their Affiliate Advisory Board because of my work in Christian radio.  Quite an honor.  And a free Bible too.

Christian radio is long gone but I still love that Bible ... and many of the friends I met through that ministry.

**

So, I went to the index of my big black Bible to locate what page Ezra is/was on.  Finally found it.  There, right before verse one, was a list of ten dates when I read Ezra, as I read through the Bible over the years.  And I didn't always write the dates down.  And I used other Bibles.

And today ... I could not find Ezra.

sheesh

Talk about erosion.

***

Joining

Been going to the same church for over seven years.  Happily.  I've only missed a few Sundays, except for times I've cared for Dad or been away.

Sit in the back row.  Right in the middle.  Try to be nice to people who visit The Back Row.  Usually they're people who try to skulk in/out, unaware that The Token Hippie is gonna grab them and actually SPEAK to them and ask them WHO THEY ARE ... and that he'd like them to come back!

Mmmmuuuwahahahaha!

My pastor (MP) wants me to join the church.
But I'm not much of a joiner.

I pop the church a few bucks from time to time.
I narrate the annual fun thingy the men perform for the ladies.
I go to Sunday School and don't clog up good parking places with The Bike.

Hardly ever hit on the married women.

(Oh, lighten up.  I'm just teasing.)

Believe it or not, part of why I love this church is because they DON'T have a singles group.  Sure, there are a few single women here and there.  But that's normal.  Single women are everywhere.  Even in churches.

Seriously.
Yes, even nice ones.
As pretty and smart as women in
SURPRISE
bars.

But what do I know?  I don't go to bars.

**

sheesh
where was I?

Oh, yeah.  Joining the church.

**

Told MP I really didn't wanna join.

Didn't tell him why.

Guess I can tell you.  No one ever reads these blogs anyway.

I could even tell you about the time one ex-wife wore a garter belt to church and scrunched her leg up against mine, just to tease me.  In church.

But I wouldn't write about that. 
Probably get sued. 

Even though GOD was there
and HE knows the truth.

**

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.

Joining the church.

**

The last time I joined a church it didn't go all that well.

OK.  It went badly.

OK.  A church went from growing and healthy to being transformed into a damn office building because of me.

Talk about shame.

*

I taught Sunday School.  Preached there once in awhile.  An ex (yes, I have flocks of them) taught Sunday School.

My at-the-time wife felt it was "God's will" to divorce me.
This is America.  That's as good a reason as any.

To make a long story short (and to keep my ass from being sued), let's just say she and I ... and the leaders of the church ... and the pastor and his wife ...

well, let's just say that ...

we weren't of "one mind" on whether she and/or I should continue teaching Sunday School during our separation/divorce.

Yeah, let's put it that way.

Sounds WAY better than "all hell broke loose."
Even though that's far more accurate, imho.

**

The last time I saw the pastor from that old church was when he was a witness against me in that particular divorce.

The last time I saw the leaders from that old church was when they were witnesses for me in that particular divorce.

Oh .... God.

I. Wanted. To. Build. Churches.
Not destroy them.

But, evidently, God even forgives people like me.
He said, by faith.

**

Cannot see any way that joining my current church would result in the same annihilation, but why take a chance?

Y'know?

***

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

Yesterday

Sucks. 

Coming up on the seventh anniversary of losing my real job.  Spent half the time since, working.  Spent about half the time since, not working.

(That's called "logic."  Cool, huh?)

Used to make about $5k/month.  Four weeks regular vacation.  Ten personal days.  Probably another 15 days off annually when the office was closed.  Sick days.  Whatever days.  And I traveled on business another four or five weeks a year.  Nice job. 

A "make a difference for eternity" job.
Not a "force more people to buy something they cannot afford and don't want" job.

That was then.

*

Today

I'm happy.  Fed.  Tremendously healthy.  Money in the bank.  A good enough citizen to be called for jury duty tomorrow.  Not afraid to look a cop, stranger, ex-wife or child right in the eyes.  Got nothing to hide.

Just don't have a job.  Or many friends.  Or the love of a woman.

*

Tomorrow

Sucks.

Gonna run out of money.
Health insurance is gonna run out.
Who's gonna hire a guy in his 60s?
Can't afford my big house.

Someday ... I'll get sick and need to see a doctor.
Someday ... Israel and [insert name of country that wants Israel gone here] will go to war.

Someday ... the American economy will melt down. There will be riots.

Someday ... I'll be weary of a loveless life ... and I'll miss not seeing my grandchildren ... and I'll wonder about the value of my life ... compared to my hopes and dreams.

Someday ... I might settle for [insert something I should not settle for here] and regret it.  Again.

*
Today, Part II

But today...
today
I am well.

Better than I was in the past.
Better than I will be in the future.

So, I'm just gonna enjoy today
and do what I can do to make the future brighter

and tell the past to go to hell
because I cannot do anything about it.

Yup.  Today, I'm gonna enjoy today.

And I plan to enjoy tomorrow too.

Because tomorrow will be better than the worst of the past
and better than the worst of the future.

That's the deal.
That's why today is pretty cool.

I choose to live life ... today!

Which means, it's time for a ride on The Bike.

Happy Trails!

And may all your todays be bright.

Adios

Running Out of Gas

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Bob Dylan and I bring you greetings from The Deck ... on a magnificently sunny and warm Sunday afternoon in the great states of Georgia and contentment.

Yes, I "should" be on The Bike zipping & wiggling through the hills ... variously cussing and passing old people clogging my private speedways as they gawk at the leaves that oddly become more beautiful as they die.

Figured I pay an insane amount of money to live in a big home with a dandy deck overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest; I might as well use it.  Maybe it's just old age, but today I'm just as happy here as I would be red-lining The Bike at the risk of flat-lining myself.

So, here we go a'blogging.

**

Out of Gas

[Pandora's Bob Dylan station is playing Jimi Hendrix's Red House]

The daughter (TD) of a dead friend spent her last evening at my friend's former house ... gathering up her mom's "things." 

TD could tell you how long it's been since her mom, my friend, passed on to Glory.  In an odd way, we all spent that day together.  TD's step-father called me as soon as he discovered my friend was no longer with us.  TD whisked her way to the funeral home, where we did the deeds that must be done by those not departed.

Tough, rough, brutal day.  Pricing coffins a hundred minutes or so after getting The News.

Some people move on quickly.  Some take longer.  Some never do.
As with any life-shattering loss.
Some lives can be rebuilt.  Some cannot.
Some would rather not.

But I digress...

TD's mom's house has been sold.  TD's step-father, kind as always, offered TD her mom's stuff.  TD drove 75 miles on the kind of night suitable for such a wrenching task.  Cold.  Darkly dark.  Rainy.  Spooky-sad as a night can be.

TD remembered what happened in each room as she went through the house.  Good and bad memories.  The last time to deal with them there.  Not ready to do so.  But there was no time for a Plan B.

TD sorted and sifted ... remembered and lifted.
Headed back home.
Drained. Alone. 
After closing the door on her mom's home ... forever.

Driving home on a suburban freeway in ATL, TD ran out of gas.
Literally.

Posted the news on Facebook.
Called her ex, who, unlike some, quickly agreed to bring her some gas.
God bless him.

One of TD's newest FB pals, a lady she went to high school with,

[Bob Dylan, Trying to Get to Heaven Before They Close the Door]

responded to TD.  Even though they haven't seen each other in years, the FB pal offered to help.  (Not hugely hard because she lives near the highway where TD ran out of gas.)

Ready?

The FB pal looked out the door of her house.  Saw a car on the side of the freeway.  Flashers on.  Yup.  TD.  Within sight of a friend.  A couple of other friends offered to help TD.  More would have, if they knew she had a need.

I told TD I was glad she ran out of gas.

[Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Falling Down Blues]

TD felt lost and alone.
Abandoned.  Deserted.
Like a motherless child.

But she wasn't.  At all.
Never out of the sight of the God who loves her.
Never out of the sight of friends ... new and old.

TD needed to know she will be OK, even if things go wrong.
You will be too, if you let God into your life.

He ain't dead.
He ain't goin nowhere.
He can take care of you.
Even if no one else cares.

***

Met A Lady, Part 37

Looked like she was 19 or 23.  Certainly not 25.

Cute, but not childish.
Married.  Nice.
Cowboy boots and tucked jeans.
Not a gimmick.  Just a boots/jeans lady.

Mentioned her child.
A FIFTEEN-YEAR OLD BOY TALLER THAN SHE IS!!

whoa

I am the world's worst age guesser, but that blew me away.
She's 34 years old.
We enjoyed sharing the surprise that's very common to her.

I think you'd like her.  If you didn't, I probably wouldn't like you either.

She's a friend of my daughter.
Understands being a woman, wife and mother.
And bills. Men. Kids. Jobs.

After a pleasant chat
she mentioned
she has

Crohn's disease.

God help her.  Please.
This is why she needs God for healing [click here].

May the Lord heal her
and love her
and bless her.

[Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet]

There are problems and there are real problems.

But we all need God.
Sooner or later.

***

Da Noive uh Some People

[Bob Dylan, Hard Times in New York Town]


If I weren't so nasty, I'd handle stuff differently.

Take, for example, the nice people who annoy me so much when they come to me and say, "Oh!  You're an editor!?  Wow!  Maybe you'd like to read something I wrote.  Just to give me your opinion, you know.  I don't have any money or anything.  But I'd LOVE to have you read it and give me some feedback!"

At various times, I want to say:

** "What kind of work do you do?  Oh!  Roofing!  How interesting!  You're not going to believe this, but I have a roof on MY house!  No, really!  I'd love to have you come over some time and spend a few hours looking at it ... and repairing it while you're there.  Only because I'd LOVE your opinion of my roof."

** "Really?  You want me to do what I do best ... how I am trying to make a living ... for FREE ... for you ... even though I have never met you before?  Really?  Tell me.  Does this work with restaurants and car repairs?  Or just when it comes to asking for free editing?"

** "Sure!  I'd LOVE to take a look at your writing.  Tell you what: Write me a 250-300 word essay on "Why Robert Should Edit My Work for Free," and I'll take a look at it.  If it's really good, I'll get back to you."

** "What do you do for a living?  Cool.  What do you tell people when they want you to work for free, instead of paying you for your work?  [Wait for answer before responding.] Good.  Tell that to yourself, OK?  Buh BYE!!!"

**

Yes, I work for free at times.
Happily.

I have two clients right now who are men who have been significant influences in my life.  One cannot pay.  One can.  One does.  One doesn't.

But it's my decision. 
My gift.

I can't tell my mortgage company, "The monthly payment?  Oh, that.  Well, you'll be really happy to know that I helped this really nice person create/edit/polish this really cool story about [whatever].  S/he couldn't pay me, but s/he would have ... if s/he had so much money s/he wouldn't actually miss any of it. --  Is there any way you'd give me $350 worth of credit toward my mortgage because I was so generous?  --  I'm sorry.  Did you say 'NO!'?  Really?  That's hurtful.  I mean, I worked hard because s/he had no money and you expect ME to pay YOU? How fair is that? ... Hello?  Hello?  Are you still...."

[Bob Dylan, I'd Hate To Be You on That Dreadful Day]

I have some debts to people that are so great they cannot be repaid.  They don't want me to get all freaked out about what I "owe" them.  They were incredibly kind, giving and gracious when I needed it most ... and could not pay them. 

There's a difference between needy and greedy.

***

It is Not Good For Man To Be Alone (certain restrictions apply)

I laugh and joke about women all the time.
Might as well.

Lived alone for more than seven years now.

[Peter, Paul & Mary, Don't Think Twice, It's All Right]

I can go the distance.
Not that much more to go, really.

(Struck me recently that I am so old, "Lifetime Warranties" are no longer worth the extra money.)

So, I've decided to have an ungirlfriend.

No more real girlfriends (as if I could find one) and certainly no more wives.  (Trust me, it's easy to get married to a person after skipping the girlfriend stage altogether.)

*

Knew a woman who was "in love" with a man in jail.
Would've married him, given the chance.

Used to think that was insane.
Crazy.
Irrational.
Amazing.
The epitome of vapidity.

But ... as I have grown older and/or wiser
I see a commonality between many marriages/courtships
and women having a Boy in a Box somewhere.

Think of the upside:

You get to be goofy in love and write mushy letters and send money, with no snoring, clothes left on the floor or hairs on your toothbrush.

The last bottle of beer/pop/soda/wine/crancrap is always yours.
Nobody [fusses] when you want to watch a Chick Flick.
It's OK if your cat sleeps on your pillow or pees in your shoes.
You can fart at will.

You can wash your undies in the bathroom sink and not have to pretend that you don't.  (Yeah, do I know women or WHAT?)

Seriously.  You can come and go as you please.  You can tell actual men who you are afraid will reject you that you have "someone special" ... without telling them they're in the can for 30-years-to-life for something you KNOW they COULDN'T do ... because nobody knows good-old inmate RN739472IN, like you do.  And you KNOW you're right.

*

My ungirlfriend (MUG) is fine for me.

I love greasy, fattening food.  I'm twice her size, to prove the point.
MUG had a physical this week.  High cholesterol.
There go our dinners/lunches at Fred's House of Fat.

I made a joke about her getting her first mammogram.
She didn't speak to me for days.

She won't get on The Bike.
Wouldn't know Bob Dylan from that Beeber dweeb.
Probably can't tell Vivaldi's Seasons from Bach's Brandenburgs.
She's nine years younger than I am ... and more mature.

But we're still friends.
That's the deal.

We're just different. 
That's not a bad thing.
What might be a deal breaker for a marriage is OK between friends.

We both want a dollar's worth of relationship, thank you.
Not the inconveniences or benefits of intimacy.

We can ignore one another's calls. 
We can respond to texts if and when we want.

But MUG is one of the few people in my life who consistently asks, "How was your day?" and is willing to suffer through the mind-numbingly long replies that are both inevitable and incoherent.

We have someone to talk to, which is more than many marriages.  She knows she can depend on me.  We do one another good.  And I appreciate her for it.

It's OK to be friends with your friends.

***

Work Or the Lack Thereof

Working with five men who need various degrees of assistance with their writing.  Very fulfilling.

If I were rich, I'd do it for free.  Thankful to be earning some money by helping them.

Still on a collision course with financial reality.
Denial isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Sources I respect say home prices will decrease another 20-25% in the next few years; maybe 40%.

I checked into getting Social Security when I turn 62.
That pays less than unemployment, which is running out.

I could rent out a room or two, I guess.  Several, if I had to.
I dunno.

Life cannot continue as it has for the past several years.
Life will change, whether I like it or not.

[Bob Dylan I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)]

*

Wonder where I will end up?
Wonder how I will make a living?
Wonder who I will be?
Wonder who I will be with?

Life isn't like that for you, is it?

You know where you will be in five years, right?
You know where you will be working or how you'll make a living.
You know who you will be.
You know who you will be with.

You've made plans.  What could go wrong?

Yeah, I used to be like that. 
Until God and Life jumped out of the boxes I placed them in so neatly.

*

But change is nothing to fear.
Happens to all of us.

Things are going to change.  But God will always be the same.

The Lord is compassionate and gracious;
slow to anger and abounding in mercy and lovingkindness.


God looks forward to hearing your prayers.
He enjoys listening to you speak with Him.

He'll always be there for you.
And He will never leave you or forsake you.

Even if your car ... or you ... run out of gas.

For Better or For Worse

Hi.

Hope you are well.

I'm a bit surprised that it's been a month since my last blog.  Then again, I'm not.  I haven't wanted to share much with you recently.  So I didn't.

To quote an ancient and remarkably unremarkable Rolling Stones song [click here for the YouTube video), "There've been good times. There've been bad times.  I've had my share of hard times." 

(Yes, that song was released 47 years ago.  Back when I first saw The Rolling Stones in concert.  Yes, I am ancient too.)

My month has been full of life.  Like yours.
Ups and downs.  Highs and lows.
Nothing too remarkable.
Just a matter of whether we let it freak us out or not. 
That's all.

**

Work -- Or the Lack Thereof

I'm thankful for quite a few freelance writing and editing gigs, but nothing like a steady income.

No, I don't have a job.

I'll pretend to be all optimistic and say "yet" -- even though my hope is fading.

Not that it's an emotional thing, mind you.  Not a "poor, poor, pitiful me" whine.  Just the realization that the days of walking into a great high-paying job are dead and gone, in my humble opinion (imho).

Could I get another good job?  Sure.  Probably not the one I saw on the Internet today [click here for link] that pays a $5.00 for a 250-500 word story about Broadway musicals.  Five dollars for polished writing that cannot be a rewrite of previous material.  ["What?  We cannot plagiarize other works?  <gasp>"]  The employer wants a six-month commitment to write two new pieces daily.  Fifty dollars a week for ten new stories (and all the glory you can eat because you can tell your friends you are a professional writer).

My goal is to land more work that pays $50/hour for creative advertising or promotional copy writing.

****

Not sure what to expose to you about the last month.
I make it a goal in life to at least *attempt* to encourage others.

I try to give more than I take.
To offer kind words and friendship.
Help, when I'm able.

***

The Good Times

My daughter brought forth a beautiful little boy a couple of weeks ago.  We're all thankful for ten new fingers and toes, and a happy healthy mom.

This is the season that she and I usually lay aside old battle wounds and stroll the grounds of Burt's Pumpkin Farm together.  We help The Princess choose pumpkins for everyone.  We go on a hay ride -- sometimes twice -- looking for deer and the lone waterfall in the distance.  Then we part.

Not this year.
Have I met my grandson?  Not yet.
Will I?  Sure.  Someday.  Right?

Life goes on. 
For better or for worse.

**

My "best friend" is all in love.  Sold his old house.  Bought a new one 50 or 60 miles away.  New church.  Engaged to be married.  Happy in his new life.

Joy that he deserves. 

Marrying a nice lady.  Nothing fancy or spectacular.  A lady he loves.  A lady who loves/enjoys him too.  (Not enough, imho, but that's none of my business anymore.)  I'm happy because they're happy.

That's the deal.

**

Dad is in the third hospital in a little over a month.  No surgery on his broken right arm.  While he was still in hospital #1, the dox figured it was best to pop a pacemaker into Dad to regulate his otherwise healthy heart.

Quickly afterward he was in a rehab hospital, learning to care for himself with only his left hand. 

Tough.  For anyone.  But Dad does not whine.

He's in a longer-term facility now.  Not permanent.  Just another halfway house before returning to my brother's home, where Dad is loved, honored and cared for in a most magnificent and magnanimous manner.

**

Reminds me of the time my former boss was dying of cancer.

We used to take turns going to his home to spend nights with him.
To attempt to return a minimal portion of the love he showed us.

Helped him pee one night
... as he tried to stand ... all wobbly ...
into a small sink in the power room in his basement
that would not accommodate his wheelchair/walker.

I didn't mind.
Any more than the time I held a bottle for my own dad, post-surgery.

Hands can be washed.
People come first.

I found it so disturbing that The Boss was in such ignominious straits.  Spoke to one of The Leaders where I worked.

The Leader was dumbfounded that I would have the gall to assert that he or anyone at The Ministry was responsible for The Boss's bathroom facilities. 

That was clearly the domain and bailiwick of The Family ... I heard loudly, passionately, angrily, clearly and finally.

That was a Thursday.
On Friday, I lost my job of 15+ years.

My time was up.  This was only one additional straw.

Was I a victim?  Nope.  Not at all.
More than 150 others were blown out afterward.
One-by-one, in spurts, flocks and, finally, one vast herd.
I wasn't the first.  Wasn't the last.

Got laid off again a year or two later, after being out of work for many months.

Got laid off again a couple of years later, after being out of work for many months.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to get another job.
After being out of work for many months.
(I'm only at 111 days today.)

I'll get a job.
Sooner or later. 
Might as well look on the bright side.

**

Donna the Honda hit 329,000 miles the other day.
The Bike hit 54,000 miles yesterday.
My savings took huge hits in the past 30 days.

I am just like America.
My financial situation is unsustainable.

But I was happy living in a tent in Alaska.

I've had nice apartments smaller than my first little house.

People tell me I am a survivor.
Yup.  They're right.

But it takes a toll.
Everything does.

Some things suck the life out of you.
Some people pump it back into you. 
Like grandchildren.

Giving and encouraging gives life to others ... and ourselves.
It just works out that way.

**

The Hard Times

How stupid of me to inflict pain upon myself by being jealous/covetous.

A skilled writer and I are working on the skronked manuscript of a mutual friend.  We've gone back to the rudiments of writing.

What is a sentence?
What is a paragraph?
How do you develop an outline for a book that's already written?
How do you stick to an outline?

What is a chapter?
How do you develop the theme of a chapter?
What is a key point within a chapter?
What is the purpose of a chapter?
How do you recap a chapter?
What is the application of a chapter?

My associate, it turns out, is a rather famous writing instructor.

More than 6,000 people follow his Twitter account.
More than 1,000 people "like" his Facebook business page.

He makes a living writing and editing.
I don't.

Pisses me off.
:-)

(Hey, do you want Openness and Honesty or don't you?)

This gentleman is half my age and has twice as many official qualifications.  He deserves to be well compensated.

Love the line in The Princess Bride (even if it's not a worthy illustration of my point), "There's not a lot of money in revenge."

**

Used the Department of Labor (DOL) website to apply for a job that I have the experience, skills and talent to do quite well, thank you.

If you meet the stated qualifications, your request to have your application forwarded to the employer is granted.

One job demanded a four-year degree.  I applied anyway.  Tried to flash my resume and blind them with the brilliance of my writing.  DOL rejected my request to forward my application because I did not meet the stated requirements.

Took a shot at a second prospect.  This time a degree was "preferred," as compared to required.  DOL saw no difference and rejected my request to forward my app.

Am I a victim?  Nope.
There are thousands of qualified applicants.
There are bazillions of people like me who believe we are qualified.

Ya gotta follow the rules.

**

A friend asked if I have ever done grant writing.
"No, I haven't."
Never heard back from him.

Bought three books on the topic.
(Something I've wanted to do for years.)

They arrived yesterday.
I'll study and I'll study.
By God's grace, I will learn a new skill.

But I will remain -- as the New Testament apostles were called -- "agramatta."  A man without letters, such as BA, MBA, PhD or MDiv.

I did not complete my degree, after studying Business Administration for two years at a community college, and several other courses at two additional colleges.  My fault, no one else's.

**

Looking into getting Social Security in a couple of months, right around the time my unemployment will run out.

SS pays less than unemployment, which doesn't pay much.
With savings depleted by then, keeping my house will not be an option.

If all I have to live for is this house, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is devoted kids, my life will end in defeat.

If all I live for is to be loved by a faithful wife, my life will end in defeat.

If all I live for is to be successful in business or art, my life will end in defeat.

I'm glad that isn't the case.

There are other pleasant places to live.  Plenty of them.
You cannot control your kids.  We cannot even control ourselves much of the time.

Perhaps you have learned the secrets to being loved and lovable.
I have not.

Perhaps you are a smashing success in your professional life.
I am not.

Yet, I will survive.
Employed or not.
In my current home or not.
With my best friend or not.
In the company of my children/grandchildren or not.
In the arms of a loving wife or not.
With money in the bank or not.

That's the deal.

For better or for worse.

**

Won't tell you where I heard this, but I was among a crowd of young people early one morning.  One cheerleaderish chicklet was locked in mortal combat with a bagel. 

She fussed and clucked as if she were miserably failing to push a car out of a mud bog.

I'll bet I heard her say a half-dozen times, "This is SOOO HARRRD!!!"

(Which meant, of course, "Do this for me or I'll make even more noise!")

Here was a pretty young girl who could not surmount the obstacle of cutting a bagel open with a plastic knife.  My harsh judgement is she was used to having others (parents? boyfriends? siblings?) immediately rescue her from all such horrid tasks lest she bear them -- and defeat them -- all by herself.

Pity the girl. 
She will not survive. 
Unless others bear her "burden/s."
Or unless she changes.
Which do you think is more likely?

I shall survive.
And you will not have to bear my burdens.
I haven't asked you for help yet.  Have I?
Not gonna.

All you have to do is read about me whining
and fussing and clucking
about my life being oh, so very, very hard.

Ha! 


I have a great life.
God loves me.
My children are well.
My grandchildren are well.

I have the time, toys, and opportunity to write this blog.
When I am finished writing this, I will earn actual money writing for a paying client.  Afterward, I will meet friends for dinner.


I am blessed.
I will be blessed.

In good times
in bad times
and in my share of hard times.

By God's grace, I will be thankful for whatever transpires
for richer or for poorer
for better or for worse
in sickness and in health.

As long as I shall live.

Genesis

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Haven't written much lately.  Been busy though.  Took care of my dad for a few days.  Helped a friend move for a couple of evenings.  Pitched in at my daughter's new store yesterday.  Sitting at home today by myself.  Loving it.

Checked to see who read which of my blogs last week. 
Six hits.  Total. 
Three of them on a post from almost a year ago: http://opennessandhonesty.blogspot.com/2010/09/neil-young-teresa-pakiz-and-ranch.html. 

Not sure why. 
Doesn't matter.

I do hope, however, that the time you spend reading my stuff isn't a waste of your time.

***

Last Week with Dad

Rode up to hang out with Dad last weekend.  Great ride.  Fun visit.

As soon as I arrived and put my backpack in the guest room at my brother's house, Dad and I drove off (in his car) to The Olive Garden, his favorite place.

They're nice to us there.  Dad kinda hobbles along grasping his walker and I block for him.  Seriously.  I plow my way through crowds oblivious to anything but their indigestion and who's gonna pay what portion of the bill.  Dad rides the wake behind me.  It works.

Had a cute chicklette waitress.  Dad couldn't hear a word she said.  Not his fault really.  She was meek and mild.  Her voice didn't carry very well with the restaurant at its peak and wild.

Should'a seen my dad's eyes light up when I said, "SHE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU'D LIKE A LITTLE BIT OF WINE!!!"

Our server said we could each have a hit of wine for a quarter.  (Reminds me of a Stevie Wonder concert I attended in Buffalo.  Or was it Jethro Tull in Newport?)

Before Dad's eyeballs boinked into our salad, I told her to give him some.  He.  Loved.  It.  Told her to give Dad my portion too.  Slugged that down like he was filming a western and was fixin to draw on somebody.  Bang!  Gone.  Except for the smile that said, "Thanks for being my son from the Dark Side."

Everybody else keeps Dad alive by dividing his celery stalks into 4" slices and his bread into 2" squares.  He'd die if they didn't.  I come along and we don't merely go out to eat, we pillage restaurants (but not servers).

He survives and endures his meals of "one 6" pine twig, no sap; one eggshell, boiled; one used lime Popsicle stick, unwashed but sterilized; 1/4 cup warm water."

Me?  I ride in as if I'm Batman, Superman and [insert name of your favorite chef here] all in one.  I clear his way to buffets and load his plate until it's difficult to balance with one hand.  We go back for his dessert afterward.

The people who truly love him keep him alive.  I take days/weeks/years off his life, but I give him something to live for.  As long as he takes his meds, nobody complains.

This time was a bit different.  Dad's frail/frailer.  Our forays to The Olive Garden and Chef Linn's gave him tummy trouble.  I'll spare you the details, but we shan't mix the two again, given the opportunity.

**

Dad and I ventured unto the hills in his new/er car: a soul-less white Honda Accord with taupe-ish interior and no personality.  A nice car.  Great one, really.  But it's as bland as his diet.  I'd rather ride The Bike and take my chances.

We rode up, down and all around Chicasaugamaugawauga Dam Lake.  We pointed to boats and trains and clouds and cars and birds and enjoyed life.  Together.

Another excellent adventure.
Unspoiled by any we lacked previously.

**

Somewhere around 6 AM on Monday, I heard Dad weakly cry "Help! Help me!"  Have you ever snarked a laugh or two at that commercial where the lady says, "Help!  I've fallen and I can't get up!"  Not so funny when it's your dad before dawn.

Dad was banged up and bleeding.  Angry that he fell.  But he can't sit forever because he broke/bruised his tailbone a month or two ago.  He has to stand to alleviate the pain.  So, he stands.  Tired.  Drugged.  Falls asleep. Tumbles....

He was OK Monday morning.  We bandaged him up -- although I got ZERO points for style.  Made breakfast.  Drove him to dialysis.  Came home.  Did some editing on a friend's book.  After dialysis, Dad was exhausted.

We all felt it was best to have me spend another night.  My brother and sister-in-law (SIL) returned on Wednesday.  At 2 AM on Thursday, Dad fell.  Broke his arm.  He's still in the hospital.  Dox aren't gonna operate or use a cast.  This will put an end to Dad's arguments that he's able to drive (for now).  But I wonder what else this will put an end to.

Dad is 90.  Lonely.  Sad.  The last of his siblings.  One of the remaining few of his friends.  Hates his diet -- the one that keeps him alive.  Hates using his walker.  Hates not living in his Ala Moana Blvd. high-rise overlooking the Pacific and his uber-fun yacht club (where no one seems to own a boat). At the same time he is thankful for the care my brother and SIL graciously offer him.  Dad knows such love cannot be matched by anyone else anywhere.

Dad is longing for a better life at the end of his mortal life.  He wants a peaceful place far away where there isn't any pain.  Where he won't be lonely.  Where he won't get older and more feeble.  Where he can see his family again.  Where he'll be loved even more than the [stupendous?] ways my brother and SIL care for Dad.

Dad is longing for heaven, without saying a word.

Dad has asked God to forgive his sins.  Dad believes Jesus Christ died on the cross, for our sins, not His own.  He believes the sacrifice made by Jesus paid the penalty Dad owes for his sins.  At some point, Dad's next stop will be heaven, where his longings will be fulfilled.

I love my dad.  So does my brother.

But it's been a tough relationship.

***

Dad left us when I was about five.  I saw him every year or two, if I remember correctly.  Then I didn't see him for years.  Twice, seven years passed without seeing him.

Heard he was in California.  Then Texas.  Then Atlanta.  Then California again.  Hard to keep it all straight.  Hard to care.  Heard he remarried.  But he wasn't exactly divorced.

When I was in college, Dad called.  At the time, I shared two floors of a cool house on Dartmouth Street with three other roomies.  When one moved out, it was always a drag to find new ones.  Eventually, it came down to Ted upstairs, with Carole, Alice and I sharing the second floor.  (Remember the movie "Bob, Ted, Carole and Alice"?  It wasn't like that.)

Dad just wanted to chat.  Not sure why, really.  We had nothing to talk about. 

He said he loved me.  Told him I thought that was [I hate not being able to say "bullshit" in my blogs].  By the end of the call, he promised to send me tickets to visit his home near San Francisco Bay.

My girlfriend drove me to the airport.  I drank myself into oblivion.  Someone poured me onto the plane.  Got bumped into First Class in Detroit.  Followed the lead of the guy next to me and we drank our way across America. About the only words I remember hearing were, "Leave the bottle, please."

Wasn't looking forward to the helicopter ride from SFO to Sausalito, in Marin County.  I think that glorious jaunt sobered me up.  If you EVER get the chance, take the helicopter.  Sober.

Alit by my dad's car.

Went to his house.  Spent most of my time at the bar on his lanai overlooking Angel Island and San Fran.  Began my love affair with The Golden Gate Bridge and the bay's fog horns.  Also fell in love with my dad.

We've been friends ever since.  Yes, there were many years without seeing him.  But he and his wife trekked to Tennessee to visit with my brother and me -- and the two wives and six grandchildren he had never met.

They all loved Dad too. 
He is lovable.

Is he a great man?  No. 
Is he a bad man?  No.
Is he forgivable?  Yes.
Is he my father, even if I don't want to forgive him?  Yes.

***

Dad didn't take me seriously until I beat him at a game of chess.  My Rite of Passage at probably ten years old.  I still remember Dad being profoundly shocked.  (Not that I wasn't.)  It was like getting my first pair of long-legged pants or earning some sort of degree.  I was a man in his eyes.

Not that he suddenly knew what to do with me.  He's not good with kids.

It's amazing how close we are today.

Dad is my most ardent supporter.
He loves me.
He likes me.
He appreciates me.
He wants to be with me.
He misses me when we're apart.
He is grateful for my calls and visits.

We're close.

And I'm thankful.

I'll also be thankful when he's in a better place.
I'll be thankful for God's forgiveness of my dad.
I'll be thankful when it's my turn to be with him again.


***

The Original Princess

My daughter, The Original Princess (TOP) and I do not speak anymore.

That ended, again, in March of this year.  Not the first time.

The last time her daughter, The Princess, was in my home was last Christmas Eve.  There is little doubt that she will not be here again this year for Christmas. 

I feel sick even writing about this.
Beyond wanting to not just cry, but wail and howl away my misery and hurt.


I lost TOP, from my perspective, when her mother and I were divorced 17 or 18 years ago.  TOP went to Red Lobster with her mother to celebrate after the Final Hearing ended.  I don't blame TOP.  What does a kid know about divorce or its spoils?

Within two years I met a woman I believed was a gift from God.

She used to chant, "I'm not [insert name of first wife here], I'll never leave you."  Weird, but weirdly comforting.  Too bad it was [seriously, why can't I say "bullshit" when no other word suffices?].

When we married, my second wife wanted a ring made of both gold and platinum ... because mere gold didn't signify her commitment to me or our marriage.  Platinum is stronger and more precious than gold.  Only that matched her claims of commitment.  If you were at our wedding, you heard our spiel about our unbreakable bond. 
(Sorry.)

She said she loved my girls.

She probably tried.

150 days later, she was gone with the wind.

**

I won't characterize how this hurt TOP.  But it didn't help our relationship.

**

It seems I have done nothing in my life except disappoint TOP.
I regret my failures and sins, but I cannot relive the past.

But I wonder why I cannot be loved as an enemy should be loved, if not as a father.

**

In 2000, my mom was dying.  TOP and I went to NY to be with her.

If my mom had the opportunity to either rescue all of humanity or TOP, we all knew she would choose TOP -- without hesitation or regret.

TOP returned that love in my mom's last days.  TOP was marvelous to my mom and to me.

I'll spare you the details of that death march but they were dramatic.

Believe it or not, a friend adapted a couple of scenes and used them in his latest novel.  (Yes, I take full credit that my family's dysfunctionality was the true source of the many awards the book received.)  Can you say, "Book of the Year"?

Anyway.

The point I cannot adequately make is this: I do not understand how my dad could be so lovable and forgivable that we all adore him -- without regard to being abandoned by him.  Nor do I understand why TOP cannot draw upon our mutual God's bottomless fund of forgiveness to work through my sins, real or perceived.

But it is what it is.

You cannot make anyone love you.
You cannot make anyone forgive you.
You cannot make anyone want to be with you or enjoy your company.

Even though -- in my experience with Dad -- that is the bucket of emotional gold at the end of the life's rainbow.

***

This Week

We expect Dad to be released from the hospital.
I don't know how he will use his walker with one hand.
I don't know how long he can live with my brother.
I don't know how long Dad will be able to survive.

TOP is scheduled to deliver her third child on Friday by C-section.
We know his name means "joined; combined or attached" in Hebrew.

I will not be there for his arrival.
I wasn't welcome when The Princess was born either, but she and I became friends anyway.

Perhaps we will all be friends again some day.
I don't know.
I try to keep my expectations low.

**

I pray for God's greatest blessings on my dad, my brother and SIL.

I hope and pray TOP will have a safe, joyous delivery. 
I pray God brings forth a happy, healthy, mighty man next Friday.
I pray this child will change the world and bring glory to God.

I pray TOP will be loved and cared for; that she'll be blessed; that God will cherish her and forgive her; and that she'll have a good life, whether or not I am in it.

***

Got anybody you should forgive?
Maybe somebody who doesn't deserve it?
Somebody who isn't worth the effort?
Someone you think should pay for their actions?

We're all like that in God's eyes.
But "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for the ungodly."

We'll never be able to earn God's love.
We'll never be able to love the unlovable without it.

Forgiveness and reconciliation are paths of peace we should all walk.

Even if the result is only to marvel at how hard it is
and to thank God
that He never gave up on us.

Light in the Tunnel

Hi.

Hope you are well. 

I am.

**

Stats

Just looked up the readership figures for the past week.  How many people do you think hit the blog?

Wrong.



Seven.

Only nine people follow it.


I don't care.  If I did this to feed on the praise or to be a big shot I would've given up a long time ago.

Writers write because they must.


I'm not the kind of writer who needs readers.
Sorry.

I mean it's OK if you read this stuff.  Nice if you like it.  Great if you share it.
But this is primarily an act of self-preservation.

No offense, OK?


Oh.  Comments.  It's true that for a long time I never allowed any to be posted on this blog.  The ones all about self-promotion weren't worthy.  The ones all about flattering me were embarrassing.  And the comments that were clueless made me think only other clueless people read my posts, so they were nixed too.

But.  If there's something you want to add, OK.
If it helps others, I probably won't filter it out.
But don't do it for me, OK?

***

Update On Me

I'm fine.  This week.  A week or so ago was hell.

End of the month bills.  No earnings.
End of my rope, so I headed for the hills.

Took a day off and rode for seven hours on The Bike.  Cleared my head.

Came home and reignited my passion to look for/find work.

Nothing found.  Yet.

***

Update on Friends

Talked to a member of my Great Man/Great Guy Hall of Fame yesterday.  Wealthy man.  (Tip: Wealthy people hire the people who become rich.)

This guy's wife once told me that in all their years of marriage he had never -- ever -- been unkind to her.

He's a genuinely sincere Christian.

Hurt his back.  Called me from his car on the way to physical therapy. 

In pain.  Already had surgery to relieve the pain.

This is a man who does not drive a 20-year-old Honda with 328,000 miles on the odometer.  He can buy any car he wants.  He could buy one for every day of the week in different colors.

Has an ailing relative who lives several hours away by car.  Too far to go -- in any car -- without causing life-controlling pain.  Feels guilty about not going to see his friend/relative.  Thinking of a way to lessen the pain of travel ... wants to visit ... feels he must ... but it hurts so much.

Me?  Keep the money and the cars and the adoring wife.
I'll take my troubles, thank you,
if it means I can zip & wiggle on The Bike all day.

*

Another member of my Great Guy/Great Man Hall of Fame has a perfect daughter loved by his perfect wife.  Asthma.  Doctors wanted the child hospitalized, but the family's care was superior, so the docs let the family tend to her at home. 

Around the clock.  For days.  With plenty of prayer.  Without griping.

My kids and grandchildren?  Fine. 
Do I get to visit with them all?  No. 
Life is imperfect.

Thanks, but I'll keep my troubles and my healthy family.
And I'll pray for those with real problems
not merely my bumps in the road.

*

One member of my Great Guy/Great Man Hall of Fame got fired/laid off from a company he used to lead when it was many times larger.

Ya know how people like me are all bitter about the [omit reference to spurious lineage of former employers] who done us wrong? 

This man asked to be allowed to continue to work for free.  He's invested much of his life in his job.  For him, it's a ministry that he does, as the Bible says, "As unto the Lord, rather than unto men."

They said it was OK for him to come to the office once a week, and to travel for the benefit of the ministry at their expense.  They chose wisely.


Three men I admire.
Three different types of troubles.
Three men I hope you meet in heaven who are blessed of God and who would not trade their trials for mine.

Because God only gives us the grace to go through and endure our own trials, not everyone else's.  We need God.  They need God.  That's the deal.

Heard the other day that Andy Stanley said "The only thing worse than discouragement with God is discouragement without God."

Amen.

***

Lights in Tunnels


Rode The Bike to a family reunion earlier this summer.

Took the Blue Ridge Parkway for 100 miles or so.  Loved it.  Great views.  Herds of Harleys hogging the highway, but there are ways around them.

A peaceful path through the hills.

Cool two-lane tunnels add a bit of spice to a rather slow ride.  Couple of them are so long and curved that you cannot see the light of day at the end.

On sunny days I wear sunglasses and use a tinted shield on my helmet.  Works great.  Until you hit a tunnel.

The Bike roars and reverbs in the darkness.  (One headlight does not a tunnel illuminate.)  But the total blackness doesn't last long.  You quickly see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel and you are delivered back into the familiar day.

Just another reason I love riding The Bike.  It's more about the path you're on than the ultimate destination. 

This particular destination included loving, affirming family at a lakeside home that would flatter the pages of any glossy magazine.  Fancy speedboat, comfy pontoon boat, couple of crazoid personal water craft, a canoe or two, and inflatables for those who strayed from the shaded safety of the deck overlooking the lake.

But getting there was as much fun as being there.

That passion for the road I'm travelling -- not merely longing for the destination -- is my goal for this stretch of the road of my life.

***

I'll Be Happy.  As Soon As ...

Had a job for many years that occasionally required placating unreasonable religious zealots.  Men who believed God gave their radio stations (always called a "ministry" in order to refute any challenge to their decisions) the entire state of Texas, for example.  Anyone who dared bring another C/christian radio station into their territory was the enemy of all that was holy.

I've forgotten how many days I wasted trying to negotiate sufficient time between the release of one religious program on one station and airing the same broadcast on another station several cities or states away.  Many.

These men of god were defending their own selfish empires, as compared to welcoming any advancement of the Kingdom of God.  Gall, in all its glory.

I remember one time when I/we put a fire out.  Seemed to make everybody happy (although pleasing God was not part of the goal).  Told an advisor in California that the problem was solved and the man at the center of controversy was happy.

I'll never forget what she said.  "Of course he's happy.  He got his way."

Don't know why I was so surprised by that nugget of wisdom.  Still am.

***

The point is: everybody's happy when they get their way.

My goal in this season of life is to be happy, even if I'm not getting my way.

I want a good job.  One where I feel that my life is not wasted on talking suckers into spending more than they can afford for something they don't need.

To hell with that, thank you.

*

It's reasonable to presume I'll live another 15 years or so. 
I must support myself for that long.

I do not mind working until the day I die. 
I do not expect anyone else to provide for me. 
(Yes, except God.)

But that's then.  This is now.

Today I do not have a job.
I looked for a job today, but I did not find one.

The tunnel remains dark.

Hate me, but I'm happy anyway.

*

I paid the mortgage online.  It was $40 more than I mentally budgeted. 
No extra fees or charges.  I simply forgot the newly adjusted amount.

I am overdrawn.  Until tomorrow. 
Nothing's going to bounce.  No one will go unpaid.
I don't need donations.

Money is tighter than it will be when I get My Great Job.
And more abundant than it will be if I don't.

***

A friend told me of a cashier she met at Wally World.  Cast on her leg.  Doctor had told her not to return to work too soon.  The WW worker has two kids.  Now she has doctor bills she didn't have when ends didn't meet last month.

I'll keep my troubles, thank you.

***

Joy in the Darkness

It is my goal to be happy -- not just thankful -- today and tomorrow and the next day.

I am not going to wear sackcloth and ashes because I don't have a job.

I have this impression that I am expected to play the part of a formerly productive member of society who has joined the festered masses who are condemned to eke a miserable existence in Loserdom.

Nonsense.

My life is good.
I am healthy.
I am fed.

One of my daughters loves me.  I have friends.  I can see, taste, walk, feel, smell (no wisecracks, please) and hear, if you speak up.

I have enough money to help others, at times.
As I say in almost every blog, I am among the most wealthy people in the world.  So are you, believe it or not, I don't care who you are.

If you have access to clean water, you're rich.
If you have a roof over your head, you're rich.
If you worry more about being overweight than how to feed your kids, you're rich.

Hate to tell you this ... but, if you're not grateful for your life [insert a phrase here that is much kinder than "you're crazy" or "you're an ingrate" or similar insults].

**

What would it take to make you happy?

More money?
Sounds good, but there are lots of desperate people with lots of money.

Better job?
I understand, but there's more to life than the glory of a good job.

Marriage or divorce?
A gazillion people believe they'd finally be happy if they were married.
A gazillion people believe they'd finally be happy if they were divorced.

But neither marriage nor divorce makes people happy.
It just changes things from one state to another.

The secret is to learn to be happy where you are ... not just hope and/or pray for whatever changes you want that will suddenly bring the bliss that eludes you today.

**

I know.  Talk/blogging is cheap.

My kids don't have cancer.
My beloved [whomever] isn't on life support.
I'm not being evicted.

I'm not in jail.
I'm not [insert calamity here].

You're right.

All I have is my measly little problems.

And you can't have them. 
Keep your own.  Yours are probably WAY worse than mine.

But you do not have to be mastered by your circumstances.  If only for a few minutes a day; then, an hour at a time; then, for a day or two.

Or choose to be miserable until [insert hope/dream/relief of your choice here].

Is it easy for you to finish this sentence?  Do you know EXACTLY what you'd say?  "I'll be happy as soon as ...."


Why not admit what you're saying is "I'll be miserable until ...."
That's more like it, isn't it?

If being miserable makes somebody else carry your load
do your work for you because you're too [whatever]
carry your burdens because you're too [whatever]
take your crap because you're too [whatever]
go for it.  Knock yourself out.

Some people don't WANT to get better.
Being miserable is their life's work.
It's what they're good at. 
And it meets their needs.


Not me, bucko.

I don't want or need anyone's sympathy.
I don't need pity.
I don't need to act all sad that I lost my job.

Hate me, but I'm going to have all the fun I can muster until I get my next job.

I'm going to spend 40 hours a week looking for work and I'm going to live it up after "work."  Just like you do/should do.

I'll have lunch with friends when I can afford it.
I'll spend an evening with friends when I'm available.
I'll see my family when I'm free to do so.

And I'm going to sit on my deck and listen to the birds and the breeze and write to you from time to time.

I'm going to tell you:  God.  Meets.  My.  Needs.

**

I can whine about what I don't have
or I can focus on all my many blessings.

Not only am I going to be happy until I find a job,
I'm going to be happy even if/when I do go back to work.

I am not going to waste my life being miserable and making others miserable.

**

The Foundation of My Hope

Saw a sign on a telephone pole.  All it said was "Hope."

Nice, but you can hope all you want in [whatever].  Sooner or later your hope must have a worthy basis.  Won't be anything that doesn't endure.

Eventually, I believe you'll be faced with the undeniable truth that it's you and God.  Just the two of you against the world.

**

My hope is in God.

I know He will care for me.  Comfort me.  Provide for me.  Love me.
And forgive my sins.

He can take all the scraps of my life and weave it into a graceful tapestry.

I look forward to the next few hours.  I look forward to tomorrow.
I look forward to enjoying the freedom to plan my own days.
And I look forward to getting a good job again.

Even if there's no light at the end of the tunnel I'm in and I can't see which way the road ahead twists and turns.

It's OK.

I can see where I am right now and it's good.
God is with me. 
He is all I need to be happy.

**

May you find joy wherever you are
and wherever you will be.