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.