Month: September 2020

The Ring

“I like your jewelry. You have a very unique style.”
She put her hand to her ear as if to say speak up.
Fuckin’ masks.
I’m trying to make small talk through my mask, a plexiglass screen and her mask. I had to try, though. I was too intrigued not to. Lisa the pharmacy tech had been all I could think about since I first saw her.

Tan, blonde, a pretty smile, outgoing personality and awesome personal flair with the jewelry; an abundance of bracelets and rings and neckwear ranging from Native American themes to what I would find was her Grandmother’s ring on a chain about her supple neck. She reeked of individuality and she seemed to be about my age. I was smitten.

Over the course of several medication pickups (not a big deal I’m there all the time lately) I attempted to get to know her a bit. Last time I was there I sensed a twinkle in her eye when she saw me in line. I’m pretty bad at physical cues and I haven’t been laid since Obama’s first term but I do vaguely remember the dance of flirtation. I had to make a move.
Today, before I fired up the Fatboy to head to the pharmacy I decided that I would make a move. I feared public humiliation and I didn’t want to get her in trouble at work so I made a little note and tucked it into an envelope.
Hi. I think you’re amazing. If you’re not married, engaged, or dating, I’d like to take you out.
Name and phone #

When I approached the pharmacy I was excited to see that she was working today. She looked up and there was the twinkle again. Then another cashier summoned me from Lisa’s line. I obliged, only for Lisa to finish with her customer and jump over and offer to take care of me. I lowered my mask and said hello. As I did I pushed the envelope across the counter.
“You’re so sweet”, she said. As she grabbed it with her left hand I saw it. The friggin’ ring.
“I need that back. After seeing your ring finger I think I made a mistake”, I said.
“Nope”, she said. “I’m opening this.” I went home feeling somewhat defeated. I changed clothes and began doing some yard work. My phone chirped 2 hours later.
Hey! I feel the same way about you. Yes, sorry but I am married. I hope that’s ok I would like to get to know you as a person, even if it’s as friends. Is that ok? I could tell you my situation but you don’t want to hear about it.

We’ve been texting all day. Her last text was a pic of her in a bathing suit. What have I gotten myself into? I would never touch a married woman. But I like her sooooooo much.

Friggin’ ring.
Friggin’ luck.
Nothing is ever friggin’ easy.

I may have to end this before it starts

the bottle story

In 1981 my Great Uncle Cyrus died. He had a big house on Cape Cod, about 300 yards from the water. My family was tasked with cleaning it out.
My Great Uncle was a kind and giving man. On my 16th birthday he gave me his late wife’s 1964 Ford Falcon as a present. I was grateful yet conflicted, I barely knew the man. Amazingly, the distance between us and the Cape was enough to keep me from seeing him more than 5 times in my life. And there I was cleaning out his house, charged alongside my mother, father and Grandparents with deciding what was “junk” and what wasn’t.

There I was, a 16 year old exploring a old house. I meandered to the basement where I found a dusty tool bench with some really cool but unfinished wood working projects and a lot of unorganized stuff scattered around. I stooped to check out the bottom shelf and I saw a bottle. I blew an inch of dust off it and I studied it. It was a bottle of J&B Scotch, a fairly middle of the road blend and a very popular drink in its time. I was intrigued by the label “half gallon” and realized that this bottle was old. The stamp revealed that it was bottled in 1949.
“Hey Dad, check this out!”.
Dad came over and agreed that it was a find. We brought it home with us and stored it in my grandparents basement.

Saturday I had my installation ceremony as Master of my Masonic Lodge. Due to Covid restrictions we were only allowed to have 50 guests and we reached that number. My children and my mother, several brothers from other lodges that I became friendly with over the years graced me with their presence. One of them had told me 5 years ago that should I become master he wanted to be there. So I invited him. The remainder of the crowd consisted of lodge members and their guests who all came out to support the new line of officers.

It was an AMAZING ceremony, the same one that was conferred on George Washington in the 1700’s. Once complete it was my turn to say some words. I had it all planned out. In fact, I have had it planned out since the day I decided that I would move through the chairs to Master.
“Brother Marshall, would you retrieve my conversation piece?”
The crowd was intrigued.
Brother Marshall is my good friend and past master Basil who promised to help me in any way should I take the big chair. He winked at me and walked to the back of the building and came back with the bottle of J&B. He handed it to me with a wink and sat back in his seat.
I hoisted the J&B in the air and told the story.
“I am a lover of objects, for their significance and place in history. Objects do not contain memories but they have important associations. For example, I wear my grandfathers watch and cufflinks. I wear my fathers motorcycle helmet. They hold memories for me and mean something. This bottle is not just a bottle, it is a reminder of a different time”.
I told the story of cleaning out Uncle Cyrus’s house, who I later found out was an esteemed and beloved Freemason (it explained why he gave me a car) and how the bottle in my hand has fascinated me all along.
“This bottle has never been opened, it was bottled in 1949”. The crowd was hanging on every word now.
“This bottle was owned by a wonderful man. It was also bottled during the era of Harry Truman, my favorite President. Harry Truman, you may not know, was a Freemason. He served as Grand Master of the state of Missouri as Vice President yet he never discussed it”.
I asked the crowd if they knew that in a Masonic lodge everyone is treated the same regardless of social stature. I told of how Harry Truman went to a regular lodge as Vice President and later President and wasn’t greeted with fanfare and adulation…he was simply “brother Harry”.
“This bottle represents a simpler time and I hope to run this lodge as Harry did his own, with humility and honesty”.
It was a hit, everyone applauded. After, I rounded up all of the shot glasses I could find and I opened it. We toasted and took a drink. After 70 years in several basements, I finally shared my find with those people closest to me.
A week and a half later, people are still talking about it. They agreed with me that it wasn’t just a bottle.

It meant something.

the green eyed monster

It’s funny when you figure something about someone and all of a sudden it just makes sense.

My cousin Mike, who I have written about before, is a Facebook junkie. It is not enough for him to be a know-it-all, he also has to be that guy that comments on every post. I love him to death, I really do, but even my kids have remarked to me that his constant comments are over the top because they really don’t know him that well (that is not his fault). I tell them to deal with it, he does it to everyone.

Everyone but me. He never comments on my posts.

Saturday I was installed as Worshipful Master of my Masonic Lodge (in Olde English ‘Worshipful’ means worthy of respect). With the exception of my children’s births and my wedding day, it was one of the biggest days of my life. I posted about 10 pics of the day, me with my kids individually and together, several of me and my Masonic brothers and made a post about it. Well over 125 people “liked” or commented on it. Not Mike.

I hadn’t noticed it before, this time it stood out. So I went back over my page and looked to see if he commented on previous posts. Nope. Nothing. NADA. It’s not an anomaly, it’s a pattern. Apparently he’s still jealous of me.

Still? You ask? Yes, still. I’m not sure what I have to be jealous of, I’m pretty sure I’m as broke and behind the 8 ball in life as he is. All I know is whenever something good happens to me he’s nowhere to be found if being happy for (or with) me is in order. It’s an unfortunate set of circumstances because what I do know is that I MAKE the good things in my life happen, it’s not circumstance, luck, or serendipity.

Flashback to 4 months ago sitting on the common of our old home town under the mighty oak:

“Can I tell you something?”, he said.
“By all means”, I said and took a bite of the Steak and Cheese sub we had just gone for.
“I didn’t go to your graduation party because I was pissed at you.”
“The Graduation party that I had in ’92 when I graduated College?” I asked. Perplexed.
“Yes”, he said. “I was annoyed that your parents paid for your college and I didn’t have such an opportunity.
Annoyed, I turned to him. “Well, you missed a fun party. And you’re wrong, idiot. I worked 55-60 hours a week and carried a full course load to graduate college. No help from Mom and Dad. How dare you assume that?”

He tried to make a case, but I told him that it was jealousy and it was petty. I was pissed.

So again, something good happens to me and he is nowhere to be found.

I think I see a pattern here.

random nuggets

If one were to notice someone’s absence it would be safe to assume that they haven’t been up to much. Much worth writing about, anyway. The opposite is true for me. It’s not that I have nothing to write about, it would be safe to say that I have too much. Where do I begin?

For a guy with nothing to do I’m pretty dang busy.

My detailing gig is taking off. Lots of word of mouth referrals from happy customers. I do a very meticulous job for a reasonable price and people appreciate it. It has supplemented my income a bit and I expect it to grow further. I actually say no to work now.

Dialysis is a drag and I have been feeling pretty crappy lately. I’m not worried about it, it happens every few months. I am really anemic right now and they don’t know why. I suppose I should be worried about that but I’m sure it will work out. It always does. My teflon coating is still intact. For now I just have to push through the moments of pain and weakness.

I was elected Master of my Masonic Lodge this past month. My term begins this month and I’m terrified. The amount of work involved in running a lodge is surprising but the motivating factor is that my brothers have entrusted me with leading them for the next year and I can’t let them down.

The family is great. The kids are thriving, the ex got a new job (for a person with Borderline Personality Disorder change is devastating so this is good news) and is doing better financially. Everyone is happy and crushing this thing we call life. Being a proud Dad has never been easier.

Well, I think I’m caught up now. Now that I’ve touched on the broad strokes, I’ll start to dig down on the small but beautiful details.

Namaste, y’all

Over the miles

I sat down yesterday morning to begin a post in continuation of the one I had previously published and I just couldn’t find my groove so I saved it as a draft and turned the computer off.
I’m glad I did because today I got a phone call from a dear friend and in the course of it not only did I figure out what I wanted to say but I found myself with a renewed interest in my blog.

I suppose it would be beneficial to first state that she is a fellow blogger. In every sense, she is the perfect person to having spoken to today. On so many levels. To begin with, I love the sound of her voice. In addition, she always makes me laugh. When I’m done laughing I then find myself with something to think about. Lastly, she always revives my faith in people.

You see, when I first started my blog I had very few readers and I really didn’t care. I was in a real bad place, I felt alone and at the very bottom. The blog was akin to the cliched Shrink’s Couch where I unburdened myself in relative obscurity and anonymity with the end result feeling as I’ve talked to someone. Then people started reading. They were drawn to my story. Not that I told it particularly well but because I was so unflinching and honest. In a world of fluff and bullshit I bared my ass to the internet and it resonated with some people. Soon enough I became actual friends with 3 of them and we got together for a day of conversation and dinner. I am proud to say that I am still communicating with all of them.

Today’s conversation was with a woman that I like to joke with about being the female version of me. Or I’m the male version of her. Whatever. Point is, she gets me. She knows me well and has a history of knowing when I am in need of a pick me up and she always reaches out. On this day, it wasn’t that I was not doing well but yea, something was bugging me and we got to the bottom of it. That is what a real friend does. Over the miles or right next door, a friend knows when you need them.
Thank you.

How did she inspire me to get back up and blogging again, you ask? She reminded me that in the beginning, before followers and stats were even a concern, I told my story. It was a story that enough people enjoyed or at least felt compelled to hear the rest of it. I thought I had told my story and I have been struggling for things to write about. Until today. This is my journal, my outlet, my place to tell my story that is still evolving, twisting and turning, and changing before my eyes. It is a journal.

As long as there are days in my life, my story still needs to be told. Hold on, shit’s gonna get bumpy around here.

the good stuff

Friends. A dumb show from the 90’s about a bunch of New Yorker’s whose lives I couldn’t give a shit about? No.
The often meaningless connections you make on social media so that you can have the opportunity to view every stupid meal they post for your viewing displeasure? No.
Those few people in your life that are always there for you and remind you in your darkest hour that you’re not alone? YES. A triumphant and resounding YES.

If valued and meaningful connections were currency I would be up there on Forbes’s list of wealthiest people. I am so fortunate to be at the age, or level of maturity if you will, that I recognize the value of quality over quantity in life.

I have an amazing circle, I call it my support network. Between my Masonic brothers, many of whom are as close to me as actual brothers, to my many friends dating back to High School, some amazing connections from jobs past and social groups like mountain bikers that despite my inability to ride remain my friends, to others that have just fortunately come into my life, I always have the luxury of being supported and propped up when too tired to stand. It’s not a huge circle, but it’s a good one.

It is not a one way street, I am a loyal and dedicated friend in return.

If you find yourself devoid of joy, wallowing in the negativity of today’s climate and feeling overwhelmed with the increasing darkness, there is a cure. Grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. Find a name that brings a smile to your face and call them. In the process of making their day brighter I can almost guarantee that they will make yours as well.

But don’t just use the phone, be available in person to those around you. Cell phones make us closer to those far away, but more distant to those next to us.

Just a thought, enjoy your Sunday and may you make a new friend or reconnect with a old one today. It just may make your day.

Be the change

People say things. Stupid things. All the time. If I wasn’t careful my eye rolling would cause a permanent medical condition. Fortunately I’m getting better at tuning them out.
With the exception of one phrase…I hate it.
“People suck.”
No. They. Don’t. Please stop.

I’ve posted about this before. But I need to again.

99% of people are good. It’s the 1% that make the news and if all we watch is the news, and not Main St. America then we are not going to know the truth. The truth is found in the local tavern, told over the back fence with neighbors, the local coffee shop, at the water cooler at work. People are for the most part good at heart, they are just easily manipulated because they are, at their very heart, Human. Humans make mistakes, we’re not perfect.

I have had a person donate a vital organ to me. I have seen people with only ten dollars in their pocket donate 5 of it to a charity dear to them. I’ve known people who have toiled in a soup kitchen or food pantry every single weekend of the year without looking for so much as a thank you. I could go on. But I won’t. You get the point.

If you can’t find a good person, then be one.

People do not suck. We need to stop saying it.