blog – Page 54 – The Tao of Bill

Song Lyric Sunday

Today, on a day when I crave positivity as a flower does water, I give you Michael Franti and Spearhead, whose music absolutely oozes positivity, empathy, acceptance and understanding.

This song in particular is named Good to be alive today, which I have adopted as my blog URL…that’s how much this song means to me.

Franti can be seen traveling the world, dancing with children, coaxing shy people out of their corners to dance, spreading hope and optimism like a bee does pollen in the spring. His love for life is nothing short of inspi-fucking-rational.

I hope you get something out of this song…

It’s a long road, oh
Everyday I wake up and turn my phone on
I read the news of the day, just as it’s coming down
I do my best not to let it get me down
I try to keep my head up, but is Babylon
This world’s in crisis, we try to fight it, this changing climate
With scientists and politicians divided by it
So many ways we could solve it but they would never sign it
This mountains tumbling down, but still we try to climb it
It’s in the Torah, Quran and in the Bible
Love is the message for some how we turn to rivals
It’s come to people always picking up their rifles
Another school getting shot up homicidal

Some people tryna look fly, some people tryna get high
Some people losing their mind, some people tryna get by
And when you look in my eyes, you see the sign of the times
We all looking for the same thing

But what if this song’s number one
Would it mean that love had won?
Would it mean that the world was saved?
And no guns are being drawn today?
What if everybody had a job?
And nobody had to break a law?
What if everyone could say
That it’s good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
Is it good to be alive today (oh, oh, oh, oh)
No matter what nobody say

People used to feel safer when they would hear a siren
Like help is on its way but now they only think of violence
Another youth in the streets and police is in a conflict
And now they hear the guns click, yo
Ebola crisis and ISIS is taking heads off
A drone is bombing a village and now the kids all
Signing up to be soldiers, but they all willing now
To do the killing now, now are you willing now?
Some politicians out there making up some problems
And tryna tell the people that they can solve them
With TV shows and soundbites and quotes
But everybody knows that it’s all about the cash flow
They telling you and me, they’re making progress
But tell it to the millions of jobless
It’s like a players club with billions of dollars
To get the votes you got to make it rain in congress

One day, one day
One day, one day
One day, we all will say
That it’s good to be alive today
One day, one day
One day, one day
One day, we all will say
That it’s good to be alive today

long days, longer days

Yesterday didn’t start well. As soon as I put one foot on the floor I knew that it was going to be a feel-like -shit day. I call it such because there is no name or medical explanation for it. It’s a wonderful feeling that I can only describe as I slept but I’m more tired than when I went to bed; I feel like I’m coming down with the flu but I’m not; my legs feel like they have sandbags tied to them and I walk like I’m 80 years old; I can’t wait for my first nap today. Feel-like-shit is much shorter and still covers it nicely.

Regardless, I had to get out of bed. I had somewhere to go.

On Sunday, when I made my rare church appearance to see if the plaster ceiling would crack when I walked in, I was greeted by Dean. Dean is a townie, like most, that retired up here and now lives here full time. He was a good friend of my father’s and has been a good friend to me since the day I moved up here. He has helped me find odd jobs to make a few bucks and on this day he had a job for me. He needed a coat of wax put on his 5th wheel trailer. Not one to turn down a buck, I told him I would do it Wednesday.

Wednesday was here, and as I hung my head, fighting my morning nausea I could think of 276,000 things I would rather do than wax a trailer. But I promised. I was out of the house by 9:30.

I pulled into Dean’s driveway and surveyed the day’s work. He wasn’t there, he was already out volunteering at the community center. There was a ladder on the ground and I could see that the trailer was freshly washed. I knew what I had to do and got right to it.

A 5th wheel trailer is a camper that is designed to be towed from the actual bed of a pickup truck. The nose of the trailer essentially takes over the entire bed. They are very long and can be as tall as 13 feet 6 inches, which is close to the bridge clearance of a tractor-trailer. This one was maximum height and 35 feet long. I had my work cut out for me.

Did I mention that I hate ladders? Well, to be clear I really hate falling. This job required me to climb a ladder, on soft unstable soil, and to reach the very top of the trailer with a small applicator pad in my right hand, an open can of TurtleWax balancing precariously on the top step of the ladder and a rag in the left. To ease my fear of falling I repeated “wax on, wax off” as I reached high, left and right applying and buffing. It was mindless but difficult work.

The nose of the trailer was the most difficult to reach but it came out awesome. It took quite a while because it was covered in dead, dried bugs. Between buffing and my fingernails I got it spotless. The left side also took a while because the ground was so unstable the ladder proved to be a real challenge. The rear and other side proved to be easier. All in all, I spent 3 1/2 hours with no breaks doing an old school wax job. No gimmicks, no power tools, no shortcuts. It looked amazing but I was done, with the job and physically.

Dean still hadn’t returned but I wasn’t worried about payment, I knew we could connect at some point so I packed up my stuff and got in my truck. As I was driving through the center of town we crossed paths and he asked me to come back to the house so that he could pay me. I really wanted to go home but money is money. I followed him back to his house.

He was very pleased with the work. He couldn’t believe my attention to detail. No surprises there, I am a stickler for detail and I do good work. He asked how much I wanted. I really didn’t know, I told him whatever he thought was fair. He offered me $150.00.
I said No.
Too much.
Amazed, he asked if $100.00 would work. I gladly accepted. (who does that?)
He told me he had never seen anyone counter lower before. What he didn’t understand is that I was grateful for the opportunity for something to do that pays. And I will never take advantage of the good nature of the elderly in town. Besides, if I was reasonable, it increased my chances of being referred for more work. As it would turn out, I left with offers to paint his porch and detail both of his cars. I took his check and went home.

As I pulled into my driveway I realized that I was tired beyond the usual levels. My blood pressure was pounding in my ears, I had a headache and I could have napped standing up. I went inside and sat down. An hour later, I was still in that chair. I would spend the day so tired that I could barely walk. If that wasn’t enough, the cramps set in. My hands formed painful, locked claws that were so painful I was nearly in tears. I would feel like that until I went to bed at 9:30. I had finished the trailer at 1:30.

Something has got to give here. I am having fewer and fewer good days in which I can be productive. On the days that I am able to be productive, I need 2 days to recover from it. Today, I am so tired I can barely do anything and typing this blog is killing me because my hands are still crippled claws.

I sure hope this is a phase. Because it’s no way to live.

legal troubles

Today marks a sad day in my marital history.

My wife and I had been arguing something awful and it was getting pretty tough to keep it together. We had already stopped sleeping in the same room, sleeping in the same house was even getting difficult.

One morning when I was in the shower after a particularly awful argument. I was trying to wash it off me but there wasn’t water hot enough. Suddenly my wife crashed through the curtain with a kitchen knife and made a swipe at my John Thomas. I managed to subdue her but she came close. I called the police.

They came, it was a big mess. Everyone calmed down. The police asked if I wanted to press charges. I asked them what charges applied.

“Right now”, the officer said, “We’re only looking at a Misda-weiner.”

Sorry, I had to.

Civilization and Its Ironies — A Light Circle

I wrote a piece recently on prejudice, bias, racism and acceptance recently. I did my best to cover a lot of material in a medium that rewards short and concise. It came out ok. When I read this piece, I was floored. M.P. Baecker, with the usual inimitable writing style, completely and totally nails the issue.

I feel compelled to share. If you are not following this blog, I recommend you start.

Racism. Xenophobia. Prejudice. Discrimination. It seems every word written against these forms of hatred will be ignored nonetheless. People feel targeted, shamed, belittled when hate is addressed. After all, hate is an emotion we all feel. Whenever these topics are brought up, whether privately or publicly, reality tends to shift a bit towards the severe, […]

via Civilization and Its Ironies — A Light Circle

The Garden Party…cont’d

If you would like to catch up you can find the first installment here.

When I sat down in the makeshift circle of lawn chairs at the BBQ the first person I recognized was Mark’s sister Susan. I saw her with her dog Brady (who I knew from FB) and we exchanged pleasantries. I haven’t seen her in over 30 years. I used to have the hot patooties for her. She looked great. Next, I saw Mark’s mother and father. They are really nice people. They needed a refresher on who I was, I haven’t seen them in forever. I watched a million football games at their house but I’m not sure they knew about it. After some small talk, Scott and I settled in to catch up over a cold beer.

We talked about the kids for a while. He knows about the divorce and the rest of my “situation” but wanted to know what they were up to. I was proud to tell him how great they are. His kids are college-age and doing great. Knowing he and Dana I wasn’t surprised. Then the conversation turned to my health. Scott is like me in one respect, he would rather ask than not and come across as not caring. I told him the truth, that there is very little good news. He absorbed it and we left it at that. He knows I would rather give him better news if I could.

At one point, Susan leaned in and asked what was up with my kidneys, she said she saw something on FB. I gave her the lowdown, carefully phrasing my words to not elicit a sympathetic response. This was the part I was dreading, although I did appreciate her asking.

At one point, Mark’s father, who is a little hard of hearing, started down the line asking all of us what we’ve been up to. I was 6^th in line so I agonizingly waited for my turn. Sure enough, my turn came and I decided to be funny. He asked “What have you been up to Bill?”
“Well, Mr. Riley, I’m officially a burden to society.” Everyone laughed, he asked me to elaborate. Before I could Mark saved the day and said “Bill has been fighting some health issues, Dad. He lives up here now.” I sighed with relief, it sounded so much better than, Well, I’m on the verge of Dialysis, I’m out of work and broke, I live with my mother and I’m not supporting my family. Did I mention that I have one nut and haven’t been laid in about 8 years? Either way, it was over with. The conversation shifted away and I shrunk back into relative obscurity.

Scott, Mark and I talked for a while. I was starting to relax a bit. We talked politics, current events, rehashed some fun times at the market, talked about cars and of course our families. I made a few off-color but witty (not my words) cracks that gave them a good laugh. At one point, Scott remarked that it was refreshing that some things don’t change. He meant me of course, I was well-known in the day to do anything for a laugh. I appreciated the comment despite the feeling that nothing about me, with the exception of my warped humor, was the same.

At 7:30, I decided that it was time to leave. I was starting to get tired and my mind was racing. I was getting into one of those thinking zones that never ends well. I get quiet, morose and I am generally not good company. I made it a point to give Scott and Dana a proper goodbye, sought out the people that I knew and made sure I said goodbye to them as well. I ended by finding Mark and his wife to thank them. By the time I got to my truck my mind was in full-blown thinking mode and it wasn’t happy thoughts. I was bombarded by some harsh realizations that I came to that day and they needed to be processed. I was about to, in the words of Jim Carrey in Liar Liar “kick my own ass.”

I drove home without the radio on, all I had was the hum of my tires on the winding back roads to keep me company. I was in a mood. I tried to summarize what I was feeling, to break it down into manageable parts. In short, what’s my fucking problem?
That would prove to be a question not easily answered. I had a lot of problems.

My first problem was that I was overwhelmed by the stark contrast in situations between Mark, Scott and myself. Disclaimer…I am NOT speaking out of jealousy. I am VERY happy for them. They made good choices and decisions and worked hard and they deserve everything they have. Mark is a brilliant mechanic and owns his own business. He works 6 sometimes 7 days a week. His amazing house is a monument to his work ethic. Scott works for a major investment company and has for 22 years. His wife has a great job as well and he is at a place now where he can pay for his kids college without loans, have a real nice car and look for a summer home. Not that is was ever equal when we were younger, they were doing well then also, but the disparity now in our places in life is staggering.

It would be easy to blame it on illness; my disease did take me out of the working world. But it’s so much more than that. Even when I was working, despite the size of the checks I was pulling in I never managed to save anything. I often joked that my wife could spend money like a drunk sailor with a fist full of Viagra, and in reality I can point to several financial decisions that she took the lead on that felt wrong to me but I kept quiet in the interest of “happy wife, happy life” but it’s not all on her. We simply didn’t plan for the future and we made some poor decisions. To put a Seinfeldian spin on it, yadda yadda yadda we were foreclosed upon and were forced to declare bankruptcy. I never bounced back from that. A proud moment indeed.

OK, so they’re doing great and I have approximately enough money in my checking account to drive to the end of my driveway. Yes, that’s a problem. But as I continued to navigate the back roads of Maine, radio off and mind working overtime I realized that my checkered financial history was the least of what was bothering me.

The real problem was clear, I was disgusted that I had become such a stranger to a group of people that were once my world. Where did the time go?

To be continued…

Song lyric Sunday

Religious or not, we all sometimes want to just put something out to the universe in the way of a prayer, a cry for help or just relief.

If you ever feel that way, just play this song on high and sing along. When I first heard it I can honestly say it changed my life.

Half Dylan, half Hillsong, Christian-Stoner group Mondo Cozmo moved me to tears the first time I heard Shine. The vocals, the haunting background vocals and the lyrics are so incredibly powerful and unique. Maybe it’s because I received an organ transplant from a woman, but I get emotional when I hear it. It makes me think of a crowd of anxious, stressed out, and spiritually lost people standing in a field singing a non-denominational plea to the heavens for permission to just live, to love and to exist. Knowing that at the end of the day…

it will be alright.

I love this group, and I hope you do as well. You’re welcome.

Stick with me Jesus through the comin’ storm
I’ve come to you in search of something I have lost
Shine down a light on me and show a path
I promise you I will return if you take me back

Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go

My friends are so alone and it breaks my heart
My friends don’t understand we all are lost
Shine down a light on them and show a path
I promise you they will return if you take ’em back

Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go

Let it go

Oh, yeah

Come with me Mary through these modern lines
Stick with me Jesus til’ the end of time
Shine down a light on me and let me know
And take me in your arms and never let me go

Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high
Let ’em get stoned
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high (get high)
Let ’em get stoned (let ’em get stoned)
Everything will be alright if you let it go
Let ’em get high (let ’em get high)
Let ’em get stoned (let ’em get stoned)
Everything will be alright if you let it go

thanks to all about life for the inspiration.

Let’s talk about mortality

I woke this morning in the mood for a bit of spiritual refreshment. Yesterday, I spent most of the drive back from MA listening to Christian-Stoner music, an interesting genre, and I went to bed a little emotional. I decided to go to Church.

The day started off with Mom telling me in the car that I need to sing along with the hymns and read along with the “Responsive Readings.” Oy, I thought to myself, If she only knew how many times I had gone to church just to make her happy and she won’t stop pushing me. This is why I don’t often go. I had to remind her of my stance on the church. I hate the songs and I hate the responsive readings but I enjoy the sermon and the calming presence of many people in one room exhaling pure positivity into the otherwise tainted air. I stand but don’t sing or recite, and during prayers, I choose to have a moment of silence and contemplate an issue that is plaguing my heart. It’s still a positive experience. I’m just not into traditional religion. I call it the Kayak theory. It goes as follows: Religion is sitting in church thinking about Kayaking, Spirituality is sitting in a Kayak thinking about God. She doesn’t get it.

The Unitarian Church in town in a nice place to be, for 186 years it has accommodated many faiths and served as a wonderful nucleus of the community. As can be expected, everyone knows everyone. What is not expected is the extraordinary generosity of spirit and resources for such a poor NH town. So even though I don’t necessarily enjoy church, I get to see the people in town that I have grown fond of. They pray for me, are always asking about me so I show up once in a while.

We were early. While the early arrivers mingled I picked out a nice inconspicuous place to sit. I often get judgmental looks when I don’t sing or read along so I choose my seat carefully. Mom and Dave can sit together as a couple, I’ll just hide over here. As I waited for things to start I scanned the room for my buddy John. He was a regular and I fully expected and hoped to see him. He is one of my few friends up here. Despite the fact that he is 86 years old.

I felt a surprise tap on my shoulder, I turned and it was John. He had sat down behind me. He looked terrible. Gaunt was the first word that came to mind. Worse than the last time I saw him. We made small talk, I asked him rhetorically how he was feeling and before we knew it the service was starting. He leaned in and said, “I have to talk to you after.” I nodded him an assurance and we settled in. I had a bad feeling.

The service began with a prayer. I said one of my trademark Billy Mac prayers. Something along the lines of:

Dear higher power, whatever or whoever you are. Give me the strength to deal with ignorance and the patience to not strangle the idiots in my life. While you’re at it, let me know why I’m here and what you want from me. Please take care of the good people and back the Karma bus over the jagoffs. And if it’s not too much would you mind getting that little cutie in the next row to notice me, yeah the one wearing what appears to be a very poor choice of undergarment to church (thank you for that btw). Oh yeah, no one ever asks you how you are…hope you’re doing great. Peace brother…

After several agonizing hymns and a lot of sitting and standing, I sat through a very enjoyable sermon. It put me into the state of mind that I came in hoping to achieve. Before I knew it we were heading to the back room for some badly needed coffee. I found John sitting in a chair near the door, I marveled at how fast he got there. I grabbed a hot cup and sat down next to him. I asked him what he wanted to talk about.

“My funeral”, he said matter-of-factly. I was taken back a bit and it probably showed on my face.

“You mean the one that’s hopefully many years from now?” I inquired despite knowing that it wasn’t the case.

“Billy, I’m on the way out. I know it. I’m not wasting valuable time. I’m planning my funeral and I want you to promise that you’ll be there as a brother.” You see, John and I are fellow Freemasons, we refer to each other in our fraternity as “Brothers”. It is a bond that runs strong and deep.

He then began to list the other arrangements he was working on. He calmly recited the list, as one would a list of what was needed at the market. A full Military funeral was in the works. There would be a Navy contingency and a Marine contingency because he served in both. As he continued to list the details it became achingly apparent to me the life this man has lived. He knows what he has done in his life, and despite his humble nature, he wants it to be recognized. He has been guaranteed participation by all involved except by the Masons. And that’s where I come in. To relieve his anxiety over not receiving the service most valuable to him, the Masonic Funeral.

I assured him that I would make it happen. He patted me on the leg and said “I’ve known you for a year and from day one I knew you were a man of integrity. I know you won’t let me down.”

I was at a loss for words but I managed to say,“no more Billy Nason’s.”

He nodded in agreement, I had hit the nail on the head. Billy Nason was a police officer from my hometown that moved up here to retire. He was a good friend of my Father’s. He was a Mason for 62 years. Despite the fact that he was ill for a long time and his death was expected, the local chapter of Masons failed to galvanize enough support to give him a proper Masonic sendoff. I, and a few local brothers were seriously pissed off. A true Mason knows that there is nothing more important to a Mason than our ancient ceremony to send a brother to the Celestial Lodge above. I’m not sure anyone feels stronger than I about it and John knows it.

Freemasonry operates in obscurity. For hundreds of years, men of good character have gathered in privacy and operated with anonymity. It is the most charitable organization in the world. We don’t talk about it or advertise it, we just do it. For the wives and families of a Mason, it is not uncommon for them to not know what it is that the Mason in their home actually does when he is away from home. Yet they faithfully supported the brother in his endeavors. The Masonic funeral is the one service performed publicly, for the benefit of the family, to show them a bit of what he was involved in and how much his labors were valued. I have participated in at least a dozen, many times for a brother that I never met. I didn’t have to know him, I knew what type of man he was. Every time, the family was absolutely grateful for us doing it. It’s an enormous show of respect for a good man. Yet, some Masons fail to see the importance and the turnout can be small. It’s a sad display when a fraternity of millions worldwide draws 3 or 4 guys because they simply don’t get it.

Not me, I get it. My new but dear friend has entrusted me with ensuring a very important part in the send-off of a wonderful man. I won’t let him down.

It was a morbid yet transcendent moment. It was disconcerting to have a dying man, one that you respect deeply, talk about his own mortality but I was deeply honored that he tasked me with such an important role.

It was an eye-opener for sure. I went to church on a whim, feeling somewhat aimless. I left with a direction and a purpose. That’s what I went in for. Mission accomplished I suppose.

I went to a Garden Party

Have you ever heard this song? Because I can’t get it out of my head.

Went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn’t look the same

But it’s all right now, I learned my lesson well.
You see, ya can’t please everyone, so ya got to please yourself
Ricky Nelson
Garden Party

On Sunday I went to a 4^th of July party at my old friend Mark’s house. I’ve been in a weird place ever since.

I was so excited when the FB invitation hit my newsfeed 2 weeks ago. Mark is part of my old crew, a group of guys that I spent almost every social minute with. Mark, Scott, Paul, Ernie (real name Paul) and Johnny D (real name John) and I were inseparable from our supermarket days. My immediate reaction to the invitation was of a reunion with the boys, to laugh and drink beers and reminisce about the fun days we had. Those were the only days of my life that I can honestly call the “good old days.” Seeing these guys meant a lot to me because I have almost completely lost touch with all of them with the exception of Scott. I went to the page and clicked “going”.

Mark owns a beautiful 2^nd home on a private lake in ME, not too far from me. If the party was being held in MA, where we all hail from, I may not have gone due to the distance. Who am I kidding, I know that I would have tried to talk myself out of going anyway. While initially excited about seeing the guys, when I started thinking about my situation I began to have second thoughts.
What if I don’t feel well that day?
I have been day to day lately, the fatigue has been unpredictable and brutal.
Will there be swimming?
I’m not wearing shorts, my legs are swollen and embarrassing.
It’s supposed to be hot.
Again, the legs.
What if I don’t know anyone?
Scott and Mark will be there.
What if someone asks me what I’ve been up to?
Deal with it when it happens.

I decided that it would depend on who was going. I checked the page for responses and a couple of the guys had already declined. I texted Scott, if he was going I would make the trip. As it turns out, he was thinking the same way, he was going if I was. It was a date.

The party started at 2, I decided to arrive by 3. Arriving late is great when you want to make an inconspicuous entrance. Scott also had set his sights on 3 so I was hoping he would be on schedule.

I have been to Mark’s house once before but I wasn’t comfortable with doing it by memory so I turned on the iphone NAV. No signal. I decided to head in the general direction and hope for a signal. I missed a couple of turns and was about 5 miles away when my phone suddenly caught a signal. After all of the backtracking I arrived exactly at 3. When I got out of my truck I saw Scott and his wife Dana pulling in, Perfect.

Scott is the one guy in the group that I have maintained steady contact with. He is a good friend. Even when I was negligent with the communication, I would periodically get a text from him checking in. He has been diligent in asking how I am doing in life while most aren’t because they are afraid that if they ask me how I am…I might actually tell them. Since our mutual friend Paul passed away from Liver Cancer, we have been closer. Scott was very close to Paul, aware that he was sick and he took it hard. Understandably, because Paul was a saint among mere mortal men. I, being the guy that basically dropped out of sight didn’t know anything until Paul had passed. I was a combination of crushed and guilt-ridden. It really drove home the cost of losing touch. When he got out of the car I gave him a bro-hug. He looked great. He’s lost at least 60 pounds since the last time I saw him. I congratulated him.

I gave Dana a hug, I haven’t seen her in forever. She and Scott have been together for a long time and they have 2 great kids. I haven’t seen her in person in years but Facebook keeps us in touch. She used to always try to get us together as couples but it never happened.

We walked down the hill together, I was glad not to walk down alone. The view that awaited us was amazing. The house was enormous, facing the lake. Lots of windows and decks. The lawn was huge, leading to a private swimming area and boat dock. Games like Cornhole and Volleyball were set up for later and there were about 25 people in lawn chairs enjoying the breezy summer day. Mark immediately greeted us and proceeded to invite us in and give the tour. The house was perfect, well decorated with plenty of rooms but livable, not glamorous. We then went to mingle with the guests, a combination of his family, co-workers, neighbors and business associates. We were introduced to a few and I shrunk into a lawn chair next to Scott and Dana and tried to blend in.

to be continued…

the Hotel pool

I recently had the opportunity to stay at a very nice hotel. Room service, sheets with a high thread count, indoor and outdoor pool. The works.

After a few cocktails at the hotel bar, I stopped by the indoor pool. It was late and the water was inviting,

Then the unthinkable happened, I got busted by Hotel security peeing in the pool. Embarrassing,

The guy yelled at me so loud I almost fell in…

38,325 days…the later years

This is the 7^th and final installment of my series on the remarkable life of my late Grandmother Marion. You can check the archives for the previous installments. I hope you enjoy.

When I left off my Grandfather had passed away at the age of 92. At the time, they were living in a really nice Assisted Living community. I feel the need to mention this because Marion was one of the only residents who didn’t need assistance.

They moved out of their tiny, quaint home into this facility on the condition that their house would not be sold while they were alive. With that detail secured, they made the move to a very small apartment in a building that could always be identified by the Ambulance parked out front with the engine running. The transition was difficult for Marion, there was only room for a small amount of her furniture in the apartment but she managed to take the pieces that made her the happiest and the rest went into storage. The place did have its advantages, there were other residents to make friends with, they didn’t have to worry about treacherous stairs and shoveling driveways anymore, and transportation was provided by the town. They were also offered extensive Visiting nursing care…Marion would have none of it. It wasn’t until my Grandfather started to really fail that she accepted the medical assistance. After he passed away, she had little difficulty caring for her apartment and for herself. She did accept the services of the volunteer “companions.” Some she became quite close with, others were unceremoniously shown the door. She wasn’t lonely. She disliked 80% of her neighbors for some reason or other (we never knew and stopped asking) but made a small circle of friends that kept her busy. She lived like this for years with little or no medical care. She watched her soap operas, went to the Senior center and lived for company, especially from my 4 kids, her great-grandchildren, who she absolutely adored.

My parents had retired to NH and only came down to visit Marion and maintain her house in order to resell it someday. I had a large house at the time so it made sense to have holidays at my house. I loved hosting the holidays. I had a big table to seat large groups, many chairs, and sofas to sleep off the inevitable food coma and several rooms so that we could all spread out. One of the big upsides of hosting was not having to take my kids out. They were free to be at home and be as wild or as mellow as they wanted. And they had a great room to get away from the adults. The previous owners had converted the garage into a giant “playroom” and after dinner that’s where you would find them.

One Thanksgiving, when Marion was 97 years old, she got off of the sofa after a brief siesta and went to the playroom to see what her beloved Great-Grandchildren were doing. The room entrance had a 1-inch drop that we were careful to tell people about. She did fine as she crossed over and checked on the kids. After she had watched them be wild and crazy for awhile she turned to exit the room. She failed to remember the step up and she went down. Hard. On her face. She didn’t even get her arms out. I was across the room, I didn’t have time to catch her, I could only watch in slo-mo as she went down. I will never forget the sickening sound as she hit the floor. She was in great pain. We called 911 and kept her still. The paramedics arrived and we all went outside to give them room. As they wheeled her out, her face bloodied, the paramedic leans into me and says, “Sir, your grandmother is 97 and claims that she’s not on any medications? Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is,” I replied. “Unless you count a daily aspirin.”

He continued on in amazement. An hour later she was released, the only injury she sustained was a broken tooth.

Later that year she was moved to a Nursing home after she developed some Gastrointestinal issues and was being hospitalized frequently. She wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, she had just had surgery and had a Colostomy bag installed. She hated the bag and refused to learn how to care for herself with it. They wouldn’t let her leave until she mastered it but she was too stubborn. So stubborn that she asked to have the surgery reversed so that she could “use the crapper like everyone else”. At age 98 she was deemed healthy enough to do the surgery. She breezed through the surgery, amazed the doctors and moved to another assisted living facility. Incredible.

Previous to her 100^th birthday, we called Good Morning America and requested that Al Roker feature her on the show. He did such stories all of the time and we hoped she would get a mention. He never responded. Marion shrugged her shoulders, said “the hell with him, dismissed it and moved on. Unfazed, we still gave her a hell of a party at the home. She shared her “Flag Cake” with everyone as she cheerfully, and without assistance, devoured her slice.

Her 101^st, 102^nd and 103^rd birthdays would find her still alert, pushing her wheelchair with her feet around the entire facility, accusing people of stealing from her. When we visited her, they had to find her for us because she was never in her room.

Her 103^rd birthday party was the last birthday my father, who was very ill with Parkinson’s disease, would spend with her. One very profound memory of that day, other than her recalling the name of her class President from her HS class of 1929, was her eating her favorite “Flag” cake without assistance…as we fed my father his because he was unable.

7 months after her 104th birthday, Marion started losing strength and would become bedridden. She was finally slipping mentally as well. To this point, with brief moments of not knowing what decade she was in, she was sharp as could be. Those “lapses” now became the norm. She was still alert, and when we visited her she had moments of clarity. But she was depressed and kept asking for Mel, her late husband. We increased our visitations, knowing the end was near.

5 weeks before her 105^th birthday, she stopped taking nutrition. She had shriveled to a mere shadow of her former self and barely spoke. She did little more than writhe around in her bed, moaning. It seemed like she was attempting to communicate but we didn’t know if it was us or if she was dreaming. On April 28^th, we were summoned by the nursing staff, they felt Marion would pass that day. My mother and I arrived and we were asked if there was any other family coming. My mother explained that the calls had been made but it would be a couple of days before some of them could make it. “But that’s too late” the nurse stated, “she won’t make it that long.”

My mother, as if in a trance and someone was speaking through her, said “No, she won’t die until May 2^nd. The day her husband passed away.” The nurse was in disbelief. “Trust me,” Mom said. “I’m right about this.”

Marion, as predicted, passed away on May 2^nd of 2015 just weeks shy of her 105^th birthday. Her only medical condition was Scottish Alzheimer’s, a condition in which you forget everything except who you don’t like. I used that joke when I delivered her eulogy. I got a few laughs. I know she would have liked it.

Her funeral was sparsely attended, she outlived all of her friends and most of her family. It was hard to be sad, we instead celebrated her incredible life. If we mourned we only mourned the loss of the values, strength, and integrity that we will never find in any other generation than hers.

God bless, Marion. And Godspeed to you. We’re all better for knowing you.