humor – Page 25 – The Tao of Bill

Dreams and the Easter kiss

I am a very fitful sleeper. I rarely sleep for more than three hours, I never wake up in the position that I fell asleep in and I have very vivid and realistic dreams. I truly wish that I could remember them and write them down because there are some very telling things going on. I dream of people I actually know, sometimes interacting with people I don’t, celebrities and people I barely know from a long time ago. I retain certain details but not enough. Too bad because there is some great blogging material there.

With all of the changes going on in my life of late, it’s no surprise that my mind is racing. Health issues, financial problems and now a pending divorce are always at the forefront of my mind.

Last night was a particularly memorable one on the dream front. I know that I had several bad ones, details escape me, but I woke up with a headache at 2 AM so I know I was squinting and tossing and turning a lot. I drank some water, popped a tylenol and went back to sleep. I then dreamt of the “Easter kiss”.

Most of the details of the dream escape me but I vividly remember that at the end I found myself in a car with my wife, driving somewhere unimportant, and we began discussing the pending divorce. I asked her why she initiated the process, jokingly asking her if she had been cheating on me. Her answer was a nonchalant “I have.” She began to list all of the men that she had affairs with and how she met them. One of the liaisons occurred at a place I do remember, a gym that I used to go to about 20 years ago. She then told me that I shouldn’t be surprised after the “Easter Kiss.” I asked her if I was supposed to remember this incident and she said: “I’m sure I told you.” I remember being beside myself with anger and frustration. And then I was woken by a text alert on my phone. It was my wife telling me when our first hearing for the divorce was.

It took me a while to collect my thoughts before I responded to her. That dream was real close to home. In reality, I have wondered why she suddenly decided to divorce after letting things stay the way they were for so long. I wondered if she had met someone. I would actually welcome it, I would like her to be happy. But I have never, ever suspected her of infidelity. She is a very honest person and despite all of our differences I always trusted her. I was rattled.

I told her about it this morning. She laughed it off. She told me that she’s not like that. To her credit, she’s not. But I can’t get it out of my head, where did I get the “Easter Kiss” from.

Strange days indeed

great idea…someone else can do it

Leopards have spots, Zebras have stripes, people will always be a disappointment. Some things never change.

I am not usually one to promote such fatalistic, gloomy stuff but I’m entitled. I am a big believer in people. I believe in their basic goodness, that most people are decent and charitable beings and are worth investing in. Some people are a bit more difficult but I try to assume is good until proven otherwise. I was raised that way.

Some are held to a higher standard. When I joined Freemasonry, the oldest fraternity in the world, I joined in hopes of being around men of the character of its most famous members, founding fathers, presidents and civic leaders. The appeal of Freemasonry was to follow in the footsteps and surround myself with good men. Men of character, with a strong moral compass who dedicate their time and resources to improving their family, their community and themselves. Freemasonry was a natural draw for me, they are low-key in their labors for the community and seek no accolades or praise. The best giving is anonymous giving.

I joined and immediately became an enthusiastic, active member. I volunteered at charity events like blood drives, medical equipment loaner programs, and other such activities. I spent time with some great men, many much older than me, and I learned a lot from them.

Our lodge, or meeting place is a special place. Within our walls, there is a strong sense of fraternity and friendship. Participation is encouraged, selflessness is required. Members are asked to step forward, not wait to be asked, to offer ways to improve our fraternity and our lodge. I eagerly stepped forward. Dare I say I jumped into the pool. I joined committees and local organizations as an envoy or ambassador. I enjoyed it immensely, it was good for my character. Unfortunately, I noticed too late that I was one of the only ones. Everyone else was stepping back and letting me do all the work.

I tried not to get annoyed, but after 3 years of it, I noticed that if I didn’t step up things weren’t happening. I began to feel taken advantage of. So I slowly weaned myself off. I was still active in meetings but I started asking for help, for others to step up and join me, or actually do it without me. I talked of good things; coat drives for veterans, food drives for the local food bank, money for the school kids that needed things outside of traditional programs. Crickets in the room.

Freemasons take upon themselves an obligation. Part of that is to be selfless, support our brethren and be charitable within your means. I began to realize that my brothers weren’t living up to their obligations.

This year I ran into some life-changing events. I told my brothers that I would not be available for much this year, that my usual assignments would have to be delegated. I am very sorry, but not surprised to report that as of today they have not replaced me, that activity is at an all-time low, that our charities are suffering and our attendance is a joke. I should feel bad. But I don’t.

I learned something. Even though an organization has a long history of above-average people, “better men” to their credit they are, at the end of the day regular people. And regular people can be a disappointment. Some things will never change.

The Scorpion and the Frog

The first time I heard the story of the Scorpion and the Frog it stuck like glue. After all, isn’t one of the eternal questions “can man really change?” I wanted to believe that people are capable of change but as I get older I am less confident. I do believe that people can improve, but our demons, our bad habits, are still there.

I used to be an unforgiving prick. I once told an old high school classmate, who had tracked me down (before the age of FB when it was a lot harder) in my early twenties. He had sought me out to apologize for wronging me in HS. He was in step 9, making amends. Despite his great effort and sincerity, my answer was to tell him to go Fuck himself. Not a proud moment. I’m not a hateful guy, in fact, I am generally known as a nice guy. I just have a problem with forgiveness.

As I got older, and my blood pressure was increasing, I taught myself to let some things go. Part of that was to forgive. It required me to control, not change my nature. Anger, stress, and bitterness are a burden to carry around. It is a weight that affects your body as much as carrying actual weight. I committed to it. Since then I have forgiven people that deserve it, and some that don’t. I have given second chances to people that I normally wouldn’t. It’s the right thing to do. I’m better, and lighter, for it.

A self-aware man is a walking dichotomy. He is two men; the one he is and the one he wants to be. The only way to achieve the second is to improve and refine the first. He needs to recognize his flaws, move past his own ego and change it. This is a great way to ensure a great future. It does not, however, do anything about his past.

Past behavior is a great descriptor of a man’s nature. Your “nature” is usually defined as your most visible, known attribute. It is what people reflect on at your funeral. “Ahhhh, he was a real genuine guy”, “he was a generous guy”, “she was a kind soul”. My father measured a man’s nature by whether or not someone would or would not “give you the shirt off of his/her back”. It’s your legacy.

I have become very concerned about my legacy lately. Even though I have twenty +- years left I have had enough reality checks to know that it is not too soon to work on my legacy. It isn’t a tremendous undertaking, I have rectified most of my past mistakes in which I think I may have hurt someone. But I have a few left.

Today, on my way up from a doctor’s appointment I decided to do a pop-in on an old friend who had just bought a business near me. He and I go way back but haven’t spoken in many years because I offended him at his wedding. I brought to his wedding a guest that he warned me would upset his new bride. He was correct on that one. It wasn’t pretty and I took a lot of heat about it. We really haven’t spoken since.

I found his place and I gathered myself in the car before I went in. I found him under the hood of a ’79 Lincoln doing what he does best. I got his attention by cracking a weak joke about a car that I used to bring to him. He recognized me right away and we began to talk. It really never reached friendly, I could tell he wasn’t any happier to see me than a guy selling him a new socket wrench. I didn’t offer the apology today, it wasn’t the right time. I just asked if we can get together sometime for a beer and talk. He gave me a non-committal “sure that sounds great” and excused himself to go back to work. I left.

He’s still pissed and that’s ok. I’m the first person to tell you that just because someone is willing to be forgiven doesn’t mean someone is ready to forgive him. He probably thinks that I haven’t changed. That my nature is still the hard-charging, screw the consequences type that I was twenty years ago.

There is still time for him to decide if he would let me get on his back for a ride across the river.

Facebook and real friends

“Hi, I’m Bill and I’m addicted to Facebook.” Sorry, wrong meeting.

I have the same love/hate relationship with FB that I have with alcohol. I use both frequently but monitor myself carefully for addiction.

FB has served my generation well because I didn’t have it when I was young so I remember life before it. It allows me to recognize the difference between FB life and real life. There are FB friends and then there are real friends. You can have both on social media.

Here are my thoughts on different types of FB users.

It is very useful and enjoyable to keep up with the lives of people I went to school with or formerly worked with. I like knowing what they are up to, it’s like following their lives.

I hate the vague posts begging for attention. People who put up shit like “grrrr so aggravated!” without explaining why are clearly begging for someone to say “awww what’s the matter honey?” or “I love you sweetie let me know if I can help you.”. Those compliment-baiters drive me crazy.

People don’t need to check in everywhere they go. First of all, nothing says “break into my house I’ll be gone for awhile” like detailing every step of your Tuesday afternoon shopping trip. And I don’t need to see a pic of every meal you eat.

Too much politics and hate. We all have an opinion, it comes down to how we express it. Getting political on FB is asking for trouble because of Facebook Balls, the phenomena in which complete strangers get real tough and mean with you from the safety of their keyboards.

It causes more divorces than can be measured. The tendency to flirt through messenger or reach out drunkenly to the “one that got away” leads to bad things. I know of what I speak. Moral of the story, if you can’t stop, learn how to use the delete button.

I use Facebook to keep up with people. I follow a lot of (credible) news sites. I belong to several pages dedicated to my chronic illness on which I have made some good friends, gotten and given valuable support. I only post positive things that I would want my own mother to see. I keep my content clean and positive and I eliminate those who piss on my threads. Every once in a while, however, Facebook shows you something special.

Sunday I shared a sentimental blog post that I wrote about the anniversary of the passing of my father

https://goodtobealivetoday.wordpress.com/2017/12/03/talking-to-granite/

to Facebook (almost no one on this site read it but I digress). It was emotional and I think it was well-written. It generated a ton of response. Some real love flowed onto my page. It occurred to me too late that such a post can be construed as an attempt to elicit sympathy. NOT what I was going for. I was simply imploring people to tell those in their lives that they are loved…before it is too late to tell them. But I found that there are people on my friends’ list that I thought were only FB friends but were instead actual friends. One response was particularly moving.

As soon as the post appeared on my wall I got an inbox message from James, my former assistant.

“Hey bro, I was just thinking of you and your post popped up. I wanted to tell you how much I miss working with you, you’re one of my favorite people in the world. How are you?”

We went back and forth for a while. I was truly moved by some of the things he said. James was my assistant for 5 years. He was a great, and frustrating co-worker. Intelligent but cocky; resistant to being taught anything but a quick learner when he did; a classic underachiever yet thorough and reliable. I sometimes wondered if he ever absorbed any of the things I tried so hard to teach him. It turns out he did. I am grateful for him as well, he balanced me out. He isn’t just a co-worker or a FB friend. He is an actual friend.

too soon…?

You wouldn’t know by looking at her, she is 5 foot 2 and 104 lbs, but my mom is a real tough woman. Nothing gets her down. After burying her second husband in 3 years she went to a “grief group”. Once. She never went back, she said the people there needed to “get over it already”. I thank God every day that I inherited her ability to bounce back and not dwell on the past. She’s not cold, she just insists on always moving forward. This is a wonderful quality. At least it was until she decided she wanted to date again and joined a dating website.

I am torn by this. She says that she has never been alone and part of her needs a relationship. She’s not looking for a husband, just someone to spend time with. I don’t want to stand in her way but I warned her of what she is getting into. But, convinced that our area is too small for her to meet anyone she insisted. I myself have never done online dating but I know many who do and they have told some stories. I quietly sat back and waited for the storm.

My mother is an attractive woman. She doesn’t look her age and she has a very youthful attitude. Her profile exploded the day it was posted. Men from as far away as Oregon contacted her, opening with lines such as “willing to relocate”. Not one response from anyone less than 100 miles away. Against my advice, she responded to most and gave out her cell # and email. She became as glued to her iPhone as my 15-year-old daughter. She wouldn’t tell me but she was chatting for hours with these guys. She didn’t share what was going on with me until one night when she said “this one says he loves me” and shook her head in disbelief. He loves her, by email. He’s 5 states away.

I had to step in. I asked her to let me use my (quantified) ability to judge a person’s character and assist in the “weeding out process”. In doing so I discovered the real problem; she is too nice to shut someone down. If they email her she will respond. I told her she needs to set parameters. Set a distance requirement, not divulge her cell #. So far she has had 2 lunch dates, one of which was nothing like his profile and the other used a profile pic that was at least 20 years old. She has had 2 “very successful” men find themselves stranded at customs without credit cards asking her for money. To her credit, she eventually told them to stop contacting her but she let it go too far. I had to take the phone from her once to tell one guy that he was to stop calling her or he would have to deal with me. I wasn’t very pleasant and I think he soiled himself.

I am very bothered by this process but I am helpless to stop it. It’s what she wants. I love my mother, I want her to be happy and I won’t stand in her way. But I find myself in hyper-protective mode. She is fairly well-off financially and I fear that someone will take advantage of that. My worst fear, of course, is that someone may harm her. I find that the roles are reversing. She raised me and protected me. Now I find myself protecting her. I can handle the role, but I feel awful bad for the poor bastard that does her wrong.

delays, delays

I haven’t been able to write lately. I wasn’t feeling it. I have been reading the works of the great bloggers that I follow but that’s it. I’m in pain. This is notable because I have a notorious tolerance for pain and I’m still suffering here.

Last weekend I had my youngest son for the long weekend. It was great having him. We were fortunate enough to have a couple of unseasonably warm days so we were outside a lot. Target practice with the pellet guns and yard work. He wanted to learn how to split wood so I indulged him. He’s one of those kids who is immediately good at everything he tries and it wasn’t long before he was splitting logs with the ax with precision and strength. I let him chop while I stacked. But I made the mistake of standing too close and as he struck one log I watched helplessly, as if it was slo-mo like on TV, as a half log shot left and hit me on the left shin. I yelled out initially then curbed my reaction so that he wouldn’t feel bad, it wasn’t intentional. But it hurt like a sumbitch, and it still does.

Fast forward to Tuesday and I can barely walk. The pain is the kind that radiates through the entire body. In addition, I noticed that my fistula, a surgically created port for dialysis, is swollen, red and sore to the touch. I have had it for 8 years, it has never been used because I was fortunate enough to get a transplant without being on dialysis. It has never been swollen, red or sore. I knew I had a problem. So I called my transplant team.

Anything other than a cold or flu goes through my transplant team due to my history. When I explained to them what was going on they referred me to PCP. I questioned them on that, isn’t the fistula a pretty major thing? But they were insistent so I made an immediate appt for the next day. Yesterday I drove 2 hours to meet a Dr. whose first reaction was “why didn’t your transplant team feel that this was worthy of their time?” Facepalm moment. She immediately left the room and called them. I was confused by her urgency. My confusion was eradicated when she came back in. She had told them that I have cellulitis, a potentially deadly bacterial infection, in my fistula. She then told me that they now want to see me. Facepalm again.

I wish that people would just listen to me. I am in tune, I know what is going on with my body. Now I am going to have extra appointments and more driving. Which I can’t do because I’m ordered to have the leg and arm elevated until the antibiotics kick in. I take cellulitis seriously, it almost killed me in 2006. White light, tunnel, the works. A random bed check is the only reason I’m alive today. I’m not going to lie, beyond annoyed at unnecessary delays I’m a little concerned.

when the student becomes the master

“What are you talking about?” I said to my son. “I’m nice as can be.”

“Dad, all I’m saying is you seem different. Less patient. You’re not the same. Just pointing it out.” This came out of left field to me. My youngest son and I were in a Wal-Mart checking out car stereos, having a great time and he drops this on me. Apparently, I had made quite the facial expression when a toddler in the next aisle let out a blood-curdling shriek. I explained to him that it wasn’t that I was angry at the child, or the parent for that matter, I just have a very low tolerance for loud noises.

“It’s not just that.” He informed me. “You were wicked inpatient in the supermarket and hardware store today. It’s not like you. You’ve always been the guy that smiled at people and let little things go.”

He was right. Well, mostly correct. I suppose that in my transition from a fast-paced area to a relaxed community I have not yet adapted to the difference in pace. I still walk fast and when shopping, for example, I am all business. People up here tend to move slowly, stand obliviously in your way and I guess it shows on my face. It’s not that I’m not nice to people, I just get annoyed at the aloofness of people. I can see how it would look otherwise. Annoyed at first, I quickly realized that this was a teachable moment. Even for this old dog. The kid is sharp and I admire the hell out of his ability to just speak his mind.

The student becomes the master.

I suppose I could take this opportunity to call this a parenting victory. But it’s not. He’s just a very smart, observant and very chill young man. He was up visiting me for the long weekend. His 18th birthday was the day after Thanksgiving and I was getting him some speakers for his car. Because we don’t spend much time together anymore, we are not as used to each other as we were. He saw a change in my behavior and he called me on it. I could be angry but I’m not. I needed it.

I have taken some hits lately and I’m really trying to be that positive guy that everyone counts on to be in a good mood. But it’s become a job. He reminded me to be the person that he apparently looked up to.

As we were leaving the store he told me to meet him at the front of the store, he was going to use the bathroom. I sat on a bench and waited for him. When he came out, I stood up and looked him in the eye and said “You’re right.”

“About what?” He asked.

“About me not being as nice as I used to be. I’ll work on it.”

“Good ’nuff” he said and turned and started walking towards the door. I watched the handsome, 6-foot tall young man with the hat turned backward and confident yet easy-going gait and thought to myself I did something right with that one.

Day 16…a letter to my family

To my Family:

This coming Thursday is Thanksgiving. It is one of my favorite holidays. It was always one of the three days of the year that we sat down as a family for a meal. Because of your mother and I’s career choices, the family dinner was never a part of our family routine.

Every Thanksgiving in recent memory has typically been a stressful letdown in some fashion. Mom would decline her mother’s invite to her beautiful condo and an amazing spread because her mother “stresses her out”. The end result would be you not seeing your grandmother on a holiday. I would wake up early and get the bird in the oven and prep everything else for the meal. Mom could be counted on to yell instructions that I didn’t need from the bedroom without getting out of bed. Once she did get up she would criticize the way I did everything. Kids, you would be in the living room trying not to notice the rising tensions in the kitchen as I simply tried to be a good dad and make a nice meal. You knew Mom was aggravating me but you don’t dare to say anything for fear of setting her off. Thankfully, the guests still willing to come to our house will arrive and everyone will act cordial.

Appetizers would be served, I would pour the first of many cocktails that I would consume that day. Mom would be busy trying to be nice to my mother, who has never been anything but nice to Mom. I would poke my head into the living room periodically to see how everyone is doing while the meal progressed. When the turkey came out of the oven, we would gather everyone to the table and sit.

You kids would start eating until I remind you to wait. We never ate together as a family, and never said Grace so it’s not your fault. You just forgot that your mother would insist that we all go around the table and say what we are thankful for. When it is my turn, you will all make fun in anticipation of mine because one year I made the mistake of being sincere and loving and was mercilessly teased about it.

We would all eat too fast and run out of awkward conversation too soon. You kids would leave the table before I wanted you to, my fault for wanting to savor the rare moment of having all of you together and in front of me. Mom would have a panic attack on dishes and start cleaning the kitchen. The remaining of us would nurse our cocktails or coffees then retire to watch football.

If I was able to get this far without Mom telling me to “go fuck myself” about something then I was in the clear. She was full and content and it would be at least an hour before she started complaining about how fat she was.

The rest of the day would be smooth. Our guests would leave and we would all go our separate ways.

That is how most Thanksgivings went. Incredibly, I wish this year will be the same.

This year we will be at a restaurant because we don’t have a home together anymore. We haven’t been together as a family in almost a year. We will get a big table. Mom and I will pretend to get along and awkwardly smile over our wine glasses knowing that we just talked about divorce but we aren’t going to tell you kids about it yet. We will have a great meal and then go off in three different directions.

This is our life now. Everyday life is hard enough. Holidays just suck.

I wish more than anything that things were different. That we were the happy family that I always wanted. I am thankful that I have such a wonderful relationship with you, my children even though our family dynamic stinks. Maybe you know, maybe you don’t but I stayed for 10 more years, and holiday seasons, than I ever thought possible just to extract as much joy as I could from them.

My happiness will never matter as much to me as yours. I hope that your memories of our time together will include some happy ones, that your idea of family is a healthy one despite your own experiences. If you have good memories then I will have succeeded as a husband and father.

Day 15… A letter to my community

Dear small New England Town:

There was a time when this town was my only vacation outlet. As a child, I spent every weekend of the summer here. We had a campsite in one of the campgrounds right on the banks of the lake. I spent some of the best times of my life in that campground. Sun-soaked days on the lake, campfires at night. I learned to do so many things and made so many friends. I fondly remember the excitement of everyone showing up at the beginning of the season after a long winter. Anticipating the fun ahead. Bittersweet memories of late summer nights, lying in the field and gazing at the stars knowing that the summer was almost over and school would soon start.

As I grew older, and my family moved on from a campground to a house I visited less. I was a young guy with a job, the occasional girlfriend, and friends. All of which made the 2-hour drive less desirable.

When I got married and had children we came up as often as we could. My children always loved it up here. They got to do all of the things that I did as a child. Just not as often. We were limited to day trips, and only if the weather was projected to be nice. We felt that other than the beach there is nothing to do here.

When Dad retired Mom and Dad made a life up here. They turned a small Chalet into a much larger, year-round house with a garage and a lawn. They became full-time residents here in 2001. I didn’t know how they did it. Other than the beach what was there to do here? I could never grasp the pace. With the exception of the 4th of July parade, the town seemed pretty dead.

I am now a full-time resident of this town and I will be for the foreseeable future. While I was driven here by less than ideal circumstances, I have to admit I love it here. The town is beautiful. The air is clean. The people are nice. The buildings are old. And the pace is just the way I like it.

I have come to the conclusion that my body has been breaking for a long time. I blame it on trying to maintain a pace that I am not capable of anymore. The hustle and bustle of my former life were killing me and I am not cut out for it anymore. I don’t know how I managed so long. But my new pace will extend my life.

I can’t step outside without childhood memories washing over me. When I sit by the lake I still see Dad’s smiling, tanned face as he drove the boat. Mom in tow on waterskis smiling from ear to ear. At night, I take a deep breath and savor the smell of wood-burning stoves. I still look up at the starlit sky, but now I see hope.

I will experience my first winter in this wonderful town. I am here for better or for worse. I plan on enjoying it. Getting involved in the town. I want to meet as many of the people as I can. I want to be accepted, for I am now a resident, not just a seasonal visitor.

Day 14…a letter to my favorite professor

Dear Professor “AARP”

I want to thank you for the “elective” that I stumbled over and loved the most.

It was registration day, the second half of my Junior year of college and I needed a fifth class. I saw “Geriatric Psychology” on the list of courses with openings and I thought what the hell? I registered.

Little did I know that you, the professor, were “Geriatric” as well. A very dapper, very vibrant but clearly elderly gentleman was teaching a course on the psychology of, well, himself! I knew I was in for a fun ride.

You insisted on being known as “Professor AARP”. It broke the ice a bit. You spoke to us at great length of what it is like to be old. To feel minimized, irrelevant, past one’s prime. The significance of a driver’s license and how it ties into one’s independence. Asking for help with tasks that were once easy. And on a more intimate note, you made us think about how much advancement people your age have witnessed in your lifetime. I don’t think my classmates had thought much about these things until they met you.

As far as I was concerned, you were preaching to the choir. I have always enjoyed the company of older people. As a child, my Grandparents took me frequently to their events and their friends loved me. I was fascinated by their tales, by what they had seen in their lives. I love the stories of how “it” used to be. Dating was called “courting”. They “went steady” with their favorite “gal” or “guy”. Their music. The fact that they wore suits to go the supermarket.

You were no exception. When I asked you to join me for a coffee in the cafe one day after class you said: “why do you want to hang out with an old guy like me.” I told you that I saw no such guy. We talked many times over coffee that semester. You were at the tail end of your career, bordering on retirement. This was the last time you would teach this class because it was being dropped from the curriculum. You found that very telling in and of itself. I told you how much I was enjoying it. I think it mattered to you.

It was just an elective, but you sir were not just a professor. You were a very nice man with a refreshing outlook on life that many could learn from. I can’t speak for everyone but I certainly learned a lot from you. I still, to this day have many elderly friends. I think of you often as I spend time with them. You were a friend.

I suspect that you have been gone for at least 20 years as I write this. Clearly, you made an impact on someone.

A grateful student.

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