A Greeting Card
I had to go out for a greeting card for my Uncle this weekend. Somehow, I’d overlooked getting him a card. Receiving his in the mail was an ‘oh, shit,’ moment.
We have some on hand but none work for him. My father is the oldest. This uncle is one of Dad’s younger brothers, the older of the two younger brothers. There are also two sisters, all still alive and in their seventies and eighties. Uncle P was in the Air Force at the same time as I was, stationed in the San Antonio area when I went through basic training there. I was eighteen. He and his family treated me to Thanksgiving (Detroit and Dallas played) and took me out to do things when I earned free time and passes. Later, now married, I was stationed in the area on permanent assignment. Uncle P and his family again gave us a place to go, a family to connect with thousands of miles from home.
He’s endured the usual life movements. Children grew and married. Grandchildren were born. He had three children, two daughters and a son, ranging in age from one to six years younger than me.
Uncle P’s wife died of breast cancer four years ago. His youngest daughter died in 2020. His son died in 2021. Cancer for both. One daughter remains, but she’s a gem.
So, finding the right card for him was challenging. The cards were picked over, of course. Several stores were visited. Eventually the right card was found to help tell this man how much he’s meant to me and my wife, how sorry we are for his losses, how we hope that 2022 is a brighter year for him.
It’s a lot for a card to carry.
Sunday’s Theme Music
It’s either the start or the end but it seems like the middle, too, because there’s never a pause. The days keep coming and going.
Today’s visitor is Sunday, December 19, 2021. Weather here is blustery, my friends, with bloated clouds puffing up their white chests and declaring, “Maybe I’ll rain. Who knows? Depends on how I feel.” The temperature is climbing the incline toward a high of 47 F. After trudging since sunup at 7:35 AM, it’s reached 46. Should manage 47 by sunset at 4:41 PM, donchathink?
That holds one of the period’s more interesting aspects for me. Sunrise continues getting later, minute by minute. But sunset had a pause, and now is slowly scaling back. Of course, we’re coming to that symbolic day when it’s the shortest of the year up north and longest of the year down south. Call it symbolic because your days may vary.
I’m in a funk again. Never a merry person at the yearly holidays — they want to socialize, and I’m not adept at the s thing — it adds stress, you know? — and I like my routines — a myriad of minor issues has sprouted to layer more stress and frustration. Lay this all on top of COVID restrictions and I’m as happy as a clam on warm cement road: not where I desire to be. So, today’s morning music mental stream occupant — the MMMSO, pronounced meso, if you’re tracking at home — is a 1966 Cream song, “I Feel Free”. Yes, this is a redundant theme song offering. Was just used on a Friday in March of 2021, when the sun rose at 7:06 AM and set at 7:30 PM. So, sue me. Or turn the page. Swipe right. Click away. (“Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and click away…”) But it’s special circumstances, innit? Motivation music to break out of the encumbrances levied on us by season, situation, and strife.
Stay positive, test negative, and be circumspect, as Doctor Fauci suggests — weigh the risks, wear masks as needed, and get the vaccine and booster when ye can. I’m off on a coffee quest. It’ll take me far away from here, all the way into the kitchen, almost twenty-two feet as the cats jog. Here’s the music. Cheers
Space and Time
He sits in a chair and closes his eyes
With the space of a breath
He becomes another guy
Living in another place and time
Where he sits in a chair and closes his eyes
Ever becoming another guy
Living in another space and time
Nothing is done
Everything’s changed
And all is the same
Never rearranged
Except he sits in his chair
And closes his eyes
And becomes another guy
In another space and time
Saturday’s Theme Music
Saturday falls on us like a time-released drug. So much to do! Or not to do. Depends on your point of view. I speak of Saturday but for some, Saturday comes on a Wednesday. That’s how their work or school week flows.
Today is October 2, 2021. October 4, 1974 is when I enlisted in the USAF, so back on October 2, 1974, I was readying myself to leave. First airplane flight; until then, it’d been buses or cars. Now here was the big jet, carrying me across the country to Texas. My girlfriend, who became my wife a year later, was more nervous than me. I was just going away. My childhood would officially end. Eighteen years old, a few months removed from high school graduation, I was ready.
Sunrise today was at 7:09 AM. Sunset will arrive at 6:51 PM. Temperatures again, cool this morning, 50 F, will rise into the seventies. The world keeps on turning.
With that, I go to the mental music stream, where Fleetwood Mac is performing “World Turning” from 1975. I heard it when I was on leave, readying myself to go on my first overseas tour, fifteen months without my wife. We’ve done a lot together since then. Have had many disagreements. Separated with plans to end it. But here we are, still together. World keeps turning. Shit happens but the world keeps turning. Probably sums up my general approach to existence.
I like this live recording (love that paradox of modern terminology) of the song. Had not heard this version before now. It works.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax and boosters. Also get coffee. That’s where I’m going. Peace out.
Slippage
- Slippage in my personal use is about losing track. Time. Lists. Progress.
- Slippage is heavy when I’m writing. Clocks disappear from my LOS when I don the writing hat. I’m in that other world. Following characters. Contact tracing cause and effect. Studying dialogue. Typing, typing, typing, typing. Surprise overcomes me when I discover that I’ve been at it for an hour or two. My ass is sore. Numb. Coffee gone or cold. I’m hungry. Writing usurps everything. I feel satisfied when I’m done. And starving to do more. But other matters call.
- Because I have lists. Tasks. Chores. Necessary Actions for Modern Life. Balancing accounts. Paying bills. Buying food. Cleaning litter boxes. Talking to people. Socializing. It’s all so draining. Give me the damn keyboard and leave me alone.
- I tend to avoid writing long posts for these reasons. Keep it short and simple. Use energy for longer stuff for my writing projects.
- I feel like I’m suffering from low energy. Might have to do with the smoky situation outside. I peer outside the window and catch the sunshine and blue sky and become happy. Look forward to a walk. An hour later, the smoke has closed its tentacles on the street. Blizzard-like visibility develops. Step outside. Smell the stench. Feel the nostrils sting. The sinus headache begins. Eyes dry out. Energy fizzles. Spirit implodes.
- Could also have to do with COVID-19. We — our county — is one of the nation’s hotspots. As prominent anti-vaxxers and mask deniers sicken and die with COVID-19, my county’s citizens continue protesting. Masks are not effective, they claim. COVID-19 is not serious in their estimation. The vaccine can’t be trusted. These positions make going to the stores or anywhere else a daunting effort. We mask. Others don’t. Stores don’t enforce masks. They know they’re impotent against the unmasks’ illogical, contrarian positions. Wearying is an understatement.
- Beyond writing, struggling to do the things expected to keep the house and body clean and neat, and the modern demands of being responsible, I spend time reading. Finished Klara and the Sun (Kazuo Ishiguro) last week. I really enjoyed it. Loved the simplicity. The straightforward minimalism. Handed it off to my wife. She took it up and gave me the book she’d finished: The Mirror & The Light (Hilary Mantel). The styles between the books are so different. As are the stories being told. One is futuristic, science fiction. The other is historical fiction. Each are greatly entertaining. My wife wasn’t as fond of Klara as I was. Too much minimalism for her.
- Reading The Mirror & The Light keeps calling me back to C.J. Sansom and his Mathew Shardlake series. Not surprising in retrospect. Both cover the same English period from similar points of view. In many ways, it’s just like picking up two books of any other genre and reading and comparing them. Of course, that’s one reason why I like Lincoln in the Bardo so much or The Underground Railroad. Hard to find books that compare favorably with them. Likewise, how Louise Erdrich is able to tell stories with elegant prose and yet be gritty always amazes me. For crazy story-telling along the lines of ‘look-what-you-can-get-away-with’, I look to Lincoln & Childs and their Pendergast series.
- I’m also an information junkie. We subscribe to the NY Times and several other online periodicals. I must always be aware of time while pursuing information. It isn’t enough to just read their articles; no, I must find other opinions and sources to vet what’s being put out there. Then, of course, there are a dozen bloggers who I enjoy following. Always must track them and their latest.
- I have three cats. All ‘rescues’ or strays. Came to me for a visit and stayed for a life. Tried finding their people. In one case, Papi (our ginger tabby), we knew who the owners were. They left him behind when they moved. Deliberately. Cocksuckers.
- Boo, though, is problematic. Don’t know what went on in his past but it left mental and emotional scarring. Arthritis affects him. PTSD, too. Anything new – smell, sound, visitors, anything – sends him into a frenzy. He snarls and hisses at our other cats. His coat is matted. Embarrassing. Sure it’s not comfortable nor healthy for him. But we’ve only reached the point that he can be petted without hissing or snapping at us. Slowly introducing him to a brush. S-L-O-W-L-Y. Yet, he seeks me out. Sleeps against me. Comes to me for attention and food. Sleeps at my feet when I’m at my desk writing.
- TC — Tucker Cat — meanwhile has matured wonderfully. Went from battling with Boo to gracefully indulging his needs. Walks around him without disturbing him. He, too, sleeps with me. Loves it when I sit down to read. Is beside my laptop now as I type. Where he frequently is during the day.
- On my list of things to do is call my parents. They are divorced. Dad is remarried. Mom has a live-in fiancé . One lives in Pennsylvania. The other is in Texas. Both are retired with health issues. I worry about them constantly. They take appropriate precautions but still. You know, right? Yeah, you get it.
- My wife’s health also worries me. She’s suffered from RA for over twenty years. Wasn’t originally diagnosed, of course. No, that required over a decade of treatments, blood tests, imaging, and doctor visits. She loves exercising and dancing. She’s suffering a flare that’s truncated her ability to do those things. It also gives her foggy brain. She struggles to remember. Spell. Abstract concepts give her problems. So dismaying watching her decline. She’s more social than me. Since she can’t go out per usual (RA, smoke, COVID-19), I’m her conversation partner. I’m not particularly interested in socializing and conversing. Particularly when I’m writing. She’s become fond of Reddit streams such as Am I the Asshole and Facepalm. Feels compelled to share them with me. She’s also almost obsessive about local COVID-19 news and trends and must share them as well.
- Circumstances have curtailed my walking routines. Had a long streak of averaging 11.3 miles per day. I woas driving toward twelve. Then COVID. Then, smoke. I sometimes mask and go for a walk but always preferred walking when I had concrete destinations. Coffee shops to write was my standard. I do miss those days. My average has declined to nine miles per day. Most of it is running in place in the house, which just is not as entertaining.
- Enough of a break. Time to return to writing like crazy. But first, another cup of coffee, please. Black, of course. Cheers
