We bought new tires for one of our vehicles yesterday.
I took a memory train back to the first time I bought new tires after I was married.
That would be 1975. The car was a 1968 Camaro. Sweet, small, fast car. RS, 327 V8, automatic. I bought it for $1100 after I arrived at my first permanent duty station in my Air Force career, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, in Ohio. Paid cash.
I married later that year. My wife and I have wonderful memories of being together in that car.
Buying new tires for it was a major financial decision. Recaps were cheap, $20-$25 each, installed. But recaps? I distrusted their safety and reliability.
That meant new tires: $40 each.
$160.
Ouch.
We didn’t have credit cards, so we’d need to buy the tires with cash. I had that in savings but that would severely reduce the balance.
I remarked about this to my wife at dinner last night.
She remembered, adding, “Yes, the things we couldn’t afford then that we needed, and the things we buy now, that we really don’t need.”
I paid for the dinner with my credit card. Leaving, I thought, I could have bought two new tires for the price of that dinner.
Of course, I could have bought the Camaro for the price of the new tires I put on the car.
Just got a text reminder. I’m due to receive my next dental implant on June 25. That’s exactly a year since the molar and cyst were removed.
Since then, I’ve had my gallbladder removed. Stones and sludge in there, you know?
That was about a year after my ruptured tendon surgery. About two years after my broken arm, itself about two years after my kidney stones emergency room visit, which was about two years after my obstructed bladder emergency.
Now I’m due for Transurethral Resection in my bladder to remove cancer.
On June 25.
Damn, what are the chances that those two things would end up scheduled for the same day?
I’ll need to change the implant appointment. Although I’ve waited a long time to get that completed, facts: the bladder cancer is a greater priority, and it’s harder to schedule. I began noticing blood in my urine in March, and there’s been long periods between blood tests, examinations, CT scans, cystoscopy, and surgery. I don’t want to extend it yet more.
From the half-full point of view, though, I’m fortunate to be able to get any and all of this treatment. So, sure, I’m whining, but it’s first world blues.
It’s way worse for my wife, who has had to visit me to all these different appointments and help me recover. Don’t know where I’d be without her and her support.
My wife and I were in this big indoor shopping area. Had a tidy flea market vibe to it. She worked for someone, managing several different venues. I was helping by collecting cash and paying out.
We came to the day’s end. I was due to turn in the cash and had a huge amount. But I realized that the business cash and my personal cash had become mixed together. I needed to separate it.
To do that, I started going around, looking for a private place to count the money and organize it. The first place I tried, the wind was blowing, threatening to blow the money out of my hands.
Finding a church like building, I went in there. But people watching me knew me and started calling out jokes, disrupting my concentration.
Going off, I found another, small, dark room, but people I knew were also in there.
Exasperated, I left and ran into my wife. She was anxious to finish the day and wanted to know what was going on with the money. I explained the situation and reassured her, I’d get it done soon.
She and I then headed back to the main shop. As I reached there, I found that I’d folded my money with a note, and it was intact, embedded in the larger wad of cash. Problem solved.
With that done, I decided I’d help clean up. I went around with a spray and rag, vigorously wiping things down. My wife’s boss, the owner, a white woman with brown hair, came over and said, “It’s good to see you.” Going on to thank me for my help, she said, “You need to take care of your L energy.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Pointing to a space on top of my head, she repeated, “Your L energy is right here.”
She got distracted and I moved away.
Later, as I finished cleaning and everyone else finished, the boss/owner made a little speech, thanking everyone for their work, calling out my wife in particular. Then she said to me, “And don’t forget to take care of your L energy.”
In the first, I was editing/revising my manuscript, Unfocused. I awoke confused whether I’d been awake or asleep. Falling back asleep, I experienced the novel as a movie.
Another microdream slipped in. I reached for a green glass tumbler which had water in it. When I tasted it, it was coffee, but it stayed clear.
A man asked me to marry him. Then I thought it was me asking him. Then I thought, I’m both men.
Then I ate a chocolate chip muffin from a tray. Finishing it, I wanted more.
It’s 38 F outside with bits of blue sky and an overwhelming gathering of gray clouds. We’ll again see a high in the low 50s as we march on toward Spring.
As I read the news last night and today, I was reminded of President George Dubya Bush’s declaration on an aircraft carrier, “Mission Accomplished”. Oh, what theater as the commander-in-chief landed a jet on an aircraft carrier and emerged in a flight suit. Republicans swooned.
Bush said that he was declaring that the military objectives had been achieved in his invasion of Iraq, and not necessarily that the war was over. His speech came on May 1, 2003, six weeks after the invasion began. The war grew and kept going, with the U.S. in there for eight more years.
I’m thinking about that now because the Trump administration is a diluted version of the Bush/Cheney administration. Bush/Cheney worked in secrecy and cherry-picked intel to support what was happening. One of Bush’s administration compared their plans for war to the marketing campaign for a new product to sell the war. Ignoring what UN weapons inspectors had been saying about Iraq’s weapons, Bush managed to put together a coalition of military forces from allies around the threat of WMDs
Trump did none of that. He just attacked, going in without a plan. Now Trumps thinks he can just declare it over whenever it suits him, just as Bush tried to do.
In the end, the Iraq invasion and war was a costly, disastrous mistake. Less than a quarter century later, and we wonder, how much of what Trump has begun will end with history repeating itself?
In comments on news articles about the war, some were saying, “I’m a Republican and I don’t support this war.” They go on, the timing is wrong, there is no plan, etc.
The thing is, their comments mean little to me at this point. Polls show that Republicans are mostly supporting Trump’s Iranian War. Few Republicans have stood up against anything Trump does, undoing a lot of the checks and balances in our government.
Trump and the MAGA movement co-opted the GOP. But the GOP allowed it to happen. The guiding principles and policies for the GOP are now, “Whatever Trump says.”
I think they made a mistake.
In the same sense, I was thinking of the problems with Mom. We saw what was coming years ago and tried to negotiate with her to improve her situation long before a crisis was reached. She refused, blaming her partner, Frank. But when Frank died, we saw that it was Mom as much as Frank that refused to see the truth and plan for what was happening.
It’s understandable. Many of us go into denial. But looking back, I still shake my head and think, what a mistake.
Not surprising that The Neurons have a song by Men At Work, “It’s A Mistake”, playing in the morning mental music stream. The anti-war song was written during the cold war and reflects worries that nuclear war might erupt.
Hearing it in my head makes me ruefully chuckle. How many times have I told others, “It’s a mistake?” Likewise, I think I was told multiple times, “It’s a mistake, but it’s your life.” I sort of smile because one of them was marrying almost 51 years ago. Dad said, “I think it’s a mistake.”
Sometimes the mistakes work out.
I hope your day goes well, with the mistakes kept to a minimum and of the minor variety, like, “Eating at that restaurant was a mistake. That food just wasn’t very good.”
My surgery has been over for hours. After catching up on sleep, I’m ravenous because I haven’t had food since ten last night. With a diet limited to cold soft foods, I’m eating sorbet and thinking about what I can eat.
My wife begins reading an article aloud. “Women are having problems creating intimate relationships with men because of men’s addiction to porn.” One part is about a woman asking men if they watch porn. They deny it until she shares what kind of porn she likes.
The story swerves into men spending hours in the bathroom. The writer mocks the idea that they’re having long bowel movements and mentions they probably wouldn’t be in there that long without their phones.
“They’re watching porn on their phones?” I ask.
My wife nods.
“I don’t get that. What in the world would you be able to see on that little screen?”
“I know.” My wife points at our television. “We have that big screen. I watch carefully and feel like I still miss a lot.”
“Yes, and people watch sports on their phones, too. I don’t get that. During football games, they’re always blowing up scenes to show, is the knee down? Was his toe out of bounds?”
“How do people see these things on phone screen?” my wife responds.
“Exactly.”
My wife puts her feet up and closes her eyes. It’s been a long day for her. She had to go in with me and stay for the entire surgery, then drive me home.
I finish my sorbet and wonder what to eat next that’s cold and soft and fantasize about a hot bowl of chile.
Despite not working for anyone since 2016, I had another work-related dream last night. This wasn’t from my last employment with IBM but was with one of the medical startups from earlier, shortly after retiring from the U.S. Air Force.
We were in a large, clean, bright room. The company’s engineering section, thirteen people, including their director, were at tables shoved together across the room. I, the lone marketing person, sat on the room’s other side, alone.
Wanting to be involved, I moved over there and asked for permission to sit in on their meeting. They were developing the product I would market, after all, and I was part of the team that collected input on the product’s design. The director and others said, “Sure,” so I sat at the edge, so I wouldn’t be intrusive.
Note that all of these people were known co-workers from real life from two different medical device startups.
Not feeling included, I left after a short period, returning to my space. But I had nothing to do; no assignments, no emails, no phone calls.
With no warning, children suddenly swarmed our workspace. I don’t know why they were there. Crossing back to the engineers, I discovered that they were gone, then spotted them leaving the building.
I followed them out. They were going up a dirt path into the mountains, past large boulders and pine trees. One said, “Look, there’s a huge bald eagle up there.” He pointed.
I nodded; I’d heard about the bird earlier and had seen it. I didn’t know what the engineers were doing. Seemed like it could’ve been some team-building exercise, so I left again.
Heading back down to our office, I realized that my boss was in Paris for a trade show. I’d not heard anything from her, which was unusual. Then I realized that she hadn’t included me in any of the show prep.
Deciding that I didn’t really have a job, I thought that I should probably look for new employment and began compiling a resignation letter in my mind as I walked.
Frank passed away, so I’m remembering Frank. 95, he and Mom were together for his life’s last twenty years plus. Which, as I think about it, causes me to realize that Frank was about five years older than my present age when he and Mom met. My youngest sister, Lisa, was the agent of their coming together. Mom was dating another, Ed, at the time. Lisa worked in a bank. She regularly saw Frank and decided that Frank and Mom were a good match. When she suggested it to Frank, he asked, “Is she pretty?” Lisa beamed and gave a knowing nod. “Yep.”
Lisa was right. Mom and Frank hit it right off. All was a lot of fun for years. Biking, walking, movies, tennis, dancing, estate sales. They had a good life before Mom’s accidents, health, and drugs crippled things. I’m happy they had those years together.
When my wife and I talked about it, she marveled about old people dating. “People our age,” she exclaimed as we both laughed. She went on, “I’m like that song. I’m not ready to get naked in front of another.”
We spoke more seriously about friends and relatives our age and older dating. Ron, 78, lost his wife ten years ago to breast cancer. He’s had a regular girlfriend for three years. Now he’s dating another woman and they’re having fun. Sis-in-law, coming up on 70, has a regular boyfriend, her third since her husband died of brain cancer about five years ago (I think). Then there’s Barb, 81 this Feb, dating a guy who is her age. Both had preferred younger people and would hook up with someone for a few months and then move on. Now, months into this relationship, Barb professes that she’s in love. Sweet and beautiful.
So, there’s hope, if you put yourself out there. As Frank and Mom did. Hell, as Dad did. Now at 92, he’s on his third marriage. It’s lasted over thirty years, the longest marriage of his life, and he seems happy and contented.
My wife doesn’t online bank. She doesn’t trust computer and web security. Mind you, she will shop online, no probs.
I am at my computer. To my left is a small bowl of pumpkin and sunflower seeds with almonds, cashews, and pistachio nuts. Unsalted and raw, these are my safe snack.
My wife said, “Can you login and check my credit card statement please? I want to make sure the vacation house payment was charged.”
We’d rented a place on the Oregon coast with two other couples. There was half up front with the rest paid thirty days later. It was decided my wife and I would front the costs and the others would reimburse us. I was the one who paid for it, because it was online, but I used the Visa account. Technically in both of our names as a joint account, we refer to this as ‘her’ account. The MasterCard is ‘my’ account. Yet, when it came time to set up the vacation home payments, I did it, using ‘her’ credit card. We did this by agreement because my card had several grand on it for my recent dental work — three implants, a biopsy, and a bone graft.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll do it in a minute. Let me finish eating my nuts first.”
Laughter burst out of me and my wife. We’re so immature.
Michael Seidel, writer 