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About Last Week

I know I’ve mentioned this before, how I tend to obsess over things like typos, spelling errors, and botched grammar (but not the Oxford comma. Never the Oxford comma) and how, on occasion, I’ll go back over and reread an older post and something glaring will jump out at me that I missed, despite proofreading these posts multiple times in a couple different formats. In fact, I’ve probably mentioned a few times over the years I’ve been doing this. Because I am, in fact, obsessed with not putting out a shoddy product.

I also know that I mentioned specifically that the subject last week might have been a little repetitive, but that I didn’t care since blah, blah, blah. Tbh, I still don’t and I stand by that statement fwiw.

Now, having said all that, the other day I happened to glance at the post that preceded last weeks post. It was dated August 27th and the post was titled Southernisms, in case you’ve forgotten. As I scrolled through the post, what to my wondering eyes should appear? No, not a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Rather, it was an introduction to a new feature wherein I tell you all about whatever musical selection I’ve got running around my brain whilst hammering away at the keyboard. You know, remarkably similar to the way I ended last weeks submission. At least it was a different band. I think I would’ve felt even dumber if I happened to be listening to the same one each time. Which brings to light something else of which I’ll need to keep track. *makes note to self not to repeat bands*

As I’ve said before, I’ll look for typos all the live-long day, and while some things might strike me as familiar, if I’m not overly concerned with repeating something I’ve written some time ago, that’s about the extent of it. But from one post to the next is a little bit closer than I care to leave things. Of course if I wrote things about stuff here more frequently, this probably wouldn’t happen, right Ray? Guilty as charged on that one.

So let me just go on the record here and apologize to you all for my carelessness. It left me pretty aggravated, I assure you, and I’ll try to make sure I don’t do dumb stuff like that again. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. *skypoint to Dear Abby*

I’ve got an idea. instead of leaving you all with the bitter taste of me flubbing a relatively simple task, why don’t I leave you with a new feature I’ve been think about adding here? Sitting in a new coffeehouse in town (Bold Coffee Co.) with a little pre-concertgoing taste of American Aquarium. >insert sound of a record skipping here<

Since I pondered this one for a few days, the American Aquarium concert is now in the rear view mirror. B2 and I went up to The Ramkat in Winston Salem this past weekend to see AA with Tommy Prine as their opener. This is the second time we’ve seen Tommy Prine, and man he’s off to a good start on his career. As a songwriter it’s easy to see that he learned his chops from his Dad, the late, great John Prine and he seems pretty at ease on stage. This show was also a first in that, prior to Saturday, I’ve never sprung for a VIP upgrade to any of the shows I’ve gone to. So this entitled us to a pre-show picture with the band…

I give these guys a lot of credit for posing with a bunch of knuckleheads every night, lol

three acoustic songs from front man BJ Barham, followed by a little Q&A with him. We both enjoyed it quite a bit too. A small group, only nine of us, made for an even more intimate feel. One of the other guests asked him a question along the lines of “If you could hear any album again for the first time, which one would it be?” After a brief moment BJ put up In The Throes by John Moreland and it was such a good choice. He talked about how much respect he has for John as a songwriter and he’s spot on. I first heard/saw Moreland play in Memphis in 2018 and I was hooked. I’ve seen him I think three times since then, including last month at The Ramkat and he’s on the lineup for February at Haw River Ballroom (my favorite venue out here) and I already can’t wait. So, as I write up the rest of this “sorry I screwed up” post I’m listening to In The Throes and trying hard not to sing along here at the coffeehouse. I’ve mentioned before how sometimes I’ll read something and think to myself “you have no right calling what you do writing” and listening to John Moreland’s lyrics confirms to me that he is one of the people that makes me think that. He’s that good.

Imma leave this one a little short, there are other things I need to accomplish today. So in case I don’t get back here before, I wish you a joyful holiday, whichever one you may celebrate, and here’s to a peaceful, happy and healthy year to come.

Peace

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All I Want For Christmas

This one kinda hit me this morning so I thought I’d better jump on it and see what I can build. I think I’ve done something similar in the past, but tbh I’m not interested in checking, and besides, even if I did, I’m fairly confident this’ll be different enough that there won’t be a bunch of overlap. Even if there is some, everybody likes reruns now and again, right?

Yes, I totally glossed over the fact that I haven’t put anything up here in a good long while. I’ve also conveniently tuned out any voices that may or may not have been harping at me to do something here (I’m looking in your general direction now Ray) but I have, in fact been typing, occasionally furiously, on something else and managed to add several thousand words to it over the last few months. So there’s that.

But now, onward!

With the holiday approaching, whichever one you may celebrate, I felt like this would be a good time to share my thoughts on giving. B2 and I were talking about Christmas the other day, specifically about gift giving. And as I laid out my thoughts, a sometimes opaque process, I’ll grant you that, she saw where I was headed and agreed with me completely. I’d like to share those thoughts with you all (all 7 of you faithful readers) here in case anyone feels moved to appropriate the idea.

I have a pretty good life, by any measure. I have a nice home (due in no small part to the presence of B2 but that’s a story for another time), I have a nice car, I have more clothes than I need and a surprising number of shoes, especially if you’ll recall my comments from a much earlier post about how living with Diane and Caitlin was like living with Imelda Marcos. And if you’re too young to remember Imelda Marcos, I suggest you take a second and GTS “Imelda Marcos and shoes” and this will become crystal clear to you. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I have gotten to the point in my life where I don’t really need anything and if I decide I want something, I go and buy it for myself. This is not to say I’m a Rockefeller (again, too young? GTS the name) by any means, merely that, by and large, life has been pretty darn kind to me. I mean, when my time to shuffle off this mortal coil comes, my kids are not going to become independently wealthy. This should not be breaking news to any of them btw, and if it is, well I guess they’re not quite as bright as I’d given them credit for being. I mean I’m not going to leave them nothing, they’ll surely be able to enjoy a lovely plate of nachos or some similar, tasty, small plate on my largesse.

Bon appétit you guys!

As I was saying…

Typically, my tendency to buy for myself is not a problem for anyone concerned. However I recognize the stress this can put on my loved ones, particularly around this time of year, well, you feel me, right? So I told B2 instead of spending money on each other, with the exception of surcee type things, stocking stuffers if you will, we should instead look for someone or something in the community that can use a hand up around this time of year. I also reached out to my kids and suggested instead of getting me something their money would be better spent making a contribution to the non-profit of their choice. I made the same request to half of B2‘s kids too. Haven’t had the chance to tell her other one yet, but that’ll be taken care of soon. When her son asked me last week what was on my list, I explained my thoughts. His first comment was confirming Ryan did a run for one and when I told him yes, he said that was where they’d make their donation.

That, my friends, is the essence of what I’d like my Christmas to be. Taking care of those less fortunate. I’m a little embarrassed it’s taken me this long in my life to realize the things that are truly important, but there’s no time like the present to go about doing the right thing, you know? I read an aphorism a while back, that, while I’m certain isn’t new, was the first time I read it and it kind of struck a chord with me. It said –

“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is today.”

Man, that was a throat punch to my sense of self satisfaction. It really helped to form this whole thought process too. I should’ve planted this tree some time ago. But I didn’t. So I’m planting it today. And I’m grateful B2 jumped right on it too. Just another of the many reasons I’m fortunate to have found her.

I guess that’s about all I’m trying to get across here today. I hope it helps inspire someone else with a little extra this year to give to those in need. If you’ve been doing this already, good on you, I’m proud to know you. If you’re not at the point in your life where you can do this, I totally get it. File this little gem away for when that time comes for you.

Remember the tree.

And, of course…

Peace

PS- Geez I really haven’t done one of these in a long damn time. I thought I’d try and add something to these posts, infrequent though they may be. I’m almost always at a coffeehouse when I fire off one of these potential Pulitzer nominees and probably equally as often I’ve got something bouncing between my ears at a reasonable decibel level *ahem* and I thought, for the sake of idk what, I’d include the particular artist in the post. So for the inaugural edition, today’s musical guest has been Turnpike Troubadours. It’s been a pretty enjoyable ride too, I must say. Their selection was triggered by a post I saw a couple days ago that their frontman got himself sober and the band is going back out on the road. This is great news for them, of course and on many levels, but for anyone that has ever seen them live it’s a pretty damn good day. They are a rollicking good time live, I assure you and I’m looking forward to them hitting this part of the country.

Ok, that’s all I’ve got for ya. Be well, happy holidays and all that stuff!

Peace

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Southernisms – The Sequel

Today feels like a good day for a little light-hearted fare. So if you’ll allow me to play Mr. Language Person (with apologies to Dave Barry) then let’s dive right in to a few more southernisms, shall we?

Astute and/or long time readers of this page may recall (and it should be easy since production numbers have been pretty low this year) a semi-recent post in which I referenced my immersion into the dialect of the American southeast. Of course I’ve been compiling additions to the list since the seed for the original post was planted with the intention of doing exactly this, so, without further ado, here you are.

One afternoon, a handful of weeks back we had one of those days where it was simultaneously sunny and raining. Not exactly a rarity on par with finding a four leaf clover, or hitting the lotto, but pretty uncommon nonetheless. When B2 asked me if I knew what this phenomenon was called, I must admit, my first thought was not “Oh good, more fodder for the blog!” But it might’ve flashed in almost instantly after, as she told me…

“It means the devil is beating his wife.”

I’ll pause here briefly, to kinda let that one bounce around your brain as it did mine…

I’ve gotta say right here, I had no clue what she was going to say; but that particular group of words, in that particular order, was not something I would have ever guessed prior to hearing them. And, even though I didn’t doubt what she was saying was, in fact, a thing, I felt the need to go ahead and GTS that phrase. Lo and behold, it’s an actual thing here in the south.

Now, for your further education (because, hey, I’m nothing if not helpful) and in no particular order, here are more of my favorite Southernisms-

Let’s say you’re sitting outside, enjoying a lovely evening. Save for one thing. Getting dive-bombed by those blood-sucking, little, flying bastards aka mosquitos. And they’re feasting on you. You’ve been “bug bit”. As in-

“I was sitting in the carport but I had to come back in, I was getting bug bit.

Or suppose you’re spending your Saturday morning by strolling around downtown. You’ve decided you’d like to stop by the farmer’s market for some fresh, home-grown produce. As you’re making your way leisurely around the center of town you encounter an acquaintance and, in passing, you casually mention you’d like to stop by said farmer’s market for some peaches. (This btw is getting near to the end of the season for them and if you happen to be traveling south, I encourage you to grab some, they are amazing.) Your friend has a warning for you that includes the Southernism “get gone”. This is how the conversation might go-

“Honey you’d best get there right now before they get gone”

I feel like I should point out here, that both of the examples above are not in a southern dialect. I’m still y’all-less. Mostly. I did throw one out recently (to other drivers. I know, right? Who could’ve guessed?) but I’m not sure it counts since I was in Illinois when it happened. And it still feels disingenuous on my part to start trying to speak like someone that has spent the better part, or all of, their life living in the south. For better or worse, I’m a midwesterner and my speech patterns, ingrained for lo these many (many. Many. MANY.) years are with me to the end. And I’m ok with that fwiw.

Moving on, here’s another southernism, kinda. It’s something near and dear to my heart and tbh it took me by surprise just how wonderful I found it to be. Hand Pies (trust me, the capitalization is deserved). These things are the real deal, yet based on my childhood I never expected them to be. Most, if not all of you are likely aware of Hostess fruit pies. They were, in my case, a random, pleasant addition to my parents trips to the grocery store. And they were fine when I was 12. But at some point you realize that they are, in essence, cardboard quality pastry dough with jelly smeared on the inside, and watered down glazing on the outside. Again, it was fine for the childhood me, but I outgrew them and, as an adult, never really had the conscious thought of “I need to buy some next time I go to the store.” Living down here I’ve seen Hand Pies (I’ve made the editorial decision that, henceforth, just as RVCB’s! will always have an exclamation point, Hand Pies shall always be capitalized.) on menus in a few different southern comfort food type restaurants, and tried them at one of my favorite places in my town. And that one was significantly better than the commercially made product of my youth. But recently we stopped in at a coffeehouse/bakery in Winston-Salem on a visit to the parents of B2 , at a place called Lavender and Honey. On the display counter I noticed a collection of Hand Pies, peach in this case, and they looked amazing. Better than the ones I’d seen here previously. So I ordered one. Can I just take a minute here while I flash back on that in my mind?

OH MY FRICKIN’ GOD IT WAS INCREDIBLE!!!

Like, incredible as in I heard a gospel choir in full throat busting out in my head when I stopped to think about them just now.

Fluffy, light, flavorful, lovely. I mean they were so damn good I’m compiling a list of felonies I’d be willing to commit just to get another one. It’s about a 45 minute drive up there, so it’s not like I can just hop over and get one. I mean, of course, I could do that, but I’ve got to have some semblance of restraint, you know? Especially when I consider how hard it was to get into my suit last weekend. Oof. Go ahead and insert a “fat guy in a little coat” mental image here if you like, cause god knows I tried to insert one into the post and couldn’t. But yeah, that’s pretty much spot on.

I guess that’s about all I’m going to attempt here today. Except for one more thing. I think I’m going to start a new ‘feature within the feature’ kinda thing starting with today’s post and continuing until I forget to do it. Whenever I work on a post, for basically as long as I can recall, I’ve got music playing. Whether blaring (oops, I mean rolling along at an audibly safe level) through my headphones, or on the rare occasions I write at home blasting through the, well if I’m home alone it’s rockin’ through the whole house. But since I’m currently at a coffeehouse I’ve got Foo Fighters racing around my brain. This is in tribute to a video I saw this morning. It was from last night’s FF concert at the Forum in Los Angeles and it featured a performance by Nandi Bushell. If you’re not familiar you need to GTS this young lady, she is the absolute shit. Last year, at the ripe old age of 11 she challenged Dave Grohl to a drum off and she killed it. They kept up the video correspondence culminating in her walking on stage and playing “Everlong” with the band last night. I’ll try and save you a little legwork, click here to watch this, now 12 year old, genius rock the eff out. I sat there the whole time with a big, stupid, grin on my face watching, I hope you enjoy it just as much.

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Mysteries of Mental Illness

This one is probably not going to be terribly long, it is sort of my version of a PSA.  Airing tonight and tomorrow night on your local PBS station (or through the app, if that’s how you PBS) the documentary Mysteries of Mental Illness will air.  It airs at 9:00 PM Eastern (check your local listings for when it airs on your particular nape of the neck) and each night there will be two, hour long episodes, back-to-back. 

Here is my best attempt at providing a link to the trailer featuring Ryan.

The documentary crew followed Ryan, Danielle, and kids, off and on, for several months last year, including part of the inaugural RFOL last May. I’ve watched several of the trailers for this series and they are pretty powerful. Of course it’s easy for me to say that about the segment on him, but I mean each and every bit that I’ve watched has given me pause. And, in more than one case, has caused me to examine my own beliefs about some of the topics the show discusses. And realizing just how wrong society in general, and myself in particular, was about many things. A little self reflection is ok with me though.

So, I don’t know when specifically his segment will air, or if it is going to be woven throughout the entire documentary. But if you’re the least bit interested, from what I’ve seen it will be worth your while.

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Random Acts of Kindness

I know, right? Nothing for months and now two in, like, three days? In all honesty if tomorrow wasn’t Caitlin’s birthday (she’d be 36 tomorrow btw) and, therefore, Random Acts of Kindness (RAoK) Day, I probably wouldn’t have written one this quickly.

But it is (or will be) and so I am.

I think most of you are familiar with the story; Caitlin was killed by a drunk driver when she was 17 years old. It was a week before her high school graduation, three weeks before her 18th birthday. I’ll put some links in for anyone that needs a refresher; here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Jesus, seven links, I’m pretty sure that’s a record for ICRTD. I’ll keep this one intentionally short on the off chance any of you want to go back through some of these. There’s tearjerker or two, so maybe don’t read them at work…

So here’s the deal. All I’m asking for tomorrow is that you do something nice for some random person. Whoever is behind you in queue at the coffeehouse, drive-up or wherever. You can do it anonymously if you like, or you can tell the person that it’s in memory of a pretty amazing young woman, you can do anything you like, just do something. No act is too small, I’m not asking you to drop a hundo for this, if all you do is buy a beverage for somebody, that’s great. Heck just hold the door open for a stranger if that makes you smile, or help them carry groceries to the car. Just do something nice that you might not normally do for someone. If what you do makes your eyes light up, like the ones in these next two pictures, that’s a win. Actually, it might be a good thing for some of us to do on a semi regular basis, or at least more than once a year. But if you can do it tomorrow, please give a thought to Caitlin when you do.

Last thing (I think) that I’ll ask for today, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made the same request before; if you do something tomorrow for RAoK, please mention it, either in the comments here, or through whatever social media led you here.

I’d love to know we can continue to make a difference.

Thanks.

and Peace.

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New Post, Who Dis?

This is, roughly, the third attempt I’ve made at putting up a new post in the last few months. There’s a draft or two sitting here stewing and I think a couple more percolating in the notes app in my phone. Probably none of which will see the light of day. Hell, this one may never either, who knows? I’m still wrestling with where to go with this one. I mean, it’s not like nothing happened since my last post, eight months ago, right? Jesus, eight months. Maybe I should just wait another four weeks so I can draw the parallel between writing this and a pregnancy. Meh, probably not. Still, eight months is a long ass time. And you’d think, especially since I just referenced how much has happened in the last eight months, that I’d have a veritable cornucopia of topics from which to choose, wouldn’t you? Of course you would.

Ok. Instead of sitting here pouring out some more word soup, I think I’ll just take a hitting to all fields approach and fire out some stream of consciousness stuff.

For instance; I’ve calmed down quite a bit from my younger days as it relates to losing my shit over the way other people drive. I think I’ve mentioned it here before, about how when they were younger, the kids used to really enjoy my reactions to traffic as we drove through St. Charles. I am admittedly not the most patient person when I’m driving somewhere. Part of the reason is that I am, in fact, driving somewhere. As in, I have somewhere to be. So when other people drive as if they’re enjoying the scenery and impede my progress, I tend to get a little agitated. I mean, c’mon people, drive like you have an agenda for cryin’ out loud. Also people that drive with no conception of anything around them beyond the confines of their own vehicle tend to get under my skin. So, along that vein, here’s one of the things I’ve noticed about people that drive down here – driving on the highway, a four-lane interstate highway mind you, I tend to click on my cruise control as soon as practical. So, I tend to cruise at a fairly steady rate, traffic allowing. Of course if there’s congestion, bad weather, what have you, that isn’t possible and that’s, like, a given. But under optimal conditions, my cruise is on and typically anywhere from 7-10 mph over the limit (don’t @ me). Now, here’s the lose my mind inducing part. Let’s say, for the sake of clarity, I’m in the left lane. And I’m approaching a slower moving vehicle or three, each of which is in the right lane. All good so far, right? Invariably, as I approach, one of the trailing vehicles will move out to pass the lead, slow moving vehicle. Now, I don’t know about you, gentle reader, but I was taught that when you pass someone, get around them. Not so much down here. I won’t say without fail, but I will say that in the majority of cases the vehicle that pulls out to pass (thereby moving in front of me) will, if not slow down, hold speed with the vehicle they’re attempting to pass.

THAT’S NOT HOW THAT WORKS YOU *DUMBASS M#TH#RF#CK#R!!!

I think I’m actually starting to get used to this happening, I very rarely resort to an all caps comment to the offending vehicle. It’s kind of downgraded to a shaking of my damn head now, which is probably better for my personal mental health. Also, it helps having B2 in the car with me, I don’t want her to start making a Plan B thinking she’s going to have to bail on the madman behind the wheel.

So, that’s a thing.

Here, apparently, is another thing. As I was sitting here at the local coffeehouse attempting to reconnect whatever synapses (what’s the plural of synapse? Asking for a friend…) I used to use when I did this more consistently, I have Tragically Hip pulsating through my brain via my headphones. And, I admit, it might be a tad on the loud side. Like maybe this one goes to eleven loud. And Siri, bless its little A.I. heart, just popped up a warning that I’ve probably exceeded my suggested weekly allowance for loud music. Here’s the direct quote

“Based on your headphone usage over the last seven days, you’ve exceeded the recommended limit for audio exposure.”

And, can I just say here, that ship has sailed. 28 years of sirens and air horns blaring overhead; along with I have no clue how many years of listening to loud rock and roll much, much louder than would be considered acceptable and, well, yeah, pretty sure the damage has been done. Oh sure I could probably keep it from getting worse, but really I’ve kinda gotten used to the cicadas that live in my head. At least that’s what it sounds like now.

Ok, I just watched an RV motor by, and that got me thinking about how badly I need one. Pro tip- not much, but that hasn’t stopped me from gazing longingly at them online for the last couple years or so. I’m still in the trying to convince myself phase btw. You know “gee whiz, think how much it would save you in hotel costs, now that the concert industry is cranking back into action.” Or “Gosh, it would make it so much easier to visit different parts of the country this way.” I think this one is my personal favorite “Just think, if you were driving an RV, you could stay off the interstates for the most part, you know, drive through small-town America as you make your way to wherever you’re going. Think how much more relaxing that would be instead of driving like you had somewhere to be.”

And, now that I’ve successfully circled back to where I started this, I think it’s time to wrap it up. Welcome back, those of you that clicked in to this. I make no promises, but I really have missed doing this, and I’d like to get a few more thoughts off my chest…

I guess we’ll find out together, won’t we?

Peace

*I should point out here, for emphasis, the above mentioned phrase is reserved for that special kind of stupid, and its origin comes from the bargaining table as we (3234) worked on a successor contract with the Village. I’ll leave it at that for now, but this might appear in some future piece of literary wonderment.

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Write, Write, Write…

Ok, I’ll start by addressing the elephant in the room. I haven’t been writing much lately. Like, seven posts (not including this one, since, as I’m writing this now, it hasn’t actually been posted yet) this year. And, four of those seven came in January so, yes, it’s safe to say I haven’t been writing much lately.

I don’t know that there’s an easy answer why either. I’ve had the time. I don’t suddenly hate writing. I’ve kept the upkeep on this site current. I still have functioning computers on which to write. There’s certainly been no shortage of things about which I could write. I mean, have you looked at the news lately? I just haven’t felt like writing. Despite the occasional prod from various friends.

And then, the other day, I heard from a very dear (No, not you Ray) friend, castigating (not as painful as it sounds btw) me for my lack of literary production. And I took a step back and did a little self-examination. Figuratively. And I said to myself “Self” I said, “I need to do a better job of writing things about stuff.”

So here we are.

Let’s see now… what to write about… Hmmm… Ok, how bout the weather? No, too small-talky. Maybe some of the amazing concerts I’ve been to lately? No, too non-existenty. How bout them Cubs? Nope, too flashbacky. I know! Let’s talk about politics! LOL, just kidding. Mostly. I’ll fight that temptation. Probably. Maybe if I try this…

#LillyNO has a new bestie, #LollyStopEffingBarking. A Goldendoodle (there’s a name I never thought I’d write. Also, I feel like Ned Flanders whenever I say/write it) whose real name is Lolly (Yup, Lilly and Lolly) has taken up (purely coincidental naming too) residence with us. A very sweet dog, kind of a lovable lug, has without question, a totally under-developed sense of threat assessment. Somebody comes to the front door? She barks like she means business. Squirrel scampers down from a tree? She barks like she means business. The neighbor’s cat walks across the yard? She barks like she means business. A bird flies overhead? She barks like she means business. A leaf falls from a tree two streets over? She barks like she means business. The sun shines? She barks like she means business. Which, truth be told, is really only a minor annoyance. Although I do find it pretty aggravating at night; as I’m just drifting off to sleep and she loses her shit barking because the wind picks up from 1 mph to 2 mph. You get the picture. But the two dogs get on famously and they’re pretty hysterical together. They’ll play tug-of-war with each other, or play fight (generally with great care to not hurt the other, although every once in a while one of them will get a little overzealous and the other will “yip” causing me to send them to their neutral corners), or try to steal toys from each other, or just lounge with (or on) each other. Neither has really shown much in the way of dominance over the other, but each will try from time to time. All in all, it’s been a really good experience with the two of them and it wasn’t something I’d ever really planned on happening.

If you think the last couple of paragraphs have been a little bit “beat around the bush”y, well there’s a good reason for that. They are. I’m trying to think of a way to get to the point I actually intended to make a while ago. #LollyStopEffingBarking didn’t move in here by herself. Her person, the previously mentioned Beautiful Blonde has moved in along with her.

This started as a supportive gesture. B² decided that after almost 30 years in the same house, it was time to downsize. So she put her house on the market and started looking for a smaller house to buy and, trying to be helpful, I suggested she move in here. My thinking was by doing that, it would eliminate, or at least reduce, the stress of having to find a new house. You know, like “OMG, I sold my house and now I need to find one by tomorrow!” and ending up with a house that you’re going to spend a lot of money on and live in for a really long time and yet from day one you never really liked it all that much. Makes reasonable sense, right? Plus we both really enjoy spending our time together, so why not do something that allows us to spend as much time together as possible? She agreed and, well, here we are several months later doing quite well together.

Not without adjustments though. I’ve had to learn not to try and do/pay for/handle everything that comes along. And that hasn’t been easy for me, in fact I’d say it’s a work-in-progress, but it’s been totally worth it. It’s making me a better person too. Which is never a bad thing.

Plus, I’m learning to speak Southern. And, really, why Rosetta Stone or Babbel (or Berlitz for you older readers) haven’t come up with a class for this is beyond me. The immersion training I’m getting here is pretty thorough. I almost never have to say “Wait, what did you just say?” or “What does that mean?” or “I know all those words, but I’ve never heard them in that order before.” anymore. Well, hardly ever. But, between B² and the next door neighbor, I’ve learned, for starters, that if someone is going to “Jerk a knot in you” or “Give you the back of my mouth” well, those are bad things. Whereas, a “Surcee” or “Wet nuts” are good things. The first two should be self-explanatory, but the second two may cause some looks of bewilderment so, allow me to explain. A “Surcee” is a small, thoughtful, no occasion gift. While “Wet nuts” can be found as an addition on many sundaes down here. They are walnuts or pecans in syrup and don’t think for a second that they are anything like dry nuts. Because they’re far better. Then there’s “might could” as in “I guess we might could go on down to the Tractor Supply and get us some food for the dogs.” This, of course, is followed by the negative “mightn’t” as in “I mightn’t oughta go out today, it’s fixin’ to rain.”

I’d like to get into more of these Southernisms, but my stomach is eatin’ at my backbone, so I think I’m gonna go get me something on a biscuit before I get to dog lippin’ myself.

Peace

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Sometimes…

I’m fond of typing here that “sometimes the universe provides”. By that I mean that often times in the past, when I’m stumped about what to write, something, somewhere happens that triggers something for me. And I spin out a thousand words or so based on that, whatever it may be. I’ve been working on a piece to put up here for a few days now, and it hasn’t been an easy write for me.

And then, about 45 minutes ago, I got a phone call from the Oldest One, She was very upset. As I was cycling through in my mind what might have happened to get her so upset, and landing on a handful of things (that’s kinda the way my mind works I guess) she told me one of the Heir To The Throne’s childhood friends was killed in a car crash last night.

She didn’t really know any details, she had just gotten the call alerting her about it immediately before calliing me, but she told me she didn’t know how to tell HTTT and wanted him to know before he saw it on social media. Which is, of course, a perfectly reasonable response. So I told her I’d make the call if she couldn’t. She agreed but said she wanted to be conferenced in to the call.

So I called him. And I told him. In an intentionally dispassionate voice. Because, even though the boys had grown apart over the years, they were still on good terms. And because, even though he’s had to deal with a lot of loss of loved ones in the course of his young life, it’s not an easy thing to hear, ever. It’s not that I didn’t care about HTTT’s friend, I always found him to be a very likable, somewhat goofy, and charming kid. He was also the only one of HTTT’s circle that callled me Papa. And he always did. If I showed up at one of their ballgames, whenever he saw me he’d call out “Hi Papa!” and was genuinely happy to see me.

So, knowing HTTT was at work, I tried to be as calm as I could be, knowing he would probably not be in a place where he would feel comfortable letting his emotions go. I’m not going to go into any greater detail than that now. Since this is all flowing pretty quickly in the aftermath, I won’t have time to let him proof this and see if he’s good with it. So I’ll leave this part of it here.

But really, how do you tell someone you love that someone has died?

I’ll always remember telling my then three year-old grandson that his Nana was gone. Vividly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a room in my niece’s house, trying to explain to him that he’d never see the Nana that he adored, and that worshipped him, again. And that she was now with Aunt Caitlin. I used to tell that story at Victim Impact Panels and it was not at all unusual, even after telling it hundreds of times, for me to cry as I tried to relate what that was like. Telling him that was difficult, maybe the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. And it’s not that this time was easy, I’m not trying to compare the two, it’s just that after we got off the phone I did nothing but second guess myself over my phone call.

I’m rarely at a loss for words, it’s true. But I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him as a support person in this moment. I told him to call or text whenver he wanted, but…

So, I sit here at the computer; listening to “God” by John Lennon on a loop. And I think about the morning I got up for work to this song and listened in stunned disbelief as Terri Hemmert told her audience that Lennon had been murdered late the night before. And I think about how the dream is over for a family, a group of friends, so many people that were a part of this young man’s life for twenty years and I know that their dream is over. Dreams of a long, happy life. Dreams of children or grandchildren. Dreams that we all have for our loved ones.

Hold the ones you love tightly, often.

Tell them you love them, often.

Do nice things for them, for no reason, often.

And, when they want to do nice things for you, let them.

Because sometimes the universe is an asshole.

Peace.

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Now Where Was I?

Welp, I pooped in a box today. How’s that for a way to start this post? 

That’s not technically true btw. I actually pooped into a plastic bucket and then placed the bucket inside the box. This is all due to my annual checkup, which took place last week. My Doc gave me the option of sending a sample in vs getting a colonoscopy and I chose the poop in a box route. It was ridiculously convenient too. I came home from running errands one afternoon and saw a package waiting for me on my front porch and thought “Ooooooh I got something!”  You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that, instead of some tasty treat a thoughtful, Beautiful Blonde has sent me, I would soon poop in a box.  Once you start saying that, it’s not easy to stop, it kind of rolls off the tongue, which is probably the wrong metaphor to use given the subject matter.  Still, you have to admit I’m right. Also, it got me thinking about jobs. There are many, many great jobs out there. I think I can safely say opening boxes of poop; eight hours a day, five days a week, is not one of them. I’m not sure what would be worse; knowing box after box after box contains someone’s poop, or opening a box and being surprised that the contents were poop. Probably the surprise box, but the surprise would wear off pretty quickly after the 40th or 50th box, I’m sure. And, yet, someone does this job. I hope it at least pays well. 

I’ve been thinking about jobs for the last week or two, a lot more than usual. This is due to a handful of conversations I’ve had lately with the Heir to the Throne. Wonderful grandchild that he is, he came out to central North Carolina to pay me a visit and get away from some of the stressors life can throw at a 19 year old. And there are many. We’ve talked about jobs, careers, futures, relationships, several things of a serious nature. We’ve also talked a little bit about pooping in a box, because who better to appreciate hearing about poop in a box than a teenage male?  

It hasn’t all been serious talks though. We’ve also managed to sneak in a little fishing along with a quick trip out to the mountains where we did a little sightseeing.  While an attempted stop at Grandfather Mountain turned into an epic fail; due to the pandemic you can only get access if you make an appointment, which we did not do, our Plan B became a stop at Linville Falls, which was beautiful.  We’ve also visited what has become my go-to group of restaurants in the area for guests from back home. Lexington BBQ for, well, bbq; Magnolia 23 for old-school, home-style, Southern cooking; and Johnson’s for a lovely local favorite, cheeseburgers “all the way” which is to say a cheeseburger with chili, slaw, and mustard on it. It’s pretty tasty too, despite how you may think it sounds. I’m really glad he was able to come out for a visit, I think it did both of us some good.

He’s heading home tomorrow morning. I am too actually although I’ll be a couple hours behind him. I’m coming home for a couple weeks to give Ryan and Danielle a hand.  Ryan starts a new, still experimental, treatment using the drug ketamine. The long-term results are encouraging, so here’s hoping. He’ll need a chauffeur for the treatments, since there will be some short-term level of impairment involved, and that’s where I come in. Six treatments over ten days.

Ok, so quick disclaimer; I wrote the bulk of what you’ve read so far Friday morning while the car was getting a pre-road trip service.  I’m currently sitting at the kitchen table watching the two littlest ones playing in their inflatable pool in the backyard while #LillyNO is crashed on the couch.  We drove in yesterday, pretty uneventfully.  Well, let me take that back.  Yesterday was, in fact, a momentous trip in that, in all of the shuttles back and forth from NC to IL, #LillyNO had NEVER produced a drop of pee in the fine state of West Virginia even though every, single trip, either northbound or southbound included a stop there.  You may recall, or not, that I’m particularly fond of stopping in Beckley, WV where there is a place, Tamarack, that features work by local artisans.  It’s a great place to walk around a bit, get a bite to eat, and check out the work of some really talented people.  We have spent, literally, as long as an hour there, walking around the pet-walking area, while #LillyNO sniffs everything and anything and yet, never, ever did what I intended her to do while we were stopped there.  And yesterday, as we neared exit 45 (the Tamarack exit) or at least we were within 25 miles of it, #LillyNO started whining, like, a LOT, so I pulled off at the next exit.  We walked around for maybe five minutes when, lo and behold, she burst her WV seal so to speak.  I can’t imagine beaming more brightly if I had won a Pulitzer and a Nobel on the same day. Shoot throw in a Grammy, Tony, Oscar, Heisman, or any other award for that matter.

Ok, disclaimer number two… I had to walk away from this production several hours ago when, according to my laptop, the server at Word Press stopped functioning. I’m guessing maybe the fact that it was receiving content from me for the first time in a really long time short-circuited something.

I’m gonna wrap this one up here before something else happens and I can’t get it posted. I’m hoping this will get those of you that have been questioning why I haven’t written anything to get off my proverbial back. You know who you are. I’m looking at you Ray.

With a little luck, I’m going to try and squeeze in a visit or two with some friends while I’m here, but I make no promises. Love to all.

Peace

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Social Distancing

Full disclosure up in here, I started this one several days ago. I added a bit here or there and, it occurred to me I may as well change this around a little bit so it reads more like a daily (ish) journal. So here goes…

Coronavirus update March 20th – I didn’t even put pants on yesterday.

Before you get too much of a visual fright fest, I should clarify. I wasn’t half naked or anything, I just didn’t put on actual pants. I wore I guess what you would call loungewear all day. I didn’t leave the house for anything, so I didn’t see the point in putting real clothes on, you know?  I also spent a good portion of my day binge watching “Schitt’s Creek” and if you’ve never watched it, oh my god you need to. Maybe a little bit not for kids-ish but good Christ it’s hysterical. 

One would think having an increase in idle time might steer me back to this place more regularly and yet, today is literally the first time I’ve even looked at the site, and that was mainly due to a semi-regular perusal of my junk mail inbox where I found two website related spam emails.  I’ve had a couple ideas bounce around in my head but, since I try to steer clear of overtly partisan political posts, I’ve let them wither on the vine.

Coronavirus update March 43rd – As we all steer through our new ‘Rona normal, we can still find joy in some moments. I get it, sometimes that’s really hard to do. For example (and I totally get that this is a first world problem) due to the pandemic, we’ve had two concerts and two music festivals canceled and/or postponed. That’s a drag, no doubt, but it’s obviously the right call. But there have also been some wonderful musical moments these last couple weeks. Several artists have taken to posting videos of themselves doing solo, acoustic songs from their homes. BJ Barham, the frontman of American Aquarium has streamed himself playing his albums, one at a time, on a platform called StageIt and for $15.00 you can sign in and watch. So we did, a couple of albums. Drew and Ellie Holcomb have done a nightly bit called “Kitchen Covers” where they perform acoustic covers of a variety of songs, literally from their kitchen. I saw Jason Isbell cover the DBT song “Heathens” the other day as a birthday tribute to his friend Patterson Hood. These things have brought joy.

Music is rarely, if ever, about rational thought. Music should move your soul.  Michael McDonald may be a wonderful human being, perhaps he saved baby seals, or something. But imho he’s a hack musician that fits in comfortably alongside Journey on my personal skin crawl scale.  Huh. That came out of nowhere. I guess there was a little lingering animosity from my semi-recent post about musical talent. Or lack thereof. Just sayin’.

Coronavirus update March 65th – Here’s a plus. I tend to get bored with some of the mundane daily grind type tasks around the house. But now, it’s quite a bit harder to gloss these over. I think we’re going to clean the windows today. Probably. Possibly. Maybe. Tomorrow. Ish. I don’t think I’m THAT bored yet. I have to say though, my lawn looks better than it has, probably, ever. In a similar vein; I feel like I’m one step closer to being a Southerner. I spread my first batch of pine straw today. For the uninitiated, pine straw is pretty much what you think it is; the needles from southern pine. It’s used like mulch down here and it’s pretty much everywhere.

Coronavirus update March 98th – There have been a couple FaceTimes with the littles or the middles (I just thought of that, I kind of like the term) and a phone call or two from the HTTT, and these are always a pleasant diversion. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to make my annual pilgrimage back to northern Illinois in time to celebrate the Reigning Princess’ birthday with the fam instead of long distance, but I guess that’s up to the ‘Rona. I’m fairly confident this feeling that March of 2020 has been the. longest. month. ever. is a feeling that is shared by a multitude of people, if not most of the population at large.

Coronavirus update March 103rd – We actually got out a little today. In some of my travels since I moved down here, I noticed a sign for the Pisgah Covered Bridge, so I knew it was a thing, I just never took the time to check it out. Today, we did. It was pretty cool. Built in 1911, it was taken over by the state (or county or something) back at the end of the 90’s and is now a tourist-y kinda thing. And it was great way to spend an hour out in the sunshine and fresh air while still maintaining appropriate social distance from people. There’s a little creek that runs under it (duh, it’s a bridge) and it was just a very tranquil spot with a short (quarter mile or so) walking path around it. We may go back in the not too distant future for a picnic, corona permitting.

Coronavirus update April 1st – It’s actually, finally, for real for real not March anymore! Yaay us! I’m sure things are similar wherever you’re reading this, but down here it is certainly so; toilet paper has become like Bigfoot in that there are rumors it exists, but no one has seen it. I have a reasonable amount on hand (no pun intended)(also, sorry if that triggers a visual) so I’m not terribly worried about that. Yet.

Coronavirus update April 3rd – I feel like I need to mention that it was a year ago today life got turned on its ear. Last April 3rd I got a text from Danielle asking me if I had a few minutes to talk. That was when she told me about Ryan’s PTSD. I’ve written about it several times over the last few months and I’m not digging deeply into it now, other than to say he’s (we all have really) come a long way in the last 12 months. That’s not to say he’s in the clear by any means. Only that he’s in a much better space than he was a year ago, and I’m grateful for that. And I’m grateful for the incredible amount of support they’ve received from so many places and so many people. It’s truly humbling. At one point several months ago, when a bunch of support came rolling their way, he told me that he felt like George Bailey. That was great to hear and I thought it was an accurate analogy for him to make.

Coronavirus update April 4th – If you’re thinking I’ve been repeatedly burying the lede, well then, you’ve been paying attention. And if you haven’t, I’ll help you out. I’ve used the plural “we” multiple times as opposed to the singular “I” or “me” throughout this post. There’s a reason for that. I’m about to introduce a new character into the ensemble cast of this fine piece of literary achievement.

If you recall my post about traveling to Denver, you may also recall how I went back to shaving my head to avoid the Doc Brown comparisons. What was left unsaid was this- when I left for the airport, I stopped in to my local coffeehouse/restaurant for a road latte. When I walked in, one of the employees of said place, a woman I had noticed in there before, many times, saw me walking in and reacted in a way no one has ever reacted to me. That is to say, she was happy to see me. Like, really happy. Like, REALLY, REALLY happy to see me. And, as it turns out, she is a big fan of the shaved-headed me. Long story short, the Beautiful Blonde and I have spent quite a lot of time together these last several months. Despite all the hurdles life has placed before me, I’m as happy as I’ve been in a very long time and I have her to thank for it. Obviously none of us know what the future holds. But we’re enjoying this part of the ride as long as it lasts and we’ll see where we go from here.

Stay safe peeps. Keep socially distant, wash your hands, cover your cough, play nice with each other, and all the other things we learned as children. It’s amazing how far those simple lessons will take you, not just during a pandemic, but always. And, as always…

Peace