Patience

Up until Monday, it was a lusciously liberating time. The anxiety and stress that existed was gone. There was still the knowledge that all was not over, but it was a welcome break, and I was reveling in it. Monday, it all ended.

I tried to remain open to change. I did my best to maintain hope. I said, give it a week, then make a judgement. Maybe things will change? But it's hard for old habits to die, and I knew she, most of all, is very resistant. It's not her nature to admit to the reality of things. She has a vision, and she will stick to it no matter what. I find that way very depressing, and so, I felt depressed with their return.

For the first few days, she seemed to slow down and back off, then I came back from work on Wednesday. She was systematically setting the table in the way she envisioned it should be. I cringed. It was just the tip of the iceberg. To the unacquainted eye, it's an act of generosity, but for those who really know her, it's a way to control. Everything has to be the way she wants it. If not, she will do what it takes to wrestle that control away. The whole business is exhausting.

I've made a pledge not to get into with her. It only reflects badly on me. I will do my best to help, but I will not submit to the wackiness. I'm present for certain duties, but detached for others. That's how I will get through the next few months, and it's not entirely Hell. Certainly, I remain open to positive outcomes. I will do my best to contribute to those. Patience is a virtue, and I am learning.

Peace of mind

When caught up in life's dilemmas and fevers, it's hard to imagine a sense of tranquility. It's easy to get caught up in the feelings of the moment. Perhaps peace of mind is less of the momentary experience, but the knowledge that it will come, and maintaining a sense of balance even in the most challenging of times.

Oh, Christmas Tree...

This morning I brought down the Christmas tree. I took it apart, actually. It's a fake with an aluminum folding base, a plastic trunk the size of a thick broomstick. It has holes drilled in it so that you can systematically insert coat hanger sized ends of the branches from top to bottom. Once it's put together, it looks as real as a fake tree can look - not too bad.

I almost didn't put the tree up. Christmas seemed like an overbearing, over-perfumed aunt. Even seeing her once a year, is too much. There seemed very little to celebrate. My step-father, who's in the last stages of Alzheimer's, was out of the house, ferried between care facilities and hospitals in a never ending battle to find a cure for a series of infections. My nephew, who last year, provided the child's p.o.v, is now living in Japan. Why put up the tree, I thought, but my mother kept insisting. I kept brushing her off, but one Sunday night about two weeks before Christmas, my girlfriend said, "Hey, why don't we put it up?" Again, I balked. Then I thought, why not - it's something to do to fill the time. I turned on some Jazz on the radio, made hot chocolate, and from the basement, we brought up the ornaments and the tree, and started assembling it.

Little by little, I got lost in the moment. I even spontaneously smiled. What at first looked like something a Woodpecker poked holes into, turned out to be a not-too-shabby fully-decorated and lit expression of the season. I didn't want to get into that train of thought. I figured leave well enough alone. There's enough over-blown sentiment associated with Christmas for the entire Universe. Yet, it did feel good to smile. It was okay to feel like that - not too shabby, and that's how I left it.

Christmas and New Year's Eve came and went. Both times were low-keyed and satisfying.  As much as there was to be sad about, there was much to celebrate. This morning, I drove my daughter to the airport so she could take her flight back to Seattle. I was sad seeing her go. Yes, life is a series of hellos and good-byes, never easy, but inevitable.

When I arrived back home, I looked at the Christmas tree, and thought, it's time. Decoration by decoration, piece by piece, I put it all into boxes, brought them down to the basement again. When I went back to the living room, I stared at the empty spot where the Christmas tree had been. That night my girlfriend and I put it up, it truly caught me off guard. I wanted to hate the thing, but I came to embrace it and the season it symbolizes. Rather than be sad for things passed, I look forward to more good times and good spirits. We all need something to believe in and hope for.

This morning,

after viewing Facebook posts by Brian, Maria, Linda, Pia, Thomas, Thomas, Chris, Greg, Virgi (and, yes, I visited yours - sorry, only so much time to mention it- next time), I discovered a video of a proposal gone wrong. The still before I clicked 'play' had all the makings of  one of history's greatest cliches.

A young guy, early twenties, in a mall, pre-Christmas, crowd gathered around, falls to a knee before his girlfriend. He puts a microphone to his mouth, and begins uttering words that makes a Hallmark Card seem like Dostoevsky.

On cue, a trio, two acoustic guitarists and a singer, fall in place behind her. Suddenly, from out of the right frame, a triple Smart Car sized train replete with Engineer and passengers zooms through the frame. The guys is thrown off, stumbles, then recovers, and begins, once again, delivering his Barry Manilow-drenched-I-can't-live-without-you ditty.

The musicians begin to play. The girlfriend, wide-eyed and stuttering, bends down, and attempts to pull the mic from his hands. She pleads with him to stop, but the guy hangs on to the mic, and continues his speech. She lets go of the mic, rights herself up.

There is a long pause through which he continues speaking. She seems to resolve herself to the fact that he will not stop. For a moment, it seems that she will be a good sport, and hear him out, but in a quick instant, she pulls back an open hand, then slaps him across the face.

He falls down. She turns, rushes out of the frame. The crowd gasps. The musicians stop playing. The young man, ass on ground, touches his face, looks up shocked. The world seems to come to a momentary pause.

At first, I thought, good for her, he needed that. Then I thought, what a brat she was. Didn't she realize the length he went to to put everything together? Then I thought, how well did he know this girl - why set himself up for heart break - was he that stupid? Why in a mall? Why at Christmas-time? Why not in a dive after five pitchers of beer and Pasty Cline singing "I Fall to Pieces" on the juke-box? That's how I would have done it. Yes, that's how I did it. Then again, I was twice married and twice divorced. What is love? Why do people act the way they do? It's so confusing. Let me take Pepito for a walk in the woods, and contemplate that. Or... maybe, let's just enjoy the woods, and let people do as they do.

So Long, Andy and Mo

Baseball has a long season. It starts with the opening of Spring Training in late February, and usually ends at the beginning of November. Even for the worst teams, even if it's short-lived, there's a strange sense of hope that "this could be the season."  Baseball is a lot like life. It's a long, hard grind, one hundred and sixty-two games, five or six games a week. Who starts the season in first place doesn't necessarily end up there in October. There are many variables for a team's success. Talent is important, but in the end, it's often the team with the most talent, fewest injuries, and some luck that succeeds.

For Yankee fans, 2013 was the realization the glory days were coming to an end. In thirteen years, they won five World Series. The other years, they usually made it to the post season. A large part of that success was do to "The Core Four," Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada, Andy Petite, and Mariano "Mo" Rivera. In 2011 Posada retired. At the end of 2012, Rivera announced 2013 would be his last season. Due to injury, Jeter spent most of 2013 on the bench. And less than two weeks ago, Petite said this would be his last hurrah.

From April until June, the Yankees were in first place. Knowing that it would be Mo's last season, most fans thought, one more for Mo. It would be the perfect Hollywood ending. But a couple of weeks before Summer officially arrived, they fell out of first. For the rest of the season, they remained close to a Wild Card spot. There was still hope. Besides, the second half of the season was "Say Good-Bye to Mo Time."

For every road series in which the Yankee's played their last game, that team presented Mo with fare-well presents and wishes. It was touching and lots of fun. By late August, one knew the clock was ticking, but there was still more baseball to play, and still the hope that the Yankees could win one more for Mo.

Then September came. Andy Petite announced his retirement. It added to the sadness of Mo retiring. Andy and Mo were part of the Core Four. After 2013, only Jeter would remain. It was imperative that the Yankees make the post season.

Last week, through their loses and other team victories, the Yankees were eliminated from a Wild Card berth. The time had come for Yankee fans to face reality - an era had ended.

Last night I watched Andy Petite gain the final victory of his career. It was a 2-1 win over the Houston Astros, and a complete game - his first since 2006. He is the all-time Yankees strike-out leader and tied for first in career starts with Whitey Ford. He is also a five time World Series champ. Will he make it to the Hall of Fame? That is yet to be determined.

Mo Rivera is the greatest relief pitcher in Major League history with 652 regular season saves and 42 in the  post season. Last Sunday on t.v. I watched him say good-bye to thousands of fans at Yankee Stadium. Last Thursday on t.v., I watched Andy Petite and Derek Jeter walk to the mound to take him out of the game. Endings are a part of life. They are not easy to face, but we all face them. There's a lot that could be said about endings, and this ending, in particular. Derek Jeter said it best. When he approached Mo on the mound, he smiled, and simply said, "It's time to go."

Where Have All the Good Times Gone?

Most holidays give me the Willies. They seem forced, canned, and stifling. I like the day off, but I loathe the day. It reminds me of being part of the herd. It is the time to low, chew cud, and not be milked, branded, or herded. It is respite, but not true relief.

Yesterday, was Labor Day, and I had no expectations. I woke up in a humid steam bath. Instead of praising and reveling in this season, I cursed it, and took a shower. I took Pepito for a walk, but walking was such an effort. I daydreamed I was an terrestrial creature that decided the land was no place for me. I ambled to the shore, and walked into the ocean. I turned into a whale, and was finally happy. That was a pleasant thought for a few moments, then I woke up to reality, sweating and miserable. I drove home.

Arriving home, I was told that my ex-brother-in-law (we're still close) and his family would be coming over for the afternoon. It seemed like a good idea. It would be a chance to grill, which I love doing, and maybe, it would get my mind off the stickiness.

I set myself to the task of gathering Egg Plants, Green Beans, Cayennes, Cow Horns from the garden. I washed, cut them up, and seasoned them, then put them aside. Sweat was trickling down my face like little rivulets of prayerful angst in a sacred grotto. I went outside to light the fire. Being so humid, it took me three attempts before I was able to start up the coals. By the time the guests arrived, the food was cooking away, and I was quite satisfied in spite of being soaked like a much used sponge.

We had a grand time. We ate, recalled old times, talked of the present, mused about future, and we laughed a lot. It made me remember Labor Day's gone by when the family used to gather like it was breathing. These days, we don't mark the holidays with such vigor. They come, they go, and we say, "I can't believe it's already September." As the Kinks once said, "Where have all the good times gone?"

Yesterday, I found the good times again. They came in the form of people gathering to eat and share. They made me forget the humidity, and reminded me that, people are important. Yes, I am a member of "the Herd." I often loathe that name, but that's who I am to some extent, and from time to time, we all need to gather and to celebrate. It's not only delightful, but very essential.

The Last Day of August

Normally, this is the season of nostalgia for me. It's a time of looking back, and remembering the warm, contemplative season of fun. It is back to school time. It is Labor Day time - the last hurrah of events and picnics. Weather-wise, things are changing. The Dog Days of heat and humid give way to less humidity and cooler nights. There is a definite feeling of change in the air, but not this year.

Like the last three or four days, today is not necessarily hot, but very humid. The air is thick and heavy with moisture. It is swampy, weighty, and when I walk, or even sit, I feel burdened. The discomforting air leads to discomforting thoughts. I think of my life, and the things that aren't clicking in it. Just when I think things are taking off, they crash, and I'm back to square one. I know I have much to offer, and things will change, but sitting in this humidity, I'm stifled by heavy thoughts.

I need a cool breeze, but for some reason, it is not blowing. I guess that's life - some good, some bad, some hot, some cold, but nothing ever stays the same, and if you just sit and wait for things to change, nothing will. On that note, I will get my ass out of this chair, go over to the window, open it, and wait for that cool breeze that I know is coming. It will come.