I love tennis.
I fucking LOVE tennis.
A LOT.
Played a lot of it when I was a kid. A LOT. And I was good. Very good.
I love to play it; I love to watch it.
I played baseball as a kid. Made A division on my first try out. I didn't think I deserved it but there you go. But I didn't love it. Never really felt comfortable on the diamond.
I was at home on a tennis court. Even when it was 312 degrees out. Like it is this week at the U.S. Open.
I got away from tennis. I have gotten away from a lot of things I love in my life. I don't know why. There must be some kind of explanation but I can't fucking figure it out. If you can, keep it to yourself.
I am not interested in your opinion.
I decided I am going to watch a shitload of the Open this year. To feed my tennis Jones; to rekindle my love.
And I have. Started right away on Tuesday (worked Monday) and been digging it since. Doesn't matter if it is men or women - it is all spectacular.
By the way, I think if you have a passion for something - an overwhelming passion that just fuels your soul, pumps it up and gives you a new lease on life - maybe adds a few days on to your life expectancy - you should be allowed to call in to work.
"Hello - Capitol Center? - I won't be in today. Gotta watch the U.S. Open." "OK Joe - no problem. Enjoy it and let us know when you will be back. Of course we will pay you while you are out."
Doesn't that make sense to you? Wouldn't that make life better?
Just watched a match between Johanna Larsson and Angelique Kerber. Fucking spectacular. Hard fought, amazing rallies, ups and downs, ins and outs - it was a joy to watch.
I was rooting for Kerber because she has great legs - and she WON. Cool, I get to see her again.
Federer is about to play right now in the second round. A Thursday afternoon does not get any better than that.
What the hell else am I supposed to do? Watch Dancing With The Stars? Give me a fucking break.
I love tennis because it is one on one. You are alone, baby. You win - it is on you. You lose - it is on you.
Ain't nothing more dramatic than match point. If you are up, you are on the verge of ecstasy. If you are down, you are on the verge of suicide.
If I lose 100 pounds I might be able to play tennis again.
It could happen.
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Holy Moly, Baby
"The idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else."
From "The Denial of Death", by Ernest Becker
From "The Denial of Death", by Ernest Becker
What Is Life
Came across this poem somewhere. It is bleak. Enjoy.
What Is Life
Is life just a bowl of shit? Could that really be it?
A standard issue spoon at birth and a mighty appetite.
Seems a bit futile, don't you think? A bit of a waste.
What about happiness? Peace of mind? How does one
go about getting these things?
Are you even allowed to try?
Or does the trying upset the natural order of things?
Death hovers over everything, poking and prodding,
goading with an evil smirk.
When will you get the life you want? When will you succeed?
It truly sucks that death never loses.
Flash the phony smile, project disingenuous optimism.
These are your weapons. Embarrassing aren't they?
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players".
Well said. Substitute "life" for "world" and you get truth.
We play at life. We are actors. While the real thing, this "precious gift",
slips by unnoticed. Unremarkably.
We know nothing, learn nothing, understand nothing.
Seems absurd. Don't you think?
What Is Life
Is life just a bowl of shit? Could that really be it?
A standard issue spoon at birth and a mighty appetite.
Seems a bit futile, don't you think? A bit of a waste.
What about happiness? Peace of mind? How does one
go about getting these things?
Are you even allowed to try?
Or does the trying upset the natural order of things?
Death hovers over everything, poking and prodding,
goading with an evil smirk.
When will you get the life you want? When will you succeed?
It truly sucks that death never loses.
Flash the phony smile, project disingenuous optimism.
These are your weapons. Embarrassing aren't they?
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players".
Well said. Substitute "life" for "world" and you get truth.
We play at life. We are actors. While the real thing, this "precious gift",
slips by unnoticed. Unremarkably.
We know nothing, learn nothing, understand nothing.
Seems absurd. Don't you think?
Gettin' All Literary On Your Ass
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
his acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined.
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts,
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide.
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."
From "As You Like it", Act II, Scene VII.......................William Shakespeare
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
his acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined.
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts,
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide.
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."
From "As You Like it", Act II, Scene VII.......................William Shakespeare
Friday, August 24, 2018
Mercy
"My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won't be long, he won't be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now"
"Mercy Now", Mary Gauthier
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won't be long, he won't be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now"
"Mercy Now", Mary Gauthier
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Just A Thought
Thinking about writing a poem titled "Suckass Motherfuckers".
Might not go over well with the puppy dog/kitty cat crowd.
I honestly don't give a shit.
Might not go over well with the puppy dog/kitty cat crowd.
I honestly don't give a shit.
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
The Blues On Two Levels
I listen to the blues in two different ways.
I noticed this at work just the other day. When I am alone in the box office cage I dial up the blues on YouTube. I used to do Pandora but they think they are smarter than me. They are always doing the "if you liked this song, maybe you will like this one" bullshit.
No. I don't work that way. I know what I like and I want it when I want it. I do not want to be listening to two or three Allman Brothers songs and then suddenly have a Lynyrd Skynyrd song thrown in the mix along with a Marshall Tucker Band song.
Now dig. I like both of those bands. I like them when I want to like them. Not when some marketing geek decides he's gonna expand my horizons for me. My horizons are already expanded. By me.
At least with YouTube they will keep playing whoever I pick for a bunch of songs in a row. And when they get off track I just click on my choice again and bingo bango bongo I am right back where I need to be.
And if I really want to veg out I got videos to watch. You want weirdness? Check out "Hell Broke Luce" by Tom Waits on YouTube. It will thrill you into another dimension. Or not.
I noticed that sometimes I listen to the blues superficially. I think to myself "I am so fucking cool. I am so smart to listen to this music; real music, music of the soul; I am highly evolved". Sometimes I wish for a fellow employee to walk into the box office and say "Who is that?" So I can puff out my chest proudly and say "Why that's John Lee Hooker".
Frankly I make myself mildly nauseous when I think that way. Because then it's all about me and not about the music.
Then there are times when I am one with the music. I noticed it one early morning when I was firing up the box office machinery. Had the blues cranking and it became aware to me how superficial everything I was doing was. Heating up two computers in case one failed, testing both printers in case one fucked up, checking emails.
I was in a fog. The things I was doing meant nothing to me. They were a bit of a joke. Superfluous to reality. The music was reality. I wasn't angry about what I had to do, was not looking at my job as stupid. I was just kind of aware of myself performing these menial tasks as if I was outside my body, disconnected from my essence, while the music had my emotions roaring.
The part of me that was responding to the music was alive. The part of me that was performing menial tasks was dead. It was as simple as that.
Of course I always want it to be that way when I listen to music. Because music is so much better than life. But it doesn't work that way. Sometimes the ego gets in the way, sometimes life gets in the way. It is difficult to experience anything good in purity.
OK that's it, crime stoppers. Another Joe rant about music.
You getting sick of this shit yet?
I noticed this at work just the other day. When I am alone in the box office cage I dial up the blues on YouTube. I used to do Pandora but they think they are smarter than me. They are always doing the "if you liked this song, maybe you will like this one" bullshit.
No. I don't work that way. I know what I like and I want it when I want it. I do not want to be listening to two or three Allman Brothers songs and then suddenly have a Lynyrd Skynyrd song thrown in the mix along with a Marshall Tucker Band song.
Now dig. I like both of those bands. I like them when I want to like them. Not when some marketing geek decides he's gonna expand my horizons for me. My horizons are already expanded. By me.
At least with YouTube they will keep playing whoever I pick for a bunch of songs in a row. And when they get off track I just click on my choice again and bingo bango bongo I am right back where I need to be.
And if I really want to veg out I got videos to watch. You want weirdness? Check out "Hell Broke Luce" by Tom Waits on YouTube. It will thrill you into another dimension. Or not.
I noticed that sometimes I listen to the blues superficially. I think to myself "I am so fucking cool. I am so smart to listen to this music; real music, music of the soul; I am highly evolved". Sometimes I wish for a fellow employee to walk into the box office and say "Who is that?" So I can puff out my chest proudly and say "Why that's John Lee Hooker".
Frankly I make myself mildly nauseous when I think that way. Because then it's all about me and not about the music.
Then there are times when I am one with the music. I noticed it one early morning when I was firing up the box office machinery. Had the blues cranking and it became aware to me how superficial everything I was doing was. Heating up two computers in case one failed, testing both printers in case one fucked up, checking emails.
I was in a fog. The things I was doing meant nothing to me. They were a bit of a joke. Superfluous to reality. The music was reality. I wasn't angry about what I had to do, was not looking at my job as stupid. I was just kind of aware of myself performing these menial tasks as if I was outside my body, disconnected from my essence, while the music had my emotions roaring.
The part of me that was responding to the music was alive. The part of me that was performing menial tasks was dead. It was as simple as that.
Of course I always want it to be that way when I listen to music. Because music is so much better than life. But it doesn't work that way. Sometimes the ego gets in the way, sometimes life gets in the way. It is difficult to experience anything good in purity.
OK that's it, crime stoppers. Another Joe rant about music.
You getting sick of this shit yet?
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Definition of Insanity
Getting excited for pre-season football.
Pre-season football is as about as exciting as the Pro Bowl. Who could possibly give a shit?
ME.
Goddamn it I love football.
I get sucked in at this time every year. Start watching the NFL Network.
They got around the clock coverage of training camps. Training Camp Live. You have any idea how boring that is? Commentators sitting around forever trying to find interesting things to say. Squirming to find a way to make anything interesting. Often failing miserably at lame attempts at humor that make them look like fools.
And of course you have Andrew Siciliano's ears.
It's like when there is a tragedy and the news stations give you around the clock coverage. They tell you everything you need to know in the first ten minutes, but go on and on for hours repeating the same shit over and over again in the gravest of tones.
Training Camp Live is like that. And I watch it.
The NFL Network has a show called "Good Morning Football". Are you fucking kidding me? Every show about football should just be called "Motherfucking Football". Period.
Good Morning Football is a cutesy name and they do a lot of cutesy stuff. There is no room for cutesy in football.
I watch the show.
They have a series called Hard Knocks. I do love this show. They follow one team through training camp and the pre-season. You get a real feel for what it is like to be a football player. You also get emotionally caught up as guys try to make the team. Some get cut and that is a painful thing to watch.
This year they are following the Cleveland Browns. For you non-football fans, the Browns lost every single game last year. 0 and 16. Should be an interesting show.
I have finally come to grips with my relationship to football. I hate the injuries it causes, the lives it ruins. I hate Roger Goodell. Fucking guy ain't nothing more than a glorified CEO. He is not a football guy. I should be the fucking commissioner of the NFL. I deserve it. I have been loving football for 54 years. Of course I also want his salary (typically upwards of $30 million).
I hate the way the NFL sacrifices the health of its players and then covers it up and lies about it. I hate the rich white owners who are arrogant and don't give a shit about their players. To them the game is "product"; to them players are "assets".
I gotta give Robert Kraft a pass. I love him. I gotta love him. I am not aware of any bad shit about him. If he is ever exposed as a fraud it will break my heart. But it might open the door for my opportunity to become the owner of THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.
At that point I would give up my position as commissioner of the NFL and pass it on jointly to Keith and Craig.
All that being said, I still love football. I will always love it. I cannot help myself. When I die you might as well bury me in an Allman Brothers t-shirt, and place a bottle of Crown Royal and an official NFL football in the coffin. And that football better be autographed by Jim Brown, Joe Namath, Jerry Rice, Joe Montana and Tom Brady.
I will watch THE PATS' pre-season Game #1 tonight. Against the redskins. You better believe I will watch it. For about half an hour. After that it gets stupid as all the youngsters get their chances.
Apparently Brady will play tonight. He'll get a few plays in and then bow out. Knock off a little rust, get a feel for his receivers.
I won't see anything exciting. But I'll still be drooling.
It's coming, baby. The 2018 NFL season. I cannot fucking wait.
I will watch some games with Paula & Bill in complete insanity and abandon. I will watch some games with Keith and Craig in pride and love and laughter. I will watch many games sitting next to Carol with a cat in my lap. Carol has made such an effort to understand the game over the years that I think she gets it better than me.
All of that is OK with me.
Brief aside: It is impossible to get football crazy with a cat in your lap. I only lost it once when something happened and I just yelled in excitement. I don't remember which cat it was but she shot off my lap like a rocket. I have learned to control my emotions since then.
Football gives me something to live for even when I know snow is coming.
Powerful stuff.
Pre-season football is as about as exciting as the Pro Bowl. Who could possibly give a shit?
ME.
Goddamn it I love football.
I get sucked in at this time every year. Start watching the NFL Network.
They got around the clock coverage of training camps. Training Camp Live. You have any idea how boring that is? Commentators sitting around forever trying to find interesting things to say. Squirming to find a way to make anything interesting. Often failing miserably at lame attempts at humor that make them look like fools.
And of course you have Andrew Siciliano's ears.
It's like when there is a tragedy and the news stations give you around the clock coverage. They tell you everything you need to know in the first ten minutes, but go on and on for hours repeating the same shit over and over again in the gravest of tones.
Training Camp Live is like that. And I watch it.
The NFL Network has a show called "Good Morning Football". Are you fucking kidding me? Every show about football should just be called "Motherfucking Football". Period.
Good Morning Football is a cutesy name and they do a lot of cutesy stuff. There is no room for cutesy in football.
I watch the show.
They have a series called Hard Knocks. I do love this show. They follow one team through training camp and the pre-season. You get a real feel for what it is like to be a football player. You also get emotionally caught up as guys try to make the team. Some get cut and that is a painful thing to watch.
This year they are following the Cleveland Browns. For you non-football fans, the Browns lost every single game last year. 0 and 16. Should be an interesting show.
I have finally come to grips with my relationship to football. I hate the injuries it causes, the lives it ruins. I hate Roger Goodell. Fucking guy ain't nothing more than a glorified CEO. He is not a football guy. I should be the fucking commissioner of the NFL. I deserve it. I have been loving football for 54 years. Of course I also want his salary (typically upwards of $30 million).
I hate the way the NFL sacrifices the health of its players and then covers it up and lies about it. I hate the rich white owners who are arrogant and don't give a shit about their players. To them the game is "product"; to them players are "assets".
I gotta give Robert Kraft a pass. I love him. I gotta love him. I am not aware of any bad shit about him. If he is ever exposed as a fraud it will break my heart. But it might open the door for my opportunity to become the owner of THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.
At that point I would give up my position as commissioner of the NFL and pass it on jointly to Keith and Craig.
All that being said, I still love football. I will always love it. I cannot help myself. When I die you might as well bury me in an Allman Brothers t-shirt, and place a bottle of Crown Royal and an official NFL football in the coffin. And that football better be autographed by Jim Brown, Joe Namath, Jerry Rice, Joe Montana and Tom Brady.
I will watch THE PATS' pre-season Game #1 tonight. Against the redskins. You better believe I will watch it. For about half an hour. After that it gets stupid as all the youngsters get their chances.
Apparently Brady will play tonight. He'll get a few plays in and then bow out. Knock off a little rust, get a feel for his receivers.
I won't see anything exciting. But I'll still be drooling.
It's coming, baby. The 2018 NFL season. I cannot fucking wait.
I will watch some games with Paula & Bill in complete insanity and abandon. I will watch some games with Keith and Craig in pride and love and laughter. I will watch many games sitting next to Carol with a cat in my lap. Carol has made such an effort to understand the game over the years that I think she gets it better than me.
All of that is OK with me.
Brief aside: It is impossible to get football crazy with a cat in your lap. I only lost it once when something happened and I just yelled in excitement. I don't remember which cat it was but she shot off my lap like a rocket. I have learned to control my emotions since then.
Football gives me something to live for even when I know snow is coming.
Powerful stuff.
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Impressions
Carol and I spent last Saturday in Groton, MA celebrating the 70th birthday of my friend Alan.
He is an elderly gentleman.
And one of my closest friends.
Alan and I share an insane, sensitive, and honest history. The killer is that he had a stroke thirteen years ago that turned his life upside down and has never backed off, never allowed him back to full functionality. His left arm is almost entirely non-functional.
At one point he and Carol were sitting side by side on the couch to my right comparing notes on what they have been through. They are both strong, they are both positive. I had to fight back tears once or twice to see how they were connecting, how the troubles they have endured give them a shared perspective about life; how their fiercely positive attitudes set them apart from the rest of us mere mortals.
Super cool and inspiring.
Simple twist of fate: A woman who was at the party said she recognized me from the Capitol Center - she volunteers there. She is Alan's cousin. How insane is that?
It gets better. At one point she was talking to Carol and staring at her intently. She asked "Have you recently had surgery?" Carol said "Yes" and this woman, Marge, said "Acoustic Neuroma".
Boom. Turns out Marge went through the same exact thing that Carol is going through. Oh my God, they connected like magnets. Carol asked a lot of questions, Marge gave a lot of advice and encouragement. I was so happy for Carol to see someone who endured the same surgery and has come out the other end whole. She stood in front of Carol as living proof that she will be OK.
I was unsuccessful in fighting back tears during that conversation. I turned away once or twice and sneakily wiped my cheek so no one would see what a wuss I am.
I don't know, man - I am never sure how I feel about fate or karma. But that day, that meeting just had to happen. It was so random, but it made so much sense and it meant so much.
One more thought.
When we first got there, as we got out of the car, an old black dog came slowly towards us.
Dhani. Alan's dog.
The name probably means nothing to you but it does to me and to Alan. Dhani is George Harrison's son. When Alan told me what he named him I just thought it was the coolest thing.
I remember when Alan first got him. Dhani was a frisky, crazy, fun dog. He never listened to Alan, which drove him crazy. I haven't seen him for a long, long time.
Now he is old with white whiskers and moves very slowly.
For some reason that really got to me. I guess it was the stark contrast from the last time I saw him.
Alan and I are aging together; I don't see him often enough but I do see him from time to time. So our mutual physical depreciation is not shocking. But in my mind Dhani went from a young pup to an old dog in three seconds.
Alan turning 70 doesn't scare me; me being 64 doesn't scare me (too much). But seeing Dhani being old triggered something in me that has been bothering me ever since.
Call it discomfort. Call it awareness.
Anyway, what an amazing day. I took the day off from work to be there. Imagine if I said no, I can't go, gotta work. Imagine what we would have missed.
I am jaded, I am a realist, but I gotta tell you, life still surprises me sometimes.
Even on the downhill slide, life can make you feel good in your heart and in your soul.
He is an elderly gentleman.
And one of my closest friends.
Alan and I share an insane, sensitive, and honest history. The killer is that he had a stroke thirteen years ago that turned his life upside down and has never backed off, never allowed him back to full functionality. His left arm is almost entirely non-functional.
At one point he and Carol were sitting side by side on the couch to my right comparing notes on what they have been through. They are both strong, they are both positive. I had to fight back tears once or twice to see how they were connecting, how the troubles they have endured give them a shared perspective about life; how their fiercely positive attitudes set them apart from the rest of us mere mortals.
Super cool and inspiring.
Simple twist of fate: A woman who was at the party said she recognized me from the Capitol Center - she volunteers there. She is Alan's cousin. How insane is that?
It gets better. At one point she was talking to Carol and staring at her intently. She asked "Have you recently had surgery?" Carol said "Yes" and this woman, Marge, said "Acoustic Neuroma".
Boom. Turns out Marge went through the same exact thing that Carol is going through. Oh my God, they connected like magnets. Carol asked a lot of questions, Marge gave a lot of advice and encouragement. I was so happy for Carol to see someone who endured the same surgery and has come out the other end whole. She stood in front of Carol as living proof that she will be OK.
I was unsuccessful in fighting back tears during that conversation. I turned away once or twice and sneakily wiped my cheek so no one would see what a wuss I am.
I don't know, man - I am never sure how I feel about fate or karma. But that day, that meeting just had to happen. It was so random, but it made so much sense and it meant so much.
One more thought.
When we first got there, as we got out of the car, an old black dog came slowly towards us.
Dhani. Alan's dog.
The name probably means nothing to you but it does to me and to Alan. Dhani is George Harrison's son. When Alan told me what he named him I just thought it was the coolest thing.
I remember when Alan first got him. Dhani was a frisky, crazy, fun dog. He never listened to Alan, which drove him crazy. I haven't seen him for a long, long time.
Now he is old with white whiskers and moves very slowly.
For some reason that really got to me. I guess it was the stark contrast from the last time I saw him.
Alan and I are aging together; I don't see him often enough but I do see him from time to time. So our mutual physical depreciation is not shocking. But in my mind Dhani went from a young pup to an old dog in three seconds.
Alan turning 70 doesn't scare me; me being 64 doesn't scare me (too much). But seeing Dhani being old triggered something in me that has been bothering me ever since.
Call it discomfort. Call it awareness.
Anyway, what an amazing day. I took the day off from work to be there. Imagine if I said no, I can't go, gotta work. Imagine what we would have missed.
I am jaded, I am a realist, but I gotta tell you, life still surprises me sometimes.
Even on the downhill slide, life can make you feel good in your heart and in your soul.
Carol
Gotta talk about my amazing wife some more.
As I have previously said, I see her in a much different way now.
It makes me sound like an asshole, but my love for her has been re-awakened.
Truthfully, almost any couple that has been together for forty years becomes complacent. Not a lot going on there, not much excitement; predictability and routine dominate, which is never good for the soul.
However, longevity should never be an excuse for complacency. Love should transcend that.
I guess most of us are lazy.
I watched Carol talk to and connect with Alan in a deep and meaningful way that many cannot appreciate. I sensed her strength, her positive attitude; I was so proud of her and felt so good for her.
I watched Carol talk to Marge about their shared experience battling a brain tumor. Again, I sensed her strength and positive attitude. She is all about getting to where she wants to be. Marge gave her advice about facial exercises to do and Carol gobbled up that advice.
There is no "woe is me" in Carol.
It is hard for me to describe my emotions in these situations and many others. Suffice it to say my reaction is powerful and sometimes overwhelming.
Carol has a tough month this month. Reminiscent of what she went through last summer after being diagnosed with a double dose of cancer.
She calls it being poked and prodded.
She had a follow up mammogram yesterday in Concord. On the 15th we head up to Dartmouth-Hitchcock for an appointment to discuss possible help with her hearing issues. On the 17th we head back up to Dartmouth-Hitchcock for a follow up MRI on her brain and a meeting with one of the surgeons who operated on her.
Pain in the ass, tough for her because it makes her feel like a piece of meat, but necessary, and we both know in our hearts the news will continue to be good.
I am looking at her Patient Information Sheet from yesterday's mammogram. Under problems the following issues are listed: Acoustic neuroma, impairment of balance, malignant tumor of breast, unilateral hearing loss, hypertensive disorder, tachycardia (not sure where that came from).
Next to that block of information is written, in black sharpie, two words:
"No concerns."
I looked at this sheet twice earlier this morning and dropped a couple of tears. I am looking at it right now and doing the same thing.
Guess that's the best way to tell you how I feel about Carol.
As I have previously said, I see her in a much different way now.
It makes me sound like an asshole, but my love for her has been re-awakened.
Truthfully, almost any couple that has been together for forty years becomes complacent. Not a lot going on there, not much excitement; predictability and routine dominate, which is never good for the soul.
However, longevity should never be an excuse for complacency. Love should transcend that.
I guess most of us are lazy.
I watched Carol talk to and connect with Alan in a deep and meaningful way that many cannot appreciate. I sensed her strength, her positive attitude; I was so proud of her and felt so good for her.
I watched Carol talk to Marge about their shared experience battling a brain tumor. Again, I sensed her strength and positive attitude. She is all about getting to where she wants to be. Marge gave her advice about facial exercises to do and Carol gobbled up that advice.
There is no "woe is me" in Carol.
It is hard for me to describe my emotions in these situations and many others. Suffice it to say my reaction is powerful and sometimes overwhelming.
Carol has a tough month this month. Reminiscent of what she went through last summer after being diagnosed with a double dose of cancer.
She calls it being poked and prodded.
She had a follow up mammogram yesterday in Concord. On the 15th we head up to Dartmouth-Hitchcock for an appointment to discuss possible help with her hearing issues. On the 17th we head back up to Dartmouth-Hitchcock for a follow up MRI on her brain and a meeting with one of the surgeons who operated on her.
Pain in the ass, tough for her because it makes her feel like a piece of meat, but necessary, and we both know in our hearts the news will continue to be good.
I am looking at her Patient Information Sheet from yesterday's mammogram. Under problems the following issues are listed: Acoustic neuroma, impairment of balance, malignant tumor of breast, unilateral hearing loss, hypertensive disorder, tachycardia (not sure where that came from).
Next to that block of information is written, in black sharpie, two words:
"No concerns."
I looked at this sheet twice earlier this morning and dropped a couple of tears. I am looking at it right now and doing the same thing.
Guess that's the best way to tell you how I feel about Carol.
Friday, August 3, 2018
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Keep Your Soul On The Mend
Hello. How's it going?
Two lines from Gregg Allman's song "The Road Is My Only True Friend" from his final album:
"Keep me in your heart
Keep your soul on the mend"
It's the second line that fascinates me. Keep your soul on the mend. How do you do that?
It is what we all want to do, what we all need to do, but generally the soul suffocates a decades long slow death.
I dig the whole soul concept. I don't believe it is a religious thing, I don't believe it is a form of energy that escapes into the universe when you die.
I believe the soul is your essence. Not your personality, not your beliefs.
Your essence. Intangible to others, extremely tangible to you.
It is who you truly are. Stripped of your experiences, your hurts and triumphs, separate from the opinions of others.
Only you know who you truly are, although, bizarrely enough, you can lose that. You can get lost in the deadlines and commitments of life, making adjustments along the way as survival mechanisms.
Adjustments that help you survive, but initiate the process of soul suffocation.
I believe unhappiness comes from the soul's attempts to keep on the mend. You get beat up, beat down, dreams die, diseases assault, friends and relatives die, money flows out like a flood and trickles in like a leaky faucet.
Your soul keeps trying to rise up through the sludge and get some air.
Hopefully your soul never stops trying to assert itself. Of course many people give up and I don't fault them for that. You can only take so much.
It is routine for life to beat people down to the point where they see no point in feeding the soul. The walking dead waiting to die. Glazed over eyes, grim and despondent, going through the motions day after day with no point or purpose. No goals. No hope.
Personally, I believe my soul is still strong. I sense this because I still believe that Carol and I can improve our lives. Ridiculous as that may seem given our age, Carol's health issues, our financial situation.
There is still something positive? hopeful?, whatever, going on in my brain. It is the only reason I get up in the morning.
If I looked at our "now" and our future in black and white terms, as merely facts, I would be applying for a gun permit.
There is some special sauce in there, something in my soul, that holds on to the idea that we can make things better. We still have room to maneuver.
The last two years have been real eye openers for us. I semi-retired in June of 2016. Fun stuff, good stuff.
I was diagnosed with melanoma in August of 2016. Carol was diagnosed with breast cancer and a brain tumor last summer. Endured a mastectomy and the removal of a brain tumor. A couple of months ago the doc found three cancerous spots on my prostate, one tic below the level where action has to be taken.
Intensity has been ramped up, baby.
All I want is for our remaining years together to be happy and comfortable.
I am relying on my soul to get us there.
Two lines from Gregg Allman's song "The Road Is My Only True Friend" from his final album:
"Keep me in your heart
Keep your soul on the mend"
It's the second line that fascinates me. Keep your soul on the mend. How do you do that?
It is what we all want to do, what we all need to do, but generally the soul suffocates a decades long slow death.
I dig the whole soul concept. I don't believe it is a religious thing, I don't believe it is a form of energy that escapes into the universe when you die.
I believe the soul is your essence. Not your personality, not your beliefs.
Your essence. Intangible to others, extremely tangible to you.
It is who you truly are. Stripped of your experiences, your hurts and triumphs, separate from the opinions of others.
Only you know who you truly are, although, bizarrely enough, you can lose that. You can get lost in the deadlines and commitments of life, making adjustments along the way as survival mechanisms.
Adjustments that help you survive, but initiate the process of soul suffocation.
I believe unhappiness comes from the soul's attempts to keep on the mend. You get beat up, beat down, dreams die, diseases assault, friends and relatives die, money flows out like a flood and trickles in like a leaky faucet.
Your soul keeps trying to rise up through the sludge and get some air.
Hopefully your soul never stops trying to assert itself. Of course many people give up and I don't fault them for that. You can only take so much.
It is routine for life to beat people down to the point where they see no point in feeding the soul. The walking dead waiting to die. Glazed over eyes, grim and despondent, going through the motions day after day with no point or purpose. No goals. No hope.
Personally, I believe my soul is still strong. I sense this because I still believe that Carol and I can improve our lives. Ridiculous as that may seem given our age, Carol's health issues, our financial situation.
There is still something positive? hopeful?, whatever, going on in my brain. It is the only reason I get up in the morning.
If I looked at our "now" and our future in black and white terms, as merely facts, I would be applying for a gun permit.
There is some special sauce in there, something in my soul, that holds on to the idea that we can make things better. We still have room to maneuver.
The last two years have been real eye openers for us. I semi-retired in June of 2016. Fun stuff, good stuff.
I was diagnosed with melanoma in August of 2016. Carol was diagnosed with breast cancer and a brain tumor last summer. Endured a mastectomy and the removal of a brain tumor. A couple of months ago the doc found three cancerous spots on my prostate, one tic below the level where action has to be taken.
Intensity has been ramped up, baby.
All I want is for our remaining years together to be happy and comfortable.
I am relying on my soul to get us there.
And In A Related Story...................
I think I am in love with John Mellencamp.
It has been a slow growing romance but, recently, it has burst into flame.
A few years a go I picked up a CD of his titled "No Better Than This". I was blown away by it. I listened to it over and over and over again. It is filled with songs about every day people and every day lives, and small emotions and huge emotions, nostalgia, sadness and humor.
Fucking amazing.
A couple of nights ago I watched a new documentary on and by Mellencamp titled "Plain Spoken".
Which is a perfect title because that is exactly what he is and always has been.
It was footage of one of his recent concerts, with Mellencamp speaking over the broadcast. He talked about his life, his career, his values, his approach to life and relationship with the music industry and life itself.
Very enlightening.
He floored me near the end. Absolutely floored me.
He said "There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want. There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want. There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want."
He said it three times. And followed it up with "If you settle for something you don't want, then you are going to be disillusioned, you will feel cheated, and you are not living life to the fullest."
Sound like you? You know it does. Sounds like me.
The feeling of disillusionment and being cheated, the awareness of not living life to the fullest, is the sound of your soul suffocating.
I love this man. I love his music. I respect what he has done with his life.
I appreciate his wisdom.
It has been a slow growing romance but, recently, it has burst into flame.
A few years a go I picked up a CD of his titled "No Better Than This". I was blown away by it. I listened to it over and over and over again. It is filled with songs about every day people and every day lives, and small emotions and huge emotions, nostalgia, sadness and humor.
Fucking amazing.
A couple of nights ago I watched a new documentary on and by Mellencamp titled "Plain Spoken".
Which is a perfect title because that is exactly what he is and always has been.
It was footage of one of his recent concerts, with Mellencamp speaking over the broadcast. He talked about his life, his career, his values, his approach to life and relationship with the music industry and life itself.
Very enlightening.
He floored me near the end. Absolutely floored me.
He said "There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want. There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want. There is no reward in this world for settling for something you don't want."
He said it three times. And followed it up with "If you settle for something you don't want, then you are going to be disillusioned, you will feel cheated, and you are not living life to the fullest."
Sound like you? You know it does. Sounds like me.
The feeling of disillusionment and being cheated, the awareness of not living life to the fullest, is the sound of your soul suffocating.
I love this man. I love his music. I respect what he has done with his life.
I appreciate his wisdom.
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