Expectations

I am walking a fine line here.

I am into my fifth day of vacation and it's feeling magnificent. Staring down the barrel of Nashville in gleeful anticipation. Day after tomorrow I land in Tennessee.

How sweet it is.

Got a Covid booster shot on Monday (Phil did too) because we figure we're gonna be in some redneck bars with some potentially ignorant people. I will love Nashville, but not enough to die for it.

I am not looking for nuclear change over the course of this vacation but I would like to negotiate some kind of bend in the road. Set me off in a new and healthier direction.

I think Nashville can be a spark for me because I will be me - me in my own element. This is a radical deal for me. Kind of like taking LSD.

My mind will be assaulted with newness. A whole different environment. Endorphins will be flooding my brain non-stop. This may open my mind to a new and different perspective. Fire up some inspiration.

Once I experience that level of joy, I will not easily slip back into the misery I choose to wallow in every day. 

Kind of like letting the cat out of the bag. When Real Joe pokes his head up through the bile and inhales lungfuls of beauty and happiness and fun, it might be tough to force him back down inside that gunny sack.

I know you think this is fanciful - mere (and continued) wishful thinking on my part.

But I am considering the context.

I haven't even been on a plane in well over 20 years. The only vacations we have taken in decades have been to Old Orchid Beach. 

This whole thing will be mind blowing for me. Huge. Almost unimaginable.

I am hoping it plants a seed.

But at the very least it will be a goddamn good time.

And Four Became Three

The Stones are back on tour.

The No Filter Tour was delayed because of Covid. They are back on the road - without Charlie. The first date was on September 26 in St. Louis.

I have seen clips of that concert.

Pretty tough, but The Stones being The Stones they still delivered. I imagine this tour will have extra energy and emotion in memory of Charlie Watts.

The final bow was heartbreaking to me.

After every concert Charlie, Ronnie, Mick and Keith used to walk to the front of the stage, link arms and take a bow.

To me that was a celebration of their longevity, their staying power, their determination and dedication to the music. Their love, worship and respect for the music and for their own legacy. The four of them against the world.

In St. Louis four became three.

Mick, Keith and Ronnie. Linking arms, taking a bow - without Charlie.

It destroyed me.

Seeing the three of them up there without Charlie brought home the permanence of this situation. He's gone and he won't be back. The weirdness of death. The heaviness of absence.

I am sure Mick, Keith and Ronnie have been rocked by Charlie's death. He put in 58 years with this band.

Fifty eight.

No different than a marriage, when your life is intertwined with other people for that long, the bond becomes sacred. When death breaks that bond the soul recoils.

Of course The Stones are paying tribute. The St. Louis show opened to just drums, an empty stage, and four large screens overhead displaying photos of Charlie. Mick talked about how hard it is to play on without him.

I quoted Rob Thomas as saying that Charlie's death feels like the beginning of the end of an era.

Seeing those three men link arms and bow without him brought the point home in a visceral and very sad way.

Requiescat in pace, Charlie Watts.

With LOVE.

Almost Everyone

 "Almost everyone is screwed up, broken, clingy, scared, and yet designed for joy. Even (or especially) people who seem to have it more or less together are more like the rest of us than you would believe. I try not to compare my insides to their outsides, because this makes me much worse than I already am, and if I get to know them, they turn out to have plenty of irritability and shadow of their own. Besides, those few people who aren't a mess are probably good for about twenty minutes of dinner conversation.

This is good news that almost everyone is petty, narcissistic, secretly insecure, and in it for themselves, because a few of the funny ones may actually long to be friends with you and me. They can be real with us, the greatest relief. As we develop love, appreciation, and forgiveness for others over time, we may accidentally develop those things toward ourselves too."

Anne Lamott, author

You Used To

You used to laugh easily, genuine and heartfelt.

You projected enthusiasm.

Were energetic and playful.

Spoke confidently.

Your personality was out there

for others to enjoy.

I miss all that.

I don't know where it went.

You folded inside of yourself, protective

and tentative.

Self-doubt killed the laughter.

Fear and anxiety destroyed the confidence 

and enthusiasm.

Did life do this to you? Or is it your

perception of what life has done?

I am more comfortable with you as you were.

I need you back.

You need you back.

Before life falls away beneath you.

James Lee Burke

 "But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon. I can't be sure. I brood upon it and sleep little. I wait like a denied lover for the blue glow of dawn."

The last paragraph of the book Heaven's Prisoners. Written by James Lee Burke.

Do you understand why I love this man?

I have always needed a go to author. Someone I can consistently go back to for comfort reading.

I read two or three heavy books in a row; then I need a guy I can depend upon to make me feel at home. It is as much a physical sensation as an emotional one.

James Lee Burke has been that guy for years now.

The last author I was into in that way was Lawrence Sanders. Loved the man. I was privileged to pass that love along to my son Keith.

Sanders wrote multiple series of books. The Edward X. Delaney series, the Peter Tangent Series, the Commandment series, the Timothy Cone series, the Archie McNally series.

Every series with a different twist and amazingly memorable characters. Absolutely delicious.

James Lee Burke has the Dave Robicheaux series, the Billy Bob Holland series, the Hackberry Holland series, the Holland Family Saga series.

Every series with a different twist and amazingly memorable characters. Absolutely delicious.

When I read these authors it's like taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. They calm me down. They make me smile in appreciation. They distract me from the problem of the day. They entertain me, challenge me, and sooth me.

It's like having my own live-in psychiatrists.

I don't know how I come across these authors. It happens magically and saves me eternally.

Interventionist Deer Deity

Every Thursday and Friday morning I go hunting for deer.

As I drive to HELL I check the side of the road for deer. I haven't seen one since that day I summoned one out of thin air.

A week ago I turned right out of my driveway, got about three houses down the road to see a deer standing right in the middle of the road. Broadside. Looking into the woods.

I slowed down in awe. She casually turned her head to look at me. As nonchalant as could be. Then she walked off into the woods.

That had to mean something. Right?

A divine message. Inspiration. Indicative of good tidings.

My battered soul hungers for spiritual confirmation. Even as my brain says "no fucking way."

I want mystery. I want ethereal. I want a presence in or out of this world that is gentle, loving, all knowing and well meaning.

We all need something or someone on our side. Someone with power and wisdom.

Life is a cheese grater. Ethereal is body armor.

Carol saw a deer on our road yesterday. This is big news. Two sightings in a week and a half.

When we first moved here 35 years ago we saw deer all the time. Often in our own back yard. 2 or 3 at a time. We all became so comfortable that we invited them into our home, sat down and broke bread together.

Now we almost never see deer. Why? Where have they gone? Maybe they just decided that humans suck ( a not uncommon point of view in general). Maybe the population has dwindled. I don't know.

I only know that seeing that deer in the road lifted my spirits. No small feat.

Maybe deer have an acidometer. You know, they sense that someone is full of nitric acid up to his eyeballs, and they better do something before he dissolves into invisibility.

A quick sighting, acid abates, problem solved. Temporarily.

Who knows. I only know I appreciate the consideration.

A Consistent Line

 In the past, I have said the same thing to Lakota and Maka.

Now Emmy Lou and Patsy.

"I love you so much. I just hate myself."

Don't panic, for Christ sake - don't condescend - don't puke or decide I am a weak, lily-livered, pantywaist of a man, don't.........................................

You know I'm kidding. I'd have to be. Right?

Who the hell in their right mind could love a cat and hate himself?

It is just not feasible. It's not right. It disturbs the balance of the universe.

Humans supersede animals in the hierarchy of life. That's just the way it is.

They give us love and sensitivity. We kill them. And eat them.

Not cats, for Christ sake - I am not talking about cats.

Although Carol and I had Chinese food over the weekend and the sesame chicken was stringy and chewy. I didn't enjoy it like I usually do. Hard times??????????????????????????

I focused on the pork fried rice.

What saves my sanity is that every one of them - Lakota, Maka, Emmy Lou and Patsy - have responded in the same way. They look up at me with that fierce honesty only an animal can communicate - that love so soft but so tough that it can defeat the hardest, coldest, most vicious human being on the planet  - and they say:

" Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ - you are made of love. You are The King of Sensitivity. You redefined the meaning of the word empathy. You are a beautiful man. You have to love yourself."

And the matter is settled.

Either Or

You either love animals or you don't.

If you say you love cats but hate dogs, or love dogs but hate cats - you are taking a position. A position that in your ignorance you think defines you.

In a way it does. It defines you as a piece of shit.

Animals are precious, they are holy, they are pure fucking love, they are unquestioningly loyal - period.

Animals are innocent. That is the sticking point. 

Humans are not innocent. Humans are calculating and evil. They are broken organisms who are incapable of recognizing or expressing pure love.

Stay the fuck away from me unless you love all animals.

I have had one dog in my life - Onyx. And I am grateful for him. He was the sweetest dog on planet earth.

Many times when I would lean against the kitchen sink in abject depression (which happens a lot), Onyx would walk up to me and touch his nose to my hand. Give me a little nudge. Many times without me even noticing he was there through the black curtain that suffocated my mind. He was there to say "I love you."

I loved him SO much and he was sensitive and responsive to my moods. To the Nth degree.

I have had 6 cats now. Every one of whom I loved with all my heart and who gave the intensity of that love right back to me. Selflessly.

So don't tell me you love dogs and hate cats, or love cats and hate dogs. If you utter those words to me I will write you off as a fucking prick.

Killer Lyrics

 Lyrics circulate in my head and in my life; their potency waxes and wanes.

The Eagles:

"Well I know it wasn't you who held me down, heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free,

So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains, and we never even know we have the key"

From Already Gone

Christ man, if that don't make you look in the mirror you might as well crawl right into the grave. You are just wasting time.

Jackson Browne:

"Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive, trying not to confuse it, with what you do to survive."

From Running On Empty

Shit man, that is the yin and the yang of life right there. 

Love is it - it is the only thing that will give you peace and meaning and value - I am talking true love, unadulterated love - the kind of love that validates your existence and the existence of the one who loves you.

Versus.....................your fucking job. The shit you have to do because you gotta eat. Because you gotta pay the rent. That is the shit that tears you apart. Rips your soul to shreds.

Your soul that yearns for love and settles for a fucking paycheck.

The Wisdom of Burke

 "I wasn't being fair to Annie. She had paid her share of dues, but there were times when you are very alone in the world and your own thoughts flay your skin an inch at a time. This was one of them."

"By all odds he should have been one of those people who live out their lives in a gray and undistinguished way with never a bolder ambition than a joyless marriage and a cost-of-living raise."

Both quotes from Heaven's Prisoners, by James Lee Burke.

Old Guys

I dig old guys.

And not just because I am one of them.

If I am watching a Red Sox game and the camera focuses in on two older guys sitting together in the stands, I experience immediate empathy and respect.

There is a definite gravitas that comes along with surviving 60 or 70 or 80 or 90 years of life. 

People of those ages have experienced marriage and birth and death and jobs and disasters and triumphs, heartbreaking loss, sky high joy, and just plain old every day living.

You can see it in their body language. No panic, just composure. Once you have seen it all, once you realize your dreams probably will not come true and that awareness won't kill you, you are left with a quiet peace, a resigned acceptance that this is your life, your friends, your family and maybe it ain't all that bad.

You almost feel bulletproof in a weird way, even though you know The Reaper knows where you live and has already purchased his Amtrak ticket to your grand finale.

When I am out and about and I see guys my age with beer guts and white beards and unruly long hair, I smile inwardly. They are who they are and they don't give a shit what anyone else thinks about them. They move about effortlessly, as comfortable in their own skin as any man in an Italian, custom made suit.

I have a sneaking suspicion that when I am done with this whole work thing, the hair is going to get unruly and I might proudly sport white facial decoration. I already have the fucking beer gut, although I stubbornly adhere to the belief that I can eradicate it.

Skinny old guys are the best, though. You know the ones I am talking about - grizzled faces, cheap jeans, scuffed and dirty work boots, t-shirts with holes in them, smoking a cigarette. There is something triumphant about making it to old age and remaining skinny. A major life victory.

I am not shitting on youth. Youth rocks. The energy, the easy laughter, the natural insanity, no worries - that is a magical place to be and everyone should enjoy it.

But you haven't earned a lot of respect. You haven't been shocked by sudden misfortune, or dealt with your own shortcomings, or succeeded or failed, or succeeded and failed. You haven't loved, you haven't been betrayed, you haven't dealt with frightening illness. Loss.

Old guys have taken life on straight-up and survived it all. It didn't go the way they wanted it to, they had to make adjustments, they built emotional walls for protection, but they were not defeated.

They kept moving.

Now their smiles project a sense of knowing, a wisdom that must be respected.

Time Off For Good Behavior

I am a free man.

Taking some time off. Richly deserved. Left work yesterday, don't go back until October 14.

Do the math. That's a lot of days.

And right in the middle of all that - I am going to Nashville. Fucking Nashville, baby. 4 days.

Actually it's more like 3 days cumulatively - half a day Friday and Monday - full days on Saturday and Sunday. But, come on - 39 seconds in Nashville is life changing.

Please understand - Carol and I lead tiny lives. We don't go anywhere, we don't do anything. On the rare occasion when we travel from one side of town to the other we consider buying champagne.

So this is big.

The timing is perfect. My temporarily damaged finger tells me so.

No grand schemes this time, saving my life and all that. The idea of changing my life around in a way that will make me happy, swell my bosom with pride, is fairly unrealistic. 

Options dwindle as years bleed past.

So during this long, sweet break I expect peace, release, recovery and....................the birth of some sort of escape plan.

Got us a realtor coming out Monday to review our options now that we cleaned 90% of our life's detritus out of the house. Get a solid feel for where we are at, what we need to do, what our options are, where the market is at.

Honestly, if we could come up with $115,000 to pay off the mortgage we would be quite content to stay here until the place becomes a mausoleum. Gotta get that fucking monkey off our backs.

But I haven't found $115,000 in a bag by the side of the road yet - and believe me I have been looking - so we will have to dump this place on some unsuspecting sucker who is willing to overpay by 50%.

That is Option #1 - The Big Dream Priority - but since we won't be able to free ourselves quickly enough for me to avoid having to face the music on October 14, I need to find an escape hatch for myself. I need to get the fuck away from this job. That is Option #2 - The Self Preservation Priority.

No idea what that means right now, but in the calm I expect to experience during this hiatus, I should be able to come up with something. I am not brilliant like The Scarecrow, but my intelligence is not miniscule.

In the meantime I have Nashville. Fucking Nashville, baby. I cannot tell you how excited I am. But I will try.

I will spend some time completely immersed in the world I was born to live in. Music, music history, funky atmosphere, premium booze, good food, leisure - all enjoyed in the company of my lifelong friend Phil. My nerves scream out for this life saving elixir.

It is rare that what I do is perfectly in sync with who I am - happens every 30 years. When I step off that plane in Nashville I imagine peace will overwhelm me - every drop of poison will be sucked out of my body, to be replaced with joy and abandon.

Phil and I know ourselves - we are derelicts at heart. Give us premium booze, top shelf music performed by top shelf musicians, a funky venue and fun people - and we morph into insanity. Comes naturally to us.

So we made a pact. No drinking during the day. Gonna do touristy stuff - which has got to be super cool in Nashville. Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, the Ryman, Country Music Hall of Fame - are you fucking kidding me? If we get thirsty...................water. Gingerale. Anything but demon booze.

All bets are off at night. Classy bars, dive bars, fine dining, bar food - whatever the hell we are in the mood for in that moment is what it's gonna be. And when I am sitting in a funky bar with premium whiskey in my hand as soulful music washes over me - I will know who I am.

Hope the shock doesn't kill me.

Jesus, man - an extended vacation, a trip to Nashville - peace, reflection, joy, love (Carol, Emmy Lou and Patsy) - do I even deserve this?

Fuckin A Right I do.

Powerful

 I read these words on a gravestone yesterday.

They made me want to drive home immediately and kiss Carol.

"God gives us love.

Someone to love

He lends us."

Pay Attention

 "When I think of all the good times that I've wasted having good times

When I think of all the good time that's been wasted having good times

When I was drinkin', I should've been thinkin', when I was fighting, I could have done the right thing

All of that boozin', I was really losin'...Good times, Good Times

When I think of all the good time that's been wasted having good times

When I think of all the good time that's been wasted having good times

All of my lying, I remember her crying, my useless talkin', I could have been walkin'

Instead of complainin', I could've been gainin'

Good Times"

From Good Times, by Eric Burdon

Problem Solving With Expertise and Insight

My problem solving ability is spectacular.

A problem crops up, I dig in and assemble a specific plan of attack, and then go at the problem ruthlessly until the problem no longer exists.

For instance, lately at work I have been punching the towel dispenser in the men's room. The problem is the job, the solution is to beat up the towel dispenser.

A right hand jab straight from the shoulder works magic. Clean and efficient.

The job is out of control. I was starting from a place of intense hatred and dwindling ability to cope. Then we lost a couple of people and a heavy load has gotten unmanageable.

But I have the towel dispenser.

Until two weeks ago.

I hit that son of a bitch from the wrong angle. Technique is everything. Unfortunately I was off my game.

By the end of the day my finger was swollen, black & blue and painful.

Fortunately I am a quick learner.

After reviewing the evidence I reached a conclusion - punching the towel dispenser is actually not solving my problem.

This enabled me to move on to other considerations.

Like the potential benefit of banging my head against the towel dispenser.

I Know Somebody Like This

 "But like most people I knew around the track, his chief defect was that he didn't like regular work or the world of ordinary people."

From Heaven's Prisoners, by James Lee Burke

Makes Sense To Me

 "I can resist anything except temptation."

Oscar Wilde

For The First Time

Jacques threw the noose over the fortified beam he had recently secured there, down in the garage, beneath the living room, where his wife was contentedly watching a movie.

He placed the stool carefully under the noose and stepped up onto it to check for accuracy.

He stepped down to empty the change from his pockets. He had a thing for change. Liked the feel of the weight in his right hand front pants pocket.

He placed it all neatly on the card table he had put in place two days ago. Stacked the coins carefully. Nickels on nickels, quarters on quarters, dimes on dimes. 

$6.35.

Jacques wrote a note: "Buy ice cream for the neighborhood kids." Placed the note next to the coins.

He smiled in appreciation at the orderly work he had done, the generous thought reflected in the note he would leave behind.

Jacques stepped up on the stool, slipped the noose around his neck and kicked the stool out from under him.

Against all odds, the look on his face in death was one of peace.

For the first time in his life.

Norm Macdonald Is Dead

Norm Macdonald was hilarious.

I loved the man. He was quirky and comfortable in his quirkiness. 

At one point he had kind of a talk show thing - called The Norm Show - that I could find on demand. I used to dial it up and sit back and marvel at his insanity.

He anchored the Weekend Update desk for 4 years on Saturday Night Live. He was loved and respected.

Straight faced. Deadpan. Except for the perennial smirk on his face. You gotta have balls, you gotta be confident, to perform deadpan. You are hanging your hat on your sense of humor and not trying to influence the audiences' reaction in any way.

So many of "today's" comics are not naturally funny - they are just loud. Audiences react because audiences are sheep. Audiences say to themselves "Gee, I would never say anything like that or in that way" and they define that as funny. It is not.

You gotta be smart to be funny.

Norm Macdonald was smart. He was funny.

He battled cancer for 10 years and few people knew about it. He kept it quiet. David Bowie did the same thing. When Bowie died I was floored. It is a noble thing to fight cancer on your own. I have enormous respect for the strength of people who handle it in that way.

Reactions: 

David Letterman - "In every important way, in the field of stand-up, Norm was the best. An opinion shared by me and all peers. Always up to something, never certain, until his matter-of-fact delivery leveled you. I was always delighted by his bizarre mind and earnest gaze. (I'm trying to avoid using the phrase twinkle in his eyes). He was a lifetime Cy Young winner in comedy. Gone, but impossible to forget."

Jim Carrey - "My dear friend Norm Macdonald passed after a brave 10 year battle. He was one of our most precious gems. An honest and courageous comedy genius. I love him."

Adam Sandler - "Every one of us loved Norm. Some of the hardest laughs of my life with this man. Most fearless, funny, original guy we knew. An incredible dad. A great friend. A legend. Love u pal."

Conan O'Brien - "I am absolutely devastated about Norm Macdonald. Norm had the most unique comedic voice I have ever encountered and he was so relentlessly and umcompromisingly funny. I will never laugh that hard again. I'm so sad for all of us today."

Sarah Silverman - "Norm was in a comedy genre of his own. No one like him on this planet. Please do yourself a favor and watch his stuff. He was one of a kind of all time."

Seth Macfarlane - "To so many people in comedy, me included, there was nobody funnier than Norm Macdonald. You always hoped he would hang around after the work was done, just so you could hear his stories and get a laugh. So hilarious and so generous with his personality. I'm gonna miss him."

Seth Rogen - "I would stay up specifically to watch him on talk shows. He was the funniest guest of all time. We lost a comedy giant today. One of the all time greats."

A comedian's comedian.

That is the highest compliment that can be paid in any profession.

Two Things I Know For Sure

#1 - I cannot live without pets.

For the first time since 1987 there are no pets in this house. Might as well be a fucking morgue. It fucking sucks.

We are already taking steps to remedy the situation. Yesterday we contacted the SPCA and another pet adoption agency. This void must be filled immediately.

We have a plan.

We will be adopting two cats. They have to be from the same home so that they have lived together and get along easily. Surprisingly (to me) there are lots of dual adoptions available that meet that criteria.

They have to be loving and gentle. Hopefully lap cats. If they are not lap cats up front, they will become lap cats - once they feel the genuineness of the love we will have for them they will think - "I gotta get more of this."

(Editor's note - My heart aches for moving on so quickly from Maka, but I am tired of crying. Walked into the kitchen this morning, turned on the stove light, turned on the overhead light, turned around and took one step towards the water bowl that is not there.)

#2 - I never again want to be in the position of putting a pet down. 

Adopting two new cats might appear self-defeating as far as this policy goes, but I am betting on longevity - for the cats. Maka lived 18 years, Lakota lived 20 years. Carol and I attribute that longevity, in part, to the sweet sensitivity and genuineness of the love we gave to them.

Vegas would not give good odds for me living to the age of 87. Neither would I.

Here's my rationale for Thing # 2.

I put Lakota down on January 31, of 2020, I put Maka down on September 11, 2021. Both of their last days were violent - painful to watch. I have put 5 pets down since 1987 - none more painful to experience than Lakota and Maka.

I woke up to Lakota not being able to walk. Her hind legs had given out. She crawled forward by digging her front paws into the carpet. I tried to hold her. She wouldn't allow it. Maybe it was painful. I sat on the floor of the spare room with her for 2 hours before we could take her to the vet. I originally found her around 6 am. I tried so hard to comfort her; I don't know how successful I was. She had to be wildly afraid.

We wrapped her in a blanket when the time came. Carol drove, I held Lakota in my lap. I talked to her continuously, telling her how much we loved her, how much happiness she had given us, what a precious, special cat she was.

When she was on the vet's table her eyes were wide - until I kissed her head, patted her head - then she would close her eyes. Every single time.

And then she was gone.

Maka woke up on our bed last Saturday. I said "Is it time to get up Little Girl? Is it time to wake up Cutie Pie?" She walked up to my pillow and touched her nose to my nose.

Went downstairs, filled her water bowl, and gave her some food (which she ate a little of). I walked into the bathroom - when I came out there was blood all over the kitchen floor. The tumor had ruptured, blood was dripping out of her mouth and she was walking around. Until she settled down behind the water bowl and went down on her belly. She was obviously wildly afraid.

She fought hard when the vet tried to sedate her (thankfully the vet came to the house). Actually got away from her and walked a bit across the floor. I picked her up, hugged her and told her I loved her. Then I handed her back to the vet. In my mind I believe she was thinking "What the fuck are you doing? You are supposed to protect me from these people."

I was destroyed.

And then she was gone.

These scenes - Lakota and Maka -  are burned into my mind. I cannot shake them. They appear in my brain involuntarily and cause me great pain.

Do you understand why I never want to do this again?

Circumstances may dictate otherwise, but I pray to whatever fucking god there is that I never have to put another pet down.

For now we are existing on hopeful anticipation. Hopefully we find a couple of new precious cats this week. That could blast away some of the pain we are feeling.

Here's hoping.

Because Maka Is Not Here

The screen door on the porch is no longer latched because

Maka's not here.

I ate my supper silently last night,  no one snooped around my plate because

Maka's not here.

I opened the freezer without Maka at my heels to see what I was up to (she would wander into the kitchen every time we slid the freezer drawer out).

I emptied her food bowl and did not fill another.

I did my backwards slide step so I would not step on her eternally curious self, for no reason because

Maka's not here.

Little noises make me look back around, but Maka's not here.

I sit alone in my recliner because Maka's not here.

I automatically check the cat food inventory........for no reason.

I washed all her bowls - lately we put out bowls for cat food, cat paste, yogurt - anything to get her to eat.

Five or six bowls a day.

There was blood on the last bowl I put out, there was blood on her water bowl.

I will not be washing bowls today.

I left the mouse on the mouse pad next to my laptop on the kitchen table instead of putting it on top of the bookcase (she used to knock the mouse off the table) because

Maka's not here.

I went to bed alone, knowing I would wake up alone. Thought I might feel a little better. I don't.

As opposed to yesterday morning, when she spent 3 hours in bed with me, then walked the mattress to touch my nose with her nose.

I cried a lot yesterday. I cried hard this morning. Because

Maka's not here.

Maka was a little thing. A tiny life force who leaves a huge void in this house.

I am waiting for Carol to come home today. It will be so hard for her to walk into this empty house. My heart aches for her.

I hurt so badly

Carol hurts so badly

We love you, Maka.

We love you with all of our hearts.

The Pain of a Broken Heart

How deeply is one allowed to grieve the loss of a special, precious pet?

Whatever that limit is, I have already surpasssed it.

Maka

I had to put Maka down this morning.

She was a very precious, very special cat.

She was 18 years old; she lived with us for 15 years.

The moment is all the more odd because Carol is away on vacation. I am all alone. The silence is deafening.

I had many nicknames for her. Little One. Cutie Pie. Dollface. The one that was always in my head was The Little Conversationalist. She talked. A lot.

I used to have running conversations with her while Carol laughed.

Our very first special moment with Maka was the day we met her at the SPCA. Carol picked her up, I was standing behind Carol - Maka put her head down on Carol's shoulder and closed her eyes. Done deal.

She was an interactive cat, very much a part of our lives. She was smart, she was fun, she was adorable - she gave us so many moments of joy that made our lives softer.

She was diagnosed a month ago with a malignant tumor in her mouth. We thought we were going to lose her that day, so we were given a month's reprieve. Which we used to spoil her even more so than usual.

The tumor ruptured this morning and she was bleeding a lot. Just before I sat down at this laptop I noticed her blood on both my hands, on one of my socks and on my wedding ring. I will clean up soon but it is just a very odd feeling.

I have put down many pets in my life and I never, ever feel qualified to do it. I feel like I don't have the right. But this is the hard truth about loving pets; there is always pain and a tough decision at the end.

But I am not going to dwell on that.

I cannot overemphasize the happiness this tiny little thing, this precious little Maka brought into our lives.

Personally she felt like the pinnacle of pet love. Carol brought pets into my life and I am glad she did. It felt to me over the years that I learned more and my heart accepted more love as I went along.

Lakota and Maka were the two who absolutely owned my heart.

This is not all about me. Maka was Carol's cat. She used to sit next to Carol on the couch, either sleeping or harassing Carol as she crocheted. Carol had many conversations with her as well. Maka had a hard time eating over the last month - Carol started feeding her ice cream. Maka LOVED her ice cream and it was easier for her to eat. It gave Carol so much joy to see Maka chowing that ice cream.

It broke my heart and Carol's heart that she could not be here to say goodbye.

But again, the memories of all the times Maka made Carol smile, all the times she made Carol laugh, all the times she filled Carol's heart with love, all the times she got to hold and hug Maka - this is the preciousness Maka left behind.

I did something goofy today, something I don't normally do. The vet does a thing with paw imprints in some kind of clay. I gave them the go ahead and I am glad I did. They did it before they left and now I have this box with Maka's paw prints in the clay. I have held it a bunch of times already.

I am empty today. Carol is empty today. Maka is gone.

We will never forget how much she meant to us, how much she gave to us. Never.

We love you , Maka.

A Journey to Happiness

 As I was driving down the highway yesterday, driving from point A to point B, taking care of business, I decided to indulge myself.

I took the long view down the highway and pretended that I was just starting out on a journey of 3,000 miles. To start a brand new life. A completely different existence in a completely different place.

Fresh and exciting. A journey to happiness.

For a brief moment my mind bought it and the endorphins kicked in. Big time.

What a rush.

The Wild Bunch

Feeling thoughtful today.

I am enjoying Day Four of five days off.

Strange week coming up. Carol is leaving on Thursday for a few days of Madness-Insanity-and Debauchery with her aunt, her sister, her cousin, and her sister-in-law at The Beach.

I will roll out of bed at 5:15 on Thursday morning (my favorite thing to do). When I get home on Thursday night it will be me and Maka. Got Thursday night, Friday night, and all day Saturday to myself.

In the old days I would have set up a couple of nights out for myself and tried to not get arrested. That thought process is no longer relative.

I am looking for peacefulness this week.

I will miss Carol a lot - an empty bed will be strange. Married 43 years and rarely apart.

Thursday night kicks off my short term bachelorhood in style - first game of the 2021 NFL season. For the rest of the deal I will probably write a lot, watch movies, watch sports, READ, eat frozen Boston Market meals - (why the fuck should I cook - I feel compelled to maximize my parole time).

Thursday and Friday will be tough emotionally for me because Maka is not feeling well and is not used to being alone. She is 18 years old and has required special care lately. But I will shower her with love when I get home and our relationship will save us both.

Carol and I have been married for 43 years and are in the detente portion of our relationship. Kind of like the U.S. military working with the taliban. She drives me nuts, I drive her nuts, but we have found a middle ground that is a pretty nice space. That's how long term marriage works.

My point is that I am not looking for insanity, I am not pleased that Carol will not be around. I am merely looking forward to a change of atmosphere.

Strangely enough I am considering buying myself a special bottle of whiskey on Thursday. Michter's. I recently discovered it and it is delicious. Not really sure why I want to do that. No, I am not going to get drunk. It just feels like if I am going to pamper myself doing what I want to do when I want to do it, it seems like a special beverage will be a perfect complement, an enjoyable indulgence.

So there you have it. A few days of different - nothing more, nothing less.

Good for Carol and The Wild Bunch. Good for me.

Bluesman

I was daydreaming today about what could have been.

I always assume that if I could have had a real career that was meaningful to me, it would have been as a writer.

The thought crept into my brain today that maybe the ultimate career for me would have been as a bluesman.

I can see myself in that way. Small scale. I can see myself on the road, respected and beloved. Playing hundreds of dates in funky, small, out of the way places. Only in warm climates.

Worn work boots, dirty jeans, a black Gibson guitar, a shot and a beer at every stop where everybody knows me and everybody is my friend.

Gritty, talented, wizened, confident, wise, battered and cautious.

Satisfied.

Meatloaf

 Wife: "You're not going to heat up that leftover meatloaf?"

Husband: "I deserve no better than cold, leftover meatloaf. You know it, I know it, and most importantly - my dead parents know it."

There was something chilling in his words.

A Noble Goal

 Ultimately, I just want to behave.

?

Charlie Watts 2.0

Having a hard time with this one.

Deaths that are close to me - family members - people that matter - result in the involuntary head shake reflex. Every time my brain randomly acknowledges this person has died, I involuntarily shake my head. As if I can't believe it. As if I refuse to admit it.

I have shaken my head many times since Charlie died.

Sirius XM has been paying tribute to Charlie and The Stones since he died and will continue through Labor Day. Doing all kinds of stuff. Playing the music, playing quotes from Ronnie, Mick, Charlie and Keith, playing quotes of other musicians, having guest DJ's play their favorite Stones songs.

I tried in a previous post to express what Charlie's death means to me. Rob Thomas did it better.

He was guest DJ-ing and he said Charlie Watts death feels like "the beginning of the end of an era."

Fucking perfect. That is it exactly.

John Lennon was murdered in 1980. He was forty years old. It did not feel like the beginning of the end because it was unnatural.

George Harrison died in 2001 from lung cancer that had spread to his brain. He was 58 years old. It did not feel like the beginning of the end because it was unnatural.

Charlie Watts was 80 years old. He lived a life. A full and very good life. A life that included a 58 year career with The Stones. That is a rich and fulfilling career by anyone's standard.

Paul McCartney is 79 years old. Ringo Starr is 81 years old. Ronnie Wood is 74 years old. Mick Jagger is 78 years old. Keith Richards is 77 years old.

I fear that Charlie was the first domino to fall. I fervently hope I am wrong, at least in the short run. I believe if your career is built around something you truly love, you tend to live longer. Happiness and contentment are powerful medications, unbeatable defenses against the foreboding relentlessness of time.

I loved Charlie Watts the man. The coolest of the cool. The most unlikely human to sit on stage behind Mick and Keith. The man with the perpetually sardonic smile who worshipped jazz over rock 'n roll. The man who laughed at the inconsequential trappings of rock stardom.

He was fiercely unique in the quietest of ways.

His death very definitely feels like the beginning of the end of an era. When Paul, Ringo, Ronnie, Mick and Keith are gone there will be a hole in the musical universe that can never be filled. Their absence will carry an indefinable weight, but a weight that my generation will carry on its shoulders until we too are gone.

But the shockwaves they created will go on forever, and thank god for that.

This is why the death of Charlie Watts is incomprehensible to me.

All Stones All The Time

I have been listening to The Stones non-stop since Charlie Watts died.

I am meticulous about how I set up my sound system in my car. Side to side, front to back, bass, midrange and treble. I will spend some time getting it right. Recently I re-arranged it and the result was that the sound was in my face - in a good way - and I had to turn the volume down a bit from the level I usually employ.

BUT, since I have been listening to The Stones I have been cranking it and it feels so right.

Editor's Note - The Stones released the album Let It Bleed in 1969. Either in the liner notes or on the label of the record is the advice: "This Record Should Be Played Loud."

"So if you're down on your luck and you can't harmonize, find a girl with far away eyes. And if you're downright disgusted, and life ain't worth a dime, get a girl with far away eyes."

The song is called Far Away Eyes and it is a quirky, funky song.  The lyrics take some shots at preachers on gospel radio from back in the day. Funny stuff. A wistful song too. You should check it out.

When I tended bar at the Legion I used to sing this song with another guy when it popped up on the jukebox. This guy was a genuine tough guy, straight from Scotland or Ireland, complete with accent. We had zero in common. But when this song came on we stood side by side and belted it out.

Waiting On A Friend. One of my favorite Stones songs. This may surprise you because it is a delicate song but I love the lyrics and how the tone of the music suits the lyrics perfectly. Just a guy going out to meet up with a friend. "I'm not waiting on a lady, I'm just waiting on a friend." 

I love the video. Shows Mick and Keith making their way to a little corner bar. Ronnie, Charlie and Bill Wyman (bass player until1992) are already in the bar. They hang at the bar for a minute or two, then make their way to the small stage set up in the back.

This is not so far fetched. Before every tour back in the day, The Stones would make an unannounced visit to a small bar, just to get their juices flowing. 

I met a guy who witnessed this in a bar in New York city. He was getting up to leave and the bartender told him he could not. Said the doors were locked - no one else was coming in, nobody was leaving. The guy asked what the fuck was going on? The bartender said you'll see.

Minutes later The Stones came from out back and onto the stage. This guy told me it was one of the best moments of his life.

I believe him.

Sympathy For The Devil. One of my favorites of the favorites. An evil little ditty with a menacing mood to it. I know every word, I can air guitar every lick perfectly.

One time at the Legion, I was quite drunk when Sympathy came on the jukebox. I climbed up on a table and sang along and played killer air guitar. Mercifully (for me and my audience), my friends coaxed me down before the song ended. I made a real ass of myself but, you know what? It felt oh so good.

I have seen The Stones live twice, and thank god for that. The Steel Wheels Tour in 1989; The Voodoo Lounge Tour in 1994.

Our seats were a million miles away in a giant stadium and we had to watch the video screen to get any close-ups, BUT it was the fucking Rolling Stones, man. The sound was great, the vibe was right - each concert was a moment in time.

Beautiful, baby.