Logic

 If you're not at the point where you have to worry, why worry?

Something You'll Never Hear Me Say

 "Hey! I don't allow that kind of language in my house!"

12/26 Is Weird, Ain't It?

The day after, baby - it is a strange almost unmanageable situation.

It's heavy - it is oppressive.

If you had a great Christmas - and I did (except for the Tom Hanks Incident - I swear I'm losing my fucking mind and getting real obvious about it) - if you had a fun day, the day afta is a real slap in the face.

All you can do is take drugs and drink alcohol. Nips are a convenient escape at work.

Look forward to the New Year. That helps. A new year is always top heavy with possibility - the sky is the limit - nothing you can't do, nothing you can't have.

Today is a definite bummer - but January 1 gives you a fresh shot at hope and happiness.

That's life baby - you gotta take your lumps, you gotta take your shots.

Getting Nervous: Everything is perfect. Except that I have only 6 more days to get my Lincoln and my Movado. With all this pressure I just might turn into a sparkly diamond. 

(Jesus, I hope so)

Christmas Day 2023, Baby

 "But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round - apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it."

Fred Holywell, from A Christmas Carol

This is what Christmas is to me this year, in all it's purity. Sweet magnificance.

Typically I allow cynicism to creep in, except when I am celebrating with my family. But during the lead-up to, and the aftermath, my lips are curled in sarcastic sneer.

This year is different. I'm feeling good, and I'm opening my heart, regardless of the risk of it being impaled by the vicious thrusts of daggers sharpened with evil intentions.

"as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely," - these are the important words from Fred's comment.

I have been moving about with the words Merry Christmas dripping off my lips - every chance I get. Dunkin Donuts, the liquor store, Market Basket, Jersey Mike's, Old Navy - to name a few. Blurting Merry Christmas as if it was a sacred blessing - and meaning it. 

And accepting the "Merry Christmas return" with no cynical judgement. Accepting it as a genuine expression from a stranger wishing me a joyous holiday. Feels so goddamn good.

Dropping a dollar into the Salvation Army bucket outside Market Basket every single time, which I have visited 287 times in the past few weeks. Me and the bell ringer dude have established a good relationship - mini conversations, he knows me, I know him. And when he says "God bless you" I say "Thank you" and I mean it.

Christmas can be a pretty sweet thing when you allow it to be what it is intended to be.

Today Carol and I will be with Keith & Krista, Craig, Amanda & Jackson (in Amanda's belly), Ed & Carolina. What a sweet, fun and love-filled day it will be.

My family is magnificent, but we don't all get together as often as we should. But that's life, baby. So today is magic. Special. An incredible moment in time when we can relax, laugh, and take the time to appreciate just how special this particular gathering of human beings is.

Totally unique. Ain't no other family like it. There can't be. Every family is unique. And the beauty of family is that you take a group of individuals and bring them together, and they are family, which takes every special thing about each of us and makes it even better. To create this thing that is greater than the sum of the parts. And when you have the right parts, it becomes sacred.

And my family has the right parts.

Carol and I, and Eddie are the elders. Time goes by so fast that the best you can do is stand back and appreciate how the family has evolved. We will do that today in gratitude, awe, wonder, and love.

It does not get any better than this.

Merry Christmas to this amazing family.

I Went to the Liberry

I have come full circle, people.

When we moved I was forced to put an extraordinary amount of physical effort and decision making into getting rid of my books. They went to Goodwill, and to the swap shop at the local dump.

I shed myself of at least 200 books. At least. It was probably a lot more than that, but if I put a bigger number out there you will accuse me of lying.

It was heartbreaking.

I had to adapt. I cannot afford to accumulate books in the new house like I used to. Because of room considerations, and because I never want to go through that again. Ever.

So I reconciled myself to reading on my tablet. Which is OK, I can deal with it. It is convenient and I can download books at the speed of light.

Keith visited to check out the new house recently. Talking about books and he suggested that I get me a library card. And BOOM my brain was there. I never would have arrived at that solution on my own because I had developed a deep-seated avoidance of libraries. I had to own my books. But suddenly the library made sense.

Carol and I got cards the next day. And I am in love. Holding hardcover books in my hands again sends tremors throughout my nervous system. Joy. And browsing through the library is devine.

So now I have a hybrid system. Library books, and the tablet when I want it. Fucking perfect.

I want to know the date of my first visit to a library, because that's where I got my start. But it is impossible to know. I would also like to know the last time I visited a library before moving here. A long, long, time ago. I want to trace the arc of this love, to make sense of where I ended up - amazing how we adapt as human beings. Surprising how joy can come from a corner of your life that you have avoided for decades.

The library laid the seeds of my addiction and fed my jones beautifully until................I don't know when. But it is at the root of who I am. So I have come full circle.

And I am OK with it. In fact I love the whole process. Visiting the library and shooting the shit with the librarians - which is in keeping with the new social me - browsing through the stacks - checking out a book - hitting the recliner with a hardcover book to protect me - returning that puppy and beginning the process all over again. Sublime.

AND I absolutely needed a Willie Nelson book recently that I just became aware of so, BLAMMO, I downloaded that beauty to my tablet, where it lurks, waiting to gratify me.

Best of both worlds, baby.

Christ, man - it just keeps getting better and better.

A Change

 Gonna live my life elegantly from now on.

Time Has Come Today

 How quickly does your mind move?

Can you stop it or even slow it down?

My mind is a foreign thing to me now. It is experiencing unaccustomed emotions intensely and relentlessly. But this newfound mode of thought mixes in with the old guard - worry, anxiety, indecision - and creates quite the stew.

I was sitting here quietly this morning in bliss, reading with Patsy and a cup of coffee, when suddenly and inexplicably the old guard swamped and polluted my mind.

Actually, not so inexplicably. I interviewed for a menial job yesterday - at Staples, in honor of Dwight Schrute, and that act sent my unconscious into a tailspin. The unconscious became conscious this morning.

I have been handed an extraordinary opportunity here in my new life. The biggest mistake I could make is to do what I have always done.

Undervalue myself.

I have money in the bank. I am under no immediate pressure to get a job. But my mind doesn't accept this. My mind thinks I have to hurry. So I have been chasing demeaning employment just to get the spigot flowing. Like I always do.

Time to step back. Time to take a breath. Time to fully realize the full beauty of the extraordinary gift I have been given.

Time to step into the reality of a life that up until this moment has only existed as a shadow.

Reckless

 The finish line is close at hand.

I can't see it, but I sense it.

I need to move faster. 

I need to get reckless.

Keith Richards

Happy Birthday, Keith Richards.

80 years old today.

I believe the magic comes from being in sync with who you are at all times and acting accordingly. The man has lived his life his way, and continues to do so. Imagine the reduction in stress in your life if you could just be who you are in every waking moment without second guessing yourself or compromising or putting on an act.

Most of us cannot do that, strange as that may sound. Most of us pay a price.

We watched Willie Nelson's 90th birthday concert last night. Another man who knows exactly who he is and puts it out there every day. Precious moment - Keith Richards sang a duet with Willie on a song titled Live Forever, written by Billie Joe Shaver. Spectacular.

The concert was great. Kris Kristofferson was there, a man that I love. 87 years old. Broke my heart, though - he has been through some health shit. Wore him down. His eyes were vacant - it was like he wasn't even there.

Another aside: December 8 - belatedly:

Happy birthday, Gregg Allman. RIP.

Happy birthday, Jim Morrison. RIP

FUCK YOU Mark David Chapman. Rot in your cell, and rot in hell when you get there, fucking scumbag.

Anyway, Keith Richards is 80 years old today. I love the man. Always have. There is a joy about him, as there is with Willie, because he lives his life beautifully. When you figure out early on why you have been put on this earth, and you live your life in harmony with your heart and your soul and your mind all along the way, you become a walking talking beacon of light and hope.

And when you break all the rules getting there, your persona carries even more weight.

Keith used heroin for 10 years. He kicked the habit. He used every drug available to him at one time or another, which is essentially every drug available on planet earth. He drank oceans of whiskey.

Willie drank oceans of whiskey. When he quit that, he smoked megatons of pot.

What does all that prove? There are no fucking rules. Do whatever works for you as long as you know where your personal line in the sand lies. What you can handle and what you cannot.

But what makes Willie and Keith who they are, is that they transcend all that. That's all anybody wants to talk about - Willie's pot smoking and Keith's decadence. But they are about a lot more than that - a whole hell of a lot more.

That's why we love them.

Happy 80th Birthday, Keith Richards.

I know you are having a hell of a great day.

Carol Is In Trouble

Aristotle said: "Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and the end of human existence."

A troubled mind can contribute to health problems.

"We know that up to 80% of visits to primary care doctors are due to conditions that are caused or exacerbated by unmanaged stress. Being happy doesn't just make us feel better, it improves our health."

"Experts agree a one-time booster shot, whether a funny movie or a piece of good news, isn't likely to make a lasting difference. For that, there must be a mindset shift." 

Dr. Francoise Adan, psychiatrist

"A vast scientific literature has detailed how negative emotions harm the body. Serious, sustained stress or fear can alter biological systems in a way that, over time, adds up to "wear and tear" and, eventually, illnesses such as heart disease, stroke, and diabetes. Chronic anger and anxiety can disrupt cardiac function by changing the heart's electrical stability, hastening artherosclerosis, and increasing systemic inflammation."

Harvard School of Public Health

Scientific studies have begun to reveal a host of physical health benefits surrounding happiness including a stronger immune system, stronger resilience in the face of stress, a stronger heart and less risk of cardiovascular disease, alongside quicker recovery times when overcoming illness or surgery.There is even a body of research that indicates being happy may help us to live longer lives."

Positive Psychology, 2019

I'm getting all clinical on you because I know you are tired of hearing me talk about how fucking happy I am. I would get tired of talking about it if I wasn't so happy. So I decided to put some meat on the bone.

I was deeply unhappy for at least 20 years. At least. So much so that it was just a fact of life. My body and mind absorbed the unhappiness and made it part of my overall makeup. So in a strange kind of way, at times, I did not notice it. In other words I was not always walking around with my head down, spewing negative-isms, crushingly depressed and dressed all in black. Sometimes I laughed. Sometimes I felt all right. 

Except I wasn't all right. Now that I am experiencing genuine happiness I realize that previously I was morbidly all right. The walking dead conceding defeat in life and accepting it as normal. Which kind of takes the edge off.

Then happiness exploded into my consciousness, and I mean exploded. The contrast is severe, and tastes like chocolate. At first I almost couldn't handle it because it was a foreign emotion and so very intense.

It affects everything. Literally every aspect of my waking existence.

Perspective, opinions, attitude, point of view, how I respond to things, how I approach things, my relationship with Carol, my relationship with the world, my sense of responsibility, my way of thinking about life. Life.

There is no doubt that happiness has a positive effect on your life. No fucking doubt.

But there is a relatively new school of thought that takes it a step further. Read the following quote:

"There is general agreement amongst scientific minds that happiness improves health. But recent studies prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that a sudden, explosive, and unexpected blast of happiness that carries with it the promise of longevity - something cataclysmic, something life-changing, something drastic with huge and long-lasting implications - studies prove that kind of happiness adds a guaranteed 25 years to a person's life."   Dr. J.R. Testa, Phd, world renowned expert on happiness and longevity, and master of life.

I will live to be 95. At least.

Carol is in trouble.

Charlie Died

The weight of his unjustified life, sitting on his shoulders all day every day, slowed him down and killed his options.

Charlie loved grapenuts. You can't eat grapenuts quickly - you gotta chew, you gotta crunch, you gotta make sure they don't slip down your throat and cause mayhem. They do not delight the tastebuds the way frosted flakes do, but there is something satisfying about eating grapenuts. A utilitarian breakfast that suited Charlie's lifestyle and mentality.

Grapenuts allowed Charlie to think. And think he did. As he stared at the wall through the steam from a cup of coffee.

He thought about his life, about what life is. It starts out as this hopeful thing, filled with possibilities. A promise of satisfaction and pride and peace at some point down the road. But quietly, slowly, slyly, it degenerates into a low level hum. Background noise to routine. Turns out the hopeful part originates from naivete.

At least that's the way it went for Charlie.

Sitting in his run down house in rural America, eating grapenuts and sipping coffee, nursing no unrealisitc hope of redemption. Nursing nothing at all but a sense of emptiness.

Charlie thought about dying. He could never kill himself, he did not have the guts to do that. But if the Grim Reaper came calling he would not run. If rancid breath offended his sense of smell, accompanying the words "I'm coming for you, Charlie" echoing in his ears, Charlie would limply respond "OK."

He finished his grapenuts, swallowed the last mouthful of coffee - thankfully still warm - and wondered what to do. He sighed. Deeply. There was just nothing there, nothing to inspire him or even interest him. Everything had become predictable. Repetitive. Charlie's life was unoriginal.

It was Saturday. Charlie did not have to work. That was the only thing that set Saturdays and Sundays apart from the rest of the week. Otherwise, emotionally, intellectually, weekends were exactly the same as weekdays. A low level hum.

He was tired. He was always tired. Even right out of bed. Worn down, the way a drill bit gets worn from continously biting into granite. It happens gradually, imperceptively, but relentlessly. Life did that to Charlie.

He decided to lie down on the couch. He had just washed the slipcover and fitted it back over the sofa. It was clean and bright. Red. Charlie's only indulgence with a nod to cheerfulness.

His head hit the fat pillow he kept on the couch. Impulsively, he decided he would will himself to put an end to all this. To get the peace that eluded him his entire life. And half an hour later he succeeded.

Charlie died.

Two Truths

 "You got to remember who you are so you don't become like the people around you. Each night you tell yourself over and over you got a special place inside you where you live. It's like a private cathedral nobody can touch. That's the secret to sanity.

This is so perfect; a perfect way to approach life, because in the final analysis it is just you. You are alone in your uniqueness and you are the only one who can make it work.

"But you can't tell anybody about your special place. Because once they know you got that private place in your head, they'll strap you down and kill your brain cells with electroshock."

This is the flip side - everybody wants what you got if it's good. And they especially do not want you to benefit from it. Gotta watch your back.

These quotes are from Pegasus Descending by James Lee Burke. Yeah, baby - Dave Robicheaux and Clete Purcel are back in my life.

And You Condemn Drinking?

 "The man had arrived at that stage of drunkenness where affection is felt for the universe."

Stephen Crane

Digging The Vibe

 I am currently unemployed.

I am diligently looking for work and I don't even mind. I WANT to work; I want to fatten up our bank account to protect this new life we are living. And loving.

I scored a job interview last week but was not offered the job. Some people can be so short-sighted.

All that being said, not working is a mighty fine feeling.

What Are You Thinking About?

 1) How often do you think about dying?

2) How many wakes have you been to in your lifetime?

Is it possible there's a disconnect in your thought process?

Don't Give Up

 "Don't give up, don't ever give up."

Jim Valvano said that in a speech he gave at the ESPYs on March 4,1993. He was dying of cancer. He died on April 28,1993. A month later. He was 47 years old.

Those words meant a lot coming from him. Because he backed them up. He fought, and he worked so hard to be positive in an impossible situation, and to inspire others to fight.

For the past 20 years of my life, I did not believe in that philosophy. After taking a bunch of wrong turns, and making a mountain of mistakes, I realized that life eventually gets the upper hand. Why try? Give up, accept your punishment, and get numb.

I gave up. I accepted the fact that I had pissed my life away, and seethed in a house I grew to hate. Because it mocked me as a loser.

And then there was an explosion in my life.

We sold our house. For a lot more money than it was worth. So much so that we bought a new place outright - no mortgage - and put a healthy chunk of change in the bank. We bought a place that we love. In a town that we love. And suddenly I am happy....................and inspired to do something with my life, instead of laying around moping.

Carol is 70 and I'm about to be. Who the hell ever thought our lives could get so good so late? I had given up on my life, but now I am driven to live it instead of just enduring it. 

I wake up happy every day. Every single day. I know I have been given a second chance. A bolt from the blue. It happened so suddenly and so unexpectedly. I am vibrant with awareness of this gift that I have been given, and I am determined to make the most of it. It is impossible for me to take it for granted - I feel so good and so alive that I never want to lose this feeling. I want to make it even better.

In that speech Jimmy V said there are three things you should do every day: Laugh, think, and allow your emotions to move you to tears. In other words, FEEL! 

I laugh every day now. I think - about where I was, what just happened, and where I am going. I don't get tears every day (although it's often, and they are tears of gratitude), but my emotions are raging through my heart and mind like floodwaters overflowing a riverbank. I am an emotional and passionate man, and those attributes are buzzing at peak levels right now. I fucking love it.

I gave up on my life. But someone, or something, somewhere said "No, no, no - you don't get off that easy. I give your life back to you in a new and improved state. Now let's see what you do with it."

I am grateful beyond belief.

I will not blow it this time.

Recalibrating Jars The Soul

My bookcases exude melancholia.

They know I am downloading books to my tablet. They sense it.

I have been here a month and have not added even one book to their shelves. Although they take pride in the pieces of my soul they display, they want to be vibrant, to move forward, to avoid stagnation.

As anyone would.

We are recalibrating our emotional relationship.

It will take time.

Please note: This post took some inspiration from a Tom Waits song titled The Piano Has Been Drinking.

Cadillac Jack

I am reading a book called Cadillac Jack. By Larry McMurtry.

If you came across a book called Cadillac Jack, could you pass it by? If so, I worry about the state of your curiosity. Your appreciation of the intriguing.

It has characters like Sir Crisp Crip. Many characters have names like that. Reminds me of the colorful characters Lawrence Sanders filled his books with.

I am digging Cadillac Jack.

And in a related story:

My two, tall, black, beautiful bookcases now stand in mute testimony to my greatest obsession - books.

In the other house, the bookcases were upstairs in my private lair where nobody ever saw them. I would admire them from time to time because they hold a special magic for me, but - other than that - they went unnoticed.

In our new home they are again in my private lair, but my private lair is on the first floor (everything is on the first floor because there is no second floor) and they stand out magnificently. You cannot miss them. You walk to the end the hall, look to your right and there they are - filling the wall opposite the door - filling your vision.

I love the way they look here. Dramatic. Impressive. Bearing witness to a lifetime of reading, dramatically thinned out.

I got rid of literally hundreds of books. Hundreds! As I did, I entertained the idea of inviting Keith and Craig over to go through them, but you know how it goes.

"Oh my God! We are moving in __ days and we have so much packing, and thinning out left to do, we are under the gun, we gotta get this done NOW, just get rid of this shit!"

So my books went into boxes (many, many boxes), and the boxes went to the swap shop at the dump, and to Goodwill.

Frankly I am amused to think of the people sifting through my books. I have mostly eclectic tastes. Yes, I read plenty of "normal" books, but I also read a helluva lot of quirky stuff. Not mainstream. That is the benefit of voracious reading - you can fill up on quirky and still have time to rest and entertain the brain with run of the mill. With the caveat that all of it must be well written.

I don't think people who obtain books from swap shops and Goodwill are discerning. I imagine them picking up one of my books and thinking "What the hell is this?"

I like the fact that all these books, that were in my hands and devoured by me, now belong to other people. Strangers. People I will never meet and be able to discuss these books with. Fractional pieces of my life live on independent of me and, eventually, beyond my lifespan.

Pretty cool.

So contentedly I read Cadillac Jack, and secretly swell with pride anytime another family member or friend gets to admire my precious bookcases.

It's good to make an impression.

Ultimate Conclusion

 I have weaned myself off books.

At least the physical ownership of them. Sort of.

Like a recovering alcoholic, it's a one day at a time approach. I WANT me some books, but I settle for Kindle. The last few books I read have all been on Kindle. And I keep downloading books to my tablet.

Not bad. Not a horrible tradeoff. Convenient. And the cats love to rub the sides of their faces against my tablet, so that's a bonus.

I was thinking this morning. Senility will be the ultimate conclusion. When my mind is finally completely gone, (and many feel I am well on my way), I will only need one book, which I will read over and over again. Drooling and clapping my hands like a delighted toddler.

Life's symmetry.

An Audible SNAP!

Did you hear that?

Loud. Conclusive. That was the sound of the umbilical cord to the last 37 years of my life snapping with authority.

I have been trying to break free since we moved up here on 10/31. But life is never clean and neat.

I had to work for a couple of weeks. Same job, same people, same job-related bullshit. But last Monday was my last day at that job. The cord got thinner.

But my car needed megatons of work - brakes all around, tires all around, inspection, oil change. I did not want to risk that at a new place. So when I got out of work on my last day of work...........................I drove to Henniker. Left my car overnight. Carol picked me up (over an hour and a half round trip commute for her).

The next day we drove back down to Henniker and picked up the Royal Transportation. You would think that would be the end of it. Nope. But the cord did get thinner.

Later that week my car decided to fuck with me. Trouble starting it. Five or six tries every time. Once it started 10 seconds after I took my finger off the starter button and my foot off the break. This morning the dashboard lit up as if the engine had started ("careful driving, don't read this while driving") - I could even shift into and out of gear - but the engine was not running.

Had a medical appointment in Concord this morning, which is half way to Henniker, so when I got out I drove to fucking Henniker, assuming the latest bullshit was somehow related to the work they did last week.

It wasn't. The starter was going. So I waited around for 2 hours while they got a starter delivered, pulled out the old and installed the new. And spent another $42,000 on my car.

But when I left, I left.

All I have wanted since we moved on 10/31 was to be done with my old life. 100%. A perfectly clean break. I wanted to start living in our new town, revolving every aspect of our life around the new home, the new town, the new people, the new businesses, the new restaurants. Today is 11/28. I finally have what I want.

Jubilation reigns supreme.

A Blissful Ride

Driving back home after dropping another $42,000 on my car today in supreme bliss.

At least after I passed Exits 15E and 15W on 93 North. Turning left onto 93 North out of Concord has been my secret bliss every time I left work. But I gotta get past 15E and 15W.

Exits 13 and 14 and 15 were exits we used all the time. But Exit 16 was no man's land - we rarely took Exit 16. So Exit 16 is meaningful to me in a deeply symbolic way. It signifies freedom, it signifies newness, it signifies a fresh start on a new playing field.

I passed 16 and 17 and grew increasingly happier. Exits 18 and 19 get you deeper into the boonies, small town America. You can see it. You can feel it.

But Exit 20, man - Exit 20 is the first of four that get you into The Lakes Region. Exit 20 is our exit. I love saying "The Lakes Region" - I love the sound of it. 

"Oh, Muffy - whatever shall we do today?" "Well, Bif - I would simply die for a chance to go to the lake!" "Well then, Lovey - I shall pack a picnic basket. Which do you prefer? The Silver Oak cabernet - or the 2018 Lancaster Estate cabernet?" "Dahhhhhling, pack them both, of course."

My soul was soaring as I turned onto Exit 20 today. I am finally free. Because I am never going back. 

I do not ever want to drive on Route 89 and Route 202/9 again. Ever. Living in Henniker, those routes were unavoidable. No matter where we went it took 202/9 and 89 to get there. Because Henniker is the end of the line, the edge of this flat earth. We did it 35,000 times in 37 years. As I was driving them this afternoon, escaping Henniker with my new starter, I was actually filled with loathing. I could not wait to turn onto 93 North.

When I did, my heart pounded in excitement. Bliss took over and escalated until I took Exit 20 and finally reached the state of being I have eternally aspired to.

Euphoria.

Thanksgivng (You Gotta Be Flexible)

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who is able to celebrate it and happy to do so!

To those who cannot celebrate Thanksgiving, I sincerely hope that things get better for you so that you can express joy next Thanksgiving. I truly want all good people to be happy.

Thanksgiving is the only pure holiday, and the only one that inspires genuine love for humanity in my heart. We are all the same. We are all in the same boat. We are all just trying to live a happy life.

If I were King of the World I would make it so.

Anatomy of Today:

The plan was to celebrate Thanksgiving for the first time in our new home with Eddie & Carolina, Craig & Amanda (and Jackson), and Keith and Krista.

Eddie and Carolina had other plans and I know they will have a beautiful day.

Krista and her family are from Lewiston, Maine - the location of that horrific shooting on October 25. Thankfully, none of her family were hurt. But she had not been able to get home for a visit since, so she planned on visiting on Thanksgiving day. Keith planned on spending the day with us.

But Krista's father just came down with covid, making it impossible for her to visit. Then Krista's roommate came down with covid and Krista caught it as well. So Krista is spending Thanksgiving with her roommate and Keith will be home alone. Since Keith has been exposed to covid he opted not to visit us out of consideration for Amanda, who is pregnant. That is the right decision.

As a father it breaks my heart for my son to have to spend Thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving here will be Craig & Amanda (& Jackson), and me and Carol. Do you know how that affects us emotionally to drop from six guests to two?

Not at all. We are excited. We are looking forward to today with unbridled enthusiasm. Cannot wait for Craig & Amanda to get here. We love them so much, they make us happy. We will have a blast.

We are lucky to have the family we have. We are so grateful. They bring us love, they make us proud, they make us happy. We will all get together in the new home when we all get together.

Until then, we want everyone to get healthy, we want everyone to be happy.

Thanksgiving is a day for Carol and me to think about our family in deep gratitude and appreciation whether anyone is here or not.

They are our life.

And our life is beautiful.

I Want Kliff Kingsbury's House

Do not misunderstand me.

I am sublimely happy in our new home. It is exactly what we need at this stage of our lives. More than that, turns out it is exactly what we want at this stage of our lives.

But there is always more. And more for me is Kliff Kingsbury's house. Kingsbury coached the Arizona Cardinals from 2019-2022, and now is the senior offensive analyst and quarterback coach at USC. 

First of all the house is located in Paradise Valley, Arizona. My dream destination. Second of all it is huge, open and airy.

I love space. Room to roam.

Cool fact: Towards the end of his tenure with the Cardinals, Kingsbury signed a contract extension guaranteeing him $7.5 million annually. Since he signed with USC, the Cardinals have to pay him the difference between the 7.5 million and what USC is paying him. America. What a country.

Google Kliff Kingsbury's house. It will blow you away.

When I hit Powerball it will be my house.

Then you can visit.

Ten Years Shorter

Life expectancy in this country is poor. Especially compared to other "civilized" countries.

Women live six years longer than men. As I turn 70 on January 1, fear should fill my soul. Male life expectancy is furiously short. Practically teenage. But in keeping with my current good fortune, I choose to keep exercising and believing in longevity.

I believe life expectancy would be ten years shorter if not for pets.

Had bloodwork done yesterday in advance of the yearly physical coming up on Monday. The woman who drew my blood had a picture on the wall of her hugging her dog - her arm wrapped around his neck, big smile on her face, love in her and her dog's eyes.

Everybody has pictures of their pets. Every stifling cubicle in America is decorated with pet pictures. Pretentious executive offices have framed photos of cats and dogs on the desk. The plumber has a picture of his dog taped to the dashboard of his truck. He also keeps a tattered picture of his wife tucked into his worn out wallet, right next to the 8 year old condom he carries "just in case."

Pets release pure love from pet "owners" hearts. A simultaneously sublime and dangerous proposition indeed. Our hearts are not built to withstand pure love. We shield our hearts in lead to defend against vulnerability. Pets circumvent our defenses easily. Ain't nothin' to it.

And that's what it's all about. Pet love is powerful medicine, more powerful than morphine, more powerful than penicillin.

Your pet's eyes meet your eyes and you melt - you forget everything. There is a jolt of pure love transmitted between you that is akin to a nuclear detonation. You forget about your bills, your job, your aches and pains and broken dreams and you just are - you are fully human in the state of mind that should be natural but isn't, because you have responsibilities.

But your pets have no responsibilities. Except one. To keep reminding you of how beautiful life can be.

They are pretty fucking good at it.

Exciting Times

Very strange thing to be emerging from the womb again at the age of 69 years, 10 months, and 31 days.

Hello - my name is Joe. I was physically born on January 1, 1954 to muted fanfare. I was reborn on October 31, 2023 to fireworks in my heart and soul.

I am the same. I am very different.

A number of people have told me since the Second Birth that I am different - I seem happier, along with other unnamed qualities heretofore lying dormant.

It is all true. I feel different. I have a different perspective. It has been effortless. It just happened. Overnight. I did not objectively make any decision to be different. I just am. And people are noticing.

The only conscious decision I made is to make sure I enjoy and appreciate the sea change in my life. A nuclear bomb was detonated, everything changed, and just like that Carol and I have a new life.

I was born to diapers in 1954. My entire being is now focused on taking advantage of this renaissance before I am back in diapers. I feel good about my prospects.

These are exciting times.

Proof That I Am Diverse

 I prefer Ultra Soft kleenex and Ultra Strong toilet paper.

Simply, A Great Visit

 My brother and his wife came to visit yesterday; to check out the new place.

What a great visit. And how thrilling it felt to proudly welcome people into our new home. I have not felt that emotion in twenty years.

I vacuumed the whole house (for the third time already and unnecessarily) before they came. Revia lurks.

I enthusiastically gushed, more than once, about how much we love this house and how happy we are. The gushing of course is entirely justified.

However - more than once as well - I lapsed into complaining about how hard the move had been on us; especially the buildup to it. In those moments my brother gently steered me from complaining to gratitude.

No one is more qualified to do that than my brother.

His efforts were not lost on me. I am wide open right now, receptive to change and redemption. I am fiercely committed to transforming my entire life into something new. 

And that starts with me. The core of it all is the remaking of the hazy image of the personality I currently project, into a crystal clear presentation of who I really am. With no negative qualifiers. No limiting weakness.

We shared a special day with Eddie and Carolina yesterday. They made us happy.

It truly was a great visit.

Great for my heart. Great for my soul.

The Final Blowout

Worked my final show last night.

I was scheduled to work shows next Friday and next Sunday but was relieved of those responsibilities by Lorne, the Box Office Manager, who is a kind and considerate man.

The last three shows I worked were essentially sold out, including last night. Typically that is a recipe for sleepytime ease for me. Can't sell any more tickets, can't move people around - pretty much all you do is hand out Will Call tickets.

Unless there is a high percentage of assholes attending the show. The last three shows included a high percentage of needy assholes.

What was particularly galling about last night was the fact that it was a free show. Free tickets.

In 1952 a Concord woman left a legacy of $700,000 to fund a free concert series. The tradition continues until today. Each individual is entitled to four free tickets. Last night's audience was particularly needy, particularly problematic, and extremely annoying. People getting free tickets who are still fucking annoying? Amazing.

By the time I left I was furious. I got home and began to rant and to rave. Once more Carol had to endure my anger and frustration, which reached hysterical proportions. I know it pisses her off and I am wrong to do it. But she needs to realize the damage shows like that do to the nervous system.

One guarantee at a sold out show is that you will have a steady stream of people coming to the window for at least an hour - often times longer. No relief. I have developed an enjoyable trick to steal seconds of peace between customers. When I am done with one I look the next one in the eye....................and turn my back on them. I toss the ticket stub from the previous customer in the trash, then calmly and slowly turn around to face the next idiot. It's particularly enjoyable when they start to speak before I turn my back on them. Great good fun.

It's called survival, folks.

Anyway, by the time the onslaught is over I am wound up and ready to kill. Can't shake it, cannot come down. Even with a half hour commute I am psycho. So Carol bears the brunt. BUT last night was the last show I will ever work. THANK GOD.

Interesting aside: Last night's show was the 39th Army Band. They don't just play marches. For instance, last night when I was in the bathroom they played Play That Funky Music. It sounded exactly as you would expect - like a fucking march. It was horrible. My flow stopped mid-stream in protest.

They should stick to marches.

P.S. - Please read the following post detailing the toll this horrific job can take on the human mind.

A Fanciful Incident

I don't remember if I told you about this or not and I am too lazy to find out.

If I did, go grab yourself a beer and sit down to another episode of The Price Is Right.

The first fucked up show of the last three happened a few weeks ago. A sold out show. I was cranking, dealing with the assholes one after the other after another.

And my laptop crashed.

That has never happened to me in more than six years at this job. I have endured every other kind of fuckup and problem and glitch imaginable, but never of that magnitude.

I froze. I had a line of people in front of me that stretched through the lobby, out the doors and down the walkway. And the person in front of me got testy. I called Lorne and restarted the computer - which takes some time. Lorne came up the street, got everything up and running again - I walked back to the window.

To face the asshole who woudn't shut up. I started to process her order - she said something sarcastic to me.....................and I replied with sarcasm and poison. I don't even know what I said, but I know it had nothing to do with peace, love and understanding. Lorne gently grabbed my arm and asked "Do you want to take a break?" He manned the window.

I walked into the back room for a few minutes seeing red -  furious beyond belief and shook up by the laptop crash. After a few minutes I left - the building. I grabbed my jacket, walked to my car, and took a ride. And never went back.

This happened before we moved to our new home but after the purchase was approved. Strangely I drove to the new house. There was no thought process involved - I was still seeing red. I did not think "Gee whiz, I think I'll go take a look at my new house." I just got on the highway and drove.

Half an hour to the new house. In the meantime Lorne texted me, and called me twice. I did not respond. I stopped in front of the new place and meditated. Drove around the circle and stopped in front of it again - this time at an angle from which I could shine my headlights on it. It gave me peace. Fortunately no one called the cops.

I drove back to Henniker and said nothing to Carol. That was a Friday night. On Saturday morning I texted Lorne to ask if I still had a job. He responded that we would talk on Monday. We did talk it through and he let it go. He is an amazing, empathetic, and forgiving man. That night, knowing I still had a job, I told Carol the story.

It was a genuine, psychotic, fucking insane meltdown.

I survived it.

And lived to tell the tale.

Peppadew for You

 My recliner now sits directly next to a picture window.

Just across the living room/dining room are sliding glass doors. There are skylights in the kitchen. When the sun shines, this house shines.

I love it. It is uplifting, and inspires meditation and appreciation.

Even when the sun does not shine, our home remains bright. No room for depression here.

Snow was falling when I woke up this morning. I felt no hatred or despair. The cats were in the windows marvelling at the magic falling from the sky.

They love the windows in this place. Emmy Lou spends a lot of time sitting on the roof of the tall cat edifice that stands next to the glass sliders. Both Patsy and Emmy Lou spend reflective moments in the bedroom windows, the window in my office, the kitchen window, and the picture window next to my chair.

The windowsills are wide. Built just for them.

I don't have to work today. I am ecstatic.

Gonna find me a tasty recipe that includes peppadew peppers.

Our taste buds will be singing tonight.

Seems Sad to Me

 The lonesome sound of daytime tv......

That's a line from a book I'm reading. It resonated with me because when I stretch in front of the kitchen door in the morning, usually around 6:30, the person in the home across the way is always watching tv.

I am not spying. The homes in this community are close together, but not in an obnoxious way. Still, all of our lives intersect.

I stretch in front of the door because I love having a new view. Yesterday a guy walked by with his little dog. The funny thing was that a cat was following along behind them. Maybe ten yards behind. Leisurely, unconcerned. Maintaining the same pace.

I don't know if the cat belonged to the man and the dog, or if he was a neighborhood cat. Whatever the reality was, it was fun to watch.

I pride myself on not leaning on tv for comfort. I will always choose a book first. Maybe a bottle of whiskey. And silence.

The person across the way appears to live alone. Always only one car in the driveway. We have not seen this person outside. Not once since we've been here. But that seems typical for this community. Very few signs of life. Kind of strange.

I never see any movement in the house. The only thing I see is the tv. Always on at 6:30 in the morning.

Seems sad to me. But maybe this person is happy.

I hope so.

Take This Job and Shove It

I ain't working here no more.

Gave my 2 weeks notice yesterday. 

My last day of employment at the Capitol Center for the Arts is Monday, November 20, 2023. A momentous date indeed.

Feels so good to get that monkey off my back. Another tumbler falling into place in this, my new life.

I do not have another job lined up. You say "Oh my God, Joe - whaddya gonna do?" Relax, positive momentum is on my side. That and cash. We banked a chunk of change when we sold the old place, which added to our existing balance gives me comfortable breathing room. If a month or two goes by, panic is not in the cards.

My top priority is to land a job with dignity. And a healthy paycheck. I am taking aim at security. There is no doubt that I will "pass" before Carol does. And when I do, I will leave her somewhat vulnerable, financially. I cannot live (die) with that. I put her in this position, I will get her out.

Since I semi-fucking-retired in 2016 I have settled for menial part-time jobs that were so far beneath me I was commuting to hell. My thinking was I would tough it out until I found my calling. I blew it instead. Got nowhere, accomplished nothing.

I will chase whatever dignified employment makes sense to me. Simultaneously, I will keep myself apprised of whatever lowly jobs are close by. As much as I lust for dignity and $, the truth is I am 69 years old. Most employers would rather I die than hire me.

I am taking a bit of a risk. Who knows, maybe I am chronically unemployble. Maybe I will crash and burn. But you know what? Contrary to lifetime appearances, I am a risk taker. I should spend 75% of my time standing in front of a craps table in Vegas. It is in my nature. That aspect of my personality got smothered by responsibility. I got careful. I had a house, I had a family, I owed money to bloodsuckers - I could not make a move without somebody monitoring my whereabouts.

I am reviving the risk taker. I am confident, I got luck on my side, I got a little room to breathe.

"You better not try to stand in my way as I'm a-walkin' out the door"

Let Me Flesh This Out For You

The old place became the proverbial albatross around my neck.

It embarrassed me to have my own family visit. Friends too. Even the cable guy, or plumbers. After a couple of decades, anyone who walked into that house humiliated me.

Because the abysmal condition of that house reflected directly on me. It's run down appearance labelled me a Loser.

I am not a handyman. If I pick up a tool, blood squirts out of me ears. So I was not capable of "making repairs." In addition, I worked for chump change my whole life. When I should have been earning $150,000/year, I was earning $30K - a fucking joke. I just never made the effort. So I could not afford to hire a handyman.

One more thing - an intangible. I never believed in the life I was living. I don't believe in chaining myself to a mortgage, I never really wanted to. I never wanted to do the shirt and tie thing and work a predictable job. So I kind of didn't care. I did not look at the house as an investment that needed my love and care - I looked at it as a burden.

Which is why it is so ironic that the house ultimately saved us. Fate, baby - who knew?

That is why I keep going on and on and on about how happy I am. That 20 ton weight has been lifted off of my back. I am starting over with a fresh, blank canvas. And no mortgage. Living in a home I am proud to show off.

And now that I am acutely aware of what happens to a house when you neglect it, I am primed and ready to stay on top of everything.

I love this home. Carol loves this home.

Second chances, baby. Miracles.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote: "There are no second acts in American lives." He was wrong. This is my second act.

I intend to go out to thundering applause.

Seems to Me

 In Bull Durham, Crash Davis ( Kevin Costner) says: "You be arrogant, even when you're getting beat. That's the secret. You gotta play this game with fear and arrogance."

Seems to me that is damn good advice for how to live your life.

The Next Time

 The next time somebody tells you to go fuck yourself, respond: "Been trying all my life."

 That might shut them up.

Less of an Asshole

Carol sleeps in our bed. I sleep in my recliner.

I get up at 7:00. Carol gets up at 9:00.

Our new home is all on one level, which is heavenly for old folks like us. Especially me with my fucked up knee.

When I wake up I walk by the bedroom. I peek in at Carol sleeping and tears appear. Tears of happiness (tired of this yet?)

Carol is as happy as I am in this new house. Her happiness makes me happy. In addition, I am less of an asshole now. Which intensifies her happiness. And makes me feel good.

I have always been the drawback to her positivity. I was so unhappy, that my mercurial moods, which tended towards negativity, had an effect on her. She could be happy in the old place because Carol is an adult and can be happy anywhere, but she could not be as happy as she should have been, as happy as she deserved to be, because she had to deal with and respond to my moods. Inevitably.

Why the hell she never kicked me out to marry the pool boy with the washboard abbs and gymnastic pecs is beyond me.

Still, here I am. Actually contributing to Carol's happiness.

I am feeling more whole than ever before.

A Prediction

 I will take the opportunity I have been given and spin it into gold.

The Death of Resignation

I used to sigh all the time in the other house.

The sighs were fueled by depression, anger, self-loathing, resignation - resignation that I would die in that house as a failure. That I had blown my life.

I sigh a lot in the new home. In disbelief. And happiness. I exhale hope and gratitude, over and over again. I cannot believe this has happened. It shouldn't have. There was probably a 1% chance things would go the way they did. But they did. And I know exactly what I have.

An opportunity. A chance to understand the beauty of all this, and a chance to build upon it.

I have had many opportunities in my life and blown every single one. 

In 1985 I was laid off from Wang Labs and given a generous severance package that gave me months and money to change direction. An opportunity to flee accounting and do something meaningful. I wasted it and remained an accountant for twenty five more years.

In 2002 (I think) Keith and Craig moved out. We should have sold the house then and made more sense of our life. We didn't.

In 2016 I semi-fucking-retired, from then until now working only 20 hours a week. Giving me ample time to save my life. I wasted it.

But now I know what I have. The Final Opportunity. THE chance to get the happiness that has eluded me for so long. I know it in my heart, I know it in my soul, and I understand the gravity of procrastination. I have no time for that. It is now or never.

Jackson Joseph Testa gives me magic to work with. This beautiful new home gives me magic to work with. The fresh perspective of a new town gives me magic to work with. That is such a great place to start from.

I am armed with an abundance of magic and an abundance of determination, and something new. The confidence to make it work. I know I am going to remake my life in the image it was intended to have.

An image that will become my reality and release my soul to fly.

I have been waiting 69 years for this.

I am not going to fuck it up.

By Way of Comparison

I had to work yesterday for the first time in a week.

Worked in the box office from 2:30 to 6:00; worked a show from 6:00 to 9:00. The customers who attended the show formed a parade of selfish, whiny assholes with special requests and complaints. Slimy, no good, jerkoffs.

It was as hideous, as painful, as soul-suffocating, as vile and as revolting as being submerged in a cesspool up to my chin with only a straw to breathe through, while Beelzebub dropped large rocks into the sewage for the sheer joy of creating waves.

It fucking sucked.

By the time I made my escape at 9:00, I was furious and incredulous. From 5:00 pm on Tuesday through the end of Thursday I was blissful. On Friday morning I woke up with hints of the typical work day dread, which eventually became unbearable by the time I fell into my car for the commute. 

My mind was screaming in horror and disbelief.

The contrast between that torment and the previous bliss resulted in supreme motivation. So ultimately, the fact that I had to work yesterday was a good thing. It woke me up, it shook me up, it solidified in my brain what has to be done.

That job is toast, baby. 

Once that is dealt with, I may just empty out my bar. I won't need alcohol anymore.

Never mind. That's not going to happen.

That would just be stupid.

Happiness Realized

Carol and I are in our new home that we love.

I am experiencing happiness. Very strange.

Just experiencing happiness is an exotic thing. It is so rare of an emotion for me that when it occurs I stop dead in my tracks and wonder "Am I dying? What is this?"

Walked into this place for good Tuesday evening around 5 o'clock. I was overwhelmed. With gratitude, disbelief, and.....................happiness.

Carol and I were exhausted. Practically dead. But we are proud of how hard we worked on the move, especially at the age of 69. We are tough motherfuckers and I will never let anyone else tell me otherwise.

It is a miracle that it even happned. Every stage of the process had to fit narrow miraculous parameters, and they did.

So I am happy. 

I am also noticing that I am experiencing happiness at an intensity that is exponentially more powerful than it has been for the last 20 years. It is stunning. I pick up Emmy Lou or Patsy and almost cry with joy. I hug Carol, I kiss her and I feel alive! For a very long time I felt much closer to dead than alive.

I am dancing around the house. I was singing to myself in Market Basket yesterday.

It is fucking amazing. I FEEL SO GOOD.

We have a grandson on the way. Jackson Joseph Testa. We are in a beautiful new home that we love.

The next step is to resolve my humiliating employment torture. And I will. Oh you better believe I fucking will. Very, very soon.

I will either be working from home or working someplace close by. And making more money. Period. End of story. We have had so much luck lately that I know it will carry over to this nasty, rancid, piece of my life. And when that happens I will have a completely new life. Which is what I crave. With every fiber of my being.

A clean break. A new start. A fresh perspective.

Correction: I just said "we have had so much luck lately". There is a bit of luck mixed in, but we deserve this good fortune. We have earned it. We have worked hard forever, we are 69 years old, Carol has defeated breast cancer and a brain tumor, I am beating prostate cancer - this is our time.

And I am focused with extreme prejudice on making it all work, on making it better and better, on making Carol happy. And on appreciating and basking in my own happiness.

 I am alert, I am alive, and I am grateful for my awakening.

I Am Revia

 It started when we got a new vanity installed at our old house in the upstairs bathroom, and a new sink installed in our downstairs bathroom.

The vanity was shiny. Every morning after my morning ablutions I would wipe down the counter, the faucet and the sink. Left it all sparking. This was not normal. I had let the old house go so far down that the whole place was like an overflowing port o' potty in my mind.

Cleaning was not a strong point for me or Carol. Fot me it was probably a backlash to the tyrannical way my mother ran things. My mother was Revia. Or it could be that I am just fucking lazy.

My mother kept our house spotless. Absolutely spotless. Unfortunately she turned me, my brother, and my father into her personal cleaning torture victims. She beat us, refused to feed us, whipped us with bicycle chains, until every speck of dust, dirt and grime was banished from the house. Even the imaginary ones, and she had plenty of those.

But she never had to scramble when company was coming over. The place was antiseptic. As opposed to me and Carol, who would have to "clean" for 9 hours anticipating company. Even then the house looked like a place strategically demolished by dynamite.

After the movers left the old place on Tuesday I went in to clean up after them. I was horrified. Did you know that dust even accumulates under things? Fucking house was a mess. I was standing alone in my old house and I was embarrassed. It took me hours to sweep, vacuum, and pick up miscellaneous trash like cat toys, corks, loose change, papers etc

We are in our new home. I am Revia.

Today is Day Three and I have already vacuumed the kitchen and put together a plan for regular vacuuming and cleaning. I made toast this morning and I wiped down the entire counter before I ate.

Strangest part? It feels natural.

Thanks, Mom.

My Morning Prayer

 Throughout this vicious preparing to move process I have been less than a man.

I have whined, lost my temper, been indecisive, and been mean and inconsiderate of Carol.

Because of that I have increased the stress on her by 50%. What a selfish fool I have been.

Today we close on both houses. Tomorrow we move. Two more extraordinarily stressful days.

My prayer is as follows.

Give me the strength and maturity and discipline and consideration to consider Carol's emotions every step of the way. To step back, take a breath, think, and be responsible in every decision and in dealing with every problem that occurs these next two days. Help me to not add even 1% more stress onto Carol's shoulders. Help me to be a man. Help me to make what is ultimately an extraordinarily happy occurrence in our life be as happy as it can possibly be. Help me to allow my love for Carol to shine through and give her the strength and confidence she needs. Please allow me to make her happy. Allow me to help her get to the place of happiness in our new home that she deserves.

Amen.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow we close on the new house.

We may survive this torture after all.

Still, I ask for your prayers.

Until Then

 Just the other day I asked the Marquis de Sade what his favorite method of torture is.

He said "Moving".

Carol and I are suffering like dogs. Every day we get up, have a cup of coffee, watch an episode of Law & Order and then..........get back to packing.

We have lived in this house for 37 years. Which makes it an endless torture chamber of shit that has to be dealt with. Everything takes three times longer to do than you expect because there are endless layers of miscellaneous shit that has accumulated.

I believe this is the most physically brutal thing we have ever dealt with. And right near the top of the most psychologically brutal things we have ever dealt with.

We are 69 years old, for Christ sake.

There are days when we spend 3, 4, even 5 hours dealing with this shit. Packing. Carrying boxes. Filling trash bags. Walking up and down flights of stairs. Over and over and over again. From the second floor down to the first floor down to the basement and back up again. There have been days when we only lasted a couple of hours. We are frazzled, overwhelmed and short-tempered.

People ask me why we didn't have the movers do the packing.

Impossible. We have had to weed out so much shit we would have  had to look over the movers' shoulders and say "pack this, trash that, separate this" 1000 fucking times.

We are exhausted.

Endless trips to the dump, to Goodwill, to Home Depot for boxes and tape, to the liquor store to get empty boxes from my friend who manages the store.

Every day we go as long as we can, maybe an hour at a time, then we sit for 15 minutes. Then we get back up. And every time we get up it gets harder and harder. Until we can't do it anymore.

Then we collapse for the night. And get up in the morning and do it all over again.

Four more days to go. Feels like an impossible task. Like we will not get it done.

But we will.

And we will be living in a beautiful new home living a renewed life in a new town. Starting over so late in life. Magic.

Until then it all fucking sucks.

So Good

 Love this time of year.

When I watch horror movies I root for the Evil Presence. I want him to win. I want him to torment, torture and kill Innocent Victims. I want to see prolonged torture sessions filled with twisted suffering and maximum bloodshed. Screams. Severed limbs and crushed skulls.

I do NOT want some  lame happy ending where Pure Evil is defeated.

I don't know what that says about me.

I do know that it makes me feel good.

Disbelief

 I do not believe that when Cologuard is delivered to peoples' houses...........they smile.

Sleepy Time Time

 Holy Shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What am I doing up this fucking late?

I am serene. Got nothing on my mind.

What am I doing up This Fucking Late??????????????

When Logic Runs Up Against Emotion (The Moving Chronicles)

My books. My precious books.

They are draining me. I have spent countless hours packing up books. A ridiculous amount of time. I have to. I have 14 million books. And they gotta go.

I have to sort the ones that are staying from the ones that are going. I have to transport the rejects to the swap shop at the dump, and to Goodwill.

They are not fucking rejects. They are my goddamn life.

I have to keep redefining the logic behind what stays and what goes. As the stay list gets thinner my heart gets more vulnerable.

Logic says "You gotta get rid of the goddamn books. Why do you need them?" Emotion says "Because they represent my whole fucking life." I came out of the womb with a book in my hands. Catcher In The Rye. And I never looked back.

Books have given me tens of thousands of hours of peace during my 69 years - indescribable peace and joy. I want to keep every one of them because they define me in every stage of my life. They represent my interests, my whims, my dreams and fantasies, my education, and my soul. At different ages and different stages and they are all me.

I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they smell. I love the worn ones, I love the pristine ones. I love the way they look and what a book represents.

We are not technically downsizing. The new place is as big if not bigger than this place. But it does not make sense to keep dragging all these books around. I will never re-read 99% of them. I used to think they would be the legacy I will leave behind, but I am just fooling myself. Nobody cares what books I have read but me. And I care deeply. But......................

There is a great deal of emotion tied up in moving, especially at the stage of life Carol and I are in. There is a powerful sense of taking the last turn in the road in our life. Sobering. 

Getting rid of stuff, downsizing, making our life easier, shedding baggage. There is a direct and somewhat sad message in what we are doing.

Especially when it comes to my books. I feel like I am tearing off chunks of my flesh and throwing them to the wolves. Truthfully, I am attacking my own soul, my soul which is staggering in bewilderment.

The longer you stick around, the nastier life gets.

I Can Get Good

 If the Detroit Lions can get good, I can get good.

Unrelated: I Love The Boston Bruins.

I was watching Behind the B. The Bruins got visited by Johnny Bucyk and Derek Sanderson. Priceless.

Bucyk was talking about today's training methods. He said: "In my day we would be sitting in a bar an hour after practice." Love it. I could have been a professional athlete back in the day.

It was photo day for the B's. They were doing those ridiculous tough guy poses. They were talking about all the promotional things the players do today. Sanderson was asked if they did that kind of stuff in his day. He smirked sarcastically and said "Are you kidding me? I took off my skates after the last day of the season and didn't put them back on again until the first day of practice." 

Love it.

Is There a Message in Everything? Or Can Some Things Just Be Fun?

 I am watching more college football than NFL football this year.

What is the meaning of this?

An Anguished Plea

The previous post was written by a man who is not handling the stress of moving very well.

This does not surprise you.

You must disregard his weakness, if you can find it in your heart to do so. He could use the absolution.

He recognizes this moment in his life as pivotal. He doesn't want to blow it.

Although he has not earned it, he asks for your forgiveness and your empathy.

He yearns to become a better man, as time grows short.

He cannot do it alone.

Let's Pretend (As 10/30 Looms)

Let's pretend you sell your house.

You cannot even believe that it happened. Your house is so run down it has been condemned by the local authorities. Toilets won't flush, roof leaks, foundation is sagging, lead paint flakes into your apple spice oatmeal in the morning.

And yet a young enthusiastic buyer wants your house - he wants it. And makes you an offer that you cannot refuse; it is $75,000 more than the house is worth. AND he waives his right to an inspection.

Champagne corks are popping, you rip off a quick trip to Ibiza, and you invest in bitcoin. Holy shit your life is suddenly magic.

You execute a signed P&S while your dreams dance before your eyes on a Saturday afternoon.

And then.....................and then.............your defective, rotting deck decides this is a good time to start ripping away from your house. The appraisor says "Holy shit, you better get this fixed or your buyer/savior will not get his financing. "You put up crime tape so Amazon delivery people will not lose their legs, and you google.

You waste time, you waste time as you research solutions - the closing date looms like the Grim Reaper with his scythe cocked - and you find "a guy" - a guy referred through a reputable home repair site - a guy who has nothing but good reviews online - you contact him and he agrees to come out and take a look.

You lose a few days. 

He says he can definitely repair the deck without replacing it, makes a reasonable offer ,which you accept, and tells you he will be out on Saturday (last week). Meanwhile you lose a week. It rains that day. He doesn't show up. He doesn't call. You call him and he gets pissed that you questioned his judgement to not bother calling.

You decide to kiss his ass (desperation) and he agrees he will be out this week. He texts last night just as you are getting out of work (after narrowly avoiding killing every one of your co-workers and every customer you deal with) and tells you he will send two guys out tomorrow (today) mid-morning to fix the deck.

They don't show up. You lose five more days. You text him at 11:45. He doesn't respond. You call and cannot get through - his phone will not accept the call. The day is effectively wasted  - no word from this fucking scumbag.

The deck creaks and groans, and sags some more.

Meanwhile, during this process, because you are a problem solver and your antennae are standing at attention - and as you are shampooing the shit out of your hair excreted there by Contractor #1, you got more referrals through another "reputable" home repair site. You contacted each and every one of them and each and every one of them had an excuse as to why they could not take on the project. But of course they had helpful suggestions. About as useful as your 93 year old grandmother from the old country explaining to you the most efficient way to shoot up smack to get the most bang for your buck.

Desperation escalates as doom looms.

Of course the situation will be resolved somehow someway - it has to be - but now you will probably have to kiss the buyer's ass for repair expense at double the cost.

Is this the way life is supposed to work?

You bet your fucking ass.

Just A Typical Life

You spend your whole life backing yourself into a corner until you can't find the room to move.

The problem is, in the end, your back is against the wall and you are facing outwards. Towards the rest of the world.

And all anybody can see in your eyes is shame.

Respect & Money

 So essentially I have locked myself into working for the "rest of my life" to support the lifestyle to which we have become accustomed (actually better).

The new joint will cost no more than the old joint - we are just substituting HOA fees for a mortgage payment, and taxes for taxes.

Although we will have no mortgage, we understand that valuations of mobile homes vary widely and it is entirely possible this home we are buying might be worth $85,000 less next year. We looked at the sales history of this place and it is all over the map in a relatively short time. We are buying at a time that realtors drool over - everything is up now, but who knows what reality will be if and when we decide to sell.

Then again we are almost 70 years old - where the fuck are we going to go from here?

Another consideration is Keith & Craig's obligations down the road. I always worried that if we could not escape this dungeon, and we died in a flaming car wreck involving my Hyundai and a circus van - they would have to sell this dump warts and all (good luck) and deal with the remaining balance on the fucking mortgage. We own the new place free & clear - all they gotta do is sell it and split the proceeds 50/50. Hopefully it will be easy enough to sell - it is pretty and peaceful. Besides, anything they get from the sale is gravy. When the time comes I hope it will ease their burdens considerably.

I have backed us into a corner through a lifetime of bad decisions and indecision and lack of initiative. We got an offer that we could not refuse - if we dicked around, we would no doubt lose this opportunity and get an offer that was $100K less. We found a place that we love - a place that comes with financial burdens we did not want to deal with. But we will. I will look so damn good in a McDonalds paper hat.

Shelly Winters played a character on Law & Order who killed her husband because she caught him cheating on her. She said "I gave him 25 years of my life and he threw it all away." That comment floored me. 

I feel that way about Carol. If I had achieved what I was capable of achieving, if I had performed at a professional level to match my "potential", her life would have been much easier, much more enjoyable, much more carefree. And she has given me forty five years.

I am happy to make this move. I truly am. It is the right move at the right time. I love the new place and this is a miracle bailout for us in this house. I am especially happy for Carol. She deserves this. Leaving here will be SO hard for her, but living in the new place will make her SO happy. She loves it. She loves it, she loves it, she loves it.

It will not allow me to retire. My fault. Nobody else's.

So now I am shooting for respect & money. I have not earned respect in 69 years and rightfully so - I aim to do it now. I have worked for chump change in 69 years - I aim to make enough money to make us secure - unafraid.

I accept the fact that I have to work, but it is a painful truth that I will have to live with.

Redemption comes with strings attached. There is no free lunch in heaven or in hell.

I will love living in the new place. It is beautiful. We will be happy there. Even the cats, after they get over the shock of the move.

Maybe, maybe, some day I will find a solution to my own shortcomings.

I hope that our new life will destroy my perception that Carol might feel like I have thrown away the last 45 years of her life. My deepest, darkest fear.

Redemption comes with strings attached.

What All This Means

 "I've been aware of the time going by, they say, in the end, it's the wink of an eye"

"ah, the lovers as they run through the night, leaving nothing but to choose off and fight, and tear at the world with all their might, while the ships bearing their dreams sail out of sight"

"Are you there? Say a prayer for the pretender, who started out so young and strong, only to surrender"

From The Pretender by Jackson Browne

That's pretty much where I was and still am to some extent. My life has flown by. It is a cliche because every human being experiences it, but you cruise along not giving a lot of thought to much of anything until you look up and you are 69. Sixty nine. Suddenly every clock is your enemy.

You have watched your dreams sail away. I never had specific dreams but I had a solid sense of who and where I wanted to be at this point in my life. I am not there. Not even close.

I was young and strong but had the young and strong beaten out of me. I surrendered.

And that's how I expected it all to end.

Instead I am going to have a grandson. I am going to be living in a beautiful home mortgage free. The sheer poetry of this new reality is staggering. 

At the specific moment when the dying embers of the life you wanted are about to be extinguished, a benevolent and unidentified spirit breathes life into a new and unexpected reality. 

One that brings with it unimaginable joy.

Let's Get Reacquainted

This is how my life has changed in recent history:

Carol and I found out we are going to be grandparents. Craig & Amanda are having a baby in March of 2024. Isn't that insane? We are so happy for them and so happy for us. Keith and Craig magically transformed our life in ways that kept our hearts full of love, our faces smiling, and our souls nourished, and they continue to do so. Craig & Amanda have no idea what to expect until it happens. Then their minds will be blown.

We had given up on that dream long ago and suddenly - the dream has become reality. A grandson. A grandson named Jackson Joseph Testa. I am blown away. We are blown away. Our life has suddenly become so much richer, magical - something we can only imagine, but something that will change our life exponentially and expand our emotional horizons beyond belief. We cannot wait.

We sold our house and bought a new joint. In less than a week. Never thought it would happen. Listed our place on a Wednesday, had a signed P&S on Saturday, and our offer on the new place was accepted on Tuesday. How the hell did that happen? I thought the price we listed the house at was $50K more than we would ever get. Instead we got $10K more than we asked for.

The new place is a double wide mobile home and it is beautiful. We are buying it outright - no mortgage. In a beautiful over 55 community that is meticulously maintained. Peaceful and quiet. I plan on starting a whiskey-lovers club and generally raising a ruckus.

We broke all our rules in buying the new place, because fate dictated. First of all we will never get another offer on our house to match this one so we had to take advantage. We wanted to move closer to civilization - we moved farther from civilization. We wanted to live in a co-op (owner owned community) - the new place is not that. We wanted low HOA fees - we got high HOA fees.

What's the lesson? You can't always get what you want. But you can get the tastiest parts of what you want, with a little luck. Don't sacrifice the good to chase the perfect. Words of wisdom.

We are moving on October 31 (hopefully not a bizarre omen) so we are officially in out-of-our-fucking-minds mode. Such a huge hassle, but the reward will be a new life in a beautiful place with a minimum of clutter. We are forced to downsize after living for 37 years in this house, which is good - we will be starting clean and mean.

I am looking to make a clean break - I have stepped up the job search because if I have to commute to this job after moving to the new place I will gouge out my eyes. On October 31 I want to be sitting in my new home with a new (hopefully remote) job. I need that. I want that. I have to fucking have it.

I am having knee replacement surgery in the future. My right knee has gotten out of control. Painful, unstable, and annoying. I have to wear a wrap all the time. Again. The surgery was scheduled for 10/17 but I postponed it after selling/buying the houses - too much frantic running around in October. So probably 2024. It will be good to be pain-free and mobile.

I recently told you that the next 10 years of my life are probably it. I'd be happy with 20 healthy years but I am not holding out hope. So, becoming a grandfather, selling this run-down home of 37 years and buying a beautiful new place, dumping the soul-sucking job - these are beautiful things, the stuff that dreams are made of. The reality of starting a whole new life at this stage of existence is deliciously insane. Lucky. Perfect. Meant to be.

I really don't have the words for it.

Learn to Differentiate

 If you are to successfully navigate the twisted path of life, you must learn to differentiate between the perception of being severely annoyed and only mildly annoyed.

Good Thoughts Bad Thoughts

 Good thoughts stack up in my brain and become bad thoughts.

What is the alchemy of that thought process?

Is This You?

 If you sigh more than you breathe, it's time for electroshock therapy.

Certainly One Approach

 There's nothing about my life that can't be cured through death & resurrection.

Illya Kuryakin Is Dead

 I am shattered.

It's Possible

I have noticed that people with a simple approach to life talk about vegetables excitedly.

I work with a lot of older folks (my age) when I work shows - it's just the nature of the beast. I did last night. And talk came around to vegetables.

"My neighbor posted that she has some green peppers and jalopenos from her garden to give away! I hope they are still there tomorrow. I love green peppers!"

Who loves green peppers? Who gets excited about vegetables?

The next topic was mufffin recipes. A co-worker uses orange juice in one of her recipes - apparently this is a radically inventive appproach that results in the greatest muffins ever invented.

My gut reaction was - and always has been - you have to be kidding me. This is what you talk about when you get out of the house?

Then I got to thinking - I have not been experiencing much happiness lately - lots of stress (I got a lot to talk to you about). In fact, I have not experienced my fair share of happiness throughout the history of my life.

Maybe if I got excited about vegetables I would be happier and healthier.

It's possible I don't have all the answers.

JB Quote

 "I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination."

Jimmy Buffett

Tomorrow Will Be Different

 Getting football-ready this morning when I heard an injured athlete say "I am starting to feel like myself again."

It is a simple statement, easy to understand, unless your age falls into the elderly bracket.

I wouldn't even know what "I am starting to feel like myself" means. I have no yardstick - nothing to measure against. As my new favorite t-shirt says - "Everything hurts and I'm going to die."

There are no pain-free days. There is no perfect comfort level.

I guess if I wake up in the morning and manage to stand without falling and walk without staggering, that's good enough. Good enough for today.

Tomorrow will be different.

Life Maxim

 You have to stay numb to keep moving forward.

Jimmy Buffet

Sometimes death comes at me from an unexpected angle.

When Johnny Carson died I was disturbed. Odd, no? It's not like I was a crazy Johnny Carson fan, not like I got 4 hours of sleep every night so I could stay up and watch him. I watched him when I could. Accountants need their sleep.

But I was impressed with his cool. I loved the way he carried himself. I loved his viciously quick and sharp-tongued sense of humor. I loved the way people respected him. I loved the way he commanded respect. I loved his style.

Jimmy Buffet's death is killing me. Fucking killing me.

I was not an over-the-top Buffet fan, but I liked him a lot. My knowedge of his music went beyond Chesseburger and Margaritaville, I knew his more sensitive stuff, I had a sense of who he was. I own a couple of his books.

I am now an over-the-top Jimmy Buffet guy. I have been listening to his music non-stop since September 1. Watching interviews. Reading about him. And when you listen to Sirius XM you get the knowledge and love and respect and worship of people who just LOVED the man, which gives you a deeper understanding of who he was. You hear great stories. Especially from other musicians, which carries a lot of weight.

Everything I have read about the man, all the songs I am hearing that I never heard before, all of that is making me smile and appreciate and regret and understand - Jesus fucking Christ - the man enjoyed life. He knew what would make him happy and he built his entire life around that. And he made everyone around him happy - he cared about their happiness - what the fuck else is life about?

He understood life. At some point he took a step back, looked around and realized that all of us live life like a feather in a hurricane, he realized life is hard and not guaranteed so he decided to put as much fun into his life as possible. He focused on fun. That is how you life a life.

Every remembrance of him focused on his joy, his positive spirit, his sense of and appreciation of fun. He made people smile.

He gave fun to his fans as a gift in concert and on records, a gift to lift them out of their own troubles and to help them smile, laugh and dance and sing. Amazing, amazing stuff.

Jane Slagsvol, Jimmy's wife: "Jimmy was love. Every cell in his body was filled with joy. He smiled all the time, even when he was deeply ill. And his sense of humor never wavered. Jimmy was always the optimist, always twinkling, always making us laugh."

Jimmy Buffet lived his life - his way - and made other peoples' lives better. There is no higher compliment you can pay another human being.

Requiescat in pace, Jimmy Buffet.

I loved you and I didn't even know it.

Thank you, man.

Slowly....................Deliciously

 When I write in here only intermittently, it is proof that I am slowly going mad.

So many, so many

He let so many things slide in his life that he ended up standing on an ice cube looking down at the abyss.

And it was July.

Fanciful Quotes

 "The only guaranteed way to wake up happy is to keep a vial of coke on the nightstand."

The Dalai Lama

It Just Occurred To Me

 There's something about watching college football on a brilliantly sunny Saturday afternoon, that can make you believe life ain't half bad.

Why Not?

 I want to fly Emirates to Dubai.

Better Than Life

 "Life is good. Football is better."

Steve Sabol

Steve Sabol had a point. 

Football is much misunderstood because there is so much goddamn hype. Regular people get turned off. "What the fuck is this? Another goddamn commercial hyping another NFL game? And what about the Super Bowl? Jesus Christ."

Understood. But football fans are fanatics. You get 17 games. That's it. Jesus Christ, I have watched 333 Red Sox games this year with Carol and they got another 250 to go. In football, if your team does not make the playoffs you get 17 games. Like life. I only get 70 or 80 years? That's it? Shit. Don't fucking blink, man.

So I am excited for tonight. Game 1 of the 2023 NFL season. I will be eating a Cajun Blue Burger - a burger topped with cajun spices, thick cut bacon, and blue cheese crumbles. I had one last year when Carol was away and I almost died from delight. I will drink an ice cold Miller High Life. Maybe a shot of whiskey if I think I can stay awake.

Tonight will be an event and I will celebrate that - I am all the way in, baby.

The US Open: I have been devouring that this week. It's a big part of my "Carol's not here" tradition. Like the burger.

Laslo Djere took Djokovic 5 sets in the third round. Are you kidding me? Novak went down 2 sets and had to win 3 in a row. Which, of course, he did. Zverev and Sinner played 5 grueling sets in brutal heat. Z-Man won but lost last night to Alcaraz. Medvedev won in 3 straight against Rublev in brutal heat. At one point Medvedev walked up to the camera and said: "One of us will die and the people will see it." It was that bad. And Alcaraz...................has been doing what Alcaraz does. John McEnroe keeps saying that Alcaraz is the best thing to happen to tennis in a loooooooooooong time. He is correct.

On the women's side, Iga Swiatek lost last Sunday to Jalena Ostapenko. Are you serious?  Coco Gauff is planting her flag in history - she looks unbeatable. Madison Keys looks great. Aryna Sabalenka stalks the court like she owns it.

The tennis has been spectacular. There's something about the US Open, man - it brings out the magic.

The men's final is on Sunday at the same time THE PATS play their first game of the season. The final will probably be Djokovic/Alcaraz. Epic, epic, epic. So............................

I will have THE PATS on TV and tennis on my tablet. Or maybe the other way around. It will be a spectacular way to end my vacation.

Small joys, people - small joys.

This Year Is Different

 Last year when Carol was away was pure bliss.

I took the week off from work, watched the US Open non-stop, ate well, exercised, kicked off the football season, had a drink or two.

Pure escapism which I deserved, and indulged in with abandon.

This year I am doing the same except for adding the caveat that I must also find a way to save my life. Turns out that has been a mistake. It has poisoned my fun as I obsess about a jailbreak from work and unhappiness. With each passing day, panic increases as I realize I am no closer to dignity.

Buzzkill.

Ironically I have simultaneously immersed myself in Buddhism this week.

I have dabbled in Buddhism over the years and discovered that you cannot dabble in Buddhism. You can't sip a little whiskey, watch a little football, then go upstairs and read a little Buddhism.

I am reading two books this week. No-Nonsense Buddhism For Beginners: Clear Answers To Burning Questions About Core Buddhist Teachings by Noah Rasheta. I wanted to start from scratch, and this book does a great job of easing you into this fascinating discipline.

And One Breath At A Time: Buddhism and The Twelve Steps by Kevin Griffin. I spent an afternoon sitting on the porch of my friend Jim's house last week - an old high school buddy. It was a beautiful day, and his property and home are in a beautiful, peaceful spot. We talked. A lot. For 3 hours.

Jim is an alcoholic and has been alcohol free for 28 years. AA led him to Buddhism as he searched for solutions to life and addictions. He recommended the One Breath book to me because both AA and Buddhism offer amazing insights and disciplines into taking control of your life - this book (written by an alcoholic and practicing Buddhist) melds the two approaches.

In other words, I have read nothing but Buddhsim in complete silence for many hours this week.

And thank god for that. If not I would probably shoot myself for semi-ruining my vacation. The reading has taken a little of the edge off of self-hatred and despair, and tweaked the perspective a little away from end-of-the-world hopelessness.

Next year, count on a full blooded return to pure escapism.

Nobody knows better than me that I need a vacation from my mind if I am to stay away from the asylum.

Pablo Diablo

Pablo Diablo was a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction.

The kids in town loved him. Pablo always brought candy and loved to play the clown. For the kids.

He'd pretend he had no candy. "Pablo - Do you have candy for us?" "Candy - what candy? Do you want to rot your teeth? Do you want to get fat?" Always with a large plastic bag hanging off his belt loaded with candy for everyone to see.

The kids would circle around him pointing at the bag and pleading for treats while Pablo circled around, deftly keeping the bag out of reach. He'd tell jokes, he'd make faces and do crazy little dances, raising up minor dust clouds to provide cover. But he would always give in and give each kid enough candy to make their parents angry. But no one could remain angry at Pablo for long. Not openly.

The women loved him. That smile, that beautiful head of thick black hair. He would compliment them and talk about their beauty as if they were holy, sacred; making each and every woman in the town feel special. Pablo brought them flowers, he gave them jewelry, he slipped them cash for the groceries (don't tell your husband).

Sometimes he would kiss their cheeks and make them blush like teenage girls. The women loved Pablo.

The men respected him. He brought them cigars and good wine. He treated each like an equal, as if they were accomplished and important. But there was something unspoken between them, something in the eyes. It was said that Pablo's eyes projected a darker reality than the pats on the back he offered so effortlessly.

Diego owed Pablo some money. Not a lot, a business deal gone bad, but money owed to Pablo was an obligation with teeth. After all, Pablo was a businessman, a good businessman who believed that business was business. Period.

Diego was buying drinks for his friends in the cantina when Pablo walked in. Confidence drained out of him like blood from a wound as he offered to buy Pablo a drink. Pablo graciously accepted a glass of fine whiskey and then got comfortable talking to and joking with Diego's friends. Diego stood by his side ashen-faced.

Pablo gestured for Diego to follow him outside. As they walked towards the door, Pablo called back over his shoulder "Another round of drinks for my friends."

Pablo and Diego disappeared behind the cantina. After a few minutes Pablo re-entered the cantina. Alone. His clothes were dusty, and there was a stain on his shirt that was hard to identify because there was a bit of mud on it. When asked what happened Pablo said "I tripped and fell. I can be so clumsy sometimes." He was smiling that magic smile that disarmed so easily.

Diego's friends asked "Where is Diego? Will he be back?"

Pablo replied "Perhaps tomorrow. In the meantime let's enjoy this fine whiskey." 

Diego's friends forgot about him soon enough.

Today

Digging the freedom.

No work on the horizon is like surgically removing 16 tons of shit off of my body. I am light as a feather.

Mixed bag today.

THE GOOD: I decided to get my footballl juices flowing by watching college ball today. I chose the Colorado/TCU game. The game was mind blowingly good. High scoring, back and forth, a whole hell of a lot going on. Exceptional contest. And Deion got his first win as Colorado's new coach. NO ONE thought they would win. What a great story.

I indeed got my football juices flowing. I am primed and ready to substitute football intensity for wimpy whining. I am diving in, I am diving all the way in - I am going to watch as much football as is humanly possible for the next 5+ months. And you better believe I will be watching Nebraska/Colorado next Saturday at noon. I always say I am going to watch a lot of college football but I never do because Carol makes me scrape and paint and rake and repair and vacuum out her car and wash it and wax it and cook for her and so on every single Saturday.

In 2023 I will buy her diamond brooches instead. And watch football every Saturday and every Sunday.

WAHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE BAD: Jimmy Buffett died yesterday night. That's like saying fun died yesterday night.

I have many music stations set on Sirius, but there are 4 or 5 that are hardcore go-to's. The rest I dabble in. Margaritaville was one of the dabblers. Yesterday for some reason I dialed it up on my way to and from work. I think I was inspired by all the happy cars I passed on the road heading to long weekend destinations. The music suited the mood. Painful to think I randomly dialed up his music on the day he died.

Jimmy Buffett's persona was that of a fun guy. I think the reality matched the image, based on the way  celebrities describe him. Like: "This man personified joy. Embodied goodness. Always smiling......the coolest, absolute nicest...........full of goodwill and joy................ His family said: "He knew how to have fun and cared deeply about bringing everyone else along with him for the ride."

The man always looked like he was having fun. The man loved the ocean, he loved boats, he loved music, he loved to party. How can you argue with that?

He is yet another guy I regret to say I never got to see in concert. My nephew's Paul, Jeff, and Kevin were Parrotheads - they saw him in concert many times. I'm glad they had the experience.

Jimmy Buffett's philosophy, in part: "It's pure escapism is all it is. I'm not the first one to do it, nor shall I probably be the last. But I think it's really a part of the human condition that you've got to have some fun. You've got to get away from whatever you do to make a living or other parts of life that stress you out. I try to make it at least 50/50 fun to work and so far it's worked out." He said that in 2021.

I think Margaritaville will be a go-to for me for a while. Smiles and depth of feeling all around.

Requiescat in pace, Jimmy Buffett.

And thank you, man.

August - A Reckoning

Nothing to see here.

Look away.

Wild & Crazy Women On The Loose

 Carol takes a vacation next week.

Started a few years ago and has become an annual tradition. Heads to the beach with her aunt, her sister, our sister-in-law, and her cousin (not this year). A bunch of wild & crazy women on the loose. Fun crowd.

It's good for her. Gets her away from me. It's also good for me. Gets her away from me.

3 nights, 3 1/2 days. Just me and the cats and the US Open. I take the week off from work so I can enjoy my solitude in its purest form.

I had a spectacular time last year. Had the Open on the tv the majority of the time. Saw spectacular tennis that provided CPR to my soul. Also watched movies, documentaries, and tv shows that I like.

And I read and I read and I read.

Barbecued steak. Enjoyed amazing take-out. Drank a little wine, a little beer, a little whiskey.

I don't drink like I used to and that is good. Back in the before times I would start in on the whiskey as Carol was pulling out of the driveway and drink my last shot as she slammed her car door upon her return.

Not now, and that makes the experience better.

Last year was spectacular. This year will be even better.

Gonna mix in some meditation, deep thinking, and self-reflection. This year will not only be about escape.

December 31 will mark a line of demarcation for me. I keep telling you that but you don't believe me. No matter.

Today is September 1. Four months left. This vacation offers me a rich resource of fuel and inspiration. A perfect kickoff to my own personal Final Four.

I am very excited.

Emmy Lou

 Emmy Lou is tiny.

Many people mistake her for a kitten. She is not.

She chooses to live dangerously.

Many mornings, she gets between me and my book. She gets between me and my cup of coffee. Unconcerned about how I might respond. Just this very second she walked across my belly - getting between me and the tablet I'm typing on.

Sometimes, as I raise the cup of coffee to my lips, she sits down on the coaster.

I could learn a lot from Emmy Lou.

I Think Not

 The knee has hobbled me once again, severely curtailing the intensity of my exercise regimen.

This worries me because I have worked so hard and lost a lot of weight - I do NOT want to pork up again (weight gain has already begun, proving once again that adjustable waistbands are an undeniably good investment for the age-challenged).

I know a guy. He works in the waste management business. His name is Vincenzo. His nickname is Vinnie knuckles.

I hired him to break my jaw but I told him I do NOT want to see it coming.

The plan is, he breaks my jaw, I get the mouth wired shut and I end up LOSING weight as I deal with the fucking knee. A liquid diet is not something I traditionally shy away from.

Extreme?

I think not.