Death On The Beach

Came across a dead seagull in the sand yesterday during our beach walk.

This disturbed me greatly.

You just don't expect to see a dead seagull in the sand. Maybe it had washed up with the waves.

They fly around here like they own the joint. Because they do.

Very cool to watch. Many times when we are standing at the porch railing a gull flies right at the building, you feel like you could reach out and touch it and suddenly it rises up and over the top of the building at the last moment.

Gone on to more fun and adventure.

Did a little research on seagulls. Native American symbolism represents the seagull as a carefree attitude, versatility and freedom.

I read that their lifespan is typically 7 to 10 years although I also read that some believe they can live to be a hundred. Seems a little absurd.

I also read that when their lifespan is up they just fall into the ocean and die. I like that image. It is romantic.

Medical science refers to seagulls as the example of nature that defies the universal aging process. There is no loss of agility as they get older, no breaking down of the body. I should have grabbed me some of that gull's DNA to splice with my own.

Seagulls are intelligent, able to learn, remember and pass on behaviors. They are attentive and caring parents. They can drink both fresh and salt water, which is rare in the animal kingdom - they have a special pair of glands right above their eyes specifically designed to flush the salt from their systems.

This seagull's death seems more significant considering my new found knowledge.

I think it hit me more dramatically because of the contrast between it and the exuberant life I see all around me all day up here.

Kids and parents, people and pets, humans exuding abandon, laughter and love, people contemplating quietly, people acting crazy with no embarrassment at all.

Old Orchard Beach is all about life and the temporary adoption of a carefree lifestyle.

Death has no place here.

But it is inexorable and inevitable, no?

And Now For Something Completely Different

This vacation is a vacation unto itself.

An American original. No precedent.

As I told you previously we slept deliciously late. Then we went out for a leisurely breakfast. And I mean leisurely. We sat around and shot the shit for a while after chowing. Digging on the people pulling in to Old Orchard Beach.

It is like New York City, baby. Things crank up on Friday. Especially because there is a motorcycle rally every year on this weekend and a bicycle race. So you get a great mix of derelicts and health nuts.

Then we took a walk around downtown. Up this way, down that way.

On the way back we stopped in to a bookstore. Every year I check out this store but I never stop in because I am on vacation. Who the hell needs books?

This year is different. Picked up a biography on Andy Kaufman and a book written by James Lee Burke, one of my favorite authors.

Then we did the pier. I have consumed many an alcoholic beverage on that pier. In good company. But not today. We strolled it for the ambiance.

Got back to the hotel and chilled. I started reading the Kaufman biography. That seemed appropriate for some reason.

Carol crocheted.

We sat on this porch each doing what we love most. For quite a while. As the ocean mesmerized us with its sound and beauty.

Decided to walk the beach. Kind of like walking the earth (Pulp Fiction reference) only completely different.

It was a long walk. We were tired when we got back but it was worth it. Walking the beach is always worth it.

I just took a shower. Carol is taking a shower. In a little while we will meet up with Robin and Cathy for dinner, two people that we dig.

Here is my point.

This time around this visit is about as laid back as a visit can get. As different from any other time we have been here as it could possibly be.

And it feels good.

It ties into the way life changes as you perilously negotiate the curves.

Nothing stays the same.

You gotta roll with it.

I miss the insanity. I miss Sarge, I miss Kevin, I miss seeing Cori and John, I miss being with Paula & Bill.

I feel incredibly peaceful right now.

It is what it is.

Woke Up, Got Out of Bed, Dragged a Comb Across My head

Crawled out of bed this morning, checked my phone to find it was 9:10.

Are you fucking kidding me? 9:10?

I usually wake up around 6 or 7 when we are up here. Is this what feeling relaxed is all about?

The ocean is gentle this morning. Last night it was crashing into the surf loudly and beautifully chanting "change of scenery, change of perspective.Think. Think. Think."

This morning the message is "you are only human. Be gentle with yourself. Move slowly. Take it all in. Make change an easy going and natural thing. Do not fight it. But do it. Just do it. I will be here forever.You however, will not."

My relationship with the sun has changed. The sun is a violent and evil enemy now.

At this time of day the sun is right in our faces on the porch. Used to be I would be sitting out there right now, writing, and digging on the sheer beauty and power.

Right now I am sitting on a chair just inside the door looking out at what is around.

Strange feeling. I have always loved the feel of the sun on my skin and in my bones. But that is to be no more, for the most part. Because I cannot stand slathering sunscreen on my body.

Later today I will compromise. We will sit on the beach and I will be covered with the stuff. Also wearing my very cool wide brimmed white hat to protect my fragile eggshell mind. (Hat that I bought up here a few years ago).

Still, I got the ocean. Always the ocean.

Birds, dogs, kids, warmth.

I have Carol. Right here with me in this low rent paradise that we dig so much.

Time for breakfast.

Gotta run.

This Is The Strangest Life I've Ever Known

Breathing a sigh of relief.

Or something quite like it. Just a settin' here two stories up from the Atlantic Ocean.

Listening to it. Looking at it. Marvelling. At peace.

Old Orchard Beach, baby. Our 203rd annual trip.

Just me & Carol this year. Population is dwindling. Things change.

We first started coming up here to celebrate Paula's birthday, and to get away and get into. Paula was a young chick back then. Fresh out of diapers, full of wonder. Now she is the Grand Dame of Billerica, MA. Living with her old man, Crazy Ass Bill.

Used to be a party back then. Sarges Tailgate Grille was open for business and so were we. Ready to rock.

We would spend one night at the grille, dining in splendor, partying and laughing. With Sarge and Cori and John and Kevin and the many Maine friends we made over the years.

One day over the weekend they would come and visit us at the hotel. Partying. Laughing.

Magnificent times. Magnificent memories. The musical score of each trip was the sound of the ocean. Reminding us of what is important, delivering unto us peace.

Sarge and Kevin are both gone now. Cori sold the house and lives in New York with John and her mom. The grille is long since closed and Paula & Bill are entrenched in Billerica, MA.

Things change, man - life rolls right over you and there is not a fucking thing you can do about it.

2016. Carol and I are here alone. I am OK with it except for the worry that she may kill me in my sleep.

We will be dining out with Robin and Kathy tomorrow night - long time Maine friends that we met through Cori and Sarge. Saturday there is a slim possibility we will be visited by Jason& Karen & ??? but I will not hold my breath - Karen and Jason are derelict losers and alcohol abusers - when they wake up Saturday morning they may not even know what planet they are on.

That's it. No partying, no mass get togethers, a lot of peace, a lot of quiet.

And I am sitting here with a 4" incision in my back. Ugly fucking thing. Won't let me ignore it because it still hurts one week after the surgery.

The Doc hacked some cancer out of my back and changed my perspective instantaneously.

I am sitting here thinking. A lot. About the history of this vacation and how it has changed; how life has changed it against our will. How life works.

You really do need to stay alert. Pay attention. Dig the things that make you happy, consciously and with deep respect and awe. Pursue them vigorously.

Life is paper thin. Fucking fragile, man. It is this thing that we all take for granted that sometimes delivers a knock out punch just to get you back in the game.

Or to take you out.

This vacation is not what it used to be; not even close. But then again neither is life. Our life has changed dramatically in two years.

Sarge, Jonathan, Kevin.

It will be two years in December and March. Two fucking years. That is a lot to deal with in a very short time.

Three weeks ago cancer was a concept. Now it is a reality for me evidenced by a 4" scar on my back.

Three fucking weeks.

I am happy to be here. Happy that Carol is sitting peacefully next to me on this porch. Happy for the memories.

Aware with razor sharp intensity just how unpredictable life is.

The ocean is gorgeous. Waves are rolling in relentlessly and with intensity. Wrestling my fears and anxieties to the ground and making way for peaceful thoughts and calm emotions.

All in all, not a bad day.

Cormac, You're Killing Me, Man

I'm into the third in Cormac McCarthy's "Border" trilogy.

"Cities of the Plain."

Dig this excerpt: "When you're a kid you have these notions about how things are goin to be, Billy said. You get a little older and you pull back some on that. I think you wind up just tryin to minimize the pain."

I am about to propose marriage to Cormac McCarthy.

When The Sacred Gin Mill Closes

What a great name for a book.

I was trolling on line and came across recommendations for detective type books. This one caught my eye.

"When The Sacred Gin Mill Closes" by Lawrence Block. Featuring ex cop Matt Scudder, main character in a series of books by Block.

It is a good story set in NYC in the 70's and 80's. Hard drinking, hard fighting, tough guy stuff. I dug it.

Kind of like my life. I drink a couple bottles of whiskey a day and still manage to kick the ass of anybody and everybody who pisses me off. I let my knuckles do the talking and my victims do the apologizing.

The book opens with a verse by Dave Van Ronk from a song called "Last Call." The words: "And so we've had another night of poetry and poses, and each man knows he'll be alone when the sacred gin mill closes."

Lancing the boil of pretension and pretending, with the harshness of truth.

Dave Van Ronk was Bob Dylan before Bob Dylan was Bob Dylan.

That comment is not entirely accurate but it sounds pretty cool so I'm leaving it in.

He was a major figure in the folk scene in Greenwich Village in the 60's before Dylan got there. When Dylan got there he blew everything up on the sheer power of his words and songs.

Van Ronk was the man on the scene and provided help and inspiration to up and coming artists like Dylan and Joni Mitchell. His nickname was Mayor of MacDougal Street.

I went to YouTube and checked out Van Ronk and "Last Call." Haunting. Sung A capella.

And the lyrics, baby - the goddamn lyrics.

"and so we'll drink the final glass, each to his joy and sorrow, and hope the numbing drink will last 'till opening tomorrow".

"I broke my heart the other day, it will mend again tomorrow, if I'd been drunk when I was born, I'd be ignorant of sorrow".

That line blows me away. It's one of those lines you just have to go with; you can't question it. I mean you would have to stay drunk from birth to death to avoid sorrow. Not a bad life plan, though.

Still, that's a heavy image. "if I'd been drunk when I was born..............."

"and so we'll drink the final toast that never can be spoken: Here's to the heart that's wise enough to know when its better off broken".

The song fits the tone of the book, the book fits the tone of the song, and both creative endeavors chain the reader and listener to a reality they'd rather avoid.

Gritty, hard drinking, drunk/philosopher truths.

That Word (That Fucking Word)

Let's catch up.

I have had a recurring growth on my nose for around six months. Decided to get it checked out. Saw a dermatologist on 08/18.

She decided to biopsy the nose thing. She also found a growth on my back. Biopsied that too.

On Tuesday, 08/23 I spent the night with my son Keith and my brother Ed. Keith and I motored down to Nashua to watch my extraordinary brother, who is 61 years old, play baseball. Real baseball. Hard ball. Fast pitch.

A night does not get much better than that. My brother and my son on a beautiful summer night. The only way it could have been better is if it included Carol, Craig, Karen & Emily.

Got home at 11:30 and Carol was still up. What was this crazy woman doing waiting up?

Waiting to tell me I have cancer.

The dermatologist called while I was out. Told Carol the nose was squamous cell, a form of cancer but not too scary. Told her the back was melanoma. Stage I-A. A little scarier.

We talked. Carol went to bed. I had not had supper so I made myself a sandwich and poured myself a short whiskey.

Ate a little. Thought a lot.

Slept late Wednesday morning. Fifteen minutes after I crawled out of bed the phone rang. It was the plastic surgeon's office calling to tell me he had an opening at 3:30 on Thursday, needed to see me for a consultation.

I told them I work afternoons, how about a morning appointment. The woman said to me:

"This is cancer. We prefer to act immediately."

That, ladies and gentlemen, was a punch to the face.

I had not had a lot of time to think about it but apparently my brain skipped over the cancer part and believed they would dig this shit out of me and then decide what was going on.

They dug it out of me yesterday. It's on its way to California, which pisses me off. This diseased thing that was attacking my body gets to travel to California while I am still stuck in New Hampshire.

Here are my thoughts.

Cancer is a frightening word. It all happened so fast; my brain is still trying to sort it out, trying to decide how I will react. Which way I will go.

Dr. Feelgood told me 95% of people who have what I have at the stage I have it are cancer free in that spot five years down the road; five years being the magic number.

Those are pretty good odds.

Yet my brain keeps wondering if this is the beginning of the end. Maybe my life will be a lot shorter than I want it to be.

I called my brother to give him the news and got through the call all right. I called Keith and Craig and cried like a little girl.

I was so mad at myself. I wanted to tell them they had nothing to worry about and here I was crying. Not very convincing.

Giving in to the fear.

Fuck that.

Carol and I have warriors in our families.

Carol's mother Dolly fought breast cancer for many years. She was a very tough customer. Sarge fought cancer as hard as anyone possibly could and he kept a sense of humor about him. Cori had a chunk taken out of her leg and is still kicking ass. Carol's father was diagnosed with melanoma years ago and is still dancing. My Uncle Carmen was attacked by bladder cancer and is still making the world laugh at the age of 85 or so.

My point is that compared to what these warriors had to deal with, my cancer is like cancer on training wheels.

I am still working on this. Still a bit surprised. A little shaky.

But I know what I need to do.