We had one white rose from Sarge's memorial and some geraniums from Jonathan's memorial.
Sarge's rose sat on the table directly across from my recliner. Jonathan's geraniums sat in a wooden French wine crate Carol has creatively adapted for flower and plant display, directly across from the couch.
I looked at these flowers a lot from mid December on. I'm sure Carol did too.
They have been gone now for a little bit, although I noticed the rose limply resting in a small vase on the counter next to the sink just today.
If I may be so presumptive, I'm guessing Carol is having a hard time getting rid of it. Or maybe she has plans for it.
As I watched the flowers fade, it became symbolic to me of how grieving is supposed to work.
In the beginning there is intense pain and sadness. In the beginning the flowers are beautiful in a sad and defiant way.
Eventually the mind finds a way to absorb the loss and the pain lessens. The harshness of the reality fades. Eventually flowers fade away and die.
That is how it is supposed to work.
It is not working that way for me.
My mind continues to randomly recognize the fact that Jonathan and Sarge are gone. I keep grimacing. Tears keep on coming. I keep shaking my head in disbelief.
At work, at home, alone and around others, when it is quiet, when it is busy, outside, inside.
Everywhere I go in every situation.
February 16 and 17 will mark only two months since the shock. Only two months, although it feels much longer to me.
Inexorably so.
I can't say whether or not the pain and the sense of loss will ever fade. I don't think I want them to.
It is meaningful to me in a way that I just don't understand at this point.
I want Jonathan and Sarge with me always, in tears and in smiles.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
A Measure of Life
A wise man once said that the most accurate measurement of where you are with your life is to focus on the number of times you think to yourself "I don't want to do this."
"I don't want to do this" even as you are forced to do it.
We all have to do things we don't want to do. It is inevitable.
When those things outnumber by far any sense of choice or pleasure, you are in trouble.
"I don't want to do this" even as you are forced to do it.
We all have to do things we don't want to do. It is inevitable.
When those things outnumber by far any sense of choice or pleasure, you are in trouble.
Devastating Quotes
From "The Garden of Eden", the last uncompleted novel by Ernest Hemingway.
"But what about when I'm dead?"
"Then you're dead."
"But I can't stand to be dead."
"Then don't let it happen until it happens. Look at things and listen and feel."
and
"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."
"But what about when I'm dead?"
"Then you're dead."
"But I can't stand to be dead."
"Then don't let it happen until it happens. Look at things and listen and feel."
and
"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."
XVIX
Checking back in after 6 consecutive at Lompoc.
Got today and tomorrow off. I can breathe. I can live.
Guess I am kind of coming down from THE PATS victory, but not really. It lurks in my genes and cells and nerve endings, travelling ferociously through brain synapses to settle in quite comfortably in my nucleus accumbens.
Yeah, I admit I just looked that one up. I wanted to make a dopamine reference and inadvertently stumbled upon the nucleus accumbens.
From helpguide.org - "Understanding Addiction" - "Dopamine release in the nucleus accumbens is so consistently tied to pleasure that neuroscientists refer to the region as the brain's pleasure center."
I could have just said that THE PATS' FOURTH Super Bowl win brings me pleasure, but I am struggling to expand my mind and increase its flexibility even as I slide inexorably towards senility.
This is what happens when I don't write for a week.
It has been an odd arc of emotion since THE PATS ripped the heart out of the seahawks. On Monday I was tired at work and surrounded by women, so conversation did not focus on football. A couple of obligatory comments.
I was deflated.
In the other liquor store I once worked in, sports was a major topic. Lots of ball busting, statistic quoting, predictions, conversation, debate and...........laughter.
Of course we - the heart and soul of the store - were five guys in the same relative age range with similar interests and experiences.
Change, baby. The only thing you can count on. And it doesn't always deliver you to a better place.
The odd arc continued on Tuesday night when I was home alone and watched a replay of Super Bowl XVIX. The entire thing. The only stuff cut out was some random commentary and between play delays.
It even included the half time show, which I don't understand. Anybody watching a replay of that game doesn't give a damn about the half time show.
I didn't. I skipped right through it.
The catch is that I never tape sporting events. If I can't watch it live I don't want to see it. Not interested. It's just who I am.
But I noticed before we left for Keith's house on Super Bowl Sunday that the NFL Network was running a replay of the game from 2:00 a.m. to 5:30 a.m..
I taped it. Glad I did.
I watched it on Tuesday night like I was watching a movie. Being along I could focus in on specific details and pay more attention to commentary and analysis.
And of course knowing the outcome made the start of the 4th quarter, when THE PATS were down 24-14, quite delicious.
When I was done I deleted the game. Seemed like a bold and decisive move.
It wasn't. They re-ran the thing later in the week. I hesitated about taping it. Suddenly, as the night progressed and Carol and I watched other stuff. I switched over and started taping the game. Again.
Caught half time. Again. When I changed stations Katy Perry was just riding out on her gold, life-like lion. I couldn't believe it.
So I have the second half of the game saved. I already watched the 3rd quarter again. Looking forward to the fourth soon.
I spent the week listening to sports talk radio. Heard the replay of Malcolm Butler's interception 4 million times. Got goosebumps every time.
98.5's station ID says "The flagship station of the four time Super Bowl champion NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS."
I heard that 4 million times too and got goosebumps every time.
I vacillated all week between a strange kind of calm to almost uncontrollable excitement.
It's cool. It feels good. I feel like I have absorbed this championship into my DNA.
No more football for a while. I will adjust.
Lots of good stuff to come.
Got today and tomorrow off. I can breathe. I can live.
Guess I am kind of coming down from THE PATS victory, but not really. It lurks in my genes and cells and nerve endings, travelling ferociously through brain synapses to settle in quite comfortably in my nucleus accumbens.
Yeah, I admit I just looked that one up. I wanted to make a dopamine reference and inadvertently stumbled upon the nucleus accumbens.
From helpguide.org - "Understanding Addiction" - "Dopamine release in the nucleus accumbens is so consistently tied to pleasure that neuroscientists refer to the region as the brain's pleasure center."
I could have just said that THE PATS' FOURTH Super Bowl win brings me pleasure, but I am struggling to expand my mind and increase its flexibility even as I slide inexorably towards senility.
This is what happens when I don't write for a week.
It has been an odd arc of emotion since THE PATS ripped the heart out of the seahawks. On Monday I was tired at work and surrounded by women, so conversation did not focus on football. A couple of obligatory comments.
I was deflated.
In the other liquor store I once worked in, sports was a major topic. Lots of ball busting, statistic quoting, predictions, conversation, debate and...........laughter.
Of course we - the heart and soul of the store - were five guys in the same relative age range with similar interests and experiences.
Change, baby. The only thing you can count on. And it doesn't always deliver you to a better place.
The odd arc continued on Tuesday night when I was home alone and watched a replay of Super Bowl XVIX. The entire thing. The only stuff cut out was some random commentary and between play delays.
It even included the half time show, which I don't understand. Anybody watching a replay of that game doesn't give a damn about the half time show.
I didn't. I skipped right through it.
The catch is that I never tape sporting events. If I can't watch it live I don't want to see it. Not interested. It's just who I am.
But I noticed before we left for Keith's house on Super Bowl Sunday that the NFL Network was running a replay of the game from 2:00 a.m. to 5:30 a.m..
I taped it. Glad I did.
I watched it on Tuesday night like I was watching a movie. Being along I could focus in on specific details and pay more attention to commentary and analysis.
And of course knowing the outcome made the start of the 4th quarter, when THE PATS were down 24-14, quite delicious.
When I was done I deleted the game. Seemed like a bold and decisive move.
It wasn't. They re-ran the thing later in the week. I hesitated about taping it. Suddenly, as the night progressed and Carol and I watched other stuff. I switched over and started taping the game. Again.
Caught half time. Again. When I changed stations Katy Perry was just riding out on her gold, life-like lion. I couldn't believe it.
So I have the second half of the game saved. I already watched the 3rd quarter again. Looking forward to the fourth soon.
I spent the week listening to sports talk radio. Heard the replay of Malcolm Butler's interception 4 million times. Got goosebumps every time.
98.5's station ID says "The flagship station of the four time Super Bowl champion NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS."
I heard that 4 million times too and got goosebumps every time.
I vacillated all week between a strange kind of calm to almost uncontrollable excitement.
It's cool. It feels good. I feel like I have absorbed this championship into my DNA.
No more football for a while. I will adjust.
Lots of good stuff to come.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
A Wise Man Once Said
"What the mind perceives to be one minute on an exercise bike is typically much less."
Socrates
Socrates
February 2015
Step out of the way children, February is upon us.
And a good month it shall be.
It is the month of our 37th anniversary. Carol and I were married in 1978. Ever heard of that year?
Recent events in our life tempt me to organize an insane bash by way of celebration. But we will probably just go out for a fine and quiet dinner in a favorite restaurant. Maybe a movie. Some peaceful time at home together. Quiet conversation spiced with reminiscence.
When you get to a certain age reminiscing slips into conversation naturally. It is comforting.
My brother Ed will experience his 60th birthday this month. A milestone in the life of a man who commands enormous respect and love from family and friends just by the way he lives his life; just by the honest truth of who he is.
My brother who I love and respect so deeply I cannot truly express my emotion.
It will be the most bitter sweet birthday of his life. I am hoping we can find a way to bring some happiness to the occasion.
The month starts off today with the Super Bowl. Huge game for PATS fans. Very exciting and over the top anticipation which will collide with the reality of the game itself starting around 6:30 and hopefully ending with insane celebration.
There will be other happiness during the month. I guarantee you I will exert my will to make that happen.
For now it is good to have these three big deals in my pocket. Three events I can look forward to, to make this vicious month of February more special.
You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep swinging.
And a good month it shall be.
It is the month of our 37th anniversary. Carol and I were married in 1978. Ever heard of that year?
Recent events in our life tempt me to organize an insane bash by way of celebration. But we will probably just go out for a fine and quiet dinner in a favorite restaurant. Maybe a movie. Some peaceful time at home together. Quiet conversation spiced with reminiscence.
When you get to a certain age reminiscing slips into conversation naturally. It is comforting.
My brother Ed will experience his 60th birthday this month. A milestone in the life of a man who commands enormous respect and love from family and friends just by the way he lives his life; just by the honest truth of who he is.
My brother who I love and respect so deeply I cannot truly express my emotion.
It will be the most bitter sweet birthday of his life. I am hoping we can find a way to bring some happiness to the occasion.
The month starts off today with the Super Bowl. Huge game for PATS fans. Very exciting and over the top anticipation which will collide with the reality of the game itself starting around 6:30 and hopefully ending with insane celebration.
There will be other happiness during the month. I guarantee you I will exert my will to make that happen.
For now it is good to have these three big deals in my pocket. Three events I can look forward to, to make this vicious month of February more special.
You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep swinging.
I Wish
Started reading "The Garden of Eden" by Hemingway this morning.
Novels like these create a deep longing in me for more leisure in my life. A soul-deep longing.
In the 1920's a segment of the American population was referred to as the Lost Generation. These were people who had come of age during World War I and felt disillusioned in the post-war world.
In the literary world the Lost Generation was represented by a group of writers who travelled to Europe and wrote there up until around the Great Depression. They adopted a bohemian lifestyle of travel and leisure in reaction to an America they felt had been broken.
The two biggest names in this group were Ernest Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald's books, at least the ones I have read, evoke this lifestyle of wealth, leisure and experimentation. "The Garden of Eden" does the same.
Creative people travelling around Europe, people with no financial worries, moving from country to country, spending their time on beaches and in cafes, doing whatever their moods dictate on a whim.
Rising for breakfast, then down to the beach for sun and swimming, back for lunch, then biking or walking, back for dinner, then socializing. On to the next country as the mood dictates.
When I read these stories my soul rises up in hunger to demand just a taste of that feeling.
I will never be rich. I will never enjoy that lifestyle.
Our vacations feel like desperate things. A couple of weeks or days or weekends when we escape work for a short while knowing full well the job awaits with its meaninglessness and frustrations and path to nowhere.
It is human nature to want to enjoy life. To really taste it, to slow it down and examine it and improve upon it in ways that tailor it to our own unique needs.
The vast majority of us never get that chance.
A middle ground would be nice. Many foreign countries offer their employees six weeks of vacation. A slower pace, some breathing room during the day.
This falls under the heading of treating employees like human beings.
Not so in America. In this country we are human resources. Resources to be exploited, used up and discarded.
When I read these magnificent novels the stories tap into that part of me that is forced into hiding in reaction to the ridiculous lifestyle of America.
They tap into the purely human part of me that longs for some sort of freedom, some sort of reprieve from the burdens imposed by life.
I can never figure out if these feelings are good for me or bad for me.
I only know that on this February 1, 2015 with a temperature of 13 degrees and a wind chill more evil than that, I wish I did not have to get up to go to work tomorrow to do something so meaningless to me that it claws blood from my eyes.
I wish I could take Carol to a warm place surrounded by beauty and spend money on simple pleasures without looking over our shoulders at the suffocating budget.
I wish.
I will continue to wish.
Novels like these create a deep longing in me for more leisure in my life. A soul-deep longing.
In the 1920's a segment of the American population was referred to as the Lost Generation. These were people who had come of age during World War I and felt disillusioned in the post-war world.
In the literary world the Lost Generation was represented by a group of writers who travelled to Europe and wrote there up until around the Great Depression. They adopted a bohemian lifestyle of travel and leisure in reaction to an America they felt had been broken.
The two biggest names in this group were Ernest Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald's books, at least the ones I have read, evoke this lifestyle of wealth, leisure and experimentation. "The Garden of Eden" does the same.
Creative people travelling around Europe, people with no financial worries, moving from country to country, spending their time on beaches and in cafes, doing whatever their moods dictate on a whim.
Rising for breakfast, then down to the beach for sun and swimming, back for lunch, then biking or walking, back for dinner, then socializing. On to the next country as the mood dictates.
When I read these stories my soul rises up in hunger to demand just a taste of that feeling.
I will never be rich. I will never enjoy that lifestyle.
Our vacations feel like desperate things. A couple of weeks or days or weekends when we escape work for a short while knowing full well the job awaits with its meaninglessness and frustrations and path to nowhere.
It is human nature to want to enjoy life. To really taste it, to slow it down and examine it and improve upon it in ways that tailor it to our own unique needs.
The vast majority of us never get that chance.
A middle ground would be nice. Many foreign countries offer their employees six weeks of vacation. A slower pace, some breathing room during the day.
This falls under the heading of treating employees like human beings.
Not so in America. In this country we are human resources. Resources to be exploited, used up and discarded.
When I read these magnificent novels the stories tap into that part of me that is forced into hiding in reaction to the ridiculous lifestyle of America.
They tap into the purely human part of me that longs for some sort of freedom, some sort of reprieve from the burdens imposed by life.
I can never figure out if these feelings are good for me or bad for me.
I only know that on this February 1, 2015 with a temperature of 13 degrees and a wind chill more evil than that, I wish I did not have to get up to go to work tomorrow to do something so meaningless to me that it claws blood from my eyes.
I wish I could take Carol to a warm place surrounded by beauty and spend money on simple pleasures without looking over our shoulders at the suffocating budget.
I wish.
I will continue to wish.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)