A couple

                I’ve been married over twenty-six years to a woman I met by chance. No church social, no dating service, no friends intentionally bringing us together. We’ve never failed to love each other (when we weren’t feeling the overwhelming urge to strangle each other, that is) and I’d have to say this marriage has been and promises to continue to be successful by any reasonable  measure.

                The other day, included among the folks gathered at my mother-in-law’s house were her brother and his wife. He is a salt-of-the-earth workaday guy and she is a retired actress and somehow, their differences have melded with their similarities and they’ve built a life together these fifty-some years. I’ve met them over the years at assorted family gatherings where Ray would sip beer and toss horseshoes with the male uncles and cousins. Diane would regale anyone within reach of her voice with stories of her adventures as an actress. Sometimes, clumps of cousins and in-laws would gather around the TV to view her latest commercial appearance.

                It had been some time since I’d seen them and I’d been warned that Diane was losing her memory. Still, you’re never quite prepared for a family member not to recognize people with whom she’s known and shared good times and bad her whole adult life. She was pleasant and gracious and absolutely clueless as to who we were or why she should know us. She would recall oddments, details such as hair color or a distant cousin’s name, but the substance of long-established relationships is just no longer at hand. And never again will be.

                Diane loves to move and showed us her favorite dance steps as the mood struck. And Ray smiled and laughed. I can’t imagine the difficulty of watching your life partner drift so far away without ever really moving at all. More and more of their history together has been inexplicably erased and she does not always recall that they’re husband and wife.  But she also never strays far from his side. And his hand is always there to hold.

                Any couple has their moments and I’m sure Alzheimer’s does little to enhance marital bliss. But they are still very much that - a couple. 

                For years Diane has been coming unmoored from the memories and confidences that make up a life together. Their life together increasingly involves hurt and frustration and the crushing, horrid, advancing loss. But for Ray, Diane is still very much here and very much the love of his life.

Michael Ferry of County Donegal

I was trolling an unaccustomed mall with Two the other day in search of stocking stuffers for mine spouse (Two’s mater) and we found ourselves sitting on a low wall outside the main doors, waiting for said spouse to pick us up. We hadn’t been waiting long when a gentleman asked if we minded additional company and sat down next to us.

His name was Michael and he was visiting the Orlando area with a tour group from Ireland. And we had the nicest visit.

We got to talking about places I’d heard of through old family stories and it was wonderful to have him explain things through the eyes of a guy who was intimately familiar with the settings of those same stories. For example, my Dad’s family comes from Movilla, a town with which Michael was quite familiar, down to how many families with our name still lived in the area. Being from Donegal, he was also quite familiar with Roscommon, from which my mother’s family (mostly Fitzgeralds) hails. And he regaled me with stories of his early life as a lad in Ireland.

I’ve always known I’m mostly Irish, of course. But meeting with Michael Ferry of County Donegal gave me a small taste of what that means.

Pretty soon, he finished his ice cream and moved on. But he was a nice guy who added immensely to my enjoyment of the day. For ten or twelve minutes, I felt a kinship to my family that I’d never really felt before.

Where's Brer Michael?

Sorry, friends! Still no Internet connection for my personal computer. I will be home the 31st and promise I will then recount all the great noticing I've been doing down here in the land of blue hair and humidity. Meanwhile, my best to all of you! Michael

Happy Holidays

Too busy to blog and not sure when I'll have connection  again. I just wanted to thank all of you for being with me in this little corner of blogdom.
Love to all of you and we'll chat soon!

Disney stuff

You know, one BIG advantage you’ll accrue from reading this blog as opposed to another blog, or from reading the classics or watching a Hallmark movie is that I will tell you the real stuff. I mean, they’ll all talk about all the happy children’s faces and the twinkly lights and the hustle and also the bustle of the holiday season. Only here in this blog will you find the straight skinny, the actual truth about being alive in America during the holidays and not just in America, but at Disney specifically. About spending the Christmas season at Mouseville.

Herewith, the stuff I noticed yesterday at Disney’s Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios:

·         When you stop walking and the guy pushing the stroller behind you doesn’t, it can hurt;

·         The lights are really cool but watching the people craning their necks watching the lights is truly entertaining;

·         At any given time, there are probably a hundred or more little girls in the park wearing precisely the same princess costume but each of them thinks her costume is unique and she’s special – and each one of them is right;

·         Anyone who thinks the current generation of young adults is somehow not as good – not as dedicated, not as caring or as hard working – as preceding generations should really spend two days at Disney. Ride the rides and see the shows the first day so you get all that out of our system. Then spend the second day paying attention to the people who work there. The young lady who served us this morning was attentive and friendly and wholly professional. “Alice” was spot on character and really made us laugh, even though we happened to know through back channels that she was sick as a dog today. The shuttle drivers, parking lot attendants and people-herders never let on that herding was precisely what they were doing with us;

·         Most of these kids will move on to other lives but today, Disney wouldn’t be Disney without them;

·         Being in a hurry to get to the next attraction will probably not enhance your enjoyment of it and will make you miss lots of cool stuff you should have seen between here and there;

·         One of the best rides to be had is a bench in the shade from which to watch the world go by;

·         No matter what you wear, you will see someone wearing something more hideous, so stop worrying about what to wear and just throw on something that will still be comfortable after seven hours of walking on concrete in the sun;

·         Speaking of concrete and the sun, never underestimate the value of a really cold bottle of water in enhancing your enjoyment;

Walt Disney was a smart guy.

Loading my iPod

I’ve several trips coming up, some for work, one for not work and so I spent last evening loading CDs into my iTunes library.

I loaded jazz, folk-rock, Larry (yes, “Larry” is indeed its own genre but you have to know Larry), some Beethoven, Celtic folk, bluegrass (if you don’t like the Dillards, I don’t like you), big band, Ella, Hawaiian slack key, pop, show tunes, and some other stuff. I have to tell you – I was pretty impressed by the breadth of my musical interests as well as by the sheer number of tunes now saved into my laptop.

That is, until I looked at the iPod into which I’ll be cross-loading my burgeoning music library. This would be the iPod that is a hand-me-down from the daughter, who left her music loaded on the iPod when she gave it to me.

Who the heck has over 2,300 songs on their iPod?

Note to daughter: One-upping your loving Dad is not nice.

Antics

Mary claims not to like my antics. That’s what she calls them, antics.

Now, before you start thinking I’ve done something awful, let me explain to what she refers. What Mary calls antics has to do with the occasional bit of goofiness which I consider to be one of the stellar parts of my personality.

If I do a Tarzan yell while driving, to Mary that’s annoying. What I call exuberant, she considers disruptive. If I do a stupid dance step- and, oh yes, I do knowing my dancing is stupid – instead of chuckling, she rolls her eyes and lets loose a sigh. If I draw a happy face on my belly, she won’t even look. C’mon - who doesn’t like a happy face belly?

These are all things I used to reliably get our daughters to laugh and I expect them to be in my repertoire when it comes time to entertain grandchildren. And in order to use these techniques, they have to remain doable.

When I sang for pennies, the most critical thing was always having your best material ready to go, when and as needed. Which meant continually rehearsing so that the material remained fresh, subject to instant recall and performance.

So what I wish Mary would understand is that when I give out with a particularly resonant belch or I speak with an unidentifiable accent, I’m not doing it to annoy her but rather, I’m doing my part to ensure we’re ready to be great grandparents. Which I would think she’d applaud rather than telling me in her most disapproving voice to please…just…stop.

The woman just does not appreciate my efforts on our behalf.

(NOTE to readers: I corrected a misspelling in this posting long after it was posted. I know that's probably against the Bloggers' Code, but it was driving me crazy. Sorry.)

Listening while lunching

I’ve been TED talking again.

Well actually, I’ve been listening to TED talks. Now, some of you might cock your heads a bit at the idea of me listening without talking but I actually do spend a lot of my day listening. Just, maybe not so much when any of you happen to be around…

I sometimes stay in my office and listen to TED talks whilst I munch my midday victuals. And the cool thing about TED talks is that I can almost always come across one that speaks to me (pun intended).

I know I’ve written about this before but really, you gotta check these things out.

Today, I ate Asian and worked on building a teaching example while I listened to a talk by a Nigerian writer named Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie. She spoke of “the danger of a single story.” It was fabulous! Please trust me and look it up.

(By the bye, if you do listen to Ms. Adichie’s talk and then continue reading this blog, there’s an outside chance you’ll recognize echoes of her thoughts in a future missive. Yes, I occasionally borrow the odd idea or two. Don’t hate me!)

Knowing your daughter

For our next big vacation together, Mary and I have a trip planned during which we’ll be spending time in Daughter One’s neck of the woods. We’re going to stay in a condo in her apartment complex and  we'll see her at work. We’ll visit with theGayBoysandEllie and at least once, Mary and Two will go shopping with her on her home turf. Okay, maybe more than once – I’ll catch up on some neglected reading. And writing. We’ll have a big Mom dinner with One’s best buds (ham and cheesy potatoes, doncha know – mebbe a pie) and we’ll talk about how things are going and how they should go.

After a week in Orlando and another in Venice (Florida, not Italy – we’re paying for our second college education) we will have a much better idea of how our daughter’s life in Florida is shaping up. But flying home, we still won’t actually have much of an idea what her life is like. The thing is, you can’t ever really know another person’s life because the whole ‘walking in another’s moccasins’ thing is a nice thought but can’t be done. Not really. Especially not if the ‘other’ to which we refer is a person whose diapers you once changed. Diaper changing and nose wiping are acts of love but they erect a barrier between wiper and wipee.

You child will always be your child. But the adult she’ll become needs to become someone else entirely. The echoes of the little girl will always be there and if you’re lucky, you’ll always be welcome to revisit that world with her, to the extent that memory and intervening experiences allow. But as hard as you try, you can never know the woman as well as you knew the little girl.

That’s just the way it is.

A post interview get-together list

Things that might happen when two old buddies get together in the Oxnard area:

·         Laughter will ensue

·         Larry will need earphones

·         Naomi won’t get half the jokes

·         And that’s just as well

·         There will be a shortage of Mickey’s Big Mouth beer from Ventura to Santa Monica

·         And perhaps wine

·         Neighbors will wonder what the hell is going on next door

·         Old Carol Burnett skits will be remembered

·         Bingo games will be in danger of streakage

·         Evil plans will be hatched

·         Stress will melt away

Happy This Weekend to Sindy and Sherree!

Nelson Mandela

Nelson Mandela has passed away.

This was a man who spent a great deal of his life in prison and the bulk of it under apartheid.  Apart-hate.

Experts will argue and write books and treatises and go on highbrow talk shows to blather knowingly about his life and legacy. I’m not one of those experts. I mean, I do blather but not knowingly.

What I am is a guy who just knows what he’s read in the news. That he came out of those years of incarceration to lead a movement that overcame a truly hateful regime and then turned around and offered the olive branch to his people’s former oppressors.

He was a great man, a great human. And it’s difficult to imagine South Africa going through its transformative last twenty years without him. He was one of those folks who serves as a conscience for the world.

I find myself wondering where we’ll get our next Nelson Mandela. It would be a big good thing if we always had at least one somewhere in this world.

My jacket's view of the world

I have lots of upper outerwear. Three hoodies, a couple of windbreakers, the leather jacket that my mother gave me, and of course, the Alaska coat which is huge and incredibly warm and covered with pockets filled with an assortment of winter gloves, knit caps and a muffler or two.

Today it was below freezing but not frigid so I wore my usual go-to winter jacket, a warm fleece lined hooded zipper jacket that Mary got for me a few years back.

Since I don’t catch a chill all that easily and where I live doesn’t exactly get many blizzards, there are a limited number of days and nights when this jacket actually gets worn. Even so, wearing it is so automatic during certain months of the year, I put it on with no conscious awareness of arms finding sleeves. It slides on easily, it fits and embraces me and we’re friends.

But my friendship is somewhat inconstant. It’s a one-sided relationship driven entirely by my need and whim. I never give a thought to fulfilling the garment’s needs and wants; it’s all about me.

I can imagine the jacket getting a thrill of hope when I open the closet door only to have that hope become a hard lump in its (do jackets have throats?) when it realizes my hand has gone to another. Through the drought of summer and the very occasional fall excursions, the hope builds until finally the weather becomes reliably cold enough to require its services on a regular basis.

But the wealth of outings to which I treat it during the winter just brings more heartbreak as it builds the custom of expectation that the jacket will be taken along on this outing and the next and… until it – almost – forgets the hurt of not being chosen. But then, Spring comes again and with it, more and more frequent disappointments until by mid-June, outrage is supplanted by grief and then despair.

My jacket asks only to be included, wanted and in return, keeps me warm when none of my other garments or combination of garments would do as well. It doesn’t care and may not even know that there are whole months when adequate warmth is provided by a globe in the sky and the daylight lasts eighteen of twenty-four hours. Its life plays out either protecting me from the cold or biding its time in the dark and clutter of the hall closet.

The jacket is resigned, if not content, to live a life that is no life except when I choose to bring it out into the light. And it never complains, certainly never rebels. It’s there when I need it, providing warmth and embrace without demanding anything in return.

I really should treat it better. Perhaps this year I will. Maybe even wear it every now and again during the summer months or at least put in the back seat of the car so it can see what the summer world is about.  

But, probably I won’t.

This isn’t an even-handed relationship. It’s all about me.

Sorry.