Adios

I have been trying to write this for a couple of days. I am going to try again and this time, do it with a bit more dignity and honor than the earlier versions. This is long, but the subject warrants it.

I received an email this week that contained the following:

Hello Thom,
This is Jim's sister-in-law Donna. I hope I have found you at the right email address. How I hate to share with you this way, but know that as hard as this news is, you would be the first to want to know. I am so very sorry to share with you that Jim passed away this weekend.

I have not written very much about Jim. My friend of longest standing, we became friends in 1974 – that’s 35 years if you are counting. With my lifelong lack of continuity, Jim has been a thread interwoven through the many, many changes over the years.

We were roommates when I was 19 and Jim was 18. Unlike what happens with some people, it cemented our friendship rather than push us apart. Somewhere, there is a photo of a plate of pancakes next to a can of beer that Jim took while we were rooming – it became a symbol of our friendship and mutually bizarre sense of humor.

I have so many stories … so I am selecting a few that mean a lot to me.

1974 - Jim collected MG’s. He had several early 60’s MGB’s and a 1959 MGA with a crank start, bullet holes in the hood, and a top that wouldn’t always go up (usually in rain and snow storms). Anyone who knows MG’s would appreciate that he collected them for spare parts to keep at least one car running at all times. One rainy night, we went to a bar and I got so drunk that I don’t remember the ride home (with the top down, in the rain). The next day, Jim asked me if I remembered any conversation from that night. I said I barely remember the night. He said “Good.” More on that later…

1980 - Jim was the best man at my wedding. He picked me up from my house and we were ready to leave when I said “Wait.” I went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and downed a goodly gulp. I was about to leave when I turned around and had another and then said, “OK, now I’m ready.” He just looked at me with that Cheshire Cat smile of his and didn’t say a word. In the church, the music started playing, and thank goodness all heads turned to look at the bride – because I started walking out from the back and headed in the wrong direction. Jim, in his usual calm but effective way, reached down from his 6’3” frame, grabbed me by the collar, and not only steered me in the right direction, he steadied me as I was getting a little wobbly on my feet. I don’t think I ever thanked him properly for that.

1983 – I was the best man at Jim’s wedding. That is us pictured above (I will let you figure out who is who). His wife wanted a traditional Jewish wedding, so here is the tall Scotsman and short Italian guy acting like we know what we are supposed to be doing. When I was handed the glass wrapped in a cloth, I started unwrapping it. I wanted to see glass fly when his huge foot crushed it. The Rabbi gently took my wrist and whispered, “Leave it wrapped.” I was mortified – Jim was shaking from barely contained hysterics.

1985 – Jim moved to California… the last place on earth I expected a guy who lived in Colorado and Alaska to wind up, but his wife wanted to move there. Apparently, his wife wanted more than that and so ended his marriage. I remember spending hours on the phone talking about it and the thousand other things that popped into our heads. I was upset by the news of his divorce, but he wound up calming me down. He calmed me down… that was classic Jim…

2003 - Jim was the first person I called when I finally came out – after telling my wife. I was concerned about how he would feel about it with our long history and knowing that we roomed together – he was only concerned that I was OK. He could care less that I was gay. We talked about it for a while, and then moved on to the thousand other things that we would talk about – and it became a calm, ordinary conversation. It was remarkable in how unremarkable it was.

2008 – Jim asked me if I still had my 12-string Ovation guitar that I bought in 1973. I said yes and wanted to know why he asked. He talked about the guitar he has owned for nearly as long (I taught him to play guitar when we were roommates) and said he was happy that we each still had something that was so precious to us for so long. I didn’t read much into it at the time…

Jim’s favorite expressions (from the age of 18) that have become a permanent part of my vocabulary:
Such is life (when I would whine about something)
Never plan more than four days in advance (when things did not go as planned – very wise advice)
So? (in response to any problem presented to him – it used to infuriate me, then made me laugh)
Thanks for the pepperoni (very long story, but George Harrison fans may get that one)
Adios (At the end of every letter, email or conversation – pronounced with a long A)

We haven’t talked in a few months, but that’s not unusual. We could go for a day or a year between conversations and we would just pick up where we left off – and usually talk for hours. It has been a couple of months since we last spoke and although unusual, he did not send a Christmas card this year, and a more recent email went unanswered.

Apparently, in late December, Jim was diagnosed with cancer so advanced, that it was past the point of any effective treatment. He chose to tell no one but family. Fortunately, Jim’s brother and sister-in-law were with him when he died on Sunday.

Life has many inescapable realities… it is going to happen in all of its best and worst forms no matter where you are or what you are doing, and it is going to happen harder and faster with time. And you have to carry on. You can accept that or be miserable. Such is life…

Jim was one of the kindest and wisest men I have ever known. His influence on my life is beyond measure and I believe that feeling was mutual. We shared such a rich history from our teens to our 50’s. No matter what time throws at me, that will never change nor can it ever be taken away.

Back to 1974… When Jim asked me if I remembered anything from that drunken night and he said “Good,” I asked why. He said “Do you remember telling me anything unusual?” I said “No… what did I say?” He just shook his head and said “No, let’s just leave it.” I pressed him, but he said “No, I am taking that one to the grave.” Over the years I asked him again, but I always received the same answer. Seems he was right about keeping that promise. I suspect I have a general idea what I said, and I believe that he respected me enough to leave it alone - and not let it be an impediment to our friendship.

Thanks for the pepperoni, my friend… Adios

Zen, the Art of Tri-Fold, and Wisdom of Lily von Shtupp

I am tired of doctor’s offices. I am tired of waiting rooms, examining rooms, patronizing medical staff, hospitals, fasting, phlebotomists who can’t find a vein, tests, test results, more tests, insurance companies who try to dictate what your doctor should be prescribing, doctors who don’t talk to each other (yet work in the same hospital system)… as Lily von Shtupp sang in “Blazing Saddles,” “Tired of pwayin’ da game, ain't it a fwiggin’ shame… Let’s face it, I’m tired.”

There is within us all a place of strength. A place that, when we remember it is there, gives us tremendous power and resilience. It only takes a few moments a day to tap into that place and allow it to carry us through the day.

This economy sucks. It has completely fucked any plans for moving to a more temperate location and getting on with our lives in any way other than “getting by.” People’s nerves and emotions are on edge at work. One can play the role of “the voice of reason” for only so long before you want to scream ‘Don’t you people fucking get it?” Half are in panic (as they should be) and half are oblivious (as they always have been and will be). As I have observed before in other jobs, the higher up you go in the chain of decision making, the scarier it gets. Add to that, living in possibly the rudest place I have ever lived (and I come from New Jersey), it makes the day-to-day nothing more than something to be endured. I hate South Florida.

I love palm trees. My parents lived in Florida for five years and I would visit each February. They lived in a house that was right on a mangrove with exotic flora and fauna just outside their door. Of all of the things that were so different from the cold, Maine winters I would be visiting from, it was the palm trees. For some reason, they made me smile. They still do.

When I told my boss that I would be needing more time off today for a doctor visit and tests, she suggested that I take the day off. Bless her heart. At first I thought that it would only make my already unmanageable workload even worse. But as the week went on, I realized that a little time off right now would be a good thing. Still, I took work home with me and what am I doing while writing this? Laundry, cleaning up, etc. I suppose it is my way of bringing some order to a world of chaos in a way that I can control… my own personal battle with entropy. There is Zen in a clean tri-fold of shirts, towels, and underwear (yes, we tri-fold our underwear). It is 78 degrees outside; dry, sunny – and I am using my time off for laundry and logging into the server at work.

I am often surprised to hear how many people feel that they “have no choice.” “I hate my job, but I have no choice.” “I want to break up, but I have no choice.” “I want to do this another way but I have no choice.” There is always a choice. Of course, there is also accountability and consequence. When you face those two things, you choices expand considerably.

Yesterday, at work, we had a speaker who was a psychologist gracing us with her personal vision (and sales pitch for her business) about coping during these difficult times. She went on about Eastern Philosophy (mostly Buddhism) and how many of the more effective coping mechanisms used in Western culture were stolen from the East. Even though there was noting particularly wrong about what she said, who has not heard all of this before? Well, apparently everyone else in the room. I couldn’t let it go. Normally, I am a good soldier, but this one I could not let go. When she motioned the author Pema Chodron, I said “the author of ‘When Things Fall Apart’ - yup, I read it.” That got me a glare and was just the beginning. By the third of fourth round we had, she offered me $5 to keep my mouth shut. I said, “You don’t want me to do that. As a psychologist, don’t you want to know how I feel?” For all those who live in the world of psychobabble – don’t assume we are all newbies and ignorant just because you read “The Secret” and most of the other manipulative bull out there, and that you have stumbled upon THE ANSWER.

There is a place deep inside, in the heart of hearts, the place where we are our naked selves with no judgment, pretense, or walls of defense. For many, just the thought of this place frightens. For those who have been there, it is where our answers reside – only if we are listening.

“I am a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction.” All of these things are me.

Sometimes

Sometimes

when I can see beyond the veil
past the events that seem so pressing
beyond all of the things that confuse and distract

there is a glimpse
a shimmer
a twinkling of light

something that is at the periphery
of conscious thought
something I can almost touch
and call its name

and then it is gone

Sometimes

when these little gifts nearly appear
and I know they are there
I am reminded

of something greater
a higher purpose
a life’s work

and I wonder
if something has been left undone
or missed altogether

Sometimes

I almost remember


tjp 3/7/09

Gone Fishing

It’s Friday, I looked at how many hours I worked the past two weeks (three weeks, four weeks…) and I left work at noon. Enough, basta… the crazies are getting crazier and my absence for a few hours won’t make them any less crazy. So I told my boss and off I went. I planned out the afternoon…

THIS JUST IN… as I was writing that last sentence, the phone rang… yes, it was work. A question that was somewhat less than urgent… could have waited until Monday… could have asked somebody else, etc… OK that person will get honorable mention later in this blog.

Anyway… I planned out the afternoon with a mix of “catching up on life” and a bit of fun… and here I sit. I think I lost my motivation on the drive home. That’s what I get for driving with the windows open – it just flew right out when I wasn’t looking.

But we haven’t talked in a while, so let’s discuss…

Let’s see… work… um, no – don’t want to talk about it. Health problems… nope, don’t want to talk about that either. Relationship… well, it’s all good and if I have learned one thing, many people don’t want to hear about a good relationship – dysfunctional relationships are far more entertaining. So what does that leave? Oooo… I know – the honorable mention I referred to.

I work for a small business and out of a staff of 10, two of them are my employees. Probably the two best employees on the staff, but nobody is perfect (I include myself in that). Honorable mention boy is perfect in nearly every way; "nearly" being the operative word for this missive. As valuable as he is, there is one thing that grinds my ass to the bone. He can’t arrive to work on time. I have tried everything from subtle threats to bribery, and he is consistently about 10 minutes late every day. He always makes this time up (and then some) and we do have the flexibility to work this way, but damn it, when someone tells me I need to be at work by a certain time, I am there at least 10 to 15 minutes earlier.

I think the problem is threefold. It is a generational thing, a cultural thing, and a gay thing. It seems that all of our 20 somethings have a problem getting to work on time. Compound that with the fact that he is on both gay time and Latino time… well, there you have it. I could be a hard ass about it, or I could be grateful that he works as well as he does for the pittance we are paying him.

But here is the fun part. My new phone shows a running record of all the text messages I get from him when he is running late and decides to let me know (as opposed to sneaking by my office, like I am not going to see him). Here are some excerpts from what is becoming a fascinating collection of texted excuses:

“running late” – OK, basic and to the point

“Had 2 go back 4 my allergy pills. will b there in a few minutes” – Then get off your damn cell phone and drive instead of texting and driving

“Running a little late. B there soon” – Yeah, heard that one already

“4got that I switched coming in at 10 on thur instead of 2day. B there in a couple of minutes” – May I suggest a PDA, organizer or planning book?

“Slight tire inflation issue I had 2 take care of. B there in 3 minutes” - Points for creativeness on that one

“Sorry 4 the short notice, but i 4got I have labs 2moro morning that i have 2 have drawn. I should b in around 10-10:30” That one came on a Sunday. I didn’t check for puncture marks on Monday, but the kid looked hung-over. Nothing like planned lateness – He actually came in after 11.

And my personal favorite:
“Ok, the train is going so slow, i swear it’s actually going in reverse. I will be there soon after this train actually passes, if ever lol” Don’t lol me

Let me mention that my commute is 2 ½ miles to work – his is shorter. I cross the same train tracks, go through the same school zones, and cross the same bridges that get raised when a boat is coming by… and I am never late.

Don’t get me wrong… I really like the guy. He is smart, talented, and is able to put up with people I want to strangle. So why did I post this. BECAUSE HE CALLED ME ON MY TIME OFF!!!

Ahhh… I feel so much better now.