Playing Hooky… sort of

I suppose, technically this is not hooky. My boss knows I am taking the day off and even the real reason why. I am not faking an illness or pretending I have to be somewhere else. Actually, I am not doing much of anything.

I was going to take off Good Friday, because I like to take the day for quiet reflection. A whole day got changed to a half-day, which turned into leaving an hour early. Doesn’t count. Then I was going to take today off, which turned into a half day… etc. Yesterday my boss said, “why bother with half a day; take the whole day off…” How can I refuse an offer like that? In spite of the reasons that kept me at work nearly the whole day last Friday (you know, the Good one), a.k.a. too damn much to do, I took today anyway.

The original reason for taking today off was to do something to honor the memory of my friend Jim (see blog “Adios”). Since he lived in California and his family is in New Jersey, the service is not until today. Today would also have been his 53rd birthday. I really wanted to go to the service in NJ, but after careful consideration and a very difficult decision, I chose not to go. Instead, I thought I would do a couple of things that would be appropriate to say goodbye and remember him in my own way.

I have done none of those things. I emailed, I read, I wasted time on Facebook… I played hooky on my own commitment to honor his memory.

But it is not too late.

I just bought a CD that arrived in the mail yesterday – “Quah” by Jorma Kaukonen. I know… what? By who? He was the lead guitarist from Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna. “Quah” was his first solo album and it is probably one of my top ten favorites of all time. It is all acoustic blues and showcases Jorma’s amazing guitar playing and songwriting skills. The timing of its arrival couldn’t be better. I bought the record (there used to be these things on vinyl….) when it first came out in 1974. That was also the year that Jim and I were rooming together. To say it was heavily played in our apartment would be an understatement. I just finished listening to it for the first time in nearly 30 years and aside from my amazement for how timeless it is, I was flooded with memories of Jim and I playing guitar together. I taught him to play, each with our 12 string guitars (I still have that guitar – it is behind me in my profile picture) and we would spend hours learning and playing songs.

Jim continued to play up until the end. I have not played my guitar very much, choosing instead to play keyboards. But recently, I have been hearing songs I used to play and I have been getting the itch to pick up the guitar and go through the painful process of getting my guitar calluses back. I was far more skilled on guitar than any other instrument I play, so it is really a crime that I let it go.

Then it occurred to me – what a fitting way to honor Jim’s memory.

I am re-stringing my guitar, cleaning it up, and I am going to play songs that I have not played for far too long. I can’t think of a better way to keep Jim alive in my heart.

This is your send-off, buddy. I hope you appreciate how much my fingers are going to hurt.

Facebook ate my Blog

Most of my facebook contacts and all of my Blogger contacts are great people from our Y360 days - and they are also great writers. These days, a blog will trickle in once in a while… a precious rarity in what was a wealth of prolific creativity. Journals, poems, rants, humor, everyday occurrences from the absurd to the sublime; from the profound to the profane… it was wonderful. I am just as guilty. Even during the busiest of times, I would post at least once a week. Now I go for weeks with nothing to say (well, nothing I am willing to commit to posting). What happened? I have a theory.

Email killed letter writing. Texting killed grammar, vocabulary, and spelling skills. Now facebook has killed blogging. It is an easy distraction from real writing. What used to be a crafted piece of work has been reduced to “Thom is…” then fill in the blank. Quick comments (except for Rob : )), silly quizzes, planting gardens, poking, super poking, sucking lollipops… etc, etc, etc. I am not saying that I don’t enjoy it. I certainly participate in it. But the time I spend doing this would be better spent writing again. Again, I have a theory about why we do this.

Many of us started out on a social networking site (Y360) that, at the center, was the blog. Said social networking site went belly up. We scattered to the four cyber winds. Some continued writing on other sites, like Multiply, Blogger, My(wasted)Space, created independent blogs, or are stubbornly holding out hope that Y360 will rise from the ashes like a virtual phoenix (don’t hold your breath). But we were never able to recreate what we had on Y360. Recently, one by one, we rediscovered each other on facebook – and I am very happy about that. Many of us also pulled in people from our past who we thought were lost to time. Wonderful! I have very happily reconnected with people I never thought I would encounter again. It is obvious that we are social creatures and we love the contact, we love to see what is happening in each other’s lives, or just have something as basic as a gauge on a friend’s mood – we were jonesing and we found our social networking fix.

But what of the real writing? We text, we Twitter, and we allow facebook to eat our blogging time. Facebook is like cocaine – you do a line, you feel good, then you do another and another and another and before you know it you are up half the night thinking something really cool has happened. I used to compose and record music this way… the next day, I would listen to what I did and it was usually pure crap.

I am glad that we have all reconnected. I thoroughly enjoy the interaction, the jokes, the flirtation, and yes, even the lollipop sucking.

But I really miss reading your wonderful blogs.

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