Reluctantly, my ex-wife Dawn decided it would be better for Güino the tuxedo cat to come to stay with me in the apartment. We adopted him from the Springdale Shelter when he was very young. When I first moved here, even though he’d never been here, I walked in the door expecting him to run to me. When I lived in Springdale, it was a ritual. He’d run up and I’d scoop him up and hold him like a baby. He’s 13.5 years old now and weighs 9.9 lbs. I already ate tuna for supper so that he could have the juice. It’s a gentlemen’s agreement we’ve shared for his entire life. Dawn gave me about 12 packets of treats, too. Güino trained us to dispense treats constantly.
The picture of me is on the way over to my old house. I hadn’t been there since I left. I put on my cat and fishbowl brooch for good luck. When I went inside, Güino looked at me strangely. It’s true I probably look a lot different. It’s likely he thought I was gone forever. I picked him up and held him like a baby. I didn’t take a picture when I left because I was in tears.
Dawn gave up a lot letting me have the cat. She was concerned people would think poorly of her for letting me take Güino. No one should think that, and not just because I’m the selfish and lucky recipient. If something happens to me, he should go back to her. I’m not being maudlin; surgery refreshed my memory of how easily any of us could go without any warning.
Güino crescendoed his caterwauling as I drove.
It was surreal releasing him into the apartment.
He’s still anxious. If I sit still, he stretches out near me, waiting for another rub. I rolled him with high-quality lint rollers and a fur brush.
If I keep petting him, he might go bald.
We’d be twins.
Thanks, Dawn. I’ll try to keep him safe and loved.
“The internet does NOT make people stupider. It gives the stupider people more reach. And you’re one of them, X.”
Hmmm…
I think this person doesn’t like my writing.
I wonder why they keep reading?
On the same day the above fan wrote to me, another friend reached out to tell me how much I’ve been on her mind, and how much she appreciates reading the wide range of things I share. I was touched. As with so many others, I had no idea she read much of my meanderings.
To my friend who reached out, thank you. Kind words are like sunshine on a cool October morning.
PS For those who reached out privately and shared their stories in response to my post “Addiction Road,” thank you. I knew I wasn’t going to get a lot of direct engagement. Those affected by addiction often can’t find a way to succinctly bare their souls. But I can say it is liberating to yield. It’s the only way for most of our problems and mental health. We all share the same humanity, whether it is beautiful moments or debilitating pain.
Last night, I was out walking on Gregg Avenue later in the evening. Someone leaned out and shouted, “Hey X! You a**hole!” as they laughed. I couldn’t see who it was, but I waved enthusiastically. Only friends shout like that. It brightened my mood for a moment; it was much needed. The walk not only served as exercise but also as an escape. Like most escapes, it didn’t work; most tend to bring whatever’s in your head along for the ride. I envy those who seem to be able to deflect their hearts when necessary.
This morning, way before the sunrise, I got out of bed and walked the streets again within five minutes of arising. Reaching the end of the parking lot, I saw a man and a woman walking, the woman ahead of the man, her socked feet shuffling awkwardly. There’s a lot of questions in my head from that scene. I tried to imagine what events transpired to lead them into the early morning dark, one of them without shoes. They plodded along, devoid of any energy or spark. I soon outpaced them and left them far behind. They were on my mind, though.
Sundays mornings, I see evidence that people didn’t use their best judgment. Near Fossil Cove brewery, I noted an excessive number of beer cars and errant liquor bottles. A block down, someone’s ornate mailbox laid on the ground in tatters, probably from a speeding drunk driver approaching carelessly from the side road. On the opposite side of the road, I stopped and snapped a picture of the Banksy girl painted on the side of a railroad control box. The disparity of the message amidst the realities of the morning gripped me. . Yesterday, as I exited my apartment, a neighbor said, “Hey X, I hope you don’t me asking, but my mother-in-law LOVES your blue lantern. Could you make her one?”
I paused, and said, “No.” I watched the woman try to gauge me. She failed.
I took the blue solar lantern made from an inverted hummingbird feeder and handed it to her. “No, but I will give you this one.” She smiled in surprise.
“Wait,” I told her. I pulled my other metal silhouette lantern from the hanger and handed that to her as she neared her door. “Take this, too.” I explained the rechargeable batteries and how to use them long-term.
She was so happy with the unexpected gifts. Though I was now left with no solar lanterns on my landing, I was happy, too. That’s not nothing.
It’s entirely a coincidence that I’d ordered two more sets of fairy lights on Wednesday. I love how the universe sometimes surprises me. Two incidents yesterday remind me that my neighbors are watching me in curiosity to see what projects I’m up to. . Later in the morning, a neighbor headed out to walk to his job. The skies were ominous and ready to pour. “Hey, how about I give you a ride to work?” He accepted, and I spent a few minutes not only doing him a solid but was able to connect with him as we drove to his workplace and talked. . Other parts of my day were both sublime and tumultuous. The dichotomy of these days never fails to surprise me and sometimes alarms me. I understand that my intelligence often fails me when I try to assimilate the lessons and use my experience to guide me. My experience in life isn’t a detailed roadmap. Like anyone else, my heart sometimes overrides the clear path in front of me.
But I walk on, literally and figuratively.
“There is always hope,” is a truth. Equally valid is that we have to confront the day with the practical tools and options available. We have hope for the future but also must live the minutes as they come. Instead of revising these few words, I’ll post them ‘as is,’ much in the way that life speeds along in front of us.
Love, X . P.S. I’m adding a paragraph. As I posted this, the putt-putt of a moped outside drew my attention. A man stood by the dumpster, looking for treasure in the mountain of trash. I walked out and crossed the parking lot. “I’m the neighborhood weirdo,” I told him. He looked at me cautiously. Though I don’t have much money (now more than ever), I handed him a $20 bill. He said, “God bless you!” He smiled like the sunrise. “I am, if only I can find ways to see it,” I told him as I walked back to my apartment. I didn’t look back at him, because as happy as he was by the gift, I think he was about to get emotional. .
A gaggle of young runners made their way up Poplar toward the traffic light. I was outside near the crosswalk measuring for an address plaque I’m making for the apartment simplex. The last runner was struggling to catch up. “You won’t always be last,” I told him as he crossed Gregg. “I hate running!” He said. I laughed. “You won’t hate it the day you leave all of them behind you, though.” I gave him the thumbs up.
Around 8 last night, I heard weird popping noises. I didn’t think much of it. I was standing outside on the deck. Waking up this morning, I discovered that an unidentified idiot shot into the apartments by the trail on Poplar Street. Automatic gunfire, too. I can see the apartments and trail from the crosswalk outside the apartment. Y’all can scoff, but I wish I’d taken a walk last night. There’s no better adventure story than gunfire after sunset. Have you noticed that almost no nincompoops get up at 5 a.m., drink a cup of coffee, and start shooting? We need a better class of hooligans in Fayetteville! Also, bullets are expensive.
I bought four pieces of bacon in the work cafeteria this morning. (No, I’m not authorized to return to work yet. At least not PAID work.) It’s been a year since I had bacon. Bacon salt has been my salvation in the interim. When I got back to the apartment, I made lettuce and bacon wraps. I may have blacked out with pleasure for a moment.
I also left a surprise brooch for someone today. Nothing says, “Good morning!” as inexplicably as a surprise brooch. Today, I’m wearing a spectacular fleur-de-lis brooch that I found at Peace At Home. I’d not thought much about the symbol until recently. Like so many symbols, it’s an ancient one. When I chose the name “X,” I thought I was simplifying things. Lord, the number of things “X” can signify is astonishing, even though it is just a single letter. It’s nice having a name that looks the same regardless of direction.
Seeing someone’s ASL post this morning made me realize that people around me didn’t know I was saying “Please” a lot of the time. It may look like I’m rubbing my heart. I learned it from a deaf man who attempted to work at Cargill years ago. “Please” and “Thank you” are both great visuals, even in normal conversation – not that I’m sure what that is. People running away from me with their palms clamped firmly over their ears give me the wrong impression.
I finished the address plaque for the apartments. I used reflective numbers. And I couldn’t quite bring myself to NOT put a little bling and beauty on there in the form of a dragonfly. I also installed a nice solar light above it, either to illuminate the reflective numbers I chose – or so that the idiots shooting automatic weapons will have something other than my ass to aim at if they find themselves with an oversupply of bullets.
Other: * While chatting with my case manager, I did offer to re-write my surgical report. It needs a plot twist and a little bit of pizzazz. And/or humor and brevity: “Patient failed to notice my approach as I used a #11 blade to gut him. We found a herniation near the appendix but this box of Cracker Jacks did not have a surprise.” * A random internet person read my post about Tammy’s weight loss: “You have no idea how seeing you and your friend have motivated me. I think I have your incremental idea in my head now. I’ve already lost ten lbs, just by deciding to do a few small things each day. Such as choosing differently, doing exercises every hour while at work, and keeping my mouth shut as much as I can. You’re right. Food can’t get in there if it isn’t open!” * Another person wrote me and asked me if this quote is mine: “Saying you aren’t photogenic is kinda like saying you’re better looking than all available evidence.” No, but I wish I had. It’s pithy and logical. * A Bit Of Daily Motivation: “Have you stopped to think that somewhere there’s a tree growing that might one day become your coffin?” *
As part of my after-care, a Blue Cross case manager called me yesterday. We talked for an hour. You’re going to think I’m kidding, but it was like talking to a Grandmother and friend I never knew I had. She was engaging, personal, and we talked about a lot of things other than my health. I hope she’s rewarded for this kind of outreach. I would not have imagined that someone from such a large bureaucracy could be so personal. Because she’s a nurse, was on a ventilator in the hospital due to covid, and knows the medical system as well as anyone could, she also allowed me to openly discuss the mess we face when our health falters. She should be the face and soul of Blue Cross. As much fun as I have poking at organizations, she deserves recognition.
I was in Springdale today, chasing the unicorn of outdoor security lights I wanted. You can’t wait on a landlord to provide the minimum of safety, after all. It was my second visit to 64 in fifty-three days. My eyes devoured the familiar yet mercurial sights as I drove.
I can’t explain how, but I knew my old friend Mike would be in his yard if I drove by unannounced. (I’ll call him Mike for this anecdote to protect his anonymity and association with me.) On a whim, I navigated the byzantine streets and headed to the cul-de-sac he wisely chose to buy a house in. I saw Mike standing along the fence, holding a mug. Two of his dogs were with him.
I parked and said hello and let the dogs lick my fingers through the wire fence along the perimeter of the curved curbside. There was a break in the beautiful line of vegetation and flowers they’d carefully planted.
He’s not one to be idle. Along with the rest of his family, he did everything right regarding C19. Even though he’s a lifelong community servant, he took the time to be careful. Despite being vaccinated, he got covid.
It was such a pleasure to see him and hear his brand of rapid-fire yet laconic wit.
He told me he’d retire in a couple of years. I laughed. He might retire from his chosen career – but he’ll never relax. Mike is not wired for it. For years, I’ve asked him to transition from one form of public service to politics. He’s uniquely qualified. The fact that he doesn’t think so proves that he’s the right candidate, no matter what office he might seek or hold. Anyone who knows him would immediately agree.
I showed him my scar. “What’s a worldwide pandemic, divorce, and surgery to complain about?” I jokingly asked him.
Indeed.
Seeing an old friend, fatigued but safe from severe harm from this scourge of a virus, I left, happier than when I’d arrived. That “light you up” thing? Yeah, Mike’s one of the good people.
And a reminder that even when you do everything right, things can and will go wrong.
That gives hope to a poor soul like me.
I came back to the apartment and spent a couple of hours installing the lights, my heart filled with fondness on two accounts.
I’m adjusting to taking several shorter walks instead of long, meandering ones. Instead of pushups, I opt to find a new place to put my feet if I go out. It’s led me to see so many beautiful houses. Fayetteville is packed with artfully done architecture and stunning homes. Even in areas where the houses have been neglected, I find surprises to admire.
This morning, a woman was out on her wide, covered porch. She was smoking, and a large decorative mug was on the wood railing. “Your house is incredible, ma’am,” I said as I walked past. “Is it?” she answered. “I forget. You probably have a better view of it than I ever do.” Because I’m all about the metaphor, I replied, “I think that’s true about everyone and everything. We get proximity-blind to the things around us.” She laughed, nodding. I waved as I walked away.
A block further along, a dog of some sort, a mix of indeterminate origin, sat on its haunches next to the sidewalk, not too far from a fragrant magnolia. It watched me approach. No owner was in sight, and only one light was on inside the nearest house. The dog wore a nice collar. Without caring if the dog decided to bite me, I kneeled and held my hands palms up. The dog wagged its tail and lunged at me, its tongue licking my arms and then my face. I let it show me affection as I petted its head and flanks. I laughed. I carefully sat on the edge of the sidewalk and the lawn. The dog laid across my legs as I petted him. I sat there for several minutes until I feared I might cramp; I hated to break the reverie of the unexpected interaction. As I stood up, the dog licked my fingers. I scratched its ears. It did not follow me as I walked away. I’ll come back by on a random morning, hoping to see him.
Though I probably walked only a mile on that short excursion, it was exactly what I needed. The moon shone brightly above, and the chill of the air was calming without wind to make my bones chatter.
I am “taking it easy.” I’d rather be at work, surrounded by turmoil and activity.
I took this awkward selfie this morning. I’m wearing a nifty phoenix brooch that I modified myself, as well as my favorite rip-shirt. You can see that my custom Dumb & Dumber wood print to the right gives me inspiration, now more than ever. My nice incision reminds me to be careful, especially if I see a surgeon sneaking up on me with a scalpel. It’s okay to look at the weird, jagged scar. It’s a part of me forever. Everything is, in part because I’m dedicated to remembering that no matter how well things are going, life is both beautiful and capricious.
Watching the sun inch down, I found myself asking Alexa, “What’s the score for the Razorback football game?” I NEVER do that. Being around hard-core fans somehow has made me hopeful for them. This stupid epidemic has stripped a lot away from people. Is it too much to ask for the team to shock Texas and win? Probably. But I’m hoping. I told a fan today that I predict that Arkansas will win.
Because one of my neighbors is a huge fan – and because I was feeling especially grateful to just be alive and optimistic about anything, I decided to surprise the family with a couple of anonymous pizzas as a gift.
When the driver knocked and explained that a neighbor bought them pizza, the woman’s face shifted from absolute confusion to delight.
I took that glimpse of delight and pocketed it inside my heart. It’s not about me giving something, it’s about the surprise.
PS Dominos was supposed to take all the information off the box. They accidentally left my phone number on it. The person getting the pizzas called. The anonymous part was ruined but the feeling of giving a surprise remains.
I’ll gladly accept. Things often go awry. It’s no reason to keep trying.
I am sitting here at my desk, trying to find the words to write another truth. This one is a stone in my throat.
This story unfolded minutes ago.
As life does, a story walked up, disguised as a man and woman. They went to the dumpster in the front. Both had backpacks. The woman fearlessly climbed up and inside. The man stood to the side.
My heart opened unexpectedly. I got my full coin jar next to the door and exited the apartment.
I swallowed my uncertainty and approached the man. There’s no doubt he expected an admonishment from me.
Who am I to judge?
“This is for you,” I told him. I handed him the heavy glass jar.
“The jar has sentimental value. The coins have real value. I want y’all to have it.”
He was dumbstruck. The realization that I walked over to surprise him with a gift instead of cursing him washed over him.
He looked at his girlfriend or wife and said, “Did you see what he just gave us? I can’t believe I’m tearing up.”
I reached out and shook his hand.
“Don’t you want the jar back? If it has value to you?”
“No, I’ve had it for 20+ years. I’m in a new life now.”
We shared comments back and forth. He said he’d give the jar to his dad, who loves such things.
“I hope karma repays you, X.” It was odd he used the word ‘karma’ to me. It permeates so much of my life.
The last thing I said to him, when I turned and walked away: “I’ve got a good life and more than enough.”
The woman did an expert job at rummaging inside the dumpster, a place most wouldn’t dare enter.
As I finished this, I got a text thanking me for going out of my way to tip a delivery driver. Twice.
I think I have it better than I realize.
Step outside into the overcast day. I’m sending out a wave of gratitude. Even in this place, there are moments of clarity.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 