I waited for a day when I had enough pent-up energy to tackle what I knew would be the worst part of dismantling the drug shed behind my apartment simplex. I wore gloves this time (no, I didn’t on any of the previous battles) and used a regular claw hammer for the destructive part. It was loud as I grunted and hit the remaining support rails and metal with everything I had. It was therapeutic hitting that mess and watching it be reduced to its components. This time I didn’t worry about the noise or how ridiculous I looked – not that I ever do about the latter.
Instead of ants this go-around, it was mosquitoes. Hundreds of them. The torrential avalanche of insecticide I used on the ants after being attacked should have murdered anything crawling or flying back there. Wrong. I looked down at my sweat-soaked arm and saw no fewer than twenty on my right arm. I went inside and rubbed myself with oil. Naturally, I kept forgetting I was oil-soaked and got in on my face and just about everywhere else. Cleaning the bathtub after the shower was one of those things I should have thought out more clearly. There was one large black snake in the pile under the long strips of construction vinyl next to the fence. Just as I was about to reach down and swing it around by the tail and throw it across the fence, it slithered between the rusted chain links and escaped.
I filled about one-third of the dumpster with vinyl and trash; I have to meter out the quantity each time I use it.
I left every piece of metal out that I could. There’s a metal scavenger who frequents my dumpster. I reward his efforts in any way that I can. This year, he’s made a fortune in water heaters and air conditioners. Most of the ones here are from the 1970s.
The stout metal frame covered in rotted wood remains. It taunts me. Given that I made it this far, I’m going to remove every vestige of that horrible shed. Even if it kills me.
I sweated and felt my heart race for a solid hour. Though it fatigued me in one way, it also brought a sense of accomplishment. It’s pretty idiotic to feel happy about doing something that should have been done years ago. And by the people who own the place.
All these cleanup projects I’ve done are a testament to the law of increments.
It is true my apartment, absent my presence and decorations, has the ambiance of a Yugoslavian prison camp.
However, I don’t remember riches being a prerequisite for great ideas. My grandma Nellie had very little education and never a lot of money. Yet some of the wisest words and kindest gestures of affection came from her and spoke to my heart and mind. It’s true she often threatened to box my jaws or get a switch after me. Unlike others in my life, she didn’t do so unless it was one of those rare occasions I wasn’t listening to her. It was an amazing example and juxtaposition to experience her brand of loving discipline in comparison to my mercurial and unpredictably violent parents. Grandma was always poor. But the place and home I hold dearest in my heart throughout my entire life was a shotgun house built with tar paper and tin roof.
To discount someone or insult them based on the condition of their living space is to negate any possibility of being open to learning from any source. To do so is to inadvertently reveal an understandable but also snobby attitude. I’m living proof that profound things can come from the dumbest person. Besides, if you don’t have someone like me to roll your eyes at, it is tantamount to being iron-deficient.
My place is better for my presence. Weirder, too. Improved, though, simply because I don’t believe that one’s current living situation is necessarily a reflection of their personality or character. It’s true I sometimes forget this and catch myself making presumptions about those who live in such places.
Any of us can lose everything at any moment. Or have to start over.
Given that I’m poor, it’s a good thing that I live so much in my own head.
Love, X
PS The picture wasn’t originally in color. It’s of my maternal grandparents. They aren’t happy in this picture. Though I don’t trust my memory, I believe it was taken at the house near White Cemetery, the one that preceded the happy place that I recall with love and fondness… .
As I stood on the landing this morning, the people I call Crew 14 were all standing around their front door. They were hilariously making fun of the new mustache of a mutual acquaintance of theirs. I’m assuming they were talking about a man but you never know. They were saying it made him look like an ’80s cop or a creeper. I couldn’t help but laugh. When they turned towards me, I then told them that’s why I trimmed my facial hair yesterday; that a creeper look of my own would be fair warning to anybody who wants to talk to me. I do sort of like look like a San Francisco policeman.
PS I was standing in the Harps parking lot this morning. I had just purchased a butane torch and 16 gallons of flammable floor wax. I’m just kidding about my grocery list. Someone kept hollering hey. I almost didn’t recognize my cousin Diane. I think I might have given her too many hugs. The fact that she put a taser on my neck and said I have to go was a subtle sign!
Bonus: I found out yesterday why Batman keeps the lower half of his face uncovered. I laughed and laughed at the dumb punch line. .
This isn’t legal advice. It’s not illegal either. Obviously, I’m not an attorney. If I were, I’d bill you for simply reading this. Or, more likely, I’d sue you for sharing conspiracy theories.
I know you’re immortal and will live forever.
Planning ahead regarding your death isn’t going to cause a Final Destination scenario. Or it might. Either way, as an adult, it is up to you to do the minimum to help the people you love once you’re gone. You never know when a giant log might fall off a truck and take your head off.
That’s no way to roll!
Every year at this time, I think about my thirty-one-year-old wife dying unexpectedly. Or the expert pilot getting thrown out of his parachute and falling to the ground at my feet. Neither really thought, “This is it.” No one does. They know it could happen. They turn an unseen corner and darkness falls.
If you don’t have a will, you’re leaving the people behind with extra baggage they don’t need. If people don’t have access to your financial accounts or your phone when you pass, I promise you that you’re causing needless agony on top of the grief they’ll suffer when you pass. It’s also a great way to encourage family members to behave like contestants on “Survivor.” And trust me, none of them will be as good-looking as those phony participants.
A handwritten will is acceptable. One that’s witnessed is better. The best is one witnessed and notarized. Probate courts love those. It’s one of the best gifts you can give your friends and family. (Not quite as good as living trusts and automatic survivorship or ownership – but much better than no plan.) Once you have one, I recommend telling your family you have one and what the contents are. It will be invaluable after your death if there are no surprised family members or someone claiming you said otherwise.
If you’ve not completed a will because it costs a lot or is a hassle, you’re wrong. It’s neither. You can do one from home in thirty minutes to an hour. After that, get it witnessed at a minimum and notarized if at all possible. The best part? It doesn’t require a lawyer. Doing it this way isn’t for everyone. But if you don’t have one, it is very likely that it will work perfectly for you.
Now that I’ve said all that, I can’t think of why everyone doesn’t have a will in Arkansas. Or share their passcodes.
Rocket Lawyer is my favorite do-it-yourself service. There are others. You can sign up for a trial and try it out. It is NOT expensive or complicated. You can edit it, download it, and easily use it. If you need help, have someone you trust to come to assist you. That will also help if a family member questions the contents. I won’t bore you with horrific family stories that ended in huge fights, court battles, or worse. We’ve all heard or been involved in them. I’ve known several people who died without wills and then had other family members destroy each other over alleged wishes and property. The simple truth is that you cannot know whether your wishes will be honored. Money and emotions cause uncountable family rifts.
If you have a lot of assets or are rich (define however you wish), it’s very likely you already have a will. For the rest of us, don’t worry about lawyers screaming that you should always use a lawyer to prepare one. If you have the money for a lawyer, please use one, but know that most of them use common template-generating software to fill in the information you’ll provide. Lawyers take time and money. It’s better to get one and then worry about “doing it perfectly.” Get a basic will now that covers most of the bases. THEN, follow up with the next step, even though we both know you’ll probably sit on the couch eating from a bag of chips instead.
Trusts and automatic transfer of your property are much more desirable than relying on a will, which might trigger probate. If you use a lawyer or estate planner, he or she will, of course, fill in the blanks for you. It’s best to have your property and assets automatically transferred to the person or people of your choice without the need for additional steps.
I live in the real world and know that many people don’t think ahead. They falsely believe that they will have time later – or that those whom they leave behind will capably take care of it. That’s foolish. All of us must face the idea that today might be our last day to grace this world. A few minutes of your time will save countless hours of agony. If someone you trust doesn’t have access to your phone, your computer, and your accounts, you are causing them avoidable agony.
Now that you know that it doesn’t have to be hard or expensive to get a will (or take the time to visit a lawyer), what’s stopping you? Most lawyers know better than to bite you, even ones who live in Madison County. I hope you live another thirty years. And if you don’t, that you take a little bit of your life to make your passing easier on your loved ones once you’re gone. If you’ve got time to watch an hour of SportsCenter or The Bachelorette, you have time to make a will or talk to a lawyer, estate planner, or psychic.
RocketLawyer LegalZoom Do Your Own Will Trust & Will U.S. Legal Wills Nolo’s Quicken WillMaker Your preferred lawyer or estate planner Random Guy On The Internet
PS: 90% of the things that you think are valuable are valuable – but only to you. Your death cuts the cord of connection. Reduce, give away, donate, and triage your stuff so that what remains is the essence of what you treasure. Simplicity is its own reward y’all. If the things you have are valuable in the real world, sell them and use the money to live the life you want or to help those who need a hand. It could be anyone’s last day on Earth. Buried treasures help no one.
I’ve written personal stories about my dad Bobby Dean. He was violent and loved alcohol. He went through at least a few years smoking marijuana, too. As did mom, who would be mortified to see me write this. For people with multiple DWIs and violence issues, it’s still odd to me that they were worried about something like that. As I’ve aged, a lot of the hardness I had toward dad dissipated, in part because of the human overlap I share with him. Including base emotions. He was responsible for a lot of carnage. Paradoxically, he infected me with a sense of humor that I like about myself. There were times he genuinely helped people. The same is true for mom. It’s a struggle to separate the dichotomy of that realization.
Especially because of my multiple and ongoing surprises with both DNA and genealogy, my belief that it’s stupid to fight the disclosure that history drags with it. It doesn’t change history; it merely mirrors it. Talking openly about someone or what they did or didn’t do doesn’t change history. Revelation should not be shunned because of the possible ramifications of needing to adjust your viewpoint or opinion. Truth is truth. You can turn away from it, but it remains, whether to illuminate or to tarnish.
No matter what personal mistakes a person makes, they might otherwise have monumental or mundane accomplishments. Dumb people sometimes say intelligent things. Someone might surprise us with their dedication toward a social or religious cause. Smart people? They are the worst about careening into the abyss in their personal lives.
Behind it is a human being. They have vices, anger, sexual issues, or be terrible spouses and parents. When we get to know someone, we go beyond the easy socialization and familiarity we have with people. There’s a lot hidden behind most people’s curtains.
Martin Luther King, Jr. changed the world in so many ways. Yet, as history peels back like an onion, we discover that he had numerous affairs. He was with another woman the night before, and the day he was assassinated. He smoked and didn’t like the image it portrayed, so he kept it a secret. Times were different back then, and though the FBI violently tried to tarnish his reputation and mitigate King’s accomplishment, news outlets didn’t take the bait. Because he was also a minister, it adds a level of incredulity to most people’s heads when they dive into everything hidden behind his public persona.
JFK followed the same trajectory. He was a political visionary but also had a torrid personal life.
Gandhi? He had some wildly racist views. History indicates that he had some strange views on sexuality and was undoubtedly bisexual. You can find reputable sources and look them up yourself. When you read these words, please remember that I’m a liberal. If people are consenting and wish to live their lives the way they choose, I am without criticism. Gandhi didn’t always express his life with consenting people.
Mother Theresa? It’s almost sacrilege for most people to hear reminders that she had so much baggage that I don’t even know where to start.
I wrote earlier in the week about Dr. Seuss, a writer who gave the world a love of words and fundamental poetry. He was not his public persona.
We all write our biographies each day with the choices we make, the words we say, even the things that we believe to be hidden.
I don’t have a premise, theory, or moral to this post either.
Earlier this week, at a very early hour, I had a human moment, one which I will write about cautiously, against my nature.
Just a couple of nights earlier, I listened as a neighbor sat outside. His mind was at high elevation, so to speak. He had his phone in front of him, singing loudly and with an absent melody. His voice carried, even against the strident insistence of insects. I couldn’t help but laugh at the content of the song he sang. I wasn’t laughing at him per se; but his delivery and vocal content were so amusing that I couldn’t help but laugh involuntarily. So much so that even days later, I find myself singing a certain segment of what he sang.
On the morning in question, I stood on the balcony. The neighbor sat below. Something about his demeanor signaled that something was amiss. His mind was clear – and that surprised me. “I just need to talk to someone.” So, even though I needed to leave for work, I did. And he told me a story about dear friends, ones who’d moved away. Betrayal had struck them like it does so many. As we talked, his mood lifted, and I gave him a practical distraction about the absurdities of human behavior and its consequences.
It’s the terrain I know too well. I suspect most of us find familiarity in the map of mixed emotions.
I went inside, petted the cat, and headed out again. As I sat in my car, way before sunrise, I looked at him again, still sitting in silence in front of his apartment.
I ignored my inner voice and exited the car, walked over to him, and hugged him. He sobbed for a bit and then thanked me.
Presence.
It’s overlooked and sometimes feared.
But who among us doesn’t want it and need it like the oxygen we breathe?
Each of us will have a turn in our own flooded boat. Perhaps it will be invisible to those around us.
The rain falls on all of us.
I don’t have a moral to the story or a tidy bow to crown it.
This morning, as I quietly stood on the landing, I heard someone below fail to realize I was standing above, listening to the sounds of the insects and watching the infrequent traffic. My cat Güino stood next to me, sniffing the air.
A series of staccato flatulent blasts interrupted the nature sounds.
They weren’t mine, in case you’re pondering.
One, two, three, four; the toots almost echoed against the cheap vinyl siding and the wooden platform above the anonymous performer.
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
Below, a single word was uttered: “Oops!”
If you can’t even fart outside at 3:30, nothing is sacred.
What a delight it is to watch two small children scampering in this heavy rain. They are squealing with happiness. But I’m also confused because they’re wearing raincoats! .
My sister posted an affirmational meme, and it reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago in response to people’s addictive or destructive behavior. Including my own.
“Fill your life with people who reflect who you are and who you want to be, not with those who are a reflection of who you once were and no longer wish to be.
If you’re a fuse, don’t stand near dynamite, as the results are inevitable. You start to believe it’s your purpose and inalterable. Abnormality begins to normalize patterns that aren’t ones you’d otherwise choose.
And if you are a fuse, choose to stand elsewhere. Proximity to undesirable people and behaviors infects you incrementally.
You end up with a life you didn’t choose and don’t want, and you wrongly assume, “Well, I am a fuse, after all.” That’s garbage thinking.
Every change commences with a choice.
Stay away from the fire and those who need or want you to be a fuse.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 