I walked out into the ocean yesterday onto a sandbar. The water should’ve reached above my waist. Instead, it reached my ankles. Onlookers from the beach no doubt thought that it was an illusion. I was in the water looking for seashells for Erika. She spotted the sandbar from the beach. I’d seen a couple of jellyfish, but it was the fast-moving fish occasionally darting around me that were startling. I’d hoped the oceanside rim of the sandbar held more seashells.
One of the best moments was watching Erika toss bread into the air. The birds materialized from nowhere, hovering two feet away, awaiting their morsels. One of the birds marched along with us as we made our way down the shoreline; he was one of those illusive Optimist birds.
This morning’s early walk was cold. It might have been fifty but the brisk wind found every available means to give me the shivers. It’s hard to complain. All these warm November days were a blessing.
PS Acetaminophen (Tylenol) reduces your ability to empathize. One of those bits of trivia that people don’t seem to be aware of.
‘Cheer up, Ed. This is not goodbye. It’s just I won’t ever see you again.’ – Frank Drebin…
Yesterday was a day of rain and piling clouds. I took a long walk before it started. Later, we walked along the beach looking for shells a couple of times until the rain started. Erika has covid; early Monday I tested negative but my congestion said otherwise.
We watched the first 15 episodes of the nostalgic TV show The Waltons. We also watched the storms through the huge wall length windows next to us.
This morning I got up too early and decided to get dressed and take a long walk immediately, even before I had a cup of coffee. One of the visiting neighbors nearby set off his car alarm at least ten times. I doubt the late night vacationers appreciated the 2:00 a.m. wake up calls. (Except for the sadomasochists, of course.)
Tomorrow morning it will be 20° cooler. A reminder that the warmer weather has been a privilege.
At 2:02 a.m., I watched a meteorite burn out across the sky to the north. I was sitting by the pool in the dark in a strange place watching the American flag wave across the street. Yesterday’s clouds were gone, leaving an open canopy view of the overhead nigjt sky. The cicadas were keeping me cacophonous company, their shrill ancient sounds providing a background syncopation to my thoughts. I made a wish upon a star. It went right to the heart of my reoccurring theme of abandoning secrecy and living a life of accountability and openness.
We can’t understand ourselves or other people if we continue to insist that we can control and curate the dissonance in our lives resulting from believing that secrecy is beneficial.
Some of my posts are interconnected without seeming to be. A few years ago, I went to one of the local ERs. My family member, who I will call Susan, had an accident. In the course of her treatment, it was discovered she had fallen at home and likely suffered an event triggered by a brain injury. Because I have a background both in medical and secrecy, I was glad to have shown up. Had I not, she would have been administered a medication that likely would have killed her quickly. Another family member had decided to keep Susan’s history of excessive drinking secret. I understand the tendency to not discuss it. Being me, I didn’t hesitate to pull medical staff aside and indicate that alcoholism was an undisclosed factor. The doctor, despite having experience with all manner of such non-disclosure, reacted with surprise and took measures to quickly change how Susan would be treated.
Much later that day, I visited the hospital and discovered that some of the information had not been passed on to the nursing staff. The nursing staff once again immediately changed the medications for the course of treatment for Susan.
I’m not telling the story so that I will somehow look better. People who know me well know the opposite is true. I’m not saying any of this to point the finger at anyone. Most of us do the best we can and hope that we are rationally making the best choices. Family honor, misguided loyalty, and the inability to tell ourselves or the people around us tough truth combine to rob us of a better life.
Part of my truth is that a portion of my identity is tied to the resentment I experience when I deal with people who want to live in secrecy. The stubbornness and resentment has caused me sometimes to stick my foot in icy water and challenge people. My early life is full of such stories. One of those stories resulted in me discovering a sister. Others pushed me into huge fights when I foolishly tilted at windmills and asked people to choose differently. Conversely, the same obstinacy cemented my own feet, resulting in my idiocy morphing words of concern for my choices into accusations. We tend to recognize it later as love or concern. But in the moment? Our defensiveness whispers to us that we are being unfairly attacked.
My life history is littered with people who ruin their lives with alcoholism, addiction, or anger. Every person in my family who drank too much finished their lives still suffering from the little voice in their head that insisted that they continue drinking. It’s one of the reasons I’m proud of my sister. It took her a long time to look back on the arc of her life and tell herself that enough was enough. Each of us usually only takes action when it’s the only other choice. We sometimes talk and nod toward one another, once again agreeing that it has nothing to do with intelligence. We make choices, or adopt maladaptive ways to feel better. And then our strategies turn traitor and entrap us.
All of the preceding words also disclose my volatile resentment regarding secrecy. People can’t develop long-term drinking issues without secrecy. They can’t blow up their marriages without secrecy being perverted into privacy. We can’t become helplessly overweight unless we don’t talk about the elephant in the room or the ostrich in the closet. Depression blossoms because the difference in what people experience inside their private worlds in their heads becomes disproportionately silent. Isolation in thought or action inevitably brings toxicity. Even to otherwise normal behavior that becomes an unhealthy obsession.
If we had to experience the accountability of people around us knowing us in our private moments, it would be difficult to continue the charade of secrecy. Instead of choosing authenticity, we spiral into a cocoon of self-fulfilling prophecy. Image truly becomes the identity we cling to. The people around us flail and overthink because they bear witness to the consequences of our choices. Further out into our personal periphery, the people in our orbit are unaware. Most of the time I think we have this backwards.
A little bit ago, I navigated the dark and put my feet into the pool. After a few minutes, another dimmer meteorite scorched its way into non-existense as it penetrated the atmosphere above me. I didn’t make another wish, even though initially I wished that I wouldn’t overthink. I’m sitting in the late night or early morning of the last day of July. I’ve outlived people who were better than me. Definitely smarter.
For a brief second, the lesson of detachment and gratitude reminded me that it’s to be experienced. And the only way to experience anything meaningfully is to unflinchingly know yourself and live in the reality that you’ve been given rather than the one you attempt to craft.
Secrecy can kiss my ass. It’s no irony that I’m sitting in the dark writing this.
Can opener didn’t work. Knife-as-finger-opener did! Blood splatter doesn’t go well with most Airbnbs. 🙂 All the proof you need that I’m an idiot. Note: I only sliced myself because I moved my hand out of the way. Had I left it on the can, I wouldn’t have proven Darwin right! .
It was about 9:40. Though it was chilly, it was a beautiful sunny morning, just about a perfect one for early fall. I walked out of the store and into the midst of about 100 bikers. BB&B may have been canceled, but thousands of bikers made their way to NWA this weekend. I complimented one of the bikers on his choice of color. It’s the exact same color as my little car. Needless to say, someone who looks like him would be the last person I would expect to choose that color. A few feet away, a couple were talking to other bikers. Their friend Burt had not made it in yet. It turns out he is a licensed minister. I introduced myself, and told them they could go to the courthouse to get married. Then, I told them that I’m a licensed minister and would marry them right there on the spot if they wanted to. Or that we could go to the overlook, which is a beautiful spot, and do the wedding there. They were very tickled. I gave them my phone number on an index card and told them that they should feel free to call me today and I would gladly perform their marriage for them. I hope their friend Burt is okay. But I kind of also hope that he gets held up and that they call me. What a great memory that would be. Perfect weather, and a great day to make a memory, even if it starts with people who are initially strangers.
We’re all strangers, until we’re not.
It would be a sublime pleasure to be a part of people’s initial expression of love and togetherness. Optimism is infectious.
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I walked up and volunteered to be the picture taker for several groups. That way, their keepsake photos will include everyone. It’s such a treat to do that for people. One group of four insisted on taking my photo.
I heard a celebration down in the valley where I took the picture this morning. A beautiful wedding was in progress and I got to watch the end of it from about 30 feet up. The tears and applause when the groom kissed the bride even got to me a little bit. Hell, who am I kidding? I’ll admit that a tear rolled down my face. 2:00 p.m. on such a beautiful day seems appropriate enough to let a little emotion come out.
So even if the bikers from early this morning don’t call me, I got to live vicariously through another young couple just now. And then I watched them trudge up the long trail and hill. For two people, it was their first afternoon together, hopefully forever.
I see or hear people say, “Those drivers in so-and-so! What idiots.” Or, “People in so-and-so are so mean!” Because it’s a sentiment commonly seen and heard, it doesn’t sound that odd to most people. Most of us have our own particular ‘there’ in mind. I recommend that you imagine Dallas on a Friday afternoon, or the DMV between 7 a.m. and 5 p.m., anywhere in the United States.
There are exceptions, of course, but in general, people are similar regardless of geography. Southerners are no more polite than those from Wyoming and drivers in Arkansas are no less idiotic than those in Pennsylvania. (Except for Josh. He really stinks.)
Most of the time, the grouchy people in question have traveled with their own geographical prejudices. If you listen closely, it becomes more apparent than ever that there is as much fault in the observer as the observed.
Anyone can pinpoint a particular place and time, inhabited by a shifting mix of people and situations and say, “Well, this case is different because of so-and-so…”
This particular scenario occurs in every nook and cranny of this country, each and every day. No travel is required to see and hear people behaving poorly.
“Those” people there, wherever there is, are no different than you or the people who live around you.
“They” see us and shake their heads at us and our impolite stupidity and our inability to drive in a straight line without flipping our vehicle upside down – while parked.
The circle of complaint is eternal, each of us pointing to those idiots elsewhere.
Even though we’re all the same, each of us struggling to minimize just how much stupidity we individually generate.
Isn’t it crazy that Dawn trusts me to cook, much less to grill? I’m the worst cook with the most enthusiasm you’ll ever meet. I suppose the lesson learned is that as long as no one literally dies from my cooking, I can be trusted to continue doing it. Edit: I was doing my best to have a horrible duckface in effect when the picture was taken.
A quip I left to let the owners know I broke a glass. I can only assume they knew I was joking about juggling the glassware.
For my friend, who knows who he is, who just LOVES these clichés.
Dawn is writing some sort of propaganda regarding my culinary skills. Weirdly enough, it was a comment of praise, which proves that clean air makes even normal people go crazy sometimes.
This is the most normal picture I could manage.
PS: sometimes I secretly joke that I’m going to switch this stained glass window with something totally crazy, just to see how long it might take for the hosts to notice I’ve done so.
Sunday morning early, after surviving a rain-filled Friday and Saturday. Few views are more relaxing than that which one experiences from this porch and swing at the edge of the trees.
This is the tree I traversed, wondering if I was going to hear a huge ‘crack’ as I plummeted to the water below. Assuming I would not have been impaled on the broken trunk, it would have been a hilariously good story.
My wife and I spent the last couple of days at our favorite cabins at Wisteria Lane. Much to our delight, the impending torrential rains waited until our arrival to unleash. Most people prefer the serenity of calm weather, but not us. There is no better place to be when the rain falls and the creek roars below the expansive front deck, adorned with the grill and porch swing.
The creek below our cabin rose as high as I’ve ever seen it, re-routing the bottom of the valley, with the creek widening to 25 feet at one point. I didn’t get any pictures of the stream at its widest, as the winds were howling and the rain was blowing up and down, in and out, and washing anything which ventured outside far enough to see it. But the volume was a delight to fall asleep to.
The next morning, I of course ventured out into the mess wearing flip-flops. I even climbed onto the fallen tree over the receding creek and traversed it. Dawn, of course, was playing different versions of “What Could Possibly Go Wrong,” in her mind while I was enjoying the frigid water turning my toes into little icicles. I managed to turn over an older tree without falling in the water.
My wife, being female, wasn’t keen on having her picture taken 47 times, but she took mine at least that many. I didn’t care how I looked, being intent on setting a new world record for eating “all the things” in the cabin. I failed in that quest but succeeded in enjoying being in the midst of nothing. Dawn, who usually ignores my crazy notes on the cabin’s welcome board, joined in a little this time, while I made all manner of quips, including one for my friend who hates the phrase, “at the end of the day.”
At the end of this day, though, I can only hope that most of you enjoyed a time comparable to the one I had this weekend.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 