I took this picture of the moon this morning. I didn’t add any effects. It’s just my lesser camera making its own version of reality. Just like each of us does. Especially on Monday when we put on our work persona and head off to do the things that are repetitive and to pay the bills.
Vemödalen. If you’re not familiar with this word from the dictionary of obscure sorrows… It encapsulates the fear that everything’s already been done, every word is already been said, and every human experience, perspective, and photo has already been taken.
It’s okay to look up at the moon and attempt to capture the moment.
The building soon will be repurposed as a real estate school.
The people who called it their church home had open hearts to me. Especially the pastor. He thought nothing of the fact that my heart was skeptical and doubtful. Humor was our language. It is difficult indeed to find a pastor who can relate to people as different and fascinating versions of the same imperfect template.
I didn’t attend the last service this morning, for reasons of my own.
The building will remain idle and empty only for a short interval.
The church members will carry on as friends. They plan on continuing as a virtual body.
I was lucky that I was welcomed there.
Everyone was, no matter their hue, hyphenation, language, denomination, or orientation.
That’s rare too. It reflects the attitude and character of Jim. He’s not doing well. But if there is anyone who walks the line between spiritual and the mundane, it is him. He’s one of those people who deserves another 50 years. Heaven can wait for him. He doesn’t care that my idea of the afterlife deviates from his; he carries his certainty openly and with a ridiculous laugh to accompany it.
Goodbye, church.
All things must end.
And if we are lucky, we won’t forget the spaces or moments shared.
I peeked out of the apartment and saw that there was a large spilled UHaul box in the fast lane by the intersection. Someone moving dropped a 75 lb box of really nice expensive clothing without realizing it. My first concern was someone speeding at 70 mph hitting it. I went and picked up the spillage and stuffed it back into the box. Traffic mostly stopped for me as I did so. I dragged the heavy box back over to the side of the road. Unfortunately, as good as the clothing is, it all started at a 36-in waist. Yes, I’m not going to lie. I was tempted to sort it and take some. But 36″ is way too big for me. I’m sure that the people moving had no idea that it fell off or where that might have possibly happened. It won’t last long as the errant passers-by see it. At least no one is going to hit it and do a Dukes of Hazzard. Although it would be an ideal speed bump. .
I’m not planning on dying. I penciled it in for 2034.
I’m planning on living.
It makes some people skittish when they observe a loved one or friend “suddenly” giving things away. Don’t be alarmed unless you turn your head as you read this and see someone wearing a unitard behind you. Unitards are universally recognized as sinister, much like the side-eye you get when you’ve annoyed someone just a tad past their irritation point.
I’ve never given away as deeply as this time. That’s true.
From ‘the nail’ to the hand-written Ecclesiastes, a Xmas ornament from my dad’s death, Grandma’s thimble, Grandma’s sewing box, a few special coffee cups, a lot of my artwork (I use the word liberally there), all but basically three of my books, and a slew of other things that had immense sentimental value. There were several practical things that were also beautiful that I rehomed and surprised people with.
The unique nail I attempted to send to my sister still hasn’t surfaced. It may never materialize. It’s easy to feel upset about it, given that it was my most special possession. To remind myself, I think about all the people in the world every day who lose everything – or the people most valuable to them. A nail is insignificant in comparison to such loss and absence. Erika gave me a really old unique nail from her house in Pennsylvania, a weird nail whose story is unknown. There’s a comfort in that, too. It sparks my imagination. That nail has borne witness to many decades, been held by strange fingers, and somehow found its way to me.
When I was mailing my Grandma’s old sewing box, it struck me that my nephew’s daughter is the great-great-granddaughter of Grandma Nellie. That boggles my mind, even though I have a decade+ of ancestry and genealogy experience.
My last remaining aunt isn’t doing well. She took over the mantle of matriarch many years ago, whether she wanted it or not. I love imagining that when she was about five, that she knew a couple of people still living who were born around 1837. All those intervening people had lives, homes, families, and keepsakes. Almost all of them have vanished through the waves of all those decades. No one alive really has living memories of them any longer. They are footnotes, pictures (if we’re lucky), and placeholders in our family trees.
One of the only ways I can appreciate this life is to share the things I hold most precious with other people. I wish I had millions of dollars to share. Some might pay off their houses, some might buy a new car, and some might even take that long-awaited trip to Poland. I hope my nephew appreciates my grandma’s sewing box. That box spans literal generations. I like to think I was just the custodian for it. Each time I took it out to sew, I couldn’t help but think of my Grandma patiently teaching me to thread a needle and do a stitch. Or of Grandpa telling her to stop harping on me about using a thimble. He was a tough man and knew I’d learn very quickly after a few sharp sticks with Grandma’s needles.
I know I’m different from most people. In many ways, I’m envious of people who have a treasure trove of things from their childhood. Birthday cards, letters, pictures, keepsakes, boxes and boxes of things they both love and dread. There is joy in looking through those things, no matter how nostalgic they might make you. People forget that I do very much appreciate the difference between having things for no reason and having them to revisit old moments and people. That some people still have those things has led to me reviving memories of my life that I didn’t recall. Sometimes, they opened new doors into my memories. I hope everyone with such a trove lets them breathe and takes them out from time to time.
Recently, Erika had to leave a mountain of her youth in her old house in Pennsylvania. A lot of it was taken from her without her consent during one of her cleanup trips. The people involved deserve some bad karma. One of the delights that emerged from it? The new owners of her childhood home have been sending her boxes and boxes of surprises left behind. They don’t have to do that. I’m sure they are fascinated by the range of things they’ve found. It’s been quite the treat to watch Erika opening boxes without knowing the depth and breadth of the things being returned to her. All could have been lost forever. Thanks to a good soul, she’s getting them back in waves and increments. It’s a bit of great karma to hopefully wash away the residue of the bad karma from before.
In my case, due to tornados, domestic violence, and burned-down houses, there was no way for me to have much from my childhood. Would I prefer to have a closet of such things? Yes! I don’t want anyone reading this to think differently. Almost all the pictures I have come from people sharing theirs. Just the privilege of sorting and reliving such things would be a cathartic experience for me. I’m a little jealous of everyone who has such an opportunity.
I love wild, colorful things. Not necessarily to possess them. It would be easy for me to fill my apartment with such things. To the rafters. Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by beauty? The cliché response to this is that we are all surrounded by such beauty, both outside in the world around us, and inside the people we include in our intimate circles.
It’s still weird to me to be poor but yet still feel rich and lucky most of the time.
I’m still breathing, after all.
Take a moment and ensure that no unitard-wearing weirdo is in the room with you. Then, pause to think about whether all the things you own make you happy. If they do, you’re way ahead of the game. Likewise, if something you own and love would enrich someone else’s life, consider giving it away.
It’s all going somewhere.
Someday.
The picture is of two of my aunts. Because of the resolution, I couldn’t enhance it or color it as it deserved.
PS Since I can’t write a post like this without repeating my favorite mantra: if you have pictures of friends and loved ones, share them while you’re breathing. Pictures are the best thing in the world, comparable even to the sensation you get when you feel happy and satisfied.
First, white sheets are ridiculous. Not only do they stain, but due to their interpretation when worn, in some parts of the country, it might get you into trouble. Ghosts know this. I wonder how many people involuntarily BECAME ghosts due to being a member of one of those ridiculous organizations?
Real ghosts do not wear white.
They also don’t need eyeholes for reasons that should be obvious.
Ghosts travel more in the daytime than at night. They hate that part of their job is to don a sheet and yell “boo!” at night. They prefer to Netflix & Chill like the rest of us.
I captured this one this afternoon on my Blink camera. The ghost is wearing shoes which seems odd.
If it comes back, I have a few questions. Ghosts are notorious for being oblique when you talk to them.
While I was doing dishes, Güino couldn’t resist the remains of the vegetable grilled chicken cheesy bake I made. Though he had already sampled the chicken multiple times, he was probably thinking like me: you might never know if you have another opportunity, so why not take it?
I like cooking, especially the experimental part, but I’m terrible at it.
If you look at the picture closely, you can see his tongue hanging out. That’s the cat equivalent of a man unbuttoning his pants after a good meal.
Erika snapped this picture for me. I was oblivious to the cat pre-cleaning my dishes for me.
I don’t know where I lost my bank card. It seems like I remember forgetting to pull it out of the POS kiosk. Clarks tend to ask extraneous questions, often several in a row. There are times when I get immersed in a verbal tennis match, preferably a witty or humorous one.
I’m back at Arvest due to convenience. Yes, there were horrible experiences several years ago. Even when I opened this account, they mailed the first two cards to an address I hadn’t resided at in almost 10 years. It wasn’t an auspicious start. But it IS a good story.
I digitally locked my card yesterday when I realized I didn’t have it. I then called the help number expecting weird customer service. The lady taking my call was anything but boring.
It got interesting when she asked whether I would like a normal or decorative card. Of course I laughed. “If you only knew!” I said.
“How about you surprise me with one you like.”
There was a pause, and then she told me a personal story about how her husband refused to use the card she obtained for him. He replaced it with a boring normal one.
Despite her years of service, no one had ever asked her to pick one for them.
It tickled her.
I could literally get any type of card in the mail in a few days, which is amusing.
And now the bank employee has a first she’ll probably tell her husband about.
She should order him a new frilly, colorful one and put it in his wallet without asking.
Though I am reluctant to compare my early morning to the prison yard in the movie The Shawshank Redemption… I felt a little like Andy Dufresne as Paul Potts’ “Nella Fantasia” blasted at high volume with a haunting echo in the empty warehouse. “Duettino Sull’aria” had its place in the movie. All those trapped souls paused long enough to appreciate the melody. As did I, today of all days. If you’ve never looked at the translation for Nella Fantasia, today would be a good day to do so. It is a wistful and optimistic call for another type of world.
This one is pretty damn good most of the time. Why do we always ask for more?
I woke up this morning, almost embryonic -and warm. I’m not one to sit in melancholy. Standing there completely alone in the concrete and steel expanse, I let it wash across me. October 5th, another day and another opportunity.
Moments.
Not everyone is here to experience them. I remember because I need to be reminded.
Something I wrote two years ago: “I don’t look for exoneration, though I want it. There is no one in this world who can be both aware of my actions and the reasons for them except for me. Since I don’t pardon myself, I expect no less from others.” -X
I’m nudging up on the two-year mark of my brother’s death, and the ensuring bell ring/vision in my head. I’m eyeless to some of the underlying nonsense going on in my head. I’m more convinced than ever that had everything not happened in the unlikely sequence it did that I would likely be dead. Weight loss was just one component of it. Two years out, my explanation is the same: I don’t get credit for it. Something broke, and the vision I’d seen of myself would be the end result. It made me rigidly hyper-focused.
I still tell people, “Don’t give me credit for doing it. I should never have let myself go to that extent. It’s like a meth addiction; no one should embark on such a journey. It’s good that I stopped overeating, but terrible I let it go so far.”
I fluctuate around the mid-160s for my weight. I feel lighter than air at 150-155 lbs. That weight requires devout adherence to a healthier diet.
The trick isn’t losing weight. It’s figuring out what works long-term. It’s relatively easy to commit to weight loss for a few months. It’s quite another to develop a different relationship with food. Food is the in-law that sleeps in your bedroom.
Food Satan is always on duty, attempting to pounce on you. When you’re tired. When you want that sublime sensation of buttery smoothness. Or salty starch. At 11 p.m. when you really should be horizontal and not sticking your head inside the fridge.
Delicious food is ubiquitous and calls our name from the other room wearing a negligee.
It pains me to see people struggle with their weight.
I’ve watched many people make a list of ‘the reasons’ they can’t lose weight, even if they desperately want to. It’s eye-opening and mostly rationalizations. Heck, isn’t almost everything we tell ourselves?
When I lost almost all my weight, I added no additional exercise. It was immediately apparent that I was consuming an awful lot more calories than I was burning. My life was already active because of my job. Because of that, I focused all my enthusiasm on eating differently while avoiding going hungry. Being hungry is a sign that you won’t be able to maintain any successes you might experience. Generally speaking, you must eat and eat often.
I’m at the two-year mark. I’m grateful for those two years, even as I’ve had other struggles.
Primarily online, I catch hell for the simplicity with which I explain the weight loss problem. There are exceptions for some people; most of us eat too many calories versus what we burn. There is no escaping the math of it. People berate me by making specious arguments about the complexities of healthy diets. It’s not complicated at all! Less sugar, less fat, fewer processed foods, more fruits and vegetables, smaller portions, and different choices. You don’t need to be 100% militant, but you do need to be 100% vigilant about your choices. Enjoy the allegedly ‘terrible’ foods from time to time, or otherwise, you’ll go bonkers. Especially if you sit and watch your friends and family eat an entire basket of buttery breadsticks or an entire large pizza.
I do enjoy the endless arguments online about the ‘best’ way, goofy supplements, energy drinks, and the myriad ways you can be made to part with your money. Whatever you choose, you must do it for the rest of your life. Find what works. It’s not a sprint. It’s a french fry-scented marathon.
I recently looked into the beer-and-sausage guy. He does a weird diet once a year, every year. He always loses weight because his caloric intake is less. His bloodwork also improves in tandem – no matter WHAT he is eating.
It’s not a comforting idea to know that we can probably only eat 1600-3000 calories daily. If your limit is 2500, a sugary soda contains about 150, which is 1/16th of your average limit. A 2 oz. Snickers bar is 280 calories, well over 10% of your intake limit.
The simplest way to say it: most overweight people eat too many calories.
I don’t blame them. Food is amazingly delicious and brings happiness.
Fresh french fries or pizza? Oh my god. You won’t find a bigger aficionado of some types of potato chips than me. Chips and salsa? Yes, please. Two baskets if you’ve got them.
It wasn’t hard for me to practice “Choose your hard” when I started.
My vision, or whatever it was, took control.
Afterward? Remembering that food choices now bring unwanted results or continued success depends on how strong the siren voice of negligee-clad food is.
As Fat Bastard eloquently quipped, “Get in my belly!”
I’m writing as my dubious alter ego, Middle-Aged Superhero. That adds credibility to my following prediction.
But living where I do in Fayetteville, avoiding the enthusiasm and clog of those who are fans is impossible.
Arkansas is going to win the game today against Alabama.
By 10 points.
Don’t bother calling me crazy.
That’s like telling a can of peanuts that it’s nutty.
I’ll probably miss the game, given that I’ll have to fly off and solve an emergent emergency.
If any of y’all are betting people, go ahead and liquidate your 401k and bet big against Alabama. We’re all going to work until we’re eighty anyway, so there’s no real risk.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 