52 again

"Self-Realization is rarely good news." - Unknown.

April 25, 2018
Chris Reeves
letobook@yahoo.com

When did I know it was over?

A week ago.

Well, Sunday. Which was 3 days. But it happened last week.

As such things seem to occur, in the most inauspicious of places and times. Kneeling by the fridge.  She had just asked if there was any of that "nice chicken" left. - after she came back from some time away with a friend. She'd been looking for a few minutes.
"Yup..." I offered, kneeling, and started to root in the back of the bottom shelf.
Then: "Right here!" as I offered up the package to her. "I knew it was there cause I gave some to Strider with his supper this week."
"This is really good chicken. Don't waste this on the dog."
I waited a moment and debated but decided I had to ask; "Waste?"
"You don't think there's a difference between a human and a dog?" She offered.
Again, I waited. My son within earshot and listening. "Yes. I like dogs better than most humans." I decided to say. And left the kitchen.

It shook me. I was actually dumbstruck.

It was the kind of thing that, if we were dating, would put about 20 checks in the "dump" column for me. For the first time I realized that I didn't recognize her.


One of the things I've hated about the past year is how cliché everything is. Every rotten story. Every undeveloped character. I'm middle aged. The wife is leaving me. I lost the good-paying job and the expense account. My dog died. I looked at a picture of my dad to long until I wondered if I would recognize him if he walked past me in the street. It was kind of scary. Then I realized, "Cliché" is just another term for "Average".

Imagine taking someone like Roger Waters, or Bowie, or Freddie Mercury. Or anyone who inspires. Give them all the potential to change the world the way they do. Give them all the skills and abilities they need then remove from them the ability for their direct exercise.

It's been a weird year. I feel.... Old. Or maybe I just have started to mature mentally and this is growing pains from leaving elements of youth behind. I have been surprised with my self image. Low as it is, I never thought of myself as an adult. Silly example, when R at work berates me (however rare) for some slight, I was a 14 year old child. I had no rights, no opinions, I was just chagrined and shy and wanted it to stop so I could get past it. What would my dad have done?

My dad was an old man. My dad was ancient. His hands were knarled by arthritis. He had "train-tracks" from a heart operation. He couldn't get out of a chair without grunting or sit in a chair without flumping into it.   I don't think he ever wore anything other than a work uniform or a short-sleeved plaid collared shirt. I couldn't say if I ever saw him in a t-shirt, much less wearing childish slogans and symbols usually long cast aside.  He had wrinkles and I remember wondering what it felt like to feel that old.  My parents were both ancient together for a time and they talked about famous people dying that no one else in the world had ever heard of. Born April 11 1928, died Dec 9 1988.



I'm older than my dad now.  How old am I?

I wasn't prepared for the strength of the blow dealt to me the morning I realized I now lacked a father figure.

Not that the blow itself was a particularly recent one, my father having passed some 30 years previous. But that on this epiphany I realized that I had reached the age that my father had reached when he died. 

In no memory I have of my father, can he be older than I am right now.

I've never really considered myself scarred or haunted by anything. A casual insult from an older dick in some tennis courts in grade school many years ago tied me to the epithet "Chunky" for the longest time. I had a dream that some red drapes from my old bedroom were sneaking up behind to bite my mom but I couldn't warn her. They turned to me in my panic and sighed: "I want to talk to her!"


I inadvertently let my son watch the original made-for-tv-movie "It" and he is still afraid of clowns and of Pennywise incarnations both old and new.

When I was a kid I saw a re-run of the old black and white 1959 Twilight Zone episode called "Time Enough At Last". Mild enough story. Still haunts me to this day and has become a source of some anxiety for me that I can't read a book or a paper without glasses now.

I believe I finally understand the term "mid-life crisis" beyond the humor and the stereotypes. I find myself thinking about my dad a lot. I don't recall following any particular credo that he instilled in me. More of a feeling of "How would my dad act in response to this particular situation?"


I watched the movie "No Country for Old Men" with my son and got chills when I heard Tommy-Lee Jones, talking about his departed father, say; "I'm older than he was by now by 20 years"

The New 52

I wasn't prepared for the strength of the blow dealt to me the morning I realized I now lacked a father figure.
Not that the blow itself was a particularly recent one, my father having passed some 30 years previous. But that on this epiphany I realized that I had reached the age that my father had reached before he died.


I've never really considered myself scarred or haunted by anything. A casual insult from an older dick in some tennis courts in grade school many years ago tied me to the epithet "Chunky" for the longest time. I had a dream that some red drapes from my old bedroom were sneaking up behind to bite my mom but I couldn't warn her. They turned to me in my panic and sighed: "I want to talk to her!"


I inadvertently let my son watch the original made-for-tv-movie "It" and he is still afraid of clowns and of Pennywise incarnations both old and new.


When I was a kid I saw a re-run of the old black and white 1959 Twilight Zone episode called "Time Enough At Last". Mild enough story. Still haunts me to this day and has become a source of some anxiety for me that I can't read a book or a paper without glasses now.

The Gift of Thought

When I was much younger I loved a particular episode of Mork and Mindy. It grew on me and re-surfaced as an adult.


Mork gives some well-intended but loathsome gifts one Christmas episode. He gets ridiculed by the mean-girl character and asks what he did wrong?


He's told he did nothing wrong, that it is the classic "thought" behind the gift that is important.


Mork, being an alien, misunderstands and takes them literally. He tells them he can give them an actual "thought". He makes a funny noise and all 3 support characters reveal some wonderful thought they were brought back to. Mindy remembers a lost dog returning. The dad remembers holding his infant daughter for the first time. You get the idea.


I'm not Mork, but I thought I had come close.


When I listen to music, something sometimes happens. I'm probably not unique in this, but certain songs on certain days can almost transport me back to an earlier moment in my life. I can't control the association and they are not all good ones. I've started a trend on Twitter called "#MINDTRAVEL where you tell people the song and the forever-association you have attached to it. I'm making up the rules as I go but I post updates when I think of any new rules.








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skit for SNL where man in video seems cool singing to hidden surveillance video of him buying weed. jurors sympathize with him.

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Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday.


What can I say? I have the best family and friends in all creation.


I woke to the smell of bacon and knew I was in for a great day. My wife woke up ahead of me and already walked our dog so I wouldn't have to get dressed right away to walk him!


I made my way downstairs and was pleased to see a few small wrapped boxes on the kitchen table. I pretended not to notice them as I accepted a big hug from the two of them already busy at work on a birthday breakfast.


"52" is a big year. Big as it has a connection with my son. "52" is what DC named their new universe right around the time he started getting interested in comics. They used "52" numerous times in Easter eggs on "The Flash", a show we used to bond over.


It's also how old my father was when he died.


I thought about that the other day.


No memory of my father, no matter where when or how, can be a memory of him older than I am right at this moment. I certainly don't feel as old as the image I have of my father. I don't know if I ever felt like a grown-up but that is the only type of memory I have of my father. Is as a grown-up. Any day now I could tease him and start saying: "Hey little guy". If he was still around.
Lunch is simple, but one of my favorites. Sausage with mashed potatoes and gravy.  I'm an easy date ;-)
The afternoon is mine to do with what I wish. Mainly I didn't want to have to do any housework so the family whipped around the night before. Not perfect, but tidy enough that I can sit and enjoy a game on Xbox free of guilt.

Life is Not Objective

"Develop a little self-righteousness. A lot of that is an ugly thing, God knows, but a little applied over all your scruples is an absolute necessity! It is to the soul what a good sun-block is to the skin."
Stephen King - The Stand P811


This quote perplexes me. It is quite poignant. It captures some of what I think I have going on. I used to have opinions, goals, scruples, a moral compass. I'd argue with anyone if needed because I thought I'm right.




Can't quite find the right turn of phrase. Maybe writing will help.


If everyone is "right", and "all opinions are valid", then what right has ANY person to any particular value? Society seems flawed in that regard, much along the lines of Ayn Rand in some respects. I'm part of a society of 100 people. If 51 want to elect an iguana for Prime Minister, I have no say. Majority rules.
The same can be said of societal ethics. The "social contract". You don't hurt me and I don't hurt you. But if 50% +1 decide you have crossed the line you go to jail based on whatever laws were created or enforced.
I feel like I have been slowly disappearing over the past years. I'm unsure of how many.  Julie and I used to have fights, break up, get back together, but even if I compromised I still had opinions on things. Now I keep them to myself. (If a Twitter account that no one reads is considered private).


I feel like its a confidence thing. Or perhaps related to the depression? I feel like I have no opinions, or that the ones I have seem to get me in trouble. I used to have enough scruples to be able to survive anybody's conflict, now I just cave. It's easier.


Know what I grudgingly admire about Trump? His confidence. However misplaced he is, even in the face of provable facts, he just says: "Nope. Wasn't me" loudly and he gets a pass.

Duality

I'm sometimes depressed by the duality of existence. Not the dichotomy, which I have always thought of as the ying and yang. There will always be opposites. For good there will always be evil. For light there will always be dark.


I'm talking about the filter, or lack of one, that people impose on their lives in judgment of others. I work with women now, more so as when I was in veterinary sales. As a sales rep I called on mainly women but didn't have the daily in-your-face relationship as I would soon be off and on to the next call.

Continuance

Continuance


In a world of clones that begin existence at the exact moment and with all their memories and experiences intact, it is illegal to clone a living person. However, in a loophole, rich patrons have been routinely "saving" their DNA at strategic intervals so they can be resurrected after they die.


Save your DNA from before you fell in love?


Man falls off cliff lands on precarious ledge, ledge is crumbling death is imminent.
Scientist at top of cliff realizes victim drank from his bottle only minutes before and the scientist can make an exact duplicate clone, with memories and experiences intact, as of the moment the DNA was left on the bottle. Timing is limited so the man has to decide to either save his clone or send his friend for help.
Victim objects, stating his desire to be saved vs simply replaced by clone.
"That's OK, you probably want to forget the last few minutes, and certainly the next 5, anyway. I imagine that the next 5 are going to be rather unpleasant."












     "A bottle? What fucking bottle?" David was, to say the least, a touch upset at having been clumsy enough to have ended up here. It seemed like forever but had only been an hour or so.
     The hike had been uneventful so far. What was meant to be a brisk walk through the woods with his colleague to commune with nature quickly turned bad when, thinking his footing secure, David's foot had slipped as he looked over the edge of the cliff and was roughly deposited on a small rock ledge about 12 feet down the steep vertical slope. As he stood up he began to regain his breath and take better stock of his surroundings. What he saw didn't calm his demeanor.
     "You just took a huge swig from your new water bottle a few minutes ago. I saw you. The lid is probably crawling with viable DNA."
     David looked up at his friend as he patted his jeans to get some of the dirt and sand off.  Martin had been well back from the ledge when his friend fell. David was to far away when all Martin could do was turn in time to see him drop out of site. He heard the thump and as he ran to the lip he was relieved to see his friend on the ledge looking a bit worse for wear but still alive. Had he missed the ledge he would be long gone at the bottom of the valley.
     "What the heck does the bottle have to do with anything? Get me out of here."
     "How?" Martin knew they had not brought any rope. They were not survivalists, just a couple of guys out for a healthy hike in the hills. They brought water bottles and cigarettes and that was about it. Their phones were great for pictures but there was no service this far out of town.
     David knew it to, but as he looked at his footing he noticed that the ledge was rather loosely lodged into the rock face. And was that crack there when he landed? He couldn't remember but it did begin to raise the level of panic. "Throw me your jacket, maybe I can catch the sleeve."
     For several minutes David and Martin experimented with whatever they had on them. Sadly, they lacked both the necessary raw materials and the required physical prowess to enable anything they did to facilitate David climbing up the rock face. Both men were in T-Shirts and shorts and had brought no other equipment. Clothes tied in a rope ripped, or were simply to undependable an instrument to risk holding you in the air while he tried to scramble up the rock face. David also noticed with every failed climb attempt that the ledge seemed to shift under his weight every time he landed back down. After several minutes David found himself weak, tired, and more than past the point of panic. The sun beat down overhead. The initial enjoyment of a sunny day soon became overwhelming when there was no respite or shade and the prospect of being left here, or worse, became very real.
     After a while, exhausted, both men sat down. David on his ledge which both men now noticed was on a definite slant, and Martin on a small patch of grass where he could still see and talk to his friend below.
     "I'm sorry D." Martin began, running his hands through his matted and dirty hair. "We've tried everything. The phones don't work, the jacket ripped and I hate to say it but that ledge won't hold much longer."
     Both men were silent. There was no point in protesting. But neither man wanted to give up.


Ends with him waiting, undecided. hanging.