Angry, He Wrote!

I've been on this "Murder, She Wrote" kick. (Aka M.S.W.) Currently, I'm half way through season nine.  I can't resist watching Angela Lansbury/Jessica Fletcher running around solving mysteries like it was nothing.  She has a constantly-running video-recorder for a mind. I can't imagine being that mental and remember things like someone taking off an earring to talk on the phone.  Oh please, I can't even remember where I put my phone.

My Mother loved this show.   She watched it from the day it first aired, then hit the re-runs whenever possible.  I watched the earlier seasons, but missed most when I went to college. Now, I am catching up.

But the other day, I began to question why am I currently obsessed with this show.   What is the real reason?   Surely, I don't like Angela that much that I would stick with her for the past four months starting with her initial thrilling adventure.

So, the other day, I was in a "play all episodes" mood.  One right after another.   During a break, I thought to myself how my Mother loved this show and how much my Father...

A light bulb came on.

...Oh how my Father hated that show.   He used to complain about my Mother watching it all the time.  "I never want to be wherever that woman is.  Somebody always gets murdered," he would complain.   Of course, he was right.   Somebody always got stabbed, strangled, or shot wherever she went.

More importantly, a light bulb came on in my head...   Not only had I been catching up on past seasons of M.S.W., but I was getting even with my Father for dying.   And I had chosen to taunt him with something he hated and something my Mother and I loved. 

I was angry.  I am angry.  So damn mad I could spit nails.

Angry because I had to take care of his final departure.  Angry because I have to deal with his estate.   I know that it's only fair.  He took care of me through the early years and then I had to take care of his affairs at the end.  

Angry because he left me alone.

You went off and left me alone! You left me with an emptiness that I'm having a hard time filling.   I've starting thinking about Christmas morning.  It was your time.  You were the master of ceremonies that morning.   You left me afraid of the future.  And now I'm not your little boy anymore...

I'm really mad at you.

And, by the way, I've got three more seasons to watch...  Then there's the M.S.W. movie box set....   Then I might just start reading the books based on the series...  And there's the audio-books...
So there!

CSM

Oren Mccallister

Oren Mccallister.   I've heard this name a thousand times in my life.  My parents, my aunts and uncles, my sister, my grandparents, cousins all talked about Oren Mccallister.   Despite the fact I never knew him, he had an unusual influence on my life.

Oren Mccallister was Aunt Betty's son.  She was Grandpa Marshall's sister. A short red head who, from what I can gather, had a wild and rough life.  I didn't know her that well mainly because she had moved to Florida when I was a baby.  One early memory I have of her and Uncle Ben was seeing them in hospital beds in their one-story blue cinder block house.  They had been in a horrific train wreck near their home in Lutz, Florida.

Anyway, Oren Mccallister was living in Florida.  It seems to me that it was the mid-1960s.  After exiting a bar, he was jumped and stabbed by some fellow he had words with inside.   The knife pierced his heart.  He recovered, but what the doctors didn't know was the blade had gone all the way through a punctured the back side of his heart.  An oversight that would kill him.

Aunt Betty and her other son moved to Florida to seek out the man that killed him.   I hope I have this correct.  If not, I know I will hear about it.  Won't I, JD?

This incident changed my Father's side of the family more than I will ever know since I wasn't around when it happened.  I only know how it influenced my life.  

From then on, I would have to travel to Florida to visit my Grandma and Grandpa Marshall and Aunt Betty.   They had visited her one time and really like it there.   They bought a trailer, called it their winter home, and eventually moved there year-round.   They were followed by Aunt Carolyn, Uncle Ron, and their families.   On one hand, my circle of family here heavily decreased.

However, on the other hand, we traveled to Florida.  It became an annual ritual.   Leaving early one October morning (the best time of year to go), heading south.  Watching for the important markers along the way -- state lines, Rock City, Lookout Mountain, Jasper in Tennessee, Macon in Georgia, and then finally the Welcome Center in Florida.   Ahhh...  That red dirt and salty-sea smell.  The hanging moss.   The highway billboards.  Gulls flying overhead.

After a welcoming of a small paper cup of Florida orange juice, you knew you had another three hours to go until Highway 56/54.    When we exited, our next guidepost would be a radio tower with a flashing red-light on top, then onto Carson Drive.

Grandma and Grandpa Marshall were there to greet us.  A few years later, we would also be greeted by Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Dick, Uncle Ron and Aunt Pam, and the cousins.   I can still hear Jeff say "There's my cousin."   Always glad to see you.

Oren Mccallister and I never meet, but he paved a road for me.  One that led to a love of travel, my appreciation for family in far off places, Florida and its sites and sounds.

I'm amazed at how one incident can pave the road of one person's life.  Thank you, Oren Mccallister.  Wished we'd have meet, but the fates/God/Allah/Buddha/whatever had different ideas.   Hopefully, I'll get to meet you some day and I can thank you in person.

CSM

 

The Street Goes Both Ways: Thoughts on Friends

Friends, Acquaintances, and Facebook... Lend Me Your Ears!

As I sit here writing about friendships, I keep coming back to these three questions: What defines a friend?  What defines an acquaintance?   And, more importantly, how do I tell the difference?

I asked people to define their meaning of a friend and an acquaintance.  They all basically said the same thing.  An acquaintance is someone who you greet, have a brief conversation with, and know some of their facts (where they are from, how old they are, where they live, etc.).

A friend is someone you hang out with, go to dinner, go to the movies, invite over to your home, go to the theatre, and most importantly, it's effortless, meaningful, and the street goes both ways.   In other words, you've got to give and take a little.

I have had many friends in my life.   I think of the ones that have died and it hurts deeply, almost scarring.   The ones that have moved away and I rarely see them.  For those, online social media has become a great way to keep in touch.  The friends I have experienced life with.   Those who stood next to me by both my Mother's and my Father's caskets.  Those who were there when I came out, afraid of what people might say or think.   Those who were there when I needed a helping hand.  I think of the friends with whom I laughed and cried.  And I have done the same -- I've been there when they needed me, because the street goes both ways.

Some have been there since day one.   My Sister, for example.   We've supported each other through some really rough times.   I don't recall ever being mad at her where I actually meant it.   Sometimes I get irritated, but never mad.  

Others have come and gone, but we still shared close friendships in deep meaningful ways.  And I have lots of memories to remind me.  I don't think I'll ever forget marrying Julie Powers... Or the look on Monica Upton's face in middle school when I told her I had a crush on a kid in our class named Robert...  And then there was the time seventy-year old Helen Hunt told me "If you can't remember my name, you can go to Helen Hunt for it."

I hate drawing lines.   I hate telling someone that I consider them "acquaintances."  It hurts on both sides.   But the street goes both ways.  

On the other hand, I also hate making one-sided efforts.  Carving out or offering to carve out time in my schedule, even when I have a lot on my plate.  I've known people with whom I've had to do all the work. I made the time. I made the effort. I created invitations, but nothing ever came of it.

The street goes both ways.    

After while, I learned a hard lesson -- these people weren't really friends.  

And I'm sorry, but in my life, Facebook doesn't replace a great conversation over a tasty dinner and a glass of wine...

CSM

The Come-to-Jesus Meeting -- Part 2

In a previous blog entry called "Staying in Place," I wrote about a "Come-to-Jesus" meeting that went something like this...

"You will stay in place," she said, pointing at me before slapping my face.   Without warning, she turned into the exorcist.  Her voice raised and terrifying  "The Power of Christ compels you to stay here where you belong..."

Rubbing my aching cheek, I struggled to get away, but she pushed me back in my chair.   "OK, I will... I will..."  

She remained stoic in her stares.   Her eyelids unblinking.   Her eyes glaring like she was trying to bore holes in me.  "I CAN'T HEAR YOU..."

"I will...  I promise..."  I started crying.  "I promise...  I swear I will stay..."

Despite my cries of desperation, she pulled me out of the chair and pushed me onto to the floor.   "SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT..."   She hovered over me, howling.  

I pulled myself into the fetal position. "OK...  I WILL..."  I shouted those words over several times, before she backed off in the victory pose.

"Damn straight you will..."

OK, I have to admit I have an overactive imagination.  It wasn't quit like that, but it felt like it.   And wasn't it more exciting to read.

My meeting was necessary.  I needed it.   We covered a lot of ground.   In my previous blog post, I wrote about our conversation about staying here in the Midwest and building a life based on what I already have, but we also talked about other topics.    With possible home ownership in the near future, I feel like I've finally weighed anchor.  Of course, age played a part, too.

One topic we discussed was friends.   Personally, I think I have a diverse group of friends who like me just the way I am.  We talked about each one and what they mean to me in my life, but it also became clear that some people that I mentioned really aren't friends.  They are acquaintances.  It was a poignant conversation about the difference between the two.  Some people that I called friends weren't really friends.

Creating meaningful friendships is important to me.   I like the ones that come naturally, when you've got common interests and the conversation rolls along without the seven-minute pauses, but yet enough diversity to learn and grow from each other.  Currently, I've made some new friends, whom I've got to know one on one, and they seem to be interested in me.

I remember when my Mother died.   The funeral home was packed for the viewing and the services.  The funeral home workers were scrambling to get more chairs in the back.  From the front row, I recall turning to look out at the crowd of sad faces and thinking "My Mother's friends."   She was truly lucky to have had so many of them.   My Father's funeral didn't bring as many, but it was a one-day service and some couldn't come.  But regardless, I realized how important friends are.

I just hope someday, when I laid out, that I have as many friends as my parents did.  And hopefully, that won't be for another forty or fifty years!

CSM