My Inner Circle

The older I get, the more like my Mother I become.  I just don't feel like putting up with people I don't click with.  And I am happy to say that I don't have to, because I can just walk away. Nancy Sinatra sang it best about her boots -- they're made for walking. Usually I'm bitching about people who annoy me, but lately I've turned it around and found the humor in those interactions, but it's time for me to give praise to the my nearest and dearest.

When I think about them, I see a group of diverse personalities with interesting personal history, interesting lives, and amazing stories. With that said, my circle of friends are a canister of mixed nuts that I hold dear. Some are a little salty, some roasted, and some plain. Not matter, I love that small inner circle. Not many people have made it to my inner circle.  But if we click, I'll love you forever and try my best to be there when you call.  I've known most of them since I moved to the big city and have added very few since then into my inner circle. Hey, what can I say.  I'm selective.

Among the inner circle, to name a few, I have a railroader, a Coloradan, a curator, a singer, a scotch-lover, an Iowan, a cancer-fighter, a survivor, a loner, a weirdo...  Just to name a few.

Each and everyone of these friends have had some influence on my life.  They helped me with their various levels of advice when I needed to make both simple and rough choices. They were there when I needed a soft shoulder to cry on, an ear to bend, a leg to stand on, a mouth to feed, and various other body parts to personal to mention.  We have our differences.  We may annoy each other at times.  We may not speak for weeks, not because of a squabble, but simply because of our hectic lives.

When we do meet, we have our own special blend of aromatic spices that tickle our noses and dance on our palates.  A compliment of flavors that blend together into a savory feast that will warm our stomachs... Yes, we eat out a lot!  It's the most common thread we have -- food.  No wonder I'm overweight.  But then I think of the mental health benefits.  What could be more fun than being with great friends over a warm meal.

I feel lucky to have them. Bless them all.

CSM

Tune in this time for: Chuggin' the Bourbon, Or Doin' the Dance

In one of my previous posts, I wrote about my fledgling attempts at building a love life and learning the true meaning of "just stay single, you're hair won't gray as fast."  The idea of finding that someone special to cuddle up with or who won't laugh when he hears the bathroom scales moan when I step on them has turned into more of a curvy Grand Prix.  You gotta learn to steer clear of the obstacles and pray that you don't get sideswiped by one of the other nuts on the road.

I've dated several times since entering back into the scene.  And since that moment, I decided that I have yet to find the best pool to swim in. Trying to find someone decent to date is like find a parking space at the mall on the day after Thanksgiving.  It can take a long time, be frustrating, and you may reach the point where you're better off just going home. However, you keep on trying.  And trying.  And trying.  Until it becomes trying.

One rule that I've always followed -- I'll date anyone once.  And usually once is enough. During my brief stint back out into the dating field, I've encountered some very interesting characters.  Most not interesting enough to date again, but enough fodder to talk about the experience for weeks to come.  And perhaps even to name a dance after them.

One of my recent endeavors involved a millennial.  You know that newer generation who've been criticized for too much self-absorption, self-fascination, and mighty-high level of sense of entitlement.  Gee, I didn't experience any of that on my date. (Eyes rolling.)

I've nick-named this particular date "The Twenty-Seven-Year-Old-Going-On-Eighteen."  I felt a very high sense that the college days of partying hadn't ended at graduation.   While I nursed a scotch and soda the entire time, he proceeded to down three large bourbon and cokes in three hours.  The evening ended great -- I planned on never seeing him again, at least not in the dating sense.  I realized that the rule of "dating anyone once" maybe wasn't such a good idea.  Let me scratch that one from the rules.

It wasn't the last time that I saw him.  The next time I ran into him eventually was dubbed "The 501 Incident." I didn't realize the simple statements and questions of "Hey!  What are you doing out tonight? Meeting Friends?  Waiting for a date?" would be equated to an interrogation by Attila the Hun.  I was told "That's a rather personal question."   Wow!   If I'd of known, I would have rethought that "Hey" part.  From there, the conversation proceeded to a set of simple statements like "It's cold outside," "It might snow," to "Yes, the moon is out tonight."  Just can't wait to hear the sequel.

The peak of the conversation came early.  (Thank god for that.)  I said to him "Well perhaps I shouldn't talk to you anymore since I'm obviously invading your privacy too much."  The return response was priceless. An action that would give me many weeks of joyous child-like giggles.  What proceeded was as follows:  He busted a dance move which involved cupped palm-up hands, swaying his arms back and forth like balancing scales, while saying "That's a little extreme.  Going from talking to me to not talking to me."  Very few times have I ever been struck speechless.  This was one.  Let me add this time to my list.

When I told my friends about this, their mouths gaped just like mine did that night.   At work, we even turned it into a dance, set to a similar tune of The Hustle.  People who saw us performing would comment that we "had our dance moves on."   The dance began to spread throughout the building and before I knew it everyone was doing it. Cupped hands, swaying back and forth to the groove, and occasionally stopping and saying "That's a little extreme." Little to my knowledge did I know that my simple statement of "Hey" would turn into the latest dance craze. Amazing.  Such a cultural influence. Perhaps it will eventually be seen on "Dancing with the Stars" or "So You Think You Can Dance."

To use a cliche, back to the dating drawing board.

CSM

Tune in this time for: Spare Change, or Ruts A'Matter with You

I declare my independence from my past, ruts and all.  My personal history is what shaped me to this point, but it is not who I want to be next.  There's a lot to be learned from my history like what to do or not to do on a date, or they will charge you major fees for overdrafts, or even worse, do not pass gas in the middle of winter in your car. Think before you do it because, if you roll down a window, you'll freeze.  Or you might pass out and almost drive into a ditch.  But I digress...

Like most of everyone else, I've got my baggage.  Unfortunately, I think mine has turned into two steamer trunks, three regular size suitcases, and at least a dozen or so carry-ons.  I'm beginning to think I should apply to be a hotel porter.  Carrying around emotional baggage can get pretty rough. It's the hot thing to do; everybody's doing it.  Sorry, this isn't a passing fad.   But I have to ask myself, what good is all this baggage? If I haven't learned from it now, will I ever?

It's not just emotional baggage, but there's also the physical baggage.  The stuff that sits around, gathers dust, and doesn't have much purpose.   Sorry, I take that back...  What a better way to get exercise than to dust all that stuff?  Wait, who am I kidding!  I can't even get my butt off the couch and onto the stair stepper, which by the way would have to be dusted first.

Making changes in my life isn't going to be easy.  It means getting out of those comfortable-old ruts, the easy-way of thinking, and getting back down to a pants size that really fits.  It's gonna be hard to do.   I'm just saying that I think it would be easier to just look in the mirror, point at my middle, and say "Since when did spare car tires become fashionable to wear?"  I don't drink beer, so I can't use the excuse that belly's a liquid grain storage facility.

All of these types of baggage are a part of my sweet simple past, but now I'm looking to build am adventuresome, sordid future.  What this means is forcing some change, which I've determined that I can spare, and getting out of those nasty comfortable ruts.   Nobody really likes to make changes, but I think I need to, especially if I'm going out and creating a new way of living life.  This change has got to be more than just underwear...  Hmmm... maybe free-balling it might be interesting.

CSM

Tune in This Time For: I've Got You Under My Epidermis or You are the Pimple on My Thigh!

As Cole Porter once wrote "I've got you under my skin."  Or as Stevie Wonder once sang "You are the apple of my eye."   For some, those songs mean "I can't stop thinking about you and how much I love you." For me, both of those mean "You are annoying me and I want to kick your ass." Or "You're that aggravating pimple that showed up the other day."

Right off the bat, I want to clarify something.  I can count their number on one hand.  That is, the people who have annoyed me, with most being in the past year or so.  This makes me wonder.  Am I just getting cranky as I reach middle-age?  Or have I achieved one of my recently-set goals -- Not to take sh*t from anyone.  Learning to kick to the curb.  Get out of my life, you're bringing me down.  My god, being around this jerk is my second favorite thing in the world...  My first being having an unclean buffalo sit on my lunch.

But recently, my annoyance level seems to have plummeted to zip. I've had a few really bad experiences.  Most surrounding my attempt to build a love-life. So far, it's been like a tug of war... one jerk after another.  I feel like I've entered the psych-ward of the dating scene and I can't seem to find the exit.  You know what I mean. Compare it to standing in line at the supermarket with three items and a mother of five is in front of you trying to maintain her three-ring circus, a packed-full cart, and a coupon for everything.  Not to mention, the sale item she argues about and eventually saves five cents.

I've written before about my definition of a friend.  To me, it's someone who cares beyond "You're breathing, so I don't have to perform mouth-to-mouth, so please go away."   But I've never thought about my definition of what I'm looking for in a relationship.   My preference would be someone who loves me unconditionally and I'm not annoyed by. But quite frankly, I'm worried that I've settled for "You've got a pulse, let's roll."

Dating is hard. I always thought dating would be fun, but I may be reaching the age where dating my couch, a DVD, and order-in Chinese on a Friday night might be more thrilling.

From a "I can't believe a Facebook friend acceptance doesn't make us friends" shopkeeper to a "twenty-seven-year-old-going-on-eighteen" millennial to an artist whose best friend told me "Be prepared to do all the work"...  (Please, I already have a long list of work to do.  I'm not adding to it.)  So far, all I can think to say is "Don't think it hasn't been a little slice of heaven... cause it hasn't."  Thank you, Bugs Bunny for that quote.

I just can't help say "What was I thinking?  Why didn't I listen to my instincts?"  I really should have listened to Mother.  "Get a millionaire with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel."   I can see me now... "Sign these insurance papers first, before we get naked.  I'm not sure you're going to live through the experience."

CSM

For Carrie

So, my friend and coworker, Carrie, recently lost her Mom.  Something that I have experienced in my life.  I thought about what to say to her about this loss and I've come up with just a few pieces of advice.

First, your Mom isn't gone from you, she's left to do other stuff and you are temporarily apart.

Second, don't ever stop talking to her, because she is probably listening and will respond in her own way.

Third, if you think she might be hanging out with you, she may be.  Who's to say she isn't?

And last, even though she is out of sight, you are still her little girl.  Not matter what.  Don't ever let go of being her little girl.

CSM

A Few Words about Family History

My niece has gotten interested in the family genealogy, which in turn has caused me to open up my old family files and see where I left off.  That's why I haven't posted as much lately.  Between working on book three and trying to figure out who begot who...

It's amazing to me how much has changed since the first time I stepped foot into the genealogy section of the old Carnegie Library in Anderson, Indiana.   I remember room being packed with books, file drawers, and microfilm.  This was in the late 1970s.  Computers weren't even on our minds.  So, I learned how to research from two librarians -- Howard and Phyllis.   I remember them both well.  Howard was tall and heavy-set.  He had slight tick to him causing his head to shake from side to side.  I often felt like he didn't really care for "the younger generation" unlike Phyllis.  She and I were the same height.  Actually, I think she was shorter.  She was the one who really helped me the most.

Looking back at the whole experience now, I consider it one of my best decisions in my life.  I got to talk to a lot of people who are now gone.  In my head, I have story after story about the family.   I've spent years with stacks of books piled on library tables trying to piece together families.   The hours I spent pouring over census indexes, making copies of the pages so I could make notes, going to the microfilm to discover disappointment after disappointment.   And wow, what a great day it was when the 1860 Indiana census index came out!   It was gold.  But alas, all of those days are over.  Now I can just go on-line and see if someone else has already done the research, use the databases, or just type in the name and see what comes up.  A far cry from the days of xeroxing, doing the math of birth and death dates, and hoping that you get a response back from the local historical society four states away in a small town in the middle of the hills.

Genealogy was my first experience in major research.  I learned a lot about creating searches, organizing information, and nurturing logic.  But more importantly, I got to know my family.   The times I would talk to my Grandma Alford about her life in North Dakota.  Asking my Father about growing up in Park Place in Anderson.   Listening to my Grandma Marshall talk about the bad times and then the good times.  Getting to know those Aunts and Uncles who are all gone.

I've also learned something else.  How to be glad I'm alive and how good a life I really have especially in the age of medicine, science, and technology.  My family history is amazing to me.   Stories of settlers, immigrants, hard-workers, and the odd ducks, who may have been poor, but happy.

I asked my Grandmother Alford and my Mother one time "What was it like to live during the depression?" My Grandmother replied "We didn't notice it.  We had nothing to loose.  Dad Alford worked odd jobs, we had a huge garden, and lived near family."  My Mother added "We were poor, but we had good times."

What I would give to have met some of my relatives.  I would have had a million questions.

CSM