Life Review #3: A Selected High School Memory

Wouldn't go back to high school if my life depended on it.  Don't me wrong.  It was a rite of passage that I had to go through, but in hindsight, the awkwardness of it all was too much.  I try not to think about my high school years.  I wasn't one of the football jocks, nor one of the smart kids, and most definitely not one of the "high school heroes, life zeros."  I was just me and as I've aged, I've gotten better like a fine wine.  You know those ones you hear about going for thousands of dollars in auctions.

What I remember most about high school was when it ended.  I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, in my robe and cap, got my diploma, and that was it. I remember it well.  I also remember when Roger, the guy who sat next to me in French class, got our teacher so mad she turned red.  And I do mean bright red.  She looked like a bottle rocket about to go off.  It's one of my better memories.  I would guess it was not for Roger since her red-glaring eyes were burning holes in him.

From what I recall, Madame, as we always called her, had given us the assignment to write a letter to an imaginary person all "en francais."  In order to pass, she gave us a baseline and from there you could add more.  If you didn't add more, you kind of heard about it.  Roger heard about it.  He used the excuse that he didn't realize and started pushing the issue.

I can equate it to kind of like a fight at the United Nations.  Maybe with someone pounding their shoe on the podium.  Madame obviously being the French delegate. Roger from Germany.  Me from Ireland.  (I only throw myself into the mix because I love the idea of the Emerald Isle and redheads.)   Since I sat right next to Roger, I feared that yet another war would break out between the two countries.  Ultimately, there seemed to be some sort of peace treaty.  Possibly with Madam telling him to "knock it off or else."  I suspect that day if the opportunity had arisen Roger would have been sentenced to life in the Bastille.  Luckily for him, she didn't keep a guillotine in the closet.

Vive La France!

CSM

Life, Liberty, the Pursuit of Happiness, and JD Mccallister

James Mccallister mentioned something about getting old in a recent Facebook post.  By the way, I never called him James, I always called him JD because my Dad did... but back to where I was James Mccallister mentioning something about getting old.

Well, from what I've heard over the years, he'll never be old.  He's timeless.  And one of the few out there in the world.  My Dad told many stories about JD's life from the time he maneuvered his way into the military nearly breaking his mother's heart to the spectrum of world adventures.  And from my best judgement, JD is a man who knows no fear. And never has.  So, as far as I'm concerned he doesn't need to be fearful of getting old.  Now, of course, I realize that I'm a 45-year-old saying this and not turning 80 any time soon.

JD reminds me of my Mom.   Always on the go.  My Mom worked at a living history museum, dressing in 1830s clothes, spinning, weaving, cooking on the hearth.  She loved it.  We always joked that she would die there and she'd be happy to play the part of the corpse for the funeral recreation. The main point to this is that she never stopped.  Her body had a different opinion, but her spirit kept going.  JD has that type of spirit.

Out of everyone I've ever known or heard about, I think he's one of the few that took on the true meaning of "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."  He always encouraged others to get out their shells and ruts and go beyond their comfortable life path.

I recently visited him in Florida, he took for a boat ride along coast.  We started to dock and he wanted to give me tour of the resort that was there, but between the wind and boat not cooperating, we didn't make it.  Even though I didn't get to the see the resort, I was amazed at his agility and enduring spirit.   He wrestled with that boat to get it docked and tied up like nobody's business.

Now that's what I call living life.  I just hope when I'm 80 that I'll be just as high-spirited.

CSM

Tune in this time for: Growing a Writer Shrub or Pruning the Author Tree

The other day, I decided to revisit some of my old posts.  Ah, the memories. I had forgotten how much I had truly written over the past four years.  Such a load...  Well you know!  Among those posts, trashy works that need better editing, poignant thoughts about my truly boring life, tearful moments of death, and comedic look at my dating life so far.

As I traveled further back in time to review what I had written, I think I've done a good variety of exercises. Starting out with some non-award-winning short stories, I began to wander down the path of writing and attempting to fuel my appetite to become the next best-selling author.  Wow!  How little I've traveled down that road.  As I look around the scenery looks very familiar.  Oh wait!  I've really not moved on that at all.

So, what am I trying to say?  Well, how about this?  It's time!  Get those books printed out, re-edit them, and start looking for an agent.    By the way, I'm not going to disappoint my readers.  Book three WILL be done and out there by beginning of the year!  Come hell or high water.

Short and to the point!

CSM

Life Review #2: Elementary School or Bust!

Continuing my life review...

It seems like a day doesn't go by when I think to myself "What have I done with the first 45 years of my life and why did it fly by so fast?"  The wrinkles are getting wrinkles.  Parts of my body starting to droop and sag with fears that it will drag on the ground.  My ever-thinning hair is migrating south to my chin.  I'm not sure my face is any warmer than the top of my head so I'm not sure what's up with the migration.  It's just not right.

Just the other day, I was entering kindergarten as a scared youngster wondering what did I do to deserve this.  My Mother loved to tell the story about the neighborhood carpool to the Methodist Church just outside the business district of my small hometown.  She would stop behind the church, let the rest of the kids out, then park, and proceeded to coax me out of the car.  I'm not sure what she used to promise, but I'm sure some never happened.  My Mother always carried the blame.  She and my Aunt Carolyn took me everywhere with them before my school days -- shopping, lunch, the park.  When kindergarten arrived, I'm sure my five-year-old brain was thinking "I'm no bother, so what's the problem?"

Then came first grade.  I can still remember standing in line at the elementary school gym.  White tile walls.  Hard wood floor. My Mother was there to enroll me into school.  One of life's rite of passage.  My friend, Scott, and his Mom were in a line near us.  Two hopefully 5 or 6 year olds heading into the education system for the next twelve years.  Twelve long years of growing up.  Going through the "Wow! There's hair there!" puberty years all the way through the teenage-anxiety-ridden-who-am-I-and-I-know-it-all years.

My elementary school memories are few and far between.  And all I have to say is Thank you for that, God! One memory I have is the smell.   Elementary schools of the 1970s have a distinct smell.  I'm not sure exactly how to describe it.  Maybe it's asbestos off-gassing.  Or maybe it was the smell of the now-cancer-causing cleaning fluids.  Whatever it was, I just remember it.  Oh, and one other smell...  Remember the mimeograph machine?   Runny-blue printed homework.  That distinct smell of the ink.  It was always a great moment when you knew the teacher had just come from the printer with a stack of papers and hand them out.  Ah, getting high at age seven.   Maybe that's why I don't remember a lot of my elementary years.

There's no doubt about it.  I hated school right from the get go, until I hit college.  That's when life for me really began, but that's another story.

In hindsight, I feel sorry for my teachers. No wonder they always looked stressed and, in some cases, aging in front of us.  They would have to deal with a crying-five-year-old who didn't want to be there. I'm sure they saw me and said a prayer that we would make it through the day of learning colors, shapes, and letters.

CSM

For Mary Jane

Mary Jane, I've know you for almost twenty years.  I haven't known the love of your life and soul mate, Jack, as well as I know you, but can see without much trouble that you two have lived a rich and full lives and were most definitely made for each other. And when I got to enjoy time with both of you, it was never dull.

I couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like for my Dad to watch my Mom die.  The girl he fell in love with in high school. The mother of his children. Living through rough times. Creating lasting memories.  His best friend who he loved the most. I saw the fall-out.  An angry man mad at the world and all around him. But, I also saw the adjustment, new friends, and continuous living until his turn came.

You and Jack remind me very much of my parents.  And I can see that you are like my Dad.  You are that time where you are going to have to pick up the pieces and carry on.  Everyone will understand your sadness and anger.

As I write this, I am wrestling with the words to write.  What to write to express my thoughts.  And then I realized that I didn't need to think hard about what to write.   I already know what to say.  It was what I said to my parents.

So here are my words to you...

It is never "goodbye."  It is never the last moment ever.  This is only a horrendous, heartbreaking parting that you will struggle with for a long time. Taking all your strength and courage. You may not like it.  In fact, you should be hating it, ever bit of it, but it is never "goodbye." So, instead of "goodbye," think of it as a "see you later" moment.   I just can't imagine any God/Allah/Fates/Whoever taking two such great people apart and not reuniting them somewhere someday.

It isn't "goodbye."  It's "see you later."

CSM

Tune in this time for: SWM seeking Same, or Double Insanity

My friend, Kathy, recently filled out an online dating profile, as she put it, "just for fun to check it out." Within hours, she received a delightful assortment of very special dating possibilities.  To quote her, she got "1) a married guy who just wanted a woman "friend", 2) a 27-year-old guy that said he liked to "satisfy older women"; and 3) a beautiful transgender person transitioning from a man to a woman."  Welcome to the world of on-line dating, my dear Kathy!  You, me, and numerous others just venturing out to find someone special in wide sea of "special" people.  But guess what?  We did find someone special.  And oh boy, they were special alright.  Specials that you found a sideshow at the circus.

The world of online and apps for dating have never ceased to amaze me since their creation.  A friend of mine got me hooked on some phone apps that, at first, seemed like a possible road to dating bliss.  Smiling faces either in close-ups or in front of someplace they had been like the Eiffel Tower, or the Washington Monument, or the Tower of Pisa...  Notice anything about those places...  I didn't either until I realized they were all phallic symbols. Then there are the pics of hairy or smooth chests, sometimes feet for the foot fetishers, or underwear-covered behinds.  And... Oh my!  Is that your...  Well, you know.  Why show me a suggestive picture such as The Tower of Pisa if you can show me the real thing?

At first, it was all in good fun, but after while it was the same guys looking for the same thing everyday all day.  Never updating their pictures, which by the way may have been from ten years ago, if you're lucky to actually meet them in person someday you could spot the difference... But in all fairness, that wasn't true for any of the ones I responded to.  They were just nice guys looking for what I wasn't.  My bald spot, grey hair, and Buddha belly-wanna-be wasn't exactly Ricky Martin in a thong.  Just wait until all of what I have is in style. I'll be ready.  They'll be all over me.  Excuse me while I don't sit around and wait.

The guys I never meet were numerous, despite my messaging and viewing their profiles.  One that I did meet had nothing on his profile.  Only his name and age. When I asked about that, he replied "I don't want everyone in my business."  Then what the hell are you on here for?  I was brave enough to ask what he was looking for and some of his interests, but I still felt like I was trying to lift a ten-ton elephant just to get something to start a meaningful conversation.  I should have dated the elephant. He would have been more interesting and peanuts are a cheaper meal.

I've come to the conclusion there's only one true and tried way of meeting people.  Get out and look for them. From my point of view, these apps and websites are just a way for people to hide for whatever reason and, in some cases, that's exactly what they should do. From just a pic and a few words, I can't really use my instincts, body language, or pick up visual cues to determine if they are lying, uncomfortable, or at any moment might come at me with a butcher's knife like Norman Bates.

In a recent Facebook post, I announced that I was over the dating scene, especially the virtual one.  It's back out and into the real world for me.  Make some friends, chit-chat, and get to know you.  I'd rather shake your hand and meet you face to face than see your shaking ass in a YouTube video and then watch you strip down and proceed to... Well, I might save that video for later.

CSM

Tune in this time for: The Dating Game, or Love is a Splintered Thing

I've been asked by several gentlemen over the course of the past few months "Why are you still single?"

Let me get straight to the answer of why I'm still single.  I took care of my parents because I made them my priority.  I took myself off the dating scene about eight years ago and don't regret doing that.  I will admit that I have gotten out of touch with the current standards of the dating.  For example, I have to ask Do people still date?  Or do you just stalk each other on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram?

Regardless, now eight years later, I'm now back in the game.  Out of dry dock and back in the water.  And the first thing I notice...  I'm finding myself pushing aside the dead fish at the top!  Attention Psych Ward shoppers, we've got a real humdinger at table four.  A swinging single who's back in the game.  That was what I felt was announced to the world when I hit the dating scene with both feet because the needy and the destitute came out of the woodwork.  It was then that I realized I wasn't searching for Mr. Right, but sorting out Mr. What's Left-Over.

Why is dating so hard?  It seemed when I was in college, you could meet someone, hang out, get some pizza, watch a movie, then make out.  But now, it feels like my only choice of meeting someone means constantly going out.  This isn't so bad if I want to cut laundry, housework, and sleep out of my schedule. Once I do meet someone, I have to research them.  Look at Facebook, Twitter, Linked-In, and criminal court records to see if they're wanted in another state. Then comes the coaxing to talk them into even having a drink.  By the end of the evening, I feel like I've done a lot of work with very little in return.  Next time, I think I'll request a deposit that's non-refundable.  I could use the money for a weekend get-away.

Back to the "Why are you still single?" question...  This single question has turned me onto the idea that hope is still there.  If he's asking, I've got to be asking "Hey, does this mean I've got something worth giving?"  The answer is simple.  Yes, I do.  Even though I posted that I welcomed the single life over the dating scene.   (Remember, I'm a crab.  We flow with the tides.)

I've got a lot to offer and it's these times that make me do a self-check... I'm funny, loving, caring, dependable, honest (sometimes too much), loads of self-respect, educated, child-like (not be be confused with childish), diverse interests, and have a long honey-do list -- he can start by helping me paint the kitchen. Hey, I said I was very honest.

Another point for me to remember... Give up on the dating apps and websites.   I found that getting my face out there and shaking hands has gotten me a lot farther than someone's bare chest profile pic.

Anyway, he's out there, somewhere.  Maybe the Fates/God/Allah/Whoever will intervene.  Ha!  Who am I kidding? They probably have their own dating problems!

CSM