Monday Morning Rain

Rivulets of rains slowly slide down the window at my left shoulder. The wind driven rain beats against the side of my house, as if seeking shelter inside. The clouds of Sunday have morphed into the wind and rain of Monday. As I sit at my computer, composing this journal, I think of how fortunate I am to have a safe and secure home that shields me from the elements outside. All my life I have toiled, struggled and sacrificed to arrive at this time to have this oasis that is my home. With this thought in mind, I am not heedless to those who are not as fortunate as I am. Critters such as stray dogs and cats, who do not have a warm and dry home to protect them from the cold, wind and rain, and must seek shelter where ever they can. Perhaps they gained entrance in an abandoned building through a broken window or unlocked door. There they sit cuddled into a fur ball patiently waiting for the storm to pass. Perhaps they find shelter near a dumpster with overflow trash. There, under wet cardboard boxes, they have partial shelter from the fury of the wind and rain. For those living creatures I have a profound sense of empathy. I wish I could save them all. I also think of those who are our best and brightest who are serving this country in Iraq and Iran under extreme weather conditions. I vowed not to make political statements when I began this journal, but I do want to make the reader know I am mindful of the sacrifice these brave and loyal Americans are making for us so we can live in our safe and comfortable homes. When I started this journal I made myself a promise that I would have a personal journal that is unique to me. Each of us is unique. Each of us has value. We all have a story to tell that may or may not be of interest to someone else. However, it is important that I record my thoughts, experiences, hopes and dreams in a format that perhaps will be of value to someone in the future. To leave a legacy. One thinks of such things at this time of life. Life waits for the answer, but the question is why? We all have a journey that to take in this existence called life. Some of us are more fortunate that others in the circumstances of our life. For that I will always be thankful.

Cloudy Day

The clouds rolled in today. Gray and dreary. Temperature falling. Wind picking up. I missed my Sunday night outing at the Purple Parrot with friends. A chill in the air. The realization that I wasn't wanted in the group. Painful but probably true. Again, that incurable naivete of mine. The day is ending. Rain is beginning to tap on my window. Life goes on. The sun will shine again.

Pennsylvania Visit Part 1

Morning daylight revealed blue gray clouds heavy with rain on the far horizon viewed from my great room's wall of windows. This Saturday morning Bill and I planned to visit Downingtown, PA, near our former home in East Brandywine Township. As much as we would like to visit our old home, we could not because the new owner and his family now occupy the house and grounds we so lovingly developed, nurtured and cared for from 1976 to November 17, 2006, the date we settled on the sale. We would ride past and longingly look up the lane which we had driven up so often. We will always miss our former home. Our trip to Pennsylvania was fourfold this morning. We make our obligatory Mother's Day visit to Mom. Also, a visit to Wegmans supermarket would be in order to stock up on some of my favorite items from that outstanding establishment. There is nothing like Wegmans in Slower Lower Delaware, which is very sad. The lack of a Wegmans is perhaps my biggest loss after moving to Sussex County, Delaware. This trip I had also planned to visit an old friend and his wife who recently remodeled their kitchen. We left early, around 8:45 AM. The trip to Pennsylvania takes approximately 2 ½ hours, depending on the traffic. Shortly after the wheels of my Subaru Forester turned on Route 1 north, a sprinkling of raindrops fell on my car windows, creating rivulets through the dust on the car window shield. Road spray muck on my car would definitely be a factor on this trip. I set my cruise control to 60 MPH, and headed north on Rt. 1. As we barreled north, Bill and I checked the gradually rising price of gas at the many gas stations that lined the highway. We pulled in at a Valero gas station and I filled up my half empty gas tank at $3.69 per gallon. The total bill for a half a tank of gas was $30.02. That fact will affect the number of trips to we make to Pennsylvania in the future. We arrived unannounced at my Mom’s place. My brother Isaac was in his workshop. He retired in April from R. V. Industries. Isaac and I sometimes have had a contentious relationship as brothers are wont to do, so I never know what kind of greeting, if any, I will receive from my younger brother. This morning he greeted my surprise visit with a relaxed smile. I could tell immediately that retirement is agreeing with him. Isaac is my brother and I know him as well as I know anyone. Like me, he gives his all at his workplace but, as the years have accumulated, his body has gotten older and he tires more easily. He appreciates his new found freedom, which is the wonderful gift of retirement. He was more relaxed since the last time I saw him. The strain has left his face. He told me with embarrassed pride how the plant, where he works, had closed down half a day to acknowledge and honor his retirement. He didn’t expect such a fuss to be made over his retirement. He was uncomfortable telling me about it but I could tell he how proud and grateful he was that all his years of hard work was acknowledged and appreciated. He ask me to go into the house and look at the flyer his company had made, that was on the refrigerator door, proclaiming his retirement. I was so proud of my brother. Like many of us, he has had a difficult life. He has endured job loss, a divorce, health problems and the loss of his good friends through death. He loves to work with wood in his workshop in peace and solitude. He has that now. I wish him many years of happiness in his retirement.

Live While You're Alive

We all need to read this one over and over until it becomes part of who we are!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG

1. Try everything twice. On Madam's tombstone (of Waylon and Madam) she said she wanted this epitaph: ' Tried everything twice...loved it both times!'

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down. (Keep this in mind if you are one of those grouches.)

3. Keep learning: Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain get idle. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop.' And the devil's name is Alzheimer's!

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath... And if you have a friend who makes you laugh, spend lots and lots of time with him and/or her.

6. Disappointments happen: Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. LIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love: Whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Remember: Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help. You are worth it!

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county, to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

11. Forgive now those who disappoint you and move on. They know not what they do.

Lost time can never be found! So make sure . you find time to love unconditionally.

Rain in Delaware

The rains arrived this morning. I listened to the comforting sounds of the rain glancing off of my skylights in the sun room. I opened my front door, leaving only the glass door to protect me from the rain. The brightly colored flowers that lined the walkway to my front door proudly showed me their freshly washed faces. Thus another new day retired in Delaware. I worked last night at the Inn. I don’t have to go back to work until Monday night. I have the whole weekend to luxuriate in the rain, sun or whatever Mother Nature delivers to my home on Delaware coast. I’m thankful that we’re getting rain this year. Last year we had a drought in this area of southern Delaware. It was so sad to watch the cornfields wither and die because of the lack of rain. So far this year, the unpredictable forces of nature have been kinder to the farmers' fields of grain in Sussex County. From my sunroom vantage I could see a large flatbed truck hauling stacked crates of chickens to their doom this early morning. While I am always sad to see these poor creatures hauled off to their death, I’m sadden more that I have come to accept the loss of a friendship. We go though life, making friends and losing friends. Sometimes friends are lost when we move to a new area of the country. Other times friends are lost because of death. But sometimes, there is a decision to part ways with a former friend because of incompatibility. The reason for the incompatibility is almost always a personality clash based on real or perceived disrespect of the one friend towards the other. Generally, when the first warning signs appear of disrespect. The friend who is being disrespected doesn’t want to believe what is happening. However, over a period of time the disrespect becomes more blatant and hurtful until, eventually, angry words are hurled. In the past I have brought his dismissive use of words directed at me to his attention and that I didn't appreciate it. His response was “get over it!” Thus, dismissing my feelings and very real concerns I had for the continuation of our friendship. My mistake was that I chose to overlook and rationalize what I now know in retrospect, was a serious problem underlying our friendship. I had several discussions by e-mail and one by phone that I didn’t appreciate being talked to in such a manner. All to no avail. Thus the stage was set for Sunday night at a local eatery when my former friend was in high form out in public and my social inhibitions were lessoned by a couple of martinis. It was the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back” incident that provoked my anger. My meal arrived half an hour late, after the others had finished eating. Under normal circumstances (without the alcohol) I would have been angry. However, I was having a good time and wasn’t really concerned. Someone (not me) mentioned that I had not received my meal. Someone else inquired to another waiter (not our original waiter) as to what happened to my order. The waiter left for the kitchen. He came back and said something to the order “Oh, I don’t know what they’re doing out there in that kitchen!” He told me my order would be out shortly. Another 10 or 15 minutes passes. Then the order arrives. There was raw bacon on top of my, now cold hamburger. At least the French fries were hot. This was small consolation. No apologies from the new waiter. I did not see the original waiter again. Jokes were made around the table that they would watch me eat. Again, I took it all in stride. I wasn’t really bothered. Blame it on the alcohol. Then, my “friend” starts into a long explanation as to how it is not the waiter’s fault that I got my meal so late. Excuses were made that the waiter was new and the place very busy. That may have been so. My friend reminded everyone that he was once a waiter and they can’t be blamed for mistakes. I casually said “Bullshit. He made a mistake.” Now my friend launches into an impassioned and showboat defense of the poor waiter. For whose benefit was this "performance?" The waiter or those around us? I told my friend that I would not punish the waiter and in fact was not even mad at him. I understood that “things” happen. Yet, my friend, in his typical “I am always right” arrogance continued his defense of the waiter and hurls a “get over it” to me. Those were the words that set me off. I responded “Bullshit! The waiter made a mistake! Say it slow, the waiter made a mistake. It wasn’t my fault. The waiter made a mistake!” My “friend” gives me a deer in the headlights look and says in a voice like one would talk to a child or a dog “Now Ron” thus further fueling my anger. I said to him “Wayne, you too can be wrong you know.” Now my friend was beside himself because he was embarrassed at my outburst at a table full of his friends and onlookers nearby, where just minutes before he was in his full glory. As is typical with this him, it was more about him being embarrassed, than what he said to cause my anger. Awkwardly, our party of six left the restaurant. Since I rode with him to the restaurant, I now faced the uncomfortable prospect of riding back to his place with him, where my car was parked a short drive from my home. I attempted to apologize but he would have none of it. He walked ahead of me and once we got into his car he turned up his CD player to a defending volume. Nothing more was said during the ride to his place. I got into my car and made the short drive to my home. I had heard nothing until yesterday I read a posting in his blog. In a blog titled “Sunday” A Soaring Beginning; a Crash and Burn Ending” he states “What happened? I am not sure.” He wants to blame it on the alcohol but also makes sure the reader knows “but not by me”, thus absolving himself of any responsibility. He states “Perhaps when enough alcohol is consumed one’s true feelings surface. Ugly, hurtful words spoken –or screamed – in my direction. Friends don’t do that unless there is some underlying unresolved issue that has to be addressed and sorted out.” His assessment of the situation was correct. There was an unresolved issue, his thoughtless and dismissive words directed at me. His arrogance is such that he doesn’t even realize what he has done. He made another statement in his blog which has proved to be true. He said “Something died.” Yes, it was our friendship, such as it was, that died. He continues on in his blog, giving an example of how he misused a word before with another friend who took offense. He stated it wasn't resolved until "I finally internalized her translation and she understood mine”. Perhaps I did not have time for his translation of what “get over it” meant when I stated the obvious truth that the waiter made a mistake. In Wayne’s World, no one is permitted to have an opinion except Wayne. Then, to add insult to injury, one of his enablers leaves a comment on his blog that said “seems to me that you have to find the root of this performance, talk it out together and then decide if you think the friendship can be a positive in both your lives.” Note the derisive term “performance” and the singular use of the word “you”. No consideration of what caused the outburst or the offended party (me.) The person leaving the blog note goes on to say “Bottom line is this is NOT about you. It’s about this person’s issues.” Now here is a comment made from a person who does not know me nor was there to witness the event, or “performance”, to use his sarcastic term. This is a classic case of enablement. The real bottom line is that I will decide who my friends are and who isn’t. I have decided to move on. My friend has many good qualities and, at times, is a lot of fun to be with because of his wit and humor. Unfortunately, our personalities do not mesh and it would be best for both of us if I decided to move on. As with most of the things that have happened in my life, I have learned and grown from this experience. I wish my former friend the best. I hope he finds that happiness he is seeking.

Those Who Didn't Make It

Don S., Kenny V., Joe M., Alice K., Linda T., Jerry L., Bob S.. Those are just a few of the friends, former classmates, co-workers and lovers who did not reach the retirement age of 65. Actually, none of them even reached the early retirement age of 62 years. Don S. was only 56 years when he died in 1997. We were the best of friends during our Commercial Course days in high school. Ours was a friendly competition to see who could get the best score in bookkeeping. Don usually won. Kenny died in Vietnam. I found out that Kenny died when I attended my first class reunion, which was the 20th. I felt guilty that he died. Not because he died in Vietnam but because Kenny was the first person I had a fist fight with. We were in 7th grade waiting in line to go into Mrs. Roger’s science class. He shoved me (Kenny was a bully). I shoved back. Next thing we were both rolling on the floor, thrashing about with elbows flying. I don’t think either one of us landed a blow. We both ended up in the principal’s office, sweaty, disheveled and embarrassed. I don’t believe we ever spoke again during our remaining high school years. Yet, I still felt guilty when I heard that he died. Kenny was only 24 years old. Joe was another friendly rival. Joe and I were similar in appearance and also had a friendly competition. Our competition was different than the one Don S. and I had. Joe and I used to frequent the Westbury Bar, a gay bar in center city Philadelphia. We would compete to meet the same guys in the bar. I usually won this “competition”, much to Joe’s chagrin. Joe died in 1992 of AIDS related causes. I met Alice when she arrived in the personnel department of Girard Bank to escort me to my new place of employment in the trust department. Alice was the secretary of the head of the trust department. When I first saw her smile I knew she was someone I would be friends with. Alice was warm and friendly and even more naïve than me. She had a genuineness about her that is rare. We shared many bus rides to our homes in the Roxborough section of Philadelphia. We bowled together and our team even won the championship in 1969. We went to lunch and shared our life’s frustrations and joys together. Alice and I laughed a lot. She was like the sister I never had. Alice killed herself in June of 1989. She was in her adopted daughter’s bedroom when she put a gun in her mouth and blew her brains out. I will never forget Alice. About a week before she committed suicide, she called me at the new bank where I worked and left me a voice mail. She wanted to know if I could go to lunch with her. She wanted to discuss something with me. I was too busy to return her call. The next time I heard about her was a voice mail left by her husband telling me she had killed herself. I couldn’t believe it when I heard his message and, in a way, I still can’t believe it. Alice was 49 years old when she died, leaving a husband and two adopted Korean orphans behind in this world. Linda T. was my cousin. Like Alice, Linda was a sweet, beautiful and uncomplicated woman. She was open and friendly, almost to a fault. Like Alice and I, Linda was naïve in many ways about life. Linda never married. She lived at home with her mother and bachelor brother. Linda fought ovarian cancer for eight years. I lost count of how many times she lost her hair during her chemotherapy treatments. Linda was a naturally beautiful girl but the loss of her hair didn’t faze her. She would always say “But Ronnie, when the treatments end I get all new hair!” That’s the way Linda was. She always had a smile on her face. I saw her two weeks before her death. She was at home wheeling around her intravenous feeder. She would go about the house as if she was perfectly healthy pushing that intravenous feeder. The last thing I heard her say was a warning to another member of the household that if he didn’t stop drinking she would come back to haunt him. Linda Lee T. died in 1998. She was only 48 years old. Jerry L. was another classmate of mine from high school. Although we didn’t have any classes together, Jerry was one of those rare guys, friendly to everyone. In high school, where social status is so important to many students and cliques abound, Jerry didn’t follow those rules. Although he was a football jock and could have easily limited himself to that clique, he was friendly to me. The last time I saw Jerry was at our 25th class reunion. He had recently lost his job through a layoff and was dejected. He didn’t want to attend the reunion because he was embarrassed he didn’t have a job. His many friends talked him into going to the reunion anyway and we all had a good time getting reacquainted. Jerry didn’t make it to our next reunion (the 35th). He died in an automobile accident in Ohio at the age of 42. Bob S. What can I say about Bob? When I met Bob I was a very young 22 and Bob was 27 years old. I met Bob at an after hours gay dance club in Philadelphia. At 27 I thought he was so old. In spite of his “advanced years” I thought he was very attractive and personable. He asked me to dance. It was a slow dance. I had just recently discovered the pleasure of slow dancing with a man. I loved to dance and had always enjoyed dancing with women. But, when I first danced with a man I discovered a new dimension to dancing. What a revelation. I thought “No wonder dancing is so popular!” Short, slight of build, and fine featured, and possessing a self confidence that wasn't arrogant; Bob was just the type of man I was attracted to. Bob told he had recently been transferred from Seattle Washington to the Philadelphia Boeing plant. He also told me he was married and had two children. We danced some more. After the club closed Bob asked if he could see me again. He had to arrange it so his wife wouldn’t know where he was. I told him where I lived. He would visit me every other Saturday morning. Bob was the first man I was intimate with. However, after months of lies to his wife, hiding (the time my Mother came over to visit my apartment Bob hid in the bathroom) and living my life as a “mistress”, I tired of it and called off the relationship. I was young and wanted to go out. That was in 1963. A few months ago, searching through the Social Security death index as part of my genealogical research, I put in Bob’s name to see if anything came up. His name came up. He died in 1990 in Washington State. I do not know the cause of his death. He was only 57 years old. These are but just a few of people who have passed through my life and are responsible for the person I am today. Don’s friendly competition with me helped me to overcome my lack of self-confidence. Kenny was the first bully I stood up to and refused to be bullied anymore as I was during elementary school years. There were others who tried to bully me after my “fight” with Kenny, but I always stood up to them and let them know I wasn’t one to be bullied. Kenny was the turning point. Joe M. taught me the terrible lessons of the consequences of selfishness and promiscuous, unprotected sexual activity. I saw a once handsome and proud man reduced to an almost unrecognizable shadow of his former self. His lowest point perhaps was when a small child standing next to him on the street pointed to Joe and said to his mother “Look at the ugly man.” Joe broke down in tears. Even in the advanced stages of AIDS, Joe was still cruising the streets of center city Philadelphia for anonymous sex. Linda taught me to face with bravery whatever bad hands life has dealt. Linda never once lost her sense of humor and never felt self pity. Jerry taught me to accept all people as they are. Jerry was one of those rare people who was friendly with me even though he had nothing to gain by my friendship. We had absolutely nothing in common. He accepted me, a genuine dork (at least during my high school days) who was no threat to his social standing with the football jocks. He always had a smile for me. Then there was Bob S. Bob was the first person who didn’t make me feel like a pervert because of my sexual identity. Our sexual relationship made me feel like a natural person. It is ironic that my first sexual relationship with a man would be with a married man who had children. We never talked about his wife or children. I don’t know why, we just didn’t. Bob also had “the smile.” As you, the reader of this blog, can tell by now, I’m a pushover for a genuine, accepting smile. None of these people who were so much a part of my life would live long enough to enjoy their retirement years as I am doing now. If I should die tomorrow, I will always be thankful to these people for shaping my life and to help make me the person that I am today. I am indeed a Fortunate Son.

A New Day in Delaware

As the song “Nature Boy” by Nat King says, “The greatest thing is to be loved, and love in return.” That sentiment can be applied to a person, a pet, a hobby or a state. I love Delaware. And Delaware loves me in return. Rain or shine, cold or warm, I love Delaware. Each day I roll out of bed I think of how lucky I am to live in this wonderful state. Yes, other states have their charms. They may have their mountains, rivers, historic landmarks, cultural attractions. Delaware is perfect for me in this, my retirement. Even though I work part-time, I still consider myself retired. My job is fun and without the pressure of a five day a week, 50 week year grind. The people I work with are a varied and wonderful group of folks. We all have our individual personalities with our strengths and weaknesses, but we all work together towards the common goal of providing excellent service to the guests of the bed and breakfast where we are employed. What more could on ask for other than to appreciate and give thanks that the time has finally arrived after all these years of working for this goal. Are there bumps along this happy road of retirement? Sure. Route 1 is still torn up after 20 some months of construction. That nightmare is scheduled to end May 23rd, before the Memorial Day weekend rush of tourists. We shall see. The price of food and gas keep going up without any end in sight. The war continues in Iraq. Our best and brightest are still dying or coming home permanently injured fighting in a conflict that has no rational reason. And Delaware still doesn’t have a Wegmans grocery store in Sussex County. Those negative factors do not affect the pure beauty of a day like today. The sun is bright and clear, the birds are joyfully going about their business. The flowers are freshly washed from the early morning application of the sprinkler systems. Some neighbors head off for work. Yes, it will be another good day in Delaware.