The search was a washout. A dud.

But, more accurately, the journal entry from that day is lame. That’s the only way to describe it. An event that has become a story that I’ve told repeatedly, a story that makes me laugh each and every time I tell it, did not make the journal. No mention.

Not even a hint of it in my 11/28/12 journal entry. WTF?!?
How could I have not written at least two words: “Deviled eggs?!?!?”
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There are entries on 11/28/12 and 12/1….but the twenty-ninth and thirtieth are two days with no journal entries.

We had Sunday dinner at Shelly’s good friends on the 28th. I was still auditioning for friend approval. I guess all of us were. The last line of the journal entry for that date says: “Time to get ready to go meet patty and robert….game on.”

The next journal entry, posted on December first, comes in at just under two thousand words. That’s a lot for one of my journal entries.
We had spent a couple of nights in Branson, and had seen The Hillbenders at The Rock House. It was one of our first hotel stays. A good time was had by all. Enough said about that 12/1 journal entry…
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So here’s the story from November 28, 2012 that I have told numerous times.

Prior to that November night in two-thousand-twelve, Shelly and I had probably talked about eggs two dozen times during the 7 weeks we had known each other….almost always while having breakfast together.

I had heard numerous times that “I don’t eat eggs. I don’t like them.”
Not an omelet? Nope.
How about a souffle? Ugh.
You gotta like quiche though, don’t you? I hate quiche.
Cheesy scrambled? No way.
How about a fried egg on a burger with Canadian bacon? Yuck!!

Well, I don’t remember what else was sitting on Patty & Robert’s dining room table, on the first time I was ever in their house. But it do remember immediately noticing the large tray of deviled eggs, and hearing an excited Shelly: “Oh my favorite! I absolutely love deviled eggs!”

If there hadn’t have been a small child in the room I’m pretty certain that I woulda dropped a couple of F-bombs in one of my pet phrases, or at least an “are you shittin’ me?”

I was floored. How can you not eat eggs, yet love deviled eggs?
I don’t know.
It doesn’t matter.
But it does make for a good story…
-=-=-=-=
I love the story. But what I really love is reading through those times in my journal, back before we were exclusive.

We met via OkCupid. One of our profiles included this: “So, at this point in my life I cannot be your one and only… However, I am not opposed to falling madly in love.”
The others profile was looking for someone to have fun with…“a playmate.”

Reading through those early journal entries, I’m a little surprised that I didn’t include a tidbit about the deviled eggs revelation. But there was a lot going on at that time.

I was witnessing my Mom’s steady decline. My marriage had been over for awhile…but it wasn’t yet over from a legal viewpoint. I was listening to more new music and seeing more live music than I had in years.
And I was falling in love…something I never expected to happen.
-=-=-=
My journal mentions that I had three songs “on repeat” the week before that Sunday dinner.

George Strait singing “I ain’t here for a long time, I’m here for a good time…”

Brandi Carlile singing “The story.” I had never listened to her before Shelly sent me a link. Certain of the lyrics really hit home with me in 2012.
“…So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to…”

And of course there was a song by Jackson Browne.
“…Love won’t come near me, she don’t even hear me
She walks past my vacancy sign
Love needs a heart, trusting and blind
I wish that heart was mine…”
-=-=-=
Lately this song by Amos Lee has been on repeat.
“My heart is a flower
That blooms every hour
I believe in the power…”

I do believe in the power of love.
I do believe in having a good time….that “it’s half full, not a half empty glass, Every day I wake up knowing it could be my last…”
I do believe that stories are better when you’ve got someone to tell them to…
I do believe that “Love can change the world in a moment, But what do I know?”
I do believe in enjoying every bite of every sandwich.

Be. Just BE.

I’ve chosen to celebrate the annual event on the first Sunday of March, i.e. a day rather a date.

And after this past weekend, which was one great roadtrip, I think I’ve decided that the first weekend of March should be designated “Separation Anniversary Weekend.”

Last weekend was a doozy.
-=-=–=
1. Stopped and ate at a little place that I had driven by many times on trips to/from Floriduh during the 2 times, totalling 18 years, that I resided in that horrid humidity. Last Thursday was the first time I ever stepped foot in the Bluegrass Restaurant in LaCenter, Kentucky…population 1,009 per the 2010 census. Great buffet. I’ve never had better catfish.

2. Stepped inside The Ryman Auditorium for the first, and hopefully not the last, time in my life. The air is heavy with history. The seats are pews. The building opened 125 years ago as the United Gospel Tabernacle. If someone had passed the plate after Derek Trucks brought me to tears playing “Blue Sky”, I woulda emptied my wallet and asked if they would take plastic!

If that song had lead into “Midnight in Harlem” I woulda needed a snot rag.  If Susan had kicked off the lyrics, a-minute-and-20-in I’d have quivered.

“Well, I came to the city
I was running from the past
My heart was bleeding
And it hurt my bones to laugh…”

That was me in 2011.  The separation was NOT the primary cause of my plight. Stories there…another time.

3. We hit the Bluegrass Restaurant again on our way west. More catfish. Some of the same people were holding down lunch spots they had a day earlier. The owner comped us a piece of strawberry pie. I don’t expect to drive thru that town ever again without stopping in.

4. Discovered Echo Bluff State Park. So new that if you had the current official state of Missouri map, you wouldn’t find it. But you would find Eminence. EBSP is about 10 miles north. I bet it’s crazy at the park in July and August. I don’t plan to find out. We’ll be going in the off season. The Betty Lea Lodge easily makes my Top Five places on the “100 dollar a night” list.

5. A stroll around the spring at Alley Springs. I’ve always loved this place. It’ll be a regular stop on future visits at Echo Bluff.

6. Lunch at the finest spot in Cabool. Mexican. Decent fish tacos….my “go to” order whenever I’m at a new Mexican restaurant. It was my first time in “downtown” Cabool….almost as sad as the town where I started college. ( a story for another day…)

7. Back home in the apartment, we drank champagne and toasted the sixth anniversary of Separation Sunday.
-=-=-=
Separation Anniversary??

The first Sunday of March in 2011 is the day that the woman I had been married to for 37 years and I quit sleeping under the same roof. We hadn’t slept in the same bed for awhile.

I’m not going to get into all the details and history. Some of my friends have heard it all. Most of it has been written down…that’s what journals are for.

The split wasn’t ugly. It wasn’t all that pleasant either. It had been coming for awhile, after many good years and lots of adventures.

She pretty much nailed it in 3 short sentences that afternoon: “I’m not happy. You’re not happy. We’re not living here anymore.”

She beat me to the punch.  Eleven words.

It should’ve happened many years before it did. It is one more time that I let “heavy inertia” keep me from making a change.

I hope she is happy. I hear that she is. After-all, she’d lived with a “C.P.” for years. (another story, for another day…)

I know that I’m happy. I got a new life starting 3/6/11. No more heavy inertia for me.
-=-=-=

This is my favorite “break up song.” I especially like this line: “…Look on the bright side, You got a new life…”

Be. Just BE.

Sometimes I love a song when it’s lyrics could’ve been mine, especially if I had any writing talent. Sometimes I love the lyrics of a song when the lyrics are 180 degrees away from where I am, or where I’ve ever been.

And then there are songs like “Indonesia” by Amos Lee. It’s a little of both.

To begin with, I am baffled by the song’s title. Read the lyrics here, and if you can tell me how those lyrics relate to the title, please clue me in.
-=-=-=-=
There are only a couple of lines of “Indonesia” that apply to me. But that hasn’t kept me from having the song on repeat.

Lately (and especially since January 20th) I have had the desire to go out to the countryside and find a place; a desire to run away and hide. The idea of going to Rome or NYC, before they get vaporized, is also very appealing.

The refrain…which I invariably sing along with…has absolutely nothing to do with my current situation, and pretty much never has. But that doesn’t keep from singing along all 8 times with the “when will I be free?” refrain.

I don’t wake in a box….haven’t had a supervisor in forever…and don’t know where I’ll die, but sure don’t expect it to be St. Francois county, MO. But how could I be any more free? Seriously. Is it possible to have less ties than I have?
-=-=-=
People often seem surprised that I don’t have pets, especially when they know that I often house-sit, which is more accurately called “pet and plant care.” I tell them that I do like most dogs and cats, but will never own one.

There is a simple reason that I don’t have pets: I’m too irresponsible and too impetuous.

I always have been. I like to be able to get up and go whenever and for how ever long I want. You can’t do that if you have pets. Well, maybe you can, but it takes effort that doesn’t interest me.

An example of my impetuosity: 40 years ago was the first time I saw the Redwoods. Three of us were sitting around playing 3-handed spades in the first place we ever lived in Corvallis. It was after 10 on a Friday night. Some homemade blackberry wine had been consumed. None of us had ever been to the Redwoods.

From the time one of us said “let’s head for Crescent City” until the ’74 Super Beetle was packed, no more than 10 minutes had passed.

A few Vivarin and some Mountain Dews, and away we went. In less than 6 hours we had traveled almost 300 miles, marveled at some big, beautiful trees silhouetted by moonlight, and were sitting looking at the Pacific Ocean…waiting for sunrise.

That wasn’t the first time that something like that happened. And it most certainly was not the last. There were many times that on a Friday night, after I had burned through a fifty dollar bill buying happy hour drinks at Portland’s Veritable Quandary, that we would pack up on the spur of the moment and head to the beach or the mountains for a couple of nights.
-=-=-=-=
I know I’m lucky to have lived the life that I have lived and that I live today. There have been some bumps and hairpin turns. But relatively speaking, it has been smooth sailing.

The answer to the songs refrain of “when will I be free?”: yesterday, today and tomorrow.
(If the question was “when will you be impetuous” the answer would be the same….)

The answer to “why is this song called Indonesia?”: beats the shit outta me. But I really don’t care. It doesn’t matter.

Be. Just Be.

Back when I was working guy, I remember that there were these things called “life events” from an HR perspective. And probably all of us have seen a “life stress test” or two. Their separate lists have some things in common: marriage, divorce, birth, death.

Tuesday’s Life Event was the most joyous item from the above list: the birth of Shelly’s sixth grandchild. Eric, her youngest, and his partner Ashton became parents of a baby girl early yesterday afternoon. Jacob will be one heckuva big brother to Emilia Rose. This little angel is an adorable addition to a wonderful, young family.

-=-=-=
Shelly and Jacob, who both played hooky on Tuesday, headed to the hospital mid-afternoon to see Emilia and her proud parents. I stayed behind…two is company, three’s a crowd…and put on a couple of CDs that I had just checked out from the library. I’m not doing very well with a couple of my “pledges” for 2016 (exercise?! Yuck….), but I am doing very well at one of them: listening to new (to me) CDs.

I was in the process of sending Jib Jab cards to Eric and Ashton, when a song off a new CD caught my attention. I had never listened to any of the songs on Kacey Musgraves’ “Pageant Material” so they were all new to me. I was listening while I jib-jabbed, but it wasn’t until the 9th cut that I really Heard.

I have no idea how my memory is gonna perform in the future, but if it’s anything at all like it is now, epsecially when it comes to First Time Tunes, I expect to remember everything about this latest FTT. It’ll be helped by having this document. I can always re-read this….assuming I don’t forget that this piece even exists.

As with most of my FTTs, it was the lyrics that caught my attention. Specifically it was this line: “…Before we get to heaven, baby let’s give ’em hell…”

I stopped what I was doing and listened to the rest of “Die fun.”

The last line of the song is “We can’t do it over.”

When I heard that, I replied out loud (to an empty apartment): “This…is one thing that I can do over!”

I pressed the repeat button on my CD changer.

I stood in front of our glass sliding doors, with the sun beating down, gazing at the courtyard…and thinking about life and life events.

Repeat. Then another time. And again.
-=-=-=
I’m sure I’m not the only person who puts songs, or at times an entire album, on repeat. Over the years I’ve had a looooong list of songs (and albums) that I listen to over-and-over-and-over-again.

The majority of the songs that I put “on repeat” are ones that have lyrics that say something to me…

I imagine that sometimes it gets on people’s nerves when I put a song “on repeat.” And I’m sure it can be annoying if i’m singing along. Too bad. By about the 10th time that I had listened to “Die Fun” yesterday, I still hadn’t had enough. I subjected Shelly to “Die fun” when she got home. Fortunately, she is very tolerant of most of my behaviors…and is more aware of my “on repeat” songs than anyone.

For an incorrigible adolescent like me, the beginning of my my new FTT is perfect: “Do we really have to grow up, if we never do then so what?”

So is this line: “They say it’s now or never and all we’re ever gettin’ is older…”

Compared to the alternative, getting’ older is a great gig. But that does NOT mean that I have to grow up! Being “an adult” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be….

The refrain to this song says it all: “…We don’t know when it’s done, So let’s love hard, Let’s stay young, Let’s love hard, live fast, die fun…”

There are lots of things that “we can’t do over.” But for now I can put this song on repeat, I can smile at the thought of Emelia Rose, I can get warm standing in front of the plate glass windows, I can think about life and life events, and I can love hard, live fast and die fun.