Might As Well Be Here Now

When Carol and I go on long road trips we seldom listen to music. We don’t even turn on the radio. We spend most of the time talking or listening to each other. The following dialog is a short portion of a conversation we had this week while driving home from Louisville. Carol: You know you will need to get a haircut before Patrick’s wedding. Michael: I know. Carol: Please, please don’t get another crappy haircut. This time it matters. You don’t want to embarrass Patrick with your usual stupid Super Cuts haircut. Michael: The Super Cuts haircuts don’t always suck. Once or twice I have come home with a Super Cut and you haven’t even noticed. Carol: In thirty-two years how often has that happened? Michael: Maybe twice…okay once. Carol: How many have sucked? How many times has your haircut been so severe that you could see white, untanned skin all around your neck? How many of your cheap haircuts have taken your head weeks to recover? Michael: Okay, that ...

Retirement is neither bad nor good. It is a blank slate. A time to reflect and look under my own hood. I guess I could just sit around and wonder what it might feel like to be ninety seven Or I could try to learn something relevant on ukulele like the Stairway to Heaven.

The lucky ones have already died. They’ve gone ahead and migrated over to the other side. They are no longer suffering  or relying on pain meds just to get by. The lucky ones have already died. They no longer have to struggle to remember answers to questions about where or why. They no longer have to search for words to help them pretend or deny. The lucky ones have already died. They’ve looked straight into their loved one's tearful eyes. They’ve taken their chances and said their goodbyes. The lucky ones have already died.

This week I reconnected with an old friend with whom I had lost contact for about 44 years. The connection was made possible through the magic of the Internet and a helpful assist from another old friend. The Internet can be extremely bad or extremely good. This time it was good. My old friend, Tom, and I were close friends when we were in our early twenties. For a while we shared a big house in the West End of Louisville with two other friends, Lloyd, and Jan. I think it was in the summer of 1973 that Tom and I took off in his brand-new car and drove across the country camping out, smoking pot, and creating funny adventures. We got separated in San Francisco (another story) but we both eventually found our way back to the big house in the West End of Louisville. Not long after we returned from our trip(s) Tom walked into my room and told me that he was gay. He looked sincere but I was skeptical. I knew Tom sometimes made quick (impulsive) decisions so I said something like, ...

Today Carol and I are celebrating our 31st anniversary. During those years, we have learned a lot about each other. We have learned to accommodate to our vastly different approaches for solving problems and making decisions. Carol has learned to adjust to my slightly causal approach to clothing management. I have learned (with frequent exceptions) to accept her need for order and predictability. The most important thing we have learned is how to function as a team. Included in that teamwork is our willingness and ability to relate to our in-laws. That capacity has developed slowly but marriage is, as they say, a marathon, not a sprint. My first attempt at building in-law relationships was a complete failure. I was unable and unwilling to accept any role within my first wife’s family. I thought they were uniquely screwed up and I wanted no part of them. I reluctantly participated in family gatherings but I tried to be invisible within the group. When my marriage ended, I was relieve...

My friend, John Freeman and I have been friends for sixty-one years. He recently visited Chapel Hill and stayed with Carol and me for a few days. John travels in a large, solar-equipped, self-contained van in which he can drive, sleep, eat, camp, stay warm, and entertain himself as he travels across the country. I don’t know how many cross-country trips John has taken in his van but I think he has stopped by Chapel Hill in the van three times over the years. John and I met in Cub Scouts when we were eight years old. We lived on the same street and our houses were only a few doors away from each other.  We were close friends in those days and spent a lot of time just hanging out at his house. John’s mother was a single parent. I called her Aunt Mildred. She was a profoundly good person but being a single parent in the fifties was no easier than it is today - just more unusual. Perhaps out of necessity, Mildred was a good deal more flexible in her supervision than my pa...

My friend, Lloyd, and I graduated from the same high school. We often talk and laugh about that period in our lives. Our high school days occurred over fifty years ago but those days continue to produce interesting echoes. Our high school served predominately white, blue collar, working class neighborhoods in Louisville. Our school did not have all of the resources or the perceived advantages of high schools in wealthier neighborhoods in the East End. I used to think that whatever I learned in those teenage years was in spite of my high school, not because of it. Like high school kids everywhere we learned to entertain ourselves during school hours by pranking teachers or inventing other ways to creatively misbehave. Sometimes after school we entertained ourselves by watching tough guys fight each other behind the Texaco station next door. The tough guy fights drew large crowds and provided valuable learning opportunities for those of us in the audience. For example, I lea...