Working my way through the maze

I seem to be in meme mode these days. I’m not actually blocked at all – though I am procrastinating and keeping from turning my hand to finishing off editing the manuscript that I hope will, before so very long, turn into a book that will actually be published and I will be very, very famous and maybe even become a Jeopardy question one day – but this particular once intrigued me.

I took if from my friend cs, and she followed through from a number of other sources so, yes, it is making the rounds.

I’m not going to tag anybody, but if you are interested in giving it a shot, I would be delighted to see your findings about ‘you’.

Basically the meme calls for ‘Eight things about me’ and you are free to follow whatever approach you choose. They might be professional things, personal things, intellectual things, naughty things, philosophical things, reminiscent things, or a random amalgam of them all.

So, without further ado, here are my Eight:

1. For some things in my life I will never get the answers: About a decade ago, a few months after my father’s death, I was going through a mass of his old papers to see what could be discarded, or what might be of value – you know, like old life insurance policies that were worth millions. Amidst those papers I found a letter. It was a letter from my father to my mother written the month and year of my birth. In the first place, there is no reference to me (his firstborn) whatsoever. My dad was in the navy at the time and the letter was written from afar. In it he launches into a diatribe against my mother and tells her that he “will never forgive” her for something she had done. He goes on to say that she was a fraud and a thoroughly horrible person, etc. etc. It was really quite ghastly. What had happened? Had she screwed around on him? Was I ‘not’ his child? I ran the letter past my brother, who was as shocked and dismayed as was I. I also called my dad’s sister. Likewise, shock and absolutely no idea what it would have been about. My parents stayed together. They did not have a happy marriage, that much was always obvious. But, more to the point, now, a decade later, I have no idea what the letter was about, and I will never find out.

2. So, here’s the real matrimonial story: I make jocular references in my blogs to ‘assorted wives’ and my somewhat checkered matrimonial history. In other words, I make light of something about which I am not very proud. I have been married three times. I was married to my first wife, my college sweetheart, for almost 25-years. She was a very striking girl and, when we met, and judgment isn’t always based on ideal criteria, she seemed to fill the bill. I say we were married for 25 years, but we probably should have never gotten married. We were simply too different. She was – and I mean this as no insult at all – a very conventional lady. I was never a particularly conventional man in terms of my view of life. I was more adventurous, more romantic and more prepared to explore all that life had to offer. I felt stifled, she felt threatened. We both had justification for our feelings. So, to make a long story short, we simply grew apart to the degree that neither featured greatly in the life of the other. We had some good times, and some good travels, and had a beautiful waterfront home, but life was hollow and empty. OK, that was #1. Number two was something that should never have happened. We were married for a heady 11-months. Yes, we did shack up for three years prior to that. It was a tempestuous ‘Liz & Dick’ relationship. I was madly in love with her, and she with me – we thought. She was very beautiful, and we were excruciatingly hot for each other. That doesn’t provide for a very firm foundation. The breakup was brutal, but it had to be. As for Number three, current and ongoing. Wendy is the light of my life. We are a virtually perfect fit and I take much solace in that just maybe I have it right this time around. Maybe, just maybe I’ve grown up a bit, too.

3. I have been many things: I began my working career as a high school teacher of English and history. I did that for eight years. I was a good teacher (I am proud to say) and a popular one. But, it was the wrong calling for me. It was the wrong calling at a number of levels. Let me say that I really ‘liked’ teaching and I really liked my adolescent charges. But, I hated the public school system, and I detested the confrontational politics of the teachers’ union. Too many teachers become obsessive about being hard-done-by (they’re not) because most of them have never done anything else and they have no grip whatsoever on the ‘real’ workaday world. Anyway, I left, and I never really regretted it. I went to newspaper work, which was definitely my forte. I loved (and still love) being a scribe. I love newspaper people and even though I’ve been freelancing for a number of years, I still love going into a paper and just hanging out. Late, and for a while, I became an addictions counselor (sort of grew out of a series of articles I had written, and I became intrigued by the work of others in the field). I still work with addictions organizations, but left counseling after a few years because it really is ‘burn-out city.’ At the end of it, though, I still run into former students and my mind will hearken back to those early days and I will think – “If I had stuck with teaching I’d have a great big fat goddamn pension now!”

4. I have never been without a pet: Cats or dogs have been a part of my life from the time I got my first cat, Blackie, when I was three years old. I love animals. They are loyal and trustworthy and you can do absolutely anything reprehensible or disgusting, and your dog or cat will never judge you. “Hey, that lady’s not our Mom. But, that’s OK, Dad. Mom won’t hear anything about her from me.” At present we have a very old cat, four fish in an outdoor pond, and Wendy would very much like to have a dog. That could happen.

5. I regret never having had children: I think I would have been a good dad. I have a stepdaughter with whom I am somewhat estranged, although we have finally touched base in the past few months, much to my delight. But, have never had any of my own. As I have gotten older I have come to realize how very much adore children. I adore tiny tots so much that I can almost get weepy in their presence, which makes me feel a bit like a sentimental old fool. So be it.

6. I have dreams about cars I once owned: I will dream that I open an old garage door and there is my old Ford or Chev, sitting there in perfect condition. I think, “I didn’t get rid of it. It’s still here.” I get inside and turn the key (which I, for some reason, still seem to have on my person) and it starts up beautifully. I am delighted. This will do as a second car. Then I awaken and am very disappointed.

7. I resent the dreadful nature of contemporary music: I love music, of all genres. I used to be a rock-and-roll scholar and was like the guy in the movie Diner (who was married to the excruciatingly enticing Ellen Barkin) who knew the flip-sides of all the singles from the ‘50s and ‘60s. I was kinda like that. I own the original Velvet Underground and Nico, not to mention Otis Redding/Jimi Hendrix Monterey Pop album, both big-time collectibles. But, since about 1987 music has become a hideous bore and I could literally not tell you the name of absolutely anything currently popular. And I don’t really care.

8. I have a fear of dying before I get to see all the places on my ‘list’: That’s the way it is, however. I just cannot see them all. But, you know, that depresses me just a little bit. I am also not sure I’ll be able to get back to all the places I’ve already visited and want to return to, just one more time. Hmm.