Staying Vertical

My little desktop document shredder died and I purchased a fancy new floor model that pulverizes paper into little bits. It came today, and after getting it set up, I pulled out the boxes of docs needing destruction and set to work. And within 10 minutes I was crying.

Who would have thought that shredding old tax documents would be such an emotional experience? A word of advice to anyone who has faced the death of a spouse or a divorce: box the old stuff up and let someone else shred it. Even after almost four years, seeing his name and his handwriting on old papers has made it difficult to feed them into the shredder. I find myself grateful for the OVERHEAT light that comes on, signaling time for a break.

Another New Year’s Eve.
Another year bites the dust.
Time for reflection and resolution —
Laying out of intentions.
I’ve reached a stage in my life
at long last
in which I am not compelled
to tackle some grand self-improvement project.
I’m going to leave well-enough alone.
If I keep carving
Pretty soon there’ll be nothing left.
I’ve some things I’d like to do
in this new year —
Write more
Sew some
Travel a good bit
Go fishing
Be in love again
Reread Thoreau
and “Simplify, simplify.”
Be grateful,
because it is all good.
And keep vertical.
And keep moving.

She visits me:
The harridan of death
That Banshee bitch.
She whispers
“I’m right here, you know.”
and she cackles like
leaves in late fall.
Sometimes on the road
a close call
an inattentive moment
she whispers
“Just like that.
Poof! Gone.”
Or in the shower
with warm water making
me dozy and incautious
she teases
“How about now?
A little fall. A broken hip.
It will only hurt a little while.”

I keep putting her off,
but she’s less easily distracted
these days,
and I’m
afraid
I might run out of tricks
and hiding places
and get-out-of-jail-free cards
before
I am ready
to quit playing the game.

I simply can’t
keep trying to prove
over and over again
that I am who I was.
I’m not.
I am who I am.
It really is
quite
good
enough
don’t you think?

The day I realized I was getting older
was a Sunday
I’d been up since before
0700
the sun was getting up, too
I was making my second cup of coffee
a couple hours later
when I realized
that I hadn’t turned on the news
no Sunday Morning
with Charles Kurault
or that other guy
who took his place
no Melissa or George or
Christiana Amanpour
Jus’ me and the critters
an email or two with my best friend
and a second cup of coffee.
Don’t need no news.
Don’t need no fuckin’ badges neither.
It’s the same shit
different day
And I intend to spend mine
differently
today.

Anniversary.
The sacredness of vows.
Think I get it now.

I am
thinking
it may be
time
time
time to stop
worrying
about
who
the current Slim Shady
is
time
to stop
noticing the next
GaGa Madonna
time
to
start
being
you
me
I AM

“There it is!” she cried
rushing forward and pointing
in childish delight
at the faded green farmhouse
abandoned amid weeds and rusting farm gear
no glass remaining
in windows that greeted every morning
for over 100 years
roof near gone
sunken and missing shingles
still struggling to save the house
from the harshness of this tornado alley outpost
to the very end
porch crumbled
having been delighted to serve
the happy stepping
the home at end of a hard day trudging
the Saturday night dancing feet
of so many years
so many children
and grandchildren
seen now on glass negatives
of another time.
In that moment
I realize
my relationship to the house
isn’t just my family
my heritage in dimensions unseen
it is me
windows now requiring bifocals
roof white and thinner every year
porch wobbly and prone to crumbling
from all the happy dancing
childbearing
miles walking
a few of them running
In time
I’ll be
only an image on glass.

we’ve been trying for about three years now
this woman and I
we’ve been trying not to acknowledge
that we can never be friends
we arrange weird get-togethers
that feel uncomfortable from the start
both of us have quit one group
and one of us another
that we used to attend together
No violence
No blowup
No word or clenched jaw
I don’t dislike her
I don’t think she dislikes me
You might think it boils down
to preference
except for the myriad interests
we hold in common
or perhaps it’s
some kind of misunderstanding
except that I know it isn’t
I think we both know
that in this life
and perhaps for many more
we can never be friends.

My big blue truck is cleaned up, packed up, and gassed up and I am on my way out of town early in the morning. Heading south to San Antonio and reunions with family, friends, and former USAF colleagues. I’m driving, but no camper this time, nor dogs (nor cats). I guess I could call this a vacation, but it feels more like an escape. I feel like I need some time on the road to process my life without any more stimulation coming in. Between the war drums and the debt ceiling, the fires and the floods, and the water heater going out, I’m feeling like there might be a better place for me to be hanging out — or like maybe I should just keep moving — being harder to hit that way. So I will be taking my time and making some stops along the way.

In addition to seeing beautiful country in early fall, I hope to talk to some folks in other places and find out how they are feeling about things. I don’t think I’m the only one feeling just a bit off kilter. I’ll get back to you with what I find out and keep you updated on the trip. I know there is fun afoot! There might even be pictures! (I just had a memory of a Firesign Theater character cackling, “Profuuusely illustrated!” Did I mention I was feeling a little off kilter?).

Check you later!

Willie Nelson – On the Road Again [HD]