The Most Interesting Man

My stomach acting up all day every day for over a month, I narrowed the cause down to my morning cup of coffee — too much acid, and determined this morning, to give up coffee.

That resolve ended by 10:47, when I got the coffee pot going and had my first cup of the devil’s brew at 11:01.

I’m sick and tired of feeling queasy, but breaking my caffeine addition is something I’m going to have to ease into — try try try until something clicks.

I also find myself snacking a little too much, but the source of that is coming from stress associated with something happening that has me torn between being relieved, when I should be sad. Though, I do think I’m a little bit of both.

That something is that the most interesting man I’ve ever been in a serious relationship with has passed away.

Why in the world would I feel somewhat relieved that someone has passed away you ask.

Well, that’s because, a few weeks ago, I’d mentioned to Trainer that I was not sleeping well — waking up at 1:00, 3:00, 4:00, because I had a feeling there was going to be a death and that "I’m pretty sure it’s not me".

Thinking I’d not have the feeling unless it was someone close, i.e., someone in the family, I’d begun to think it might be grandson-in-law’s elderly dad.

Then, on Sunday, I had the thought to check the Facebook page of my old boyfriend, the actor/writer and found a Remembering/Memorialized Account.

Contacting his daughter, I learned he’d passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, and his family was reeling because they were all present and watched when he "Had a really bad fall … Fell backwards from coming up the steps from the basement to the kitchen".

What followed was a fractured skull, internal brain bleeding, spine fracture, not recognizing anyone, helicoptered to a hospital where family was ultimately told he would no longer be able to communicate ever again, was going to be on oxygen the rest of his life, along with a feeding tube.

The family had struggled with the implications, whether Jim would want to live like that, and ultimately Jim’s life ended with his "passing away peacefully through comfort measures".

I didn’t ask what "comfort measures" meant, because I was pretty well stunned at how Jim’s life, at 62 years of age, had ended with a fall.

I’ve blogged previously about how a fall is the No. 1 concern for us seniors, after having seen first-hand how it has changed the active life of so many in the complex to inactive, even death.

I feel enormously guilty that I’m relieved this passing wasn’t family but, at the same time, sad it was Jim.

Not only was Jim the most interesting man I've ever been in a serious relationship with, he was also the smartest.

Late in life, he earned several degrees … in history, theology and surprisingly, criminal justice, and was thisclose to obtaining his PhD when he passed away.

Why a degree in criminal justice was a surprise will become clear as you read on.

Jim was divorced when we met, with an annoying ex-wife in Los Angeles, who’d given him a daughter and an ex-girlfriend in Mexico, who’d given him a son.

After our relationship ended on a positive note, Jim relocated to Mexico, married that baby’s mama, added an additional son and daughter to the mix, became owner operator of a hot dog stand, ran in 2012 as Democratic candidate to the U.S. House representing the 11th Congressional District of Texas, taught English to Chinese students via an online setup, became an Untenured Professor teaching college courses. Just super smart.

His path through life began with a stint in the Army, after which he became a DEA Agent.

From there, as a naughty Agent, he spiraled down to a stint in federal prison.

Back in ’91, his cellmate was the former police officer labeled "The most corrupt cop in L.A."

A lot has happened in the cop world since then so, though the infamous cellmate is still in prison, I’m sure others have taken the title.

At any rate, after Jim was released from prison, he made his living as a part-time actor, author.

During an annual visit to my Shaman, he saw a "James" and a "Robert" in my future. "One of them in law or show business — film production, something like that, maybe something a little bit less but has been making money at it … you will meet in a place where ideas are being discussed — he’s an educated man — going to meet him not far from a school".

Of course, I poo poo’d it at the time because, just like now, I wasn’t interested. But low and behold, a few weeks later at the Bicycle Fair in the Long Beach Promenade Amphitheater, I met Jim.

I didn’t connect the dots until months later when I realized Jim’s Christian name was "James", that I’d met him at the Amphitheater (a place where ideas were discussed by scholars and philosophers) which amphitheater just happened to be located half a block away from a big charter school.

At that time Jim — good looking, Irish, educated was, as I said, a former Agent of the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco Firearms (Law) currently making his living as a bit actor (show business) while writing and promoting himself as a production company (film production).

The Shaman got it on all points.

It was an intense relationship, in a good way, but when it got too serious and a decision had to be made, I decided Jim had too much baggage, and I did the smart thing and chose sound logic — staying single, living alone over companionship. We parted as good friends and kept in contact for years.

I'm really sorry to see Jim go out the way he did. He had so many plans for his future, and was working hard on getting that PhD, and getting back in shape — diet, exercise, got up to weeklong treks along the Appalachian Trail.

I've lived a life, so there's one other serious relationship out there, which was before Jim.

That one did not end well, but only because the guy was immature and a lawyer — and you know how lawyers like to win; plus, he's an Arab — and you know they have an attitude as to how women are to be subservient. Being a lawyer and an Arab, the idea of a woman breaking up with him was unforgivable.

We did not end on friendly terms, and though our paths have crossed a time or two, he remains bitter all these many years later.

News to Me

Received a text message from an old boyfriend. A young fireman in the 1970’s, we'd met when I was working a different part of city services and became a thing for a while. Though I don’t recall how long our relationship lasted or why it ended ─ probably because he was young and young men didn’t hold my interest for long back in the day as I was looking for growth, people I could learn from, people that could move me forward in life, I do remember our relationship ended on friendly terms. I’d run into him from time-to-time.

Once it was his squad ─ he was a Captain in the department by then, that showed up when I had food poisoning and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital.

Then there was the time he somehow learned where I was then living, dropped by the apartment to tell me he’d left the department and was entering theology school.

Now a minister, with his own church ─ oddly enough, about a 15 minute drive from the complex, with 5 grandchildren, 4 great grands, he was prompted to look me up on facebook and message that he’d seen an article published about Twin 1 on People.com and commented “You must be proud”.

I get that a lot from friends who happen to see Twin 1 on television or read about her in print ─ “You must be proud ... Aren’t you proud?”. My answer always is “I’m just happy she’s happy. That she finally woke up to life being not all about her” as, for many years, things looked to be ending up a very different way.

So anyway, I looked up the article my old boyfriend spoke of, and read a version of Twin 1’s life that vastly differentiated from what I recall, what I experienced, especially the part that read “I had a difficult relationship with my mother”.

WHAT!? That’s news to me, thought I.

And “difficult” HOW? inasmuch as I was the one planting the seeds of there being a different path than the hard road she was opting to take during the years she was lost.

“Difficult” HOW? when, in response to my trying to save her from the hard life to come if she made such and such a choice, she’d reply “You can’t tell me what to do” and made the choices that ultimately kicked her behind.

“Difficult” HOW? inasmuch as I was the one always there for her, lifted her up when those choices kicked her butt, took her to her knees and she couldn’t get up on her own.

And “difficult” HOW? when I was the one there for her children when she put herself first and checked out of parenting.

Consequently ... if it were “difficult”, whose f_ _king fault was that?

Life is about choices.

My being a parent has mostly been a thankless choice on my part. But I signed up for it, did the best I could to prepare them for a good life under, at times, overwhelming resistance, put my children first, made myself last. Now that everyone is grown and I can focus on me, I don’t involve myself too much with family ─ because family made the journey tougher than it had to be, and I now just want to be left alone. I thought I was immune. That the days of family hurting me, causing pain was over. Evidently not, but at least I’m not in tears this time.

Adding salt to this fresh wound is Twin 1 not just saying she did not have a good relationship with me, but that she’s giving credit for the person she’s become to her grandmother ... my mom ─ the woman who tried so hard to ruin my life.

In a way, I guess mom somewhat succeeded. Mom enabled Twin 1, encouraged Twin 1's choices with her "Go ahead baby, I'll help you" which she never did help. Instead, mom sat back laughing at my having to step in and live with the results of Twin 1’s choices ─ and I did, for like forever, until I couldn’t take it any longer, decided to save myself by moving here, away from all of ‘em ... detaching, healing my wounds.

Now, history in Twin 1’s head is grandma was the angel, I the difficult one.

Am I going to say or do anything about this?

No.

Though the label “difficult” is hard to swallow, I’m accustomed to being misunderstood in this family, not appreciated. That’s why I am so not family oriented. Prefer to keep to myself.

I’ll just be keeping even more to myself than usual. I’ll reply to text messages, but won’t be initiating texts to them. Also, I’ll no longer attend the once-a-year Thanksgiving get together.

Fortunately, I can use the pandemic as an excuse for not showing up, instead of hurt feelings.

And the way the pandemic is going, I can use this pandemic excuse for years to come, or at least until this latest wound heals itself.

Coming Up for Air

We’re not even into triple digits yet, but it’s been so hot since the last day I was out and about (the day I completed that 5K at the mall) that I’ve just been staying inside with the A/C blasting all day.

I’m scared to see my next bill, but it’s either run the A/C or die of heat stroke.

At one of our residents/management meetings, the Community Manager indicated one of her goals is to get all the windows and patio doors replaced with double-pane. My background being that of a poor ghetto girl, I had no idea what that was until I googled it and learned it’s window glass that keeps the heat out.

Yes, please and sooner rather than later.

Keeping to myself all these many days, working on the Black Panther needlepoint, listening to myself think, nothing to blog about, just watching the thoughts and feelings flowing through me, I’ve been getting the feeling something wrong is going on, but I can’t put my finger on who it involves and what it is.

Hopefully it’s not family, but I’m not going to make contact to find out if it is.

I really would rather not know because there’s nothing I can do about anything, because life is about choices and though I can see farther and deeper than those in my family, no one in the family recognizes this gift and appreciates or listens to what I have to say. So, my only recourse is to stand back and let them experience the results of the choices they make and hope for the best.

An old boyfriend crossed my mind – not the Arab attorney, but a 32-year-old long-haired drummer I dated when I was 50.

I googled his name and he came up on an obituary.

That was a surprise.

More surprisingly still was how recent it was. He passed on 3/17/18 of a cerebral hemorrhage and was buried on April 6.

Had he crossed my mind sooner and I’d learned of his passing, I probably would have attended the funeral.

He wasn’t a bad guy, just young, immature and eventually began trying my patience, which eventually got him shown the door.

His obit was white-washed with half-truths and glaring omissions.

Divorced from a Black woman, no children, he was drawn to me because I reminded him of her, which didn’t bother me in the least bit because I wasn’t serious about him. I was in it for the fun. He on the other hand eventually began sweating me for marriage. I declined, and probably for the same reason she divorced him -- because though fun to hang with, took me interesting places where I met interesting people, he was basically a loser, going nowhere in life, accomplished nothing other than hang out, travel and play with a few bands. His wealthy parents basically supported him his whole entire life and, in fact, he was living with his mom when he passed away.

I’m torn between feeling sorry he’s gone from this life, but thinking he now gets the chance to begin again and do better.

At any rate, the feeling something is wrong is still lingering, so what I’m sensing is not about him.

Tomorrow is Pizza Tuesday. Might be a good idea to check in and see what’s happening with the seniors.

One Before the Road

Time for one last post before I hit the road so, continuing with what I forget to mention came out of yesterday’s Residents/Management meeting .... It’s a Girl.

Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) and his wife are having a little girl to go along with his two boys.

No mention was made of the young lady, also expecting a baby while living here as caretaker to her grandmother, but residents are already talking about a baby shower for HMG.

So there’s that.

Watching Good Morning America’s coverage of the Royal Wedding, as I had my coffee, I caught a segment that mentioned Megan and Harry met on a blind date.

Flashback to the two times I myself went on blind dates -- one I agreed to, the other I was forced into.

The one I was forced into was when my mother and stepfather arranged for me to go on a blind date with a young coworker of stepfather.

I was only 15, no way interested in boys and dating, but mom – being the odd individual she was, seemed on a mission to destroy my life in multiple ways, other than traumatizing me when my dog was taken from me and she said she’d sent Skippy to the meat market to be ground into hamburger meat, had been pushing me to get interested in boys way sooner than I was ready. Mom even tried to turn my best friend against me by telling her she thought I was destined to be a lesbian.

I wish mom was alive today so I could ask her, “What the hell was wrong with you!?”

At any rate, that date with stepdad's coworker was a movie and dinner.

Uncomfortable being alone in a car with a boy, I made it through the movie because, when he spoke to me, I was confused as to whether he was talking to me or someone over my shoulder, behind me, because he was cross-eyed. His head was towards me, but his eyes appeared to be looking elsewhere.

Being only 15, I’d never heard of or seen eyes like that before and it confused and scared me to where I asked to be taken home after the movie, rather than dinner.

Second and very last blind date was when a neighbor, some 15/20 years ago, hearing me always blasting country music, asked, “Do you date out of your race?” saying she had a friend who was also into country/western but only dated Black women.

Sounded interesting so I, of course, asked for his credentials.

He was a long-time employee of a utility company and she said he was a big guy, tall, kinda looked like country music star Trace Adkins.

I don't think I asked the other usual questions, because she had me at “looks kinda likes Trace”. I agreed and we met up at, where else ... Starbucks.

He was a good conversationalist, had a nice deep voice, was tall, did look like Trace, everything seemed what I like EXCEPT where his mouth should have been was a bird-like beak opening.

I’m sorry if I sound shallow, but the facial deformity was a deal breaker. Everything else about him was so right that I tried, we went to lunch, talked for a bit on the phone, but the mouth thing was more than I could handle. I called it off and was done with sight unseen blind dates.