The Ghost of Memorial Days Past

Another Memorial Day weekend has come and gone. It isn't a holiday about which many people seem to reminisce. I, nevertheless, did. In fact, it occurred to me that I have had some really good times during the Memorial Day weekend over the past few years. A few in particular come to mind.

2000 -- A wedding. My wedding, in fact. I had proposed on New Year's Eve of 1999. While people everywhere worried about the "Y2K" potential horrors, I worried only if the ring would fit. It did. And then we had the wedding on the lawn of the Saint Augustine Lighthouse on the Saturday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend. All our best friends were there, as well as family, and we had a blast. The marriage, as it would turn out, would be right out of Hollywood. By that I mean that it was short. Very short. But the wedding was one to remember.

2002 -- Little Talbot Island. Recently single (again) at this point, I had met another wonderful woman and we had dated for a few weeks. She, I and her two young children spent Memorial Day on the beach of Little Talbot Island, north of Jacksonville. The day was cloudy, windy and cool -- not the ideal beach day. It didn't matter. Life felt good for a moment while we were there, my still wounded heart left for the day at the house that two Memorial Days previous had been a dream house of sorts.

2003 -- Unremarkable, evidently. I have no specific memory of Memorial Day 2003 except that I recall being nostalgic about 2000 and 2002 -- as if being visited by the Ghost of Memorial Days past.

2004 -- Folk Festival and Camping. By 2004, the wounds of a failed marriage had healed, and I was finished with relationships that fell into the "rebound" category. I had met another young woman by this time that made my heart scream, "THIS IS RIGHT!" In spite of a few false starts, Memorial Day weekend found us on a camping trip together. The actual event was an annual folk festival along the Swanee River. I impressed her with my organizational skills, and we impressed each other with with our teamwork as we set up our camp as if we had done it many times before. Because of this trip, I can honestly say that I've seen Arlo Guthrie in concert -- who would have known? More than anything else, the trip deepened my affection for a woman who would continue to play a major role in my life for some time to come (a story for another day).

2005 -- A Walk on the Beach. Although the woman from camping in 2004 was still very much in the picture, she was no closer to committing than she was a year ago. So I remained open to dating other women. In April of 2005 I met a woman who would have a dramatic effect on me. She was about eight years my junior and was nothing short of stunning -- one of those girls who turns heads; one of those girls guys like me only dream of. While she was (and remains) a mystery in nearly every way, she and I went to the beach on Memorial Day and walked for a few miles, mostly in silence, before returning home. The beach was full of bikini-clad women, but I saw only her. I would see her only two more times before she would disappear without explanation. Except for her name and a few minor facts, I knew nothing about this beautiful woman despite that fact that we saw each other probably fifteen times. I don't know if it was her beauty or her mystery or the fact that I knew she'd never be mine, but for whatever reason I fell in love with her while listening to a Damien Rice song called The Blower's Daughter. Even now, two years later, I cannot hear that song and not smell her perfume and feel her body against mine.

2006 -- The Ghost Again. Like 2003, I do not remember specifically what I did this Memorial Day. There was a woman in my life, but I regret that my heart remained elsewhere as I recalled the camping trip of two years ago with that one special woman who continues to come into and out of my life. I also could not help but think of the mystery girl with whom I shared a walk to remember a year prior. I had accepted that she would remain a mystery, but had not accepted that the woman from the camping trip should not be with me now.

2007 -- Another Beach, Another Woman, and the Same Story. So yesterday was another Memorial Day. I am a sentimental man, so I did think back -- which is obvious from this blog post. I had a few drinks and sat on the beach with a woman who adores me for some reason. I thought briefly about being a happy newlywed seven years ago. The thought was brief because I've made peace with that short chapter of my life; I can smile and move onto other thoughts. I also thought briefly about the day at Little Talbot Island -- again, briefly because that chapter is also peacefully closed. There have been many women in and out of my life between 2002 and today. Of those, only three give the Ghost of Memorial Days Past a real reason to visit me this year. One, of course, was sitting beside me as I thought. One is the mystery girl whose beauty I may never see again. And one is the woman who continues to hold on to a big piece of my heart. Try as I might, I can't seem to break that connection. I can only hope that by Memorial Day of next year life will be different -- completely with her or completely without her. Either way, I will smile. You see, I'm not afraid of ghosts!

The Cost of Getting There

It finally happened last weekend. After weeks of hovering around $2.85 to $2.95 a gallon, gasoline prices in Jacksonville finally crossed the $3.00 mark, jumping a full ten cents in one day. As usual, no sensible reason was ever offered, but I'm sure that the arrival of Memorial Day weekend was a key factor. I am fully aware that many people in certain parts of our nation (if they're reading this, that is) are frantically looking for their little violins right now as they saw the $3.00 mark long ago. I am also aware that some of our citizens now are paying in excess of $4.00 for a gallon of regular gasoline. I feel for you all, and I don't know how you do it. But something tells me that I'll be finding out soon enough. Ouch!

For all the complaining we do, I don't think that we're really doing much else to improve the situation. I read, in fact, that more people intend to travel this weekend than ever before. While getting my oil changes at my car dealership, I walk around the lot and look at new vehicles, amazed at the poor EPA mileage ratings. And although I read recently that buyers are now finally shying away from the largest trucks and SUV's, there appears to be no shortage of them on the roads. Am I any better? Not really. Last year, I leased a SUV myself. Of course I can't afford to drive it anymore! To my credit, however, I have made a conscious effort to reduce unnecessary driving. I walk to nearby restaurants. I bought a bicycle. And I try to date girls who live close by -- a feat that never actually works!

I saw a story this morning about a gas station that is refusing to sell gasoline for a period in protest of prices. While I doubt that the impact will be signifant, I do admire the owner's spunk. I also know of some people who try carpooling and other such efforts. Bravo for them! But the truth is that most people have few, if any, alternatives. It's just the way we have allowed our lives to evolve. We are seemingly hopelessly dependent on being able to get there and here independently and conveniently. That being so, we are also hopelessly dependent on fuel. That's just progress, and there is no going back to simpler "good old days." So we will adjust and pay the price and complain some more. Let's do be prudent, however. Let's consolidate trips and be a bit more wise when purchasing our next vehicles. The difference it makes may be small, but it is a difference.

Blowing in the Wind

Saturday was a nearly picture-perfect day in Jacksonville, Florida. The winds were such that the smoke was blowing away from us, and the temperature was in the upper 70's. In short, it was the kind of day that makes one want to be outdoors. In fact, it was the kind of day that begs for a ride in a convertible with the top down. Lucky me! That opportunity presented itself.

My very good friend (oh, and former spouse) Amy realized a long-standing dream on Friday afternoon when she acquired for herself a Mini Cooper convertible. I was happy that she sent me a text message from the dealership informing me of her escapade. My immediate reply: "Take me for a ride!" We later decided to fulfill our ongoing commitment to get together for dinner at a favorite restaurant Saturday evening. She would pick me up. And she did.

Right on schedule, an electric blue Mini buzzed down my street, top down, with Amy proudly at the wheel looking chic and cool -- a feat she couldn't quite pull off in a Mitsubishi Gallant or in the deathtrap on wheels of yesteryear, the dreaded Altima. Yep, she had arrived. We sat in the driveway and "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed" for a while. She demonstrated all the buttons and gave me "the tour." Naturally, I had her open the hood to reveal the mini engine and to satisfy my testicular-driven curiosity. Once we pulled out the driveway, I saw a side of Amy that I didn't know existed in spite of nearly 12 years of friendship as she negotiated my small suburban street as if it were an Indy track. In contrast, however, she limited herself to a single glass of wine at dinner so as to be at her best when she would once again take control of the mighty mini shortly afterwards. That's when I knew that it was true love between a girl and her hot little car!

By the time we left the restaurant, it was dark and cool. The night air felt good blowing though our hair. And all too soon, I was home. The mini adventure was over. Well, for me. It was just starting for her -- and that is the real point of this little story. As for me, I felt affirmed of my capacity to be genuinely happy for someone else in their moment of triumph. It felt good to see an old friend do something a bit extravagant just for the sake of fun and happiness and living in the moment. And it felt good to share the excitement and the ride, if only for a moment.

The Falwell Legacy

Jerry Falwell died a few days ago.

As can be seen in the numerous news reports, editorials and comics, Mr. Falwell surely left his mark on America -- a legacy, if you will. But a legacy of what?

Some say that he lived a righteous life as a man of God. Others say the opposite. Many fall somewhere in between the two extremes. The whole matter, of course, sets off debates about the nature of God -- a theological can of worms if there ever was one.

Most of my knowledge of Rev. Falwell admittedly has been in the context of his numerous appearances in the news. In that context, I can't recall a single instance in which he had anything positive, anything encouraging, anything loving, anything kind to say. In that context, I know only what he stood against. Did he stand for anything? I don't know. In that context, I only saw him angry and judging and condemning. In that context, I never saw evidence of the grace about which he almost certainly spoke in his sermons. Perhaps he was different in other contexts, but the traits that he exhibited much of the time do not appear to be hallmarks of the God of the New Testament. What a shame.

Rev. Falwell spoke much of Judgment Day. For his sake (and for my own), I can only hope that God is far more gracious than Rev. Falwell was during his tenure among us. Peace be with us all.

Mother's Day

Mothers…

I have one.
I was married to one.
I caused someone to be one.
I have dated several.
I have known very good ones and very bad ones.
I am forever amazed at who they are and what they do.

Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall. A mother's secret love outlives them all. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

This Is Good Naked

This will be a short post – and one with no seriousness whatsoever. I couldn’t resist when I saw these two items on the news.

A while back, I did a post on “bad naked,” borrowing from the Seinfeld vernacular. That post, no doubt, is still discussed at water coolers nationwide on a near-daily basis. Ahem…. (In case you missed it, check it out.)

In my never-ending desire to be fair and balanced, I feel that is only my duty now to present what some may perceive as “good naked.” I don’t make this stuff up, mind you.

Earlier this week, Naked News held its North American Raw Talent search in New York. Naked News, if you haven’t heard of it, is a newscast that provides news, entertainment and lifestyle segments via broadcasts to television, the Internet and mobile phones.

The rub here is that the anchors (reporters? hosts?) are naked women and men. Although I have only seen clips of the show, it appears safe to say that Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather would not fit. Katie Couric, maybe. The producers have clearly gone to great lengths to ensure that “bad naked” will never be associated with their production – assuming, of course, that we accept that “naked” and “news” can belong in the same sentence. These pictures were included on Yahoo! News today. This is good naked….

In a similar story a few days earlier, an American photographer (Spencer Tunick) photographed a group of nearly 20,000 naked people in Mexico City. I have included a sample photograph from this event. Good naked or bad naked? The jury is still out, but I’ll play the odds and go with bad naked. Then again, beauty has always been in the eye of the beholder.

"But the thing you don't realize is that there's good naked and bad naked. Naked hair brushing -- good. Naked crouching -- bad." (Jerry to George, in Seinfeld, "The Apology.")

Enough said. Topic hereby retired.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

There is a song from many years ago (before my time) by The Platters called Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. I have no idea how I know that, but I do. It occurs to me today that this old song may well be playing in the minds of everyone in Jacksonville, Florida and the surrounding areas.

The sunshine and blue skies that we know so well have been obscured recently by smoke. Today has been the worst as the wildfire that started some three weeks ago in Waycross, Georgia has now crossed into Florida. It has consumed over 100,000 acres so far. To make matters worse, we now have wildfires burning in several other North Florida counties. They, too, are spreading like – well, like wildfire. As they burn, the smoke seems to be settling over the city of Jacksonville. Today, in fact, I actually smell the smoke inside my house. My eyes burn from it.

I am a bit concerned about Mother Nature. Is she going through “the change”? Or maybe she’s having trouble at home with Father Time? Or maybe she’s just gone nuts. I don’t know the answer, but it does appear that she is letting things get just a tad out of whack. The Southeast is bone dry while the Northeast and parts of the West are getting more rain than they can handle. Her distribution system needs an upgrade, perhaps. The last significant rainfall we had in Florida was, I believe, during Hurricane Wilma in the fall of 2005. So, if we’ve offended you, Mother Nature, we’re sorry. Send rain! Please.

Even as I write, I think Ma Nature is softening. Through the smoke, I see clouds building outside and the weather service has announced that Tropical Storm Andrea is coming to visit. Two years ago news of a tropical event of any kind would have elicited abject dismay. But not today. Even though Jacksonville hosts the TPC golf tournament this weekend, an impending tropical storm is great news! Bring it on! Let’s sing it together:

Rain, rain, don't go away;
Rain down on us today...

So we’ll watch the sky and wait. Until then, we will keep singing and rain-dancing to that other song. Smoke gets in your eyes….

Spring Cleaning -- An Addendum

When we last visited, I related my recent experiences with spring cleaning. As I am so prone to doing, I managed to give even this esoteric subject a philosophic slant. I can't help myself. And here we go again.

When I was a psychology major at Furman Univeristy, I focused much of my study on human memory and cognition, which is one of the more purely scientific branches of psychology (as opposed to clinical psychology, for example). Our psychology department was split, in fact, with the clinical portion in one building and the empirically scientific portion in another building -- each somewhat critical of the other. My memory and cognition classes focused on the physical mechanisms of how we learn and store and retrieve information in our brains -- a valid pursuit, I might add. The clinical classes fit into what many people consider to be "real psychology," as in why people love and hate and go crazy and what to do about it all. This, too, is a valid pursuit. I appreciate both aspects, finding a balance in them.

I remember one day in my Introduction to Clinical Psychology class with the beloved Dr. Gerta McCahan. I don't recall the topic of the lecture, but the subject of memories came up. She said, in her gentle way, something to this effect: "The folks over in the other building spend a lot of time trying to figure out how people store memories. Well, I'll tell you how. We store our memories in things." She knew, of course, that she was oversimplifying the matter, but she was actually referring to what the cognitive psychologist would call "cues." So, while we don't actually store memories in things (objects), those things can, and do, evoke our memories.

What, you're surely asking yourself, does this psychology lesson have to do with Michael's spring cleaning? Read on.

While going though the stacks of items in my closet, I found a little lavender ball cap. On that little cap is a picture of Tigger (Winnie the Pooh's buddy). There were also a few very small tee shirts. In spite of my frenzy to rid myself of things that no longer fit (literally and figuratively speaking), when I found those items I could only stand there and hold them and look at them. Then I sat down and did the same. And memories flooded into my consciousness from those little pieces of a young girl's clothing.

They were, of course, my daughter's things. As the memories continued, I even remembered putting those things in the closet when I moved back to my townhouse when my former wife and I separated in 2002. Surely Emily had already outgrown those things even then, meaning that I had been keeping them for some time already. Nevertheless, I could vividly recall seeing her running around wearing those things as she played make-believe and talked and talked and talked. I could see her hair, so blonde that it was nearly white, coming out from beneath the Tigger hat. I felt myself smile as I wished that I could turn the clock back, even for a few minutes, to the days when I could pick her up and hold her and get wet kisses on my face and silly giggles in my ear. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago. But time really does fly and things do change.

The little girl who wore those things is fifteen now. She is smart and eloquent and pretty. She is healthy and happy. Even before she was born, I clearly remember praying for one thing only -- that she be healthy and happy. Prayer answered! She used to play with stuffed animals in my living room. Now she is very busy with things are important to fifteen-year-old girls. Life revolves around her friends. I always knew these days would come. And knowing that, I have always spent every minute with her that I could. Dance and voice and piano recitals, soccer games, school events, Indian Princess meetings, and so on ... I was there for all of it. And I still am. She doesn't have a lot of time for Daddy these days, and that has to be okay. I am here when she does have time, and the time is always good when we share it. She's a great kid and the best part of my happy life. And seeing the little hat and tee shirts just reminded me that she has always been my little best friend in addition to being my daughter.

So spring cleaning continues. There will remain in my closet, nevertheless, a few little things that don't fit. Or maybe they do fit quite perfectly. Dr. McCahan, in her own wise way, was right about the memories. It is things that remind us. They cause us to dust the cobwebs off the pictures in our minds and to listen again to the echoes in our hearts. They take us back down the paths that brought us to where we are and bring us back again so we can go forward. I can tell that spring cleaning may take a while. I am enjoying the clutter far too much!

Spring Cleaning

The good people of Jacksonville, FL are experiencing something unusual this year – spring! Our norm is to have essentially two seasons: summer and not-summer. Not-summer is a 25-day quasi-season that is split into 2 to 5 day increments and distributed over the period lasting from November to April. Once in a while, something resembling winter blows though. We really enjoy that day – unless it rains, then it’s just a bad day. This year, however, we have seen a few weeks of spring inserted between not-summer and summer (which should start next week). Whether related to the season or not, I have been sensing of late too much clutter around here. It’s time for spring cleaning!

Though not anal about it, I am somewhat of a neat freak. I like to have things in order – you know, for things to have a place and to actually be in that place most (some) of the time. Now that I work from home, however, I realize that I have let things go a little. That line where “home” starts and “office” stops is blurry at best. Clothes go un-ironed for too long, and my drawers and closets have become unkempt, especially as my way-too-intelligent Siamese cat has figured out how to open them. And speaking of clothes, why, I wonder, do I have so many? Women have 100 pairs of shoes; I have shirts. I could wear a different shirt every day for two months – well, if they were pressed. And I still have every tie I have owned since the Reagan administration! Again, I say it’s time for spring cleaning.

Over the weekend, then, I got plenty of beer and started the task at hand. I normally drink wine or mixed drinks, by the way; but spring cleaning seems to call for beer. I have now spent a few hours ironing. The closet and drawers are falling into place, and I foresee a trip to Goodwill to rid myself of some shirts, pants and ties in the very near future. The process is under way and proceeding nicely. So why do I still feel such a sense of clutter?

Several beers into my spring cleaning, I took a rest and sat at the computer and started reading other peoples’ blogs. There are several that I visit regularly, including Amy’s and Suzy's. Both have been particularly poignant over the past few weeks and days. And in my beer-fortified task-oriented state of mind on Sunday afternoon, both took me to a new insight into life’s clutter. Whether it is boyfriends (or girlfriends) who don’t fulfill or fathers who distance themselves, the point seems to be that many of us fill our lives with people and relationships that diminish us and sap our time and energy while consistently failing to replenish us in ways that we need replenishing.

I saw the need, then, for spring cleaning beyond the mess on my kitchen counter. It is actually the mess in my heart and mind that I find so disquieting. One-way friendships; women who are too aloof; women who are too clingy; interests left un-pursued; workouts skipped because of a pointless phone call – it all adds up. The friendships and the women and the calls are important to me because they represent people, and people have intrinsic value. They also represent people I love and care for. In this emotional spring cleaning, though, my task is to take inventory of the cost of those people and relationships versus the benefit. They are important; it is true. So am I.

Relationships that cease to be two-way endeavors render us empty vessels. They are like the Reagan-era ties and the pants from when I weighed 145 pounds: they just don’t fit any more. Maybe they go to Goodwill. Maybe they go to the curb. Maybe I decide that their sentimental value is too great and put them back on the shelf for another year. Maybe I am beginning to understand why I procrastinate for so long when it comes to my spring cleaning. It’s hard work.