Remember When We...

I’ve always felt that one of my better abilities is my memory. I seem to remember so much more about mine and my sibling’s youth than any of them and I always have. I use to attribute it to my obvious brilliance. Lately I’ve been thinking that there may be more to it than that.

I’m sure I’ve written before about times and events in my life that neither Karen, Steve nor David remembers nearly as well as I do. Karen seems pretty good at it and David can sometimes surprise me but Steve, well, let’s just say it aint happening. I have run into old friends of mine and my brothers and sister and will remind them of something that happened many years ago. The usual response, and it happened again last night with a friend of Karen’s, is along the lines of, “Kevin, How can you possibly remember that”? I don’t even think about it, it’s just something that plays in my head when seeing or talking to that person.

We all have triggers in our minds that go off when a sight, sound or even scent happens to hit us. For me, and I have no idea why, that trigger is constant. I’m not saying I have some kind of photographic memory or anything like that. It’s just that these people, places or events are up there and are always floating around.

I had contact with someone from high school just the other day. I asked about his brother by using the nickname we used to call him by. The response was one of shock. How could I remember that name? He said he could live to 100 and not remember that. I don’t know what to say, these are the pictures in my head.

I’ve spoken to a number folks about this memory thing and have found a common thread among those with the same, I don’t know, ability? It seems that those who are the youngest of their families happen to have the better memory among their siblings and even parents. I’ve been thinking about that for a few days and, ya know, it makes sense.

Being the youngest, I was always the one that was sent to go along with the others. I mean when mom would tell Karen or Steve to go do something they would either be asked to take me along or would bring me along for company. If it were to one of their friend’s houses I would sort of be just standing around watching and listening to whatever it was they would be doing. I don’t know if I’m explaining this as well as I want to. I was basically an observer. I think most younger siblings were put in the same boat.

I think being the youngest was an asset in that sense. I think my knowledge of all kinds of trivia is a result of being the youngest. I remember reading the newspaper at a very young age simply because I’d be home while Karen would be babysitting and having friends over. I couldn’t really hang out with her could I? I’ve written before about how I know more about nothing than anyone I know. Well, that doesn’t just happen by osmosis. When you’re the youngest you do spend a great deal of time just watching things. I just happen to have had the ability to retain a lot of what I observed.

While in high school I was blinded for a number of weeks. During that time I went about life as normally as possible. I also did little but observe then too. Again, I remember in great detail many of the things that were said or done during that period. I actually get a picture in my mind of where I was or who I was with. I think that period in time is also responsible for my remembering things as well as I do. There I was, 17 years old, blind as a bat and still living my life. What else was I going to do except observe. I also knew that this was a pivotal period in my life.

So there you have it. An explanation of my complete nerdiness when it comes to remembering my youth. I still don’t think I’m explaining it as well as I’d like but hopefully you’ll catch my drift.

You Don't Even Have To Look For It

I was on the phone with someone yesterday, commiserating about the snow, and I mentioned how I had shoveled the driveway but not the walk. I explained that I never used the walk. I always come in the garage. I said that the mailbox was on a pole across the street so there was really no reason for anyone to have to get to my door. Well, it couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes later, while still on the phone, that my doorbell rang. Sure enough it was the mailman. How is that even remotely possible? I couldn’t have planned it any better if I tried.

Stuff like that is so weird yet I find it kind of, I don’t know, comforting. It kind of confirms my thoughts on how comical life not only can be, but is. It’s kind of like the video I passed around of Lucky, part Siberian Husky, being afraid of the snow. You can’t make that kind of stuff up. It’s real life and I happen to find that reassuring.

Here’s a perfect example right now. I’m sitting here in my chair watching television. I turned on the weather channel to see what today’s forecast calls for and they guy just said we won’t get anymore snow until this evening. I look up at one of the windows here in the living room and see that it’s snowing pretty hard. What else can you do but enjoy this moment?

I think it’s vital that things are that way. If it weren’t I can’t imagine the stress we’d all be under. I mean, we all have stress in our lives and sometimes it can be overwhelming. My point is that without the comical side of life happening on a regular basis, I’m just not sure how we’d make it.

Venting Away

I’m really not too hip on the protocol on how things are supposed to feel with this whole thing with Steve going on. I’ve been talking to a few people about it and I keep saying that I almost feel selfish. I mean, isn’t it only natural to see this whole thing as how it affects me? It has to be doesn’t it? I mean, when I see the world I see it through my eyes. No matter how hard I try to put myself in another’s place it just doesn’t work.

I’ve been talking to so many people about what’s happening and so many have offered an ear or shoulder but how do you even begin that conversation. Hi, I’m afraid my big brother may be dieing? This is my big brother! I’m finding myself, throughout the day, completely breathless. I’ll be at work doing something mundane and out of nowhere my eyes well up and I literally have to hold onto something until I can catch my breath.

I’ve always been able to just get in the car and drive whenever anything has been on my mind. Now, when I need that comfort most, I find the car to be my most feared enemy. Almost as soon as I pull out of my development I have to pull over because I just don’t think I have the strength to turn the steering wheel. Once on the road I can’t seem to get the music loud and hard enough. I no longer sing along to it, I scream. I scream so hard that I can barely talk when I arrive at whatever the destination may be. The hardest thing is going to work. It’s normally about a half hour drive. It’s been taking almost twice that now with the little stops I make. I actually had a policeman knock on my window this morning as I had pulled off the freeway to try to collect myself before moving on. After explaining my embarrassing moment to him he left and all I could do was bang my head on the steering wheel a couple times.

I don’t just feel empty, I feel there’s even less there than the emptiness. I simply can’t breathe. There’s nothing there to force the air. I slept on the couch down here in the living room last night, fully clothed, because I didn’t think I could make it upstairs. I don’t even want to tell you the adventure it was to get up the stairs this morning to shower and shave. It’s probably a good thing that I work because, odds are, I’d never leave the chair. I know this will pass but I almost feel as if I somehow deserve these feelings. I know, there’s no logic there and that’s what makes me know that I’ll get by.

I’ve written a couple times in the past about the child inside all of us. How age and circumstances are always taking swipes at that child. I’ve written about how these things are always chipping away at that kid. This is easily the biggest hit I’ve taken and all I can think is how will I ever bring that kid to life again. That child is the one true thing I’ve had with me for as long as I can remember and I don’t know how one goes on without him.

I understand that Steve is still here and there have been plenty of people that have had liver transplants and done very well with them. I, of course, hope that Steve has the same if not better results. I told Steve that I would gladly donate part of my liver to him and we’re both in the process of finding out our blood types to see if we’re a match. I didn’t offer this because I’m some kind of hero, there’s nothing noble here. Those that know me very, very well know the reasons. They simply wouldn’t make sense to those that don’t. suffice it to say, there was never any question in my mind.

I really don’t want anyone to think I’m in any kind of danger. I’m just venting here. I know some of these feelings and actions are things I should keep to myself but again, if you know me, you know I can’t. This is my sounding board. Just keep him in your thoughts kids. On the Facebook site I’ve written about lately I joined a cause for the awareness of Hepatitis C. Well, this is why. Steve has had it for a number of years now and it seems this is the result of it.

It’s just so weird to feel this way and to be in this position. This is my big brother.

Bittersweet Symphony

I was so excited, looking forward to last night. Seeing “Barenaked Ladies” at the Fox Theater on New Years Eve. Surely a highlight for any fan and I consider myself a big one. I was thinking that I could never find a more perfect ending to what, for me, had been one of the most difficult years of my life. I was able to leave work early, get home to take care of the dog and get ready for the drive down to Detroit and an evening of pure delight.

I was meeting my friends down at one of their houses in Southfield and as I was turning onto his street my phone started ringing. I looked and saw it was my brother Steve. I actually debated whether to answer or not. When I picked up he sounded down and said he wanted to give me an update. I figured he was talking about his dog, Schooner, who’d been diagnosed with cancer last week. As I pulled into my friend Mark’s driveway Steve said that he had liver cancer.

I parked the car and we talked for a bit and he said that the Doctors told him that he’d be going onto a transplant list. He said he was a good candidate for it and they were confident they could get him one. He also said that if they couldn’t find one, in a certain period of time, he’d have to start chemo. He told me he talked to mom already and didn’t really want to deal with the kind of calls he would receive from the other siblings and Dad right then so he called me because he knew I wouldn’t do the freak out thing or pepper him with all the questions that are always asked and never answered until time has passed.

I told him I would take care of it and would tell them that he was out for the evening and left his phone at home so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. (Sorry Karen). We agreed that I would tell Dad and David tomorrow and I would call Karen right after I hung up with him. We chatted a little more and made a few jokes about it and we laughed. It was good to laugh.

We laughed because that’s what I do. We laughed because, I sincerely believe, that’s why Steve called me and expected. It wasn’t a strong belly laugh, I know that will come after an adjustment period, but it was a laugh. We laughed because we didn’t want to cry and we both knew that the tears would come soon enough. We laughed because, well, what else do you do?

We hung up and I was ok so I called Karen, she’s up at her cottage, and I told her. I also told her the lie about Steve being out for the evening and told her that Steve had already talked to Mom. We both thought it important that one of us call her and I told Karen that I couldn’t do it right then. Not because I was busy but I just didn’t have the strength for it. She knew what I meant and said she’d do it. I turned off the car and headed up to Mark’s door.

I knocked once and opened the door. As I was closing it Mark walked into the room and said hey or some type of greeting. I said the same and held up one finger in a “hold up a second” kind of gesture. He thought I was going to say something inane I’m sure but I said this was serious. I told him about the call I just hung up from. I was starting to feel weak in the knees and bent down a little, grabbing them to keep myself steady. Mark gave me the space I needed and I told him I would be ok; I just needed to catch my breath. Mark’s known Steve since he was 12 so I know this wasn’t easy news for him either. We proceeded into the den and started deciding where we were all going to go for dinner before the concert.

We decided that Greek Town would be a good choice and piled into Mark’s car to head downtown. We enjoyed a nice dinner and talked a lot. They were both very kind and let me talk some about the evening’s earlier events. That’s what friends do and they’re both good friends. After dinner we walked over to the Fox and got our seats.

I loved the concert, I truly enjoy these guys and wrote about the last time I saw them while I was in Florida. I did a pretty good job of holding it together and was able to get into the show. I’ve talked to a couple friends today and tried to explain this but I just felt the absolute need to scream, I needed the release. The band is not what one would consider a hard rock type outfit but they have a few songs that hit the level I was seeking. Sometimes they play them and sometimes they don’t.

One of the songs that do provide the release I so badly needed is called “The Old Apartment”. I sang pretty much every song they played but when this one started I couldn’t scream the words loud enough. It was loud, it was noisy and it was exactly what I needed. In the last verse of the song, when Steven Page screams the line “Tore the phone out of the wall”, I was right with him. It was like a huge breath that had been waiting the entire evening for an exhale, was finally able to find it’s happy place. I started to cry a bit and had to take off my glasses to wipe my eyes. The rest of the show was like a breathing exercise. I would find myself losing it a little every now and then and would wipe my eyes and continue my singing along with the boys. It truly was the therapy I knew I’d receive the minute Steve got off the phone with me.

I truly don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have the concert to go to after hearing the news. You’re always told to be with friends and family in times of crisis and seeing the band, to me at least, was just like being with old friends. So thanks to Steven, Ed, Tyler, Jim and Kevin. Sounds kind of weird to say but I don’t know if I could have made it through the night without you. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d have rather been than with you guys at the end of what has certainly become the worst year I’ve ever been through.

After the show we drove back to Mark’s house and I picked up my car. I had to stop a few times on the way home for the tears to go away but the drive was another thing I think I really needed. I’ve talked to a few friends and gotten a few well wishing messages from others. I need to let you all know that I truly do appreciate the sentiments. I really do love you all and treasure your friendships during this ridiculously confusing time.

Tick, Tick, Tick

The end of 2008 is upon us. Isn’t it fascinating how, as you get older; the years just seem to be something you step over. It seems the steps get smaller and smaller the more you climb. I often wonder how we don’t trip and fall down those steps, if you know what I mean.

I was thinking about my youngest daughter, who’s now 18, and how long the years must seem to her. Take it a step further and think of my almost five-month-old granddaughter. Each minute must seem like years to her. Of course she has no concept of time. I’ll be 48 next month and there are many times when I wish time would slow down considerably. There are also more times, like today, that I can literally feel it just slipping away.

I’m not saying that’s either a good or a bad thing. I’m also not saying that today was an exceptionally bad day. It’s just a normal day off. I woke up, made some coffee and sat in front of the television and watched a bunch of movies. Nothing wrong with that but the next thing I know, it’s dark out and it’s 8:00 pm. See what I mean? The day just flew right by.

I could have and should have spent the day doing any number of things. Laundry, clean up the house, visit friends or relatives. I, on the other hand, felt it more appropriate to sit in the lounge chair and watch movies. I could have even gone to the damn theater but when I looked at the times it was already too late to go to the showing I wanted. The time just slid right by.

I could easily have fallen into the trap of feeling all down about it. Thinking that I’ve wasted my life and all that other stuff I would expect myself to think but I didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten down on myself for being this amazing underachiever that I am. Again, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.

I’m ok with it. By calling myself an underachiever I’m not saying I’m this horrible person or anything like that or that my life is a failure, because I’m not and more importantly, it’s not. Yes I could have done any number of more productive things. Just as I could have been doing many more productive things throughout my life. The point is, I think, that as long as I’m not hurting anyone or myself and I’m a somewhat productive member of society, then it’s ok. The world needs people that aren’t reaching their “potential”. How else would the world of psychiatry survive?

Now, I know that there are many much more successful people than I that feel they themselves are underachievers, I’m sure they work very hard to do their best and all that. That’s cool; the world needs those kinds of folks too. I’m just not that interested in going after the “ring”. That, of course is easy to say right now.

There just may come a day when something sparks me. Something that gets my juices flowing like nothing ever has. That’d most certainly be intriguing. I’m sure I’d really get into it. It hasn’t hit yet and I’m not sure what to look for if I wanted to be proactive about it. Therefore, I’ll just sit in my chair and see another movie and watch as time whips on by and begins, in the words of the band War, slippin into darkness.

An Old Age Holiday Message

I woke this morning around 6:00 and went to my window to check out how much snow had fallen over night. As I reached into the blinds to get a little separation between the slats I noticed that the two smaller fingers on my left hand were having a hard time moving. It’s as if they’re sprained or something. Then a thought occurred to me. I’ll be 48 in a month, not getting any younger. Odds are this is arthritis.

Wow, if correct, that kind of sucks. Well, not really. I think the most exercise I get besides work is using my fingers to open the shade that made me realize my fingers hurt in the first place. I’ve had bad knees for ages, had surgery on one and that hurts every once in awhile. This, on the other hand, is different. I remember my grandmother complaining about arthritis when I was a kid and I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. I’d ask her about it and she always just said, “This stuff happens when you get old”.

I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about getting old before. I guess I always just thought that I’d be this social retard that I am forever. It’s always worked in the past to help me feel like I wasn’t getting any older. It’s just recently that I’m learning that the physical side of me really doesn’t care what the mental side’s plans are.

I took an Aleve and my fingers loosened up after a short while. Better living through chemistry and all. I can see how much easier it will be for me if this really was a case of arthritis, than it was for those generations before me. One simple tablet and I’m good to go whereas my grandparents would suffer daily. Sounds cold, but thems the breaks. I’m sure our kids are going to have it a lot easier too.

In reality, odds are great that this was simply a case of my bending my fingers in an odd way while sleeping but if that was the case, and I realized it, then I’d have had nothing to write about. And isn’t that my sole purpose in being here? ☺

Anyway, it’s Christmas week and those long time readers know how low I get during this time of year. I know I can become quite the grinch. I don’t mean it but I’m one of those folks that consistently bog my head down with low self-esteem feelings, especially this time of year. I will, however, admit to having a number of things that I’m happy about this year.

First and foremost, I became a grandfather this year. Jena was born in August and, though I still haven’t been able to get out to California to see her, I get regular updates on her growth and she’s doing fine. I’m happy that my kids are all healthy. Yes, they’ve each had their challenges throughout the year but they’re doing fine. My parents, brothers and sister are all plugging along and that’s a good thing too.

Lastly, I need to say how nice it’s been getting in touch again with all my new/old friends from high school via Facebook. I had no idea how much I missed you all and can never express my gratitude to you all for accepting me “back” into the fold. You will never understand how much this rediscovering has meant to me and I will forever be thankful to all of you.

So, happy holidays everybody. Be nice to each other and take care of yourselves.

A Little Island Adventure

About 10 years ago I went on a cruise with my father. It was a free trip for both of us and being that Carnival Cruise lines wanted to impress Dad, we each had our own Penthouse suite. It was really cool. We each had our own Jacuzzi, sound system and all kinds of cool amenities.

It was a Southern Caribbean cruise and we visited five different islands. The Dominican Republic, Guadeloupe, St. Lucia, St. Thomas and Grenada. As Dad isn’t one to really do anything active, he rarely left the ship. I made sure I got off at each port and did some exploring. When we stopped in Grenada I decided to do some snorkeling.

I paid some guy five bucks to take me to a beach where I could get in some good underwater sightseeing. He took me to his little boat and off we went. We arrived at a beautiful white sand beach and he dropped me off. As I was getting my gear on I noticed there was nobody else around. I had a choice, I could go out into the sea by myself or wait for the boat to come back and find a place with a few more people on it. Being the genius I am, I stayed and went snorkeling.

Once I started walking into the water I started getting a little apprehensive. I mean, here I was, thousands of miles from home, alone and as I looked out into the sea I could see our ship anchored what seemed like light years away. I put my mask and snorkel on and started checking out the sights. About 15 minutes into it I felt something brush against my foot and it scared the hell out of me. I popped up out of the water and looked around and saw a big piece of seaweed and was able to catch my breath.

It was at this point that I realized what a moron I was to be out there by myself and decided I’d had enough. I went up on the beach and went over to the dock and just sat. I saw a boat heading towards me from the distance and saw that it wasn’t the same one I had taken originally. There were four people on the boat and two were obviously islanders and the others, tourists. As the boat approached I asked if they could take me back to the port and was told there would be a cost of five bucks. I readily agreed, the tourists got out of the boat and I hopped in.

Once on the “Ninja” (I don’t know why I remember the name) I introduced myself to Stan and Bob. We started talking about life on the island and were, at least I think, enjoying each other’s company. We told each other about our families and the things we did for fun and just literally shooting the shit. I was having a really good time and the idiotic experience I had just lived through was but a memory.

About 10 minutes into the trip back I noticed what I thought was a buoy out in the distance. I mentioned to my new friends how odd it seemed to see one way out where we were. They both agreed and we started heading out towards it. As we got closer we say that it wasn’t a buoy at all. It was a person. Bob revved up the engine and we were flying towards what we thought was a swimmer in trouble.

As we approached we could hear, what turned out to be a woman, yelling something but we were too far away to hear her. We all thought that she was in big trouble. We were so far from the shore that we could barely make it out in the distance. As we approached, Stan grabbed a lifejacket and tied a rope to it while yelling out to see if she was ok. She was still yelling back at us and as we approached we could finally make out what she was saying.

“Have you seen my beach ball”? We all three looked at each other as if to check that we heard what we thought we heard and looked back at the woman. By this time we could see that she wasn’t in any distress at all. The closer we got, we could see how big she was. She was huge. We told her to swim over to us and hop in and we’d take her back to wherever she came from. She said, very politely and in an outstanding island accent, “No thanks, I need to find my beach ball”. Again, we found this strange but told her we’d help her.

It took all three of us to pull her in and once we got settled she told us that she had been on the beach with her kids when one came to her and said the beach ball was gone in the water. We must have looked for about 10 minutes before we saw the prized possession in the distance. We caught up to it and brought it to safety. At this point we were way off shore and started back to the beach she needed to get back to.

On the way back we pretty much just let her talk. She told us that the distance she swam was no big deal and that she could have stayed out much longer to find her beach ball. The whole thing fascinated me. I couldn’t stop laughing. I mean, here was this woman out in, literally the middle of the ocean, with no boat or life jacket and her whole reason was to get a stupid beach ball. I mean, c’mon, if I was that far out in the water I know there is no way I could find my way back to safety.

Anyway, I couldn’t get over how important this beach ball was to her. I started thinking about how cheap beach balls were and thought about how poor this person must be. I started feeling sorry for her and others on the island and started feeling kind of down. Here was this woman risking her life for something that I not only take for granted but wouldn’t think twice about buying another if it was in the basement and I was heading out the door. She, on the other hand thought nothing of it. Like this was an obvious choice when the kids said the toy was in the water.

It took us about 10 minutes to get her to her beach, think about how long that would take to swim, and as we approached the shore we saw that there was a man standing right at the edge of the water. He had his hand up above his eyes shielding the sun as if he were looking for something. As we got closer the woman recognized that the man standing there was her husband. She called out to him, ostensibly I thought, to tell him she was ok. She waved to him and stepped out of the boat and into the surf. As she started walking towards the shore and her husband he yelled something out to her. Now, a normal person would think that he would check to see if she was all right. Normal is a rather subjective thing. After seeing his wife after what could have been a most treacherous swim, all we heard him say in that most wonderful Caribbean accent was, “ Did you find the ball?” I cried I laughed so hard.