2006 Pt.2: My Dad

    Greg

"Greg was born a rascal," his sister told me, "His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake. But because of his lifestyle, he had chosen Hell for all eternity." she added. My Aunt was a little on the religious side. She also embraced Native Americanism. A couple of things I remember about her were her prayers, and that she liked to judge people. Both her and my Uncle were quick to snub when call for. Personally, I always thought the Bible explained human frailty and the necessity of human grace pretty well. Every one of us is broken. That's one of the reasons God created humor, and time.   

My Grandma told me Greg was a smuck. "He was no good from the start," she said.

My Mom didn't really talk about him unless I brought it up. 

"How'd you two meet?" I asked one day.  

"We met at a military dance while your Dad was in the service. He was a good looking guy and I was flattered that he took notice of me." she said. Who wouldn't want an athletic, ambitious, hard working valedictorian for a wife in the 1950s? Especially if you were a free spirit like my Dad.

When I visited Greg in November of 2006, he told me he worked for my Grandpa at his gas station. He said my Grandpa set him up with my Mom and that he was happy to marry her. "Your Mom is a smart woman," he said, "she always had it together. It was impressive." He also told me my Grandpa was a hard man. That when he drank he got mean and verbally abusive. My Dad told me my Grandpa treated women like shit too. I knew this about my Grandpa. What I didn't know, was that my Dad and my Grandpa were drinking buddies. 

Both my parent's stories agree on one fact, soon after my Mom and Dad met they got married. 

                                              

1957 

In 1961 we were a family 

In 1962 My Mom and Dad were divorced. I once found papers in my Grandma's basement that reveled court proceedings of when my Dad tried to sue my Mom for money. He was supposed to pay child support but never did, so, to get out of trouble he sued my Mom claiming she made enough money for everyone and therefore didn't need help from him. Apparently he asked the court to award him alimony from her. 

It was true my Mom had a good job and was making stable money for a woman and single Mother of two in the 1960s. My mom is smart, hardworking and dedicated to being an alpha female, and when the courts decided in her favor my Dad moved on with his own life. He never paid child support and my Mom never took him to court for it. They just let each other go. 

Within the next few years my Dad remarried and divorced again. He had two more kids, another boy, and another girl. The first time I met them was at the reunion for our Dad's side of the family (See: 1993-94: Costa Rica #2 & Personal Stepping Stones, April 27, 2011). My half siblings lived in Washington State. My Mom moved us to sunny California. Only Oregon was between our geography, but it might have well been a universe.   

One day in 1970, while we lived in Mountain View, my Dad called my Mom saying he was in town and wanted to spend the day with my brother and me. When he showed up at the house he had a girl with long red hair hanging from his arm. We (except my Mom) went to my religious Aunt's house for the day. I don't remember much about the visit, but I do remember hopping up on my Dad's lap and asking him, "What do I call you?" "Call me Greg." he replied. My 10 year old giddiness turned into confusion. "Okay Dad," I said, and I jumped from his lap and went outside to play with my cousins. From then on I considered him a novelty. Like a Christmas toy in a locked wooden case. One that can't be played with because it's valuable and might break. 

                                      

1975

When I contacted my Dad back in the early 90s he was happy to hear from me. For a while we exchanged simple letters and Christmas cards. The letters eventually tapered off, yet the Christmas cards kept coming.  My Dad's Common Law wife Dee was sending my family the season greetings. She'd often write a personal note in them telling me how good Greg was doing. Sometimes there was even a few words from him attached. He'd ask a question and/or relay a broad bush-stroke of information about himself. I knew he would never come out to see me and going out to see him wasn't high on my priority list in the 90s. I was seeing the rest of the world instead. But the man had entered my conscience and over the years I wouldn't let him go completely. 

Lil'C & Greg

Life moved on after the letters stopped and thoughts about my Dad would fade in and out of my mind like whimsical happenstances. Then in 2006 my half brother called to tell me Greg was dying of lung cancer. "His time is short. If you ever want to meet him it's now. I can pick you up at the Seattle airport if you'd like and drive you out to his place. Then I'll come get you and take you back to the airport." I was there within the week, grateful my half brother was looking out for me. 

The drive out to Spokane from Seattle was fascinating. I found out that my half brother worked in the ER at W. Seattle General Hospital. We talked about my half sister and how she's got a kid and is doing hair in a small shop on the outskirts of Seattle. The two don't see each other often. Then we talked about Dad. He told me that Dad doesn't get out of Spokane much and hasn't been to Seattle to see relatives in a long time. My half brother told me about the years of drug use too, "He's been doing all kinds of stuff for a long time. I haven't seen him in awhile so I'm not sure how things stand now. Try not to get your hopes up too high for anything." 

"I have no expectations." I confirmed. When we pulled into the driveway butterflies started flittering in my belly.  

We knocked on the door of the old house with a strange damp smell. The weather was cold and there was a light layer of snow on the ground. Dee opened the door and welcomed us in as the long lost relatives we were. Hugs all around. The inside of their place was like a old mountain cabin. Everything was made of wood. I walked through the small kitchen, past the log stove with a warm fire glowing from it, and into the living room there Greg was. I saw this old frail man, made of nothing but skin and bones, struggling to stand up from his personal recliner. "Hi. Tammy!" he said with a big smile. I loved him immediately.

Dee & Greg

Dee cooked us dinner and we chatted about the weather and Greg's bees which he factors out to farmers for pollination and sells their honey. "Dee and I eat two tablespoons of their pure honey everyday." he told me, "It's good for the digestive system." During the meal I couldn't take my eyes off of the man who held some visible keys to my nature. I watched his eye expressions and hand movements to see if they were like mine. I watched his mouth under his beard to see if we had the same smile. I also wanted to see if we walked the same, but he was so weak he didn't move far from his chair. 

young Greg

young me

 After dinner my half brother left leaving me alone in my Dad's house with the couple I had only known through letters. 

"Do you smoke?" Dad asked.

"Sometimes." By now I had cut my cigarettes down to maybe two a day. They were more for relaxing on the deck or socializing then anything else. Greg and Dee had been smoking non stop.

"Do you smoke weed?" Greg asked.

"Sometimes." 

"Would you like to?" 

"Absolutely." I replied.

While he rolled a joint from one of his selections of weed, (he had three yummy types in a Teflon container), we chatted about his drug years. He told me he took lots of trips down the West Coast delivering and picking up all types of drugs. "I was using them too." he said matter-of-factly. "When I saw you in Mountain View I was bringing down a bunch of weed to sell on the coast. When I got to Mexico I picked up Peyote and sold it on the ride back to Washington. One of the major reasons I never saw you and your brother was because there was always a possibility the heat was on. I didn't want to bring them around you guys." 

I wasn't sure I believed that excuse, but the truth was I had forgiven him long ago and didn't really care about any excuse. I was 46 and had been through enough life experiences to realize that some relationships are best left alone. It was obvious that my Mom and Greg were two totally different people from the start, and that the union would have been a bumpy roller-coaster at best anyway, especially with all the drinking and drugs Greg did over his lifetime. 

"Did you ever get busted?" I asked.

"Once I got pulled over while on my way to the East Coast with a van full of weed and Acid. I was high on the Acid and had just smoked a joint. The officer could smell it. He wanted to search the van but I somehow talked him out of it. That was the closes I ever came to being arrested in over 30 years of running drugs." ("His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake.") There were many other traveling and drug experimenting stories he told me. Those will be in the book Lil'C and I collaborate on later if we ever get the chance. 

Lil'C & Greg

I couldn't help think at some point, that while I was in high school doing lots of drugs myself, that my Dad could have been the one who brought some of them into the So. Cal. area from Canada, Washington, Mexico and beyond. My Dad told me he hung out with surfers in the 70s. "I had a good friend in Encinitas who surfed." he said. We even reminisced about the different types of weed that was around in the 70s. I had always heard that if you are to connect with someone you do not really know, you should always start with any point of commonness, ironically illegal substances was it between my Dad and me.         

I spent the next few days enjoying our visit and walking around his land. I saw the bees he was so excited about and all the equipment he owned for working on cars and trucks, which was another hobby he had. I also met his long-time friends. They all treated me like I was their own blood. "We're having a living wake party for your Dad next month. Can you come out?" Lil'C asked me. "Absolutely," I confirmed. Lil'C had worked with my Dad for a long long time putting his bee's honey into jars and selling it. She also had a beautiful vegetable garden (still does) and buys and sells classic cars. We became instant friends and writing companions.   

When the week was over my half brother came to pick me up and take me to the airport. During the drive we talked about what I experienced. While I told him about my new relationships he didn't hide his disdain for our Dad, much like my brother did when I asked him to come out to Washington with me. It was interesting how both of Greg's sons didn't want anything to do with him, but his daughters found it easy to let bygones be bygones. My half sister is very independent and charismatic. We hit it off at the reunion, and again when she drove over from Seattle to spend a night with me while I was around Spokane. Even though both of Greg's marriages ended in multi-dimensional feuds it was evident his little girls still loved their Dad, while his boys thought Greg was an ass. 

At the airport I gave my half brother a heartfelt hug and thanked him for all he did. "I know you took time out for me and I'm extreemly grateful for it." I said to him, "You changed my life forever. I wish we lived closer so we all could do more together." 

"Me too." he said, "I'll see you when you come out next month for the wake."

 "Cool." I replied, and we tightly hugged our goodbyes.      

Trip #2

When I returned to Seattle I brought C with me and Shaun flew in from Chicago with his guitar. I rented a car and the three of us did the beautiful drive down I90 through Snoqualmie Pass to Spokane. From the moment my Dad looked into Shaun's eyes the granddad/grandson connection was clear. My Dad was a classic hippie and Shaun resembles one two generations hence, slightly more modern in style.         

Before the living wake the three of us hung out with Greg smoking weed (except C) and chatted about the lives we lead and lead. We also chatted about conceptual ideas like instigators, motivators, and agitators. Then I had to ask a question that was on my mind since my first visit. "Dad, I have to tell you, your front door smells like marijuana plants. Why is that?" He broke out in a big grin, "Weed is growing under the house."  

"What?"

"Yeah, it keeps things cheeper when all I have to do is go out and pick from the garden." he said. 

"I guess so. Hey, um, can we see them?" I asked cautiously.

"Sure." he said proudly.

With Dee under his arm holding him up he walked us outside through the wintry snow to his basement around the back of the house. When he opened the heavy wooden door we saw inside, literally under his house, about 100 marijuana plants of all sizes under a complex system of lights. There were starter plants lined up in small plastic pots in the middle of the large room and bigger plants closer to the walls. The more mature plants had bright red hairs on big round buds almost too weighty for the plant to hold up. The aroma hit us instantly. I had never seen anything like it. Shaun, C and I, stood stunned and impressed. "Wow," was all we could say. Apparently my Dad was an expert weed grower, and had been for over 30 years! 

                                           

The living wake was held at Lil'C's house. A few of Greg's friends and business partners were there, and a few relatives from Indiana which I hadn't seen since 1993. My half sister showed up but my half brother stayed in Seattle. There was live music going on and Shaun played some of his own songs for Greg which was magical. The moment Shaun started to sing tears began to flow from the man who never though he'd ever see his only grandson (Greg has three other granddaughters). Personally, I was excited that I was able to give both of them this time. It was a one of those small big things we can give to forgive, like Velveeda & Shells.

One of my Dad's favorite foods was Kraft Mac & Cheese. When I found this out I thought it was my duty to step up the cheese factor a notch.

"Have you ever tried Velveeda?" I asked him.

"Nooooo." He said with suspicion.

"Oh my gosh it's unbelievable! You gotta to have some. I'll be right back." 

"Where you goin'?"

"To the store."

When I returned I fixed up two boxes of the creamy cheesy shells. With our full bowls in front of us I informed him that his taste buds are in for a party. He smelled his spoonful before sticking it in his mouth. Suddenly his eyes drifted into Velveeda heaven. 

"Wow! This stuff is fantastic." 

"I know right!" 

"This is such fantastic stuff." he repeated. I smiled like a giddy 10 year old. We ate the rest of our meal in a delirious silence. I couldn't help but be proud.  

  

When all the visiting was over Shaun, C and I loaded up the rental car bound for the Seattle airport. But I didn't leave empty handed. I made a new dearest friend and Sis, Lil'C. And through her I now get untainted honey for all the holidays. (Lil'C has her own company called Lil' Carol's Bee Products.) He gave C and me his blessings saying with a wink, "True love is a glorious madness." My Dad gave me a large art book he drew in during the 90s and the sweater my Mom had knitted him in the 1960s which had race cars on it. "I'd been saving it all these years hoping I could give it to you or your brother one day." he told me. "It's in the right hands considering what's on it." I said putting the sweater on. It fit. 

Finally, slowly and methodically, Dad packed up some of his home grown weed, "For the trip home." he said. "Thanks." came the tears. 

The goodbyes were sad knowing my Dad and I would never see each other again. But in my heart I was glad that I could even say goodbye to him at all. Somehow the two visits I had with the man connected some inner circle in my life, and I believe it was somewhat the same for him. My Dad was a man who asked questions about human thoughts, pondered the ways of earth rotations, and valued living with simplicity. He wasn't the master of the universe, but he was a very funny guy with lots of entertaining stories and a kind soul. And that's all I needed to know about him. When my Dad finally passed away I had no regrets, and I pray I healed some of his. After all, I wouldn't want him (or anyone) in Hell for all eternity. 

Greg and my Aunt

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

-Jack Kerouac

2006 Pt.1: Injuries, Fun Stuff, A New Dirt Toy & House. Then A Phone Call

oops!

In December of 2005, Sarah and I did one of our quick snowboarding day trips to Sugar Mountain NC. The day was cold and at one point Sarah went in for a cup of coffee while I took another run. I was riding down Lower Flying Mile when I launched off a gradual ledge and flew in the air. I had done this a couple of times already and was getting admittedly cocky. This jump, the last jump I would ever make on a snowboard, landed with me digging my downhill rail. I tumbled and bounced until my dumb ass stuck out my left arm. I was trying to correct myself. My elbow dislocated immediately. I felt it go limp.  

I laid in the snow thinking someone would stop to check on me, but no one did. People passed by like I was taking a moment to rest. I tried to move my left hand to my chest but it would not budge. I reached over with my right hand to help lift my left arm when immediately I felt the two bones once joined at the elbow grind. The pain soared through my neck, down my spine, and all the way to my toes. I started to ask passers by for help but no one heard me until I screamed, "I NEED ASSISTANCE PLEASE!"

By the time Ski Patrol got to me my arm was numb. They braced and packed me up and skied me down the hill. Then they carried me into the medical center. Sarah had come out after warming up and saw her name on the chairlift's blackboard; "Sarah Paul to medical center," it said. 

"So now the child gets called to the medical center for the adult eh? What a strange turn of events." Sarah said laughing as she walked into the room. By this time they had given me Morphine. "What did you do?" she asked. I told her about the jump. She sarcastically scolded me, reminding me that jumping, plus my age, doesn't equal negative gravity skills. I hate when my kids are right. One time Sarah pointed out how dangerous riding a motorcycle is in shorts. "But it's so hot riding in the Summer," I'd reply. "I'm just saying," she'd say. That was two days before I laid my duel sport down in the sand and burned the Second Degree deep partial hell, out of my right shin...twice!  

We watched the Paramedics cut a seam up the sleeve of my snowboarding jacket and layers of clothes exposing the elbow separation. Being thin it was easy to see the bone poking out. "Wow, that's cool looking." I remember saying. Truth is I'm so fascinated with Anatomy that when I see my body with a dislocation I can't help being more curious about the visual deformity then the physical pain its causing me.

"We need to get you to the hospital." the Paramedic said. She turned to Sarah, "you can follow us in your car." The second this statement came out of the Paramedic's mouth Sarah turned white as a fresh floating snowflake. "Mom I can't drive your G! It's a stick shift!" she said in a panic. The place went silent. 

"What kind of car?" the Paramedic responded. 

"My Mom has a manual Infinity G35," Sarah said, "and I don't know how to drive a manual." 

"I can drive a manual" said the other Paramedic, "I'll drive you and it to the hospital."

Sarah told me later that he had a good time driving down the mountain in my sporty black 6 speed. Sharing toys with responsible people is cool. Truth is, I've always enjoyed when others shared with me. And knowing someone got a thrill driving my car as much as I do makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.   

Once at the hospital I was given more Morphine while they snapped my Humerus back into my Ulna. Everything was braced up tight and I was released only to be faced with the same problem of how to get Sarah, myself, and my car home. This was when I witnessed an act of selflessness that I will never forget.

C had a couple of Rugby friends who lived in Boone. She called them and they came to help. One girl drove her car with me in the back seat, asleep. Her girlfriend drove Sarah and the Baby G. They drove us all the way to Greensboro (2 hours one way). C had another friend drive her to Greensboro from KB to meet us (a 4 hour drive one way). Sarah cooked all of us dinner before the girls drove back to Boone. C's friend from KB drove to Raleigh (which is in between Greensboro and Wilmington) to hang out with another buddy. C drove me home in the G. I paid for everyone's time and gas. It was the least I could do. From then on, Sarah drove her car on our little boarding excursions.  

"You damaged your Ulnar Collateral Ligament," my Orthopedic said, "you'll have a lot of play in your elbow and the Humorous can pop out again. At some point you'll need to have that ligament repaired. Possibly with a Tommy John Surgery," he said. I didn't want to be laid up in a cast during the surfing season so I decided to postpone getting under the knife. "Well then," my Doc replied, "you need to brace up when you do something strenuous. And I suggest you take easy." Every Doc's famous last words. 

What I did was step up my yoga. I took the route of strengthening my arm muscles and keeping things flexible while I was gimp. When we went to Snowshoe in March, I snowboarded in a brace that looked like a mechanical bionic arm. I spent my runs carving, as if surfing the mountain on a longboard. The extra weight to sling around on my lead arm (I'm regular foot) acted like an end-loaded softball bat on the turns. It added momentum.  

  

Shangrila Retreat, South Boston, Virginia

In January C, Sarah, and I took a weekend trip to ride horses on some trails in the hills of Virginia. With my arm in it's bionic brace I somehow managed to steer my horse down river banks and across wide open fields. C had a better ride then the one she had in Panama. In fact, she proved to be very good with horses. Sarah had ridden quite a bit in California with my sister-in-law. She too, was very confident in the saddle. 

Our guide decided we were qualified for the deep woods and he lead us through trails that he was still working on. At one point we concluded we had veered off the trail completely and were riding through virgin bushes, branches, and briers. We spent the next two hours trying to get back on the main trail. In the mean time we loaded ourselves up with all kinds of creepy-crawlers, scrapes, and incredible memories. It was exciting knowing that the guide considered us crazy enough for such an adventure. In fact, we had so much fun we went back the next year to do it all over again. 

Nascar again!

That Spring C and I went to drive a Nascar car. I had done it once before (See: 2002: Indonesia, Idaho, Nascar, & The Tipping Point, 6/30/11) but this time I had met my driving match. At the end of the session C ended up with a faster time. I had driven more technically. As much as I liked driving around Rockingham I prefer street driving. 

To me, getting to the front of the line at a red light is the name of the street driving game. For highway driving, it's all about maneuvering out of a pack and into the open so cruse control can be engaged. I'm not an obnoxious driver, I always use my blinker. I simply pass because being at the back of the line in a slow moving pack sucks, and, its difficult to see potential hazards behind a large SUV or a mini van. I pass to see more of the road ahead.  

Amongst the other activities I was enjoying, driving was always one of my favorite hobbies. I get that from my Mom (thanks Mom :) She's the one who taught me the value of a good road trip. When I was young we took lots of them, and I got hooked. 

One of Mom's Mustangs 

By this time I had been behind the wheel of lots of kinds of cars, and I was in the habit of driving them to their limits when conditions were favorable. I have been pulled over quite a few times for speeding but never called out for reckless driving. However, I got pulled once for driving 130mph down I40 in my first G35.

"Why were you driving so fast?" the officer asked.

"I got new tires?" I told him. It was true. I had. The car was driving so smoothly and changing lanes like a champ. Apparently I lost track of the speedometer.  

"Well, now those new tires can drive you to court. Sign right here." He tapped his pen on my sixth speeding violation since I moved to NC, (I also have three warning tickets from Highway Patrol). I was grateful the officer didn't take my license.  

A month (and $300 later) I had to attend my fourth driving school and my insurance went up. However, when the class was over, I was now a Driving School Graduate from three counties and two states. Some might concider me and expert driver after so much schooling...some would not. 

During the summer of 2006 I jumped out of a plane again. The first time I did this I savored every second of the decent. This time however, I almost puked on the way down. The first time I jumped I floated smoothly and I had time to look around and enjoy the view. This time it wasn't so relaxing. 

The exit from the plan was cool. Like the first time, the moment we leaned out of the open door we spun around so I could see the belly of the big flying machine. Then we rotated to see the ground, unfortunately the fun stopped there. 

This time my guide decided he wanted to step up my experience. After the 7 second free fall I pulled the ripcord. My guide then proceeded to spin me around and around like a Bamboo Chinese-Top. My stomach got nauseated and my mouth started to get that tangy thick saliva taste that lingers around the gag reflexes. After, what seemed like a hundred spins (but was probably only six), we stopped and floated. My head felt like I drank a whole damn bottle of cheap Tequila. I visualized what barf would look like falling. I wondered if I would fall faster, and possibly through it. Where would I aim it? I took the biggest breath I could and focused on the clouds.  

By the time I stopped my head from spinning and got my nauseation down with gut sucking inhales, I heard, "Now I'll show you how to spin in the other direction" from my tandem partner, and off we went. This time I felt my stomach doing those small convulsions. I tried to focus on a spot on the ground like a pirouetting dancer, but all I could do was pray for the rotations to stop. When we quit the damage was done. I spent the rest of the decent holding in the inevitable, and the second we landed I quickly jumped out of the tandem hold and fell to the grass upchucking.  

"Man, that was fantastic!" C said running up after she landed. "Um, annnnd, how was your jump?" she asked when saw my face in the grass. 

"Oh marvelous." I lied with an eye roll.

"You look shity." 

"No I'm peachy thanks." Truth was I was nauseated all day. Next time I jump out of a perfectly good plane all I want to do is float down. No more spinning.

Ramona

Considering my latest injury (and the old ones now arthritic) I decided to sell Ramona and get a 4wheeler. I figured that way I wouldn't be at such a risk to injure something else. True to my nature, it didn't take me long to start racing and jumping the 4wheeler. I didn't do any fancy stuff, just enough to give me a rush. I gotta say, 4wheeling is a great way to spend an afternoon. And when there's mud, it's even better! C's Mom has a lot of woods around her house and we'd go explore them when we'd visit. It was an important game to keep out of the way of hunters. Hunters hate 2 strokes. 

Whenever we saw a hunter's deer stand on the trail we had to slow down and proceed with caution. It's like the civil war between fishermen and surfers. Both believe they own the geographical space they are using. I've been hit with casting weights before for being too close to where a fisherman wanted to catch fish. The last thing I ever wanted was to be hit with a bullet from a drunk hunter bored in a deer stand that hated 2strokes. Eventually C and I stopped Pirate Rides all together during hunting season due to this possibility.       

Mud is fun! 

From the divorce I got the KB house and the adjacent property. I didn't need both high taxed items so, this year I built a house on the property and put the last house Mark and I lived in up for sale. Earlier in the year I had telephoned a contractor friend from my church days who had a son that went to school with Sarah. He, C, and I together built my final house to date. 

KB in a rare snow

In years past Mark and I built two houses and a business building. We had also redecorated three condos and four business relocations. This new house was a good way of realizing that I was now qualified to participate in large construction projects with a different team. With the help of C and her confidence in me, we were able to modify operations when issues came up. And there were quite a few. As far as aesthetics, C pick out all the lighting which is one of the house's highlights. I picked the artistic floor plan.  

When the house was finished my builder told me I was a good customer. He said I was practical with the changes, not elaborate nor nit picky about functionality. I also kept the construction site clean. I told him the success of the house was a collaborated project powered by a team of visionaries. I thanked him for all he did to make, what would be dubbed Camp CrockATam, a highly complimented on structure. 

Before our first year in the house was up, Camp CrockATam became a Summer weekend retreat for friends in need of R&R living in Raleigh, Greensboro, Boone, and New york, just to name a few places. It got to the point friends needed to make reservations between Memorial Day and Labor Day. C and I had to monitor guest combinations too. The wrong combo was a 6beer disaster, usually because there was a dog or two accompanying each person. Yep, in 2006 the party was always on.  

After Thanksgiving I got a phone call... 

"Hi Tamara. This is your half brother from Washington State. I'm calling to tell you that our Dad is dying, and if you ever want to meet him you might want to do it now." 

I was intrigued with the idea of meeting my Dad after all these years, so I started making plans to fly out to Seattle before Christmas. 

2005: My Arsenal Of Friends, Loves, & A New Car

Have you ever had that dream where you went back to High School? Only in the dream you were older. I had that dream all the time in my 20s and 30s. I'd walk the halls as if I was the shiz. I still didn't know how to spell, but I had life experiences and cooler clothes. Going back to college in my 40s was a dream come true. Only this time I wasn't lazy about school work and I payed attention. I had better questions for the teachers, and I cared about the answers. I wasn't doing the drugs I did back in my teens either, which had me convinced I was smarter this time around. (Reference; 1974: Edison High School Freshman, 3/3/11 to 1978: My Senior Year, 3/12/11). School was a perfect fit for me. I entered UNCW's Creative Writing program (because there were no tests) and moonlighted with a Philosophy minor. I thought about getting another minor in Theology, but, then I'd never get invited to social gatherings.  

One thing that made my school days extraordinary was that I had access to generational links, i.e. my kids, friends, and C. This was the year I spent strengthening these relationships. 

I took a road trip to New York to visit L for a weekend. He had gotten a job at Merck in NJ and was living with a couple of housemates. (See; 1995: Defining The Word Value, 5/5/11) We walked the streets of NYC chatting about all the trouble we started with our emails and the Journals we shared. Over the years L had become one of my very good friends. He kept me up to date on big city literature. He's the one who taught me to respect the Graphic Novel and Anime. He's also a very sexy painter. In truth I once admitted to Mark that L was a temptation...I mean seriously, look at the guy! 

Our lips never touched however. This is because I have this theory I call the Dessert Behind the Glass theory. It goes like this, for those of us with good imaginations, we know a dessert looks better behind a glass showcase than it literally tastes (with guilt). To savor the beauty of the dessert simply don't put it on your plate. Always admire it from the other side of the glass. This is how you keep from spoiling the imagination (with consequences) and getting into trouble (with the rules of cause & effect). Personally I have a grand imagination when it comes to hotness, however, in my worldly observations, sex can burn holes in friendships and turn hotness into a cold shoulder. This is true in spite of what TV says. 

If L and I had hooked up, I guarantee the day would have come when one of us would have been left alone standing in the rain. Consequently, I would miss out on all the conversations we have about books, religious ideas, and the lack of sincerity within humanity (which is what the Bible is very clear about more than anything). To date L has got more books listed on Goodreads.com then anyone I know, and he raises some of the most beautiful snakes, which he sells. L is a perfect NYC connection. 

Q had moved to Chapel Hill where he was turning Tar Heel blue. He was studying to be a bilingual contract attorney in between Franklin St. parties. He spoke Spanish like a smart ass street kid too. When he came to visit his parents while on breaks, we'd go surfing and catch up. I had sold my Kawasaki KLX 250S duel sport and got a well used Suzuki RM 125 dirt bike I named Ramona. C bought a Polaris Predator. She and I would take these toys out behind the house or on the beach during the off season (during the tourist season we'd travel to the mountains with them). When Q came into town we'd trailer the bikes and pirate ride down some fire road off of Highway 74/76. Q liked to see if he could land on his feet in the danger zone, which he always did when his balls of steel didn't get in the way. 

Q is easy to talk to. We've always seen things eye-to-eye. Even though he's young he's an old independent soul. He was also the one guy who knew what Mark was up too after the divorce. It wasn't that he was my spy, he knew things because he still shopped at Hot Wax long after I left. And he rode a custom ProLine surfboard which Mark shaped. 

My other big city connection was Shaun in Chicago. I flew up a couple of times to visit him this year. Shaun was doing the music thing and would play me his latest stuff. Over the years Shaun would be the biggest contributor to my CD collection. He constantly had new bands for me to hear. While in Chicago we'd walk the streets around his neighborhood and visit music shops. Every time I saw Shaun's face when he'd pick up a guitar and start playing, I was reassured that he was just where he needed to be, even though I missed him all the time. Shaun's move gave me empathy for my Mom when it came to having a child move far away. I realized this year how hard it must have been for her when I moved away to Hawaii back in 1979. 

Six months after Shaun moved to Chicago he got home sick and wanted to move back. "You have to stay for at least 2 years." I told him. That's my philosophy about moving. I figure after 730 days one knows the area pretty well and can make a better decision as to whether leave or stay. In my mind, if one leaves after 2 years there will be fewer regrets. This was the year I was facing a very likely chance that Shaun would stay in Chicago for good. It took awhile to let it sink in past the tears but, eventually I was okay with it. Besides, I enjoyed taking vacations there. I like Chicago. I like that I don't have to deal with the shady side of politics in that historic city. Instead I get to drink during open mic nights, and smoke weed before going to art museums. Yep, I like spending time with Shaun...in his world.   

Sarah was living in Greensboro, going to UNCG. She became my winter road trip destination. During the snow season I'd drive the 3 hours to her place and spend the night. The next morning we'd rise at dawn and drive 2 hours to Boone where we'd snowboard a few hours. Then I'd drive the 5 hours back home. We did this a lot during the week when the slopes weren't so crowded and lift tickets were cheaper. C is a skier and a couple of time this year the three of us went to Snowshoe. In fact we've made this a yearly trip. Snowshoe has really changed since the first time I was there in 1982. 

The most profound relationship I had going on however was with C. When we first started dating I was pretty perplexed. Here was this person who made me feel like I could conquer the world, but she didn't have a penis. What she did have was a sensitive, deep rooted form of compassion, and tits. She's also got a quick & witty sense of humor. I continue to marvel at her smart one liners.   

It's said that a friend will bail you out of jail, but a good friend sits in jail with you chatting about how much fun it was getting there. C was that person. I'm 17 years her senior yet she's gobs more secure within herself then I was at this time. C gave me leeway to explore my creative side. She doesn't probe, push, nor presume. With her I have the grace to question, and the space to fumble or fly in the answers. I don't know if I'm necessarily gay, but what I do know is when C is around, I feel love is at my side. Even my kids say I'm more giddy around her.       

Sebastian Inlet Florida. C & the new Baby G

One weekend this year C and I went to Raleigh for two reasons; #1) C played Rugby and had a tournament up there to play in. Unfortunately that day she blew out her second ACL. She had already blown out the other knee years ago and had surgery, so consequently, this weekend would be her last tournament, and the Cape Fear Rugby girls would lose their star #10. Reason #2 for our trip was to get my 4door G35 worked on. In between tournament games, and before C blew out her knee, we went to pick up my car. We decided to cruise the Infinity lot and look at the latest G35s. I spotted a 2door black one with a manual 6 stick. "May I test drive that car?" I asked the dealer. He went for the keys.     

The second I started up the sexy black machine I knew I was in love. G35s purr with power at the turn of a key. "Make sure your seatbelt is tight." I told the dealer. I pulled out of the lot and headed for the I440 Beltline. By the time I entered the Beltline I was going over 80. I zigged and zagged my way through traffic like I was doing a rally race. After a couple of miles I exited the Beltline and took some side roads with lots of curves back to the Infinity lot. "I'll take it." I told the salesman when we pulled up to the lot. That afternoon, out of the blue, I bought a new car...a shinny black Infinity G35 coupe. I also lowered my car payment $70 a month on a 3 year loan! C and I pulled up to the Rugby pitch with my new machine and bedazzled the team with our spontaneousness. I never regretted the moment, nor any road trip since. C had fun getting her torn ACL in the car for the ride home however. 

2005 was an exciting fast pace year.