Politics, Religion And A Litany Of Things That Make Me Drink

"Don't give me any shit, I know just what I'm gettin' in...sure it's a sin, but I don't really give a damn.  I'm drinking again." Corey Smith

The lack of knowledge, as it applies to the use of turn lanes is overwhelming.  Although it is a full size lane set aside just for you to get into until a safe turn can be negotiated, people will stick one wheel in, blocking the through lane like they are dipping a toe in the water checking the temperature.  Completely oblivious to everything behind them.  It could be because this is a tourist town and when folks go on vacation they leave all driving skills and sense at home like they forget to pack toothpaste.  It is no exaggeration that I have seen out of towners do a u-turn from the right lane across six lanes of traffic, not including the tricky scary turn lane, after accidentally passing the Alligator Adventure.  Because ya know going to the next light and turning around is just crazy talk.  I suppose the worst part of it is that it's not even Easter and we have an entire season of horrible drivers that haven't even put up room deposits or started bathing suit shopping yet.  

At work we have a few rules, No Religion and No Politics at the bar is top of the list.  As a matter of fact the same rule pretty much applies at home as well.  All of my adult life I have aimed to escape the "real world" and unplug from society.  Compared to where I came from and from where most people are I suppose I have on some level.  But I'm talking away from everything.  Lately, we have discussed the idea of moving out of the country to somewhere Central America-ish.   Where you could live comfortably on little money.  Where Face the Nation and political ads aren't shoved up your ass 24/7.  Where 1500 cable channels are unnecessary and unheard of.  When I mention the idea to people I'm always met with the same sckepticism and comments, you know you have to worry about being kidnapped and they don't have phones and you would have to do without all the comforts.  Somehow I feel those comforts are part of what wears me out.  Shit man, tell me I don't have to do without the non-stop social media updates and pictures of what someone I went to high school with ate for fucking breakfast.  Once I spent a week on a 32' Hatteras, coming up from Key West to Miami.  Most of my time was spent on the back of the boat, straddling the deck box facing backwards watching the trolling lines, rocking to the waves lost in thought.  On one particular night we docked in Marathon and went into a bar that I now know was Sparky's (may or may not have been at the time).  Above the bar was a tv, the first I have seen all week, and they were reporting about where all Reagan's body would be on display.  I remember thinking, damn Reagan died and I didn't even know it and how nice it was to be so out of touch.  How incredibly nice would it be to have no idea about the shit show of Trump or Clinton or Bernie Sanders...to be able if the subject came up to go "Trump is running for President?? Are you fucking kidding?? Wow."  Then go back to planting your orchids or making yard art out of crap you found on the side of the road on your daily bike ride into the village. 

I have opinions on politics and candidates, and for that I feel a bit ashamed.  Ashamed that I have been exposed to enough to have formed opinions.  I really would like to be blissfully unaware.  I fear or actually know that it is all too far gone. The political scene, the justice system, medicine and insurance and doctors, social security, disability, lawyers.  It's all fucked up.  "Fuck Martha Stewart...she's polishing the brass on the Titanic.  It's all going down." A line out of my favorite movie Fight Club.  We live in a society without consequences.  But I'm the weird one for wanting to drop back and punt.  

Yesterday I took a pile of serial killer books and traded them at the used book store for a pile of Carl Hiaasen, John MacDonald, Randy Wayne White and Tim Dorsey books.  I had ran out of such reads and had resorted to the bookcase of hand me downs which lead me to 2 or 3 back to back serial killer/ cop / they get away in the end books.  I need Travis McGee in my life and crazy characters that live in the Everglades and eat road kill. So about 20 unread books made their way out of my life and were replaced by just as many quirky island books.  It made my soul happy.  Distraction from the things society is spoon feeding the masses is going to come in the form of my garage projects and good books.  Thanks CNN, but I'm busy.

Impact

"The ocean and the sky will be so blue, then we all fade away" - Micah

On this day, February 9, five years ago at 10:01 am I received a message on Facebook.  It said "I cried when your name came up.  It's been too long.  Ann". I remember the last time I saw her but I don't remember what year it was.  We met for ice cream when I had an appointment in a close by town.  She had her husband take our picture together in the parking lot.  

Ann was born April 12, 1940.  I met her when I was 14 so she would have been 47 at the time...only 4+ years older than I am now.  Funny now that I am getting closer to that age, I don't recall her seeming that young.  All through high school (atleast the part of it I made it through) she was my very best friend.  She would come pick me up and haul me around with her, or just take me to her house to eat and hang out with her and her husband.  I'm sure he was tickled to damn death to have another damn teenager hanging around after he had finally gotten his raised and out of the house. We spent hours talking on the phone.  In hind sight our friendship makes no sense at all.  I had the typical teenage angst, just waiting to blow full rebellion and she was the middle aged mother, Sunday school teacher, mother of 3 grown children that had never strayed a day in her life.  Never did I feel like I was a bother or that she was hanging around me as some form of a self perceived duty to save a wayward soul.  When I got old enough to drive I spent hours wandering the country roads in the counties around my house.  I would pull to a stop sign and choose left or right, trying to triangulate and figure where I was or would end up.  Although I couldn't find it today, her parents lived out one of those many roads I roamed.  When I would come by their house with the, "damn that's where that road comes out" epiphany, I would stop in and sit with them.  They made me feel like one of their grandkids, just like she made me feel like one of her girls.  

As an angry sixteen year old I moved out of my parents and in with some friends.  She never tried to discipline me or tell me what to do, she was always there, hug of support and I love you, though her disappointment was worn on her face.  Ann may have been one of the few people, even to this point in my life, who ever knew how to handle me.  She knew that I was/am horrible with criticism and I react poorly to being pushed.  As life goes, jobs, moves, marriages and divorces pull us in different directions and locales...for me at least.  We kept in touch, but not nearly enough.  Years would pass between phone calls.  Distance made visits non-existent. After her message five years ago we talked, though now I don't recall if it was by phone or just email.  She said she still had the pillows I gave her on her bed (gifts that I don't recall) and my picture was still on her nightstand.  She told me that she was proud of my writing, but admitted not understanding some of my snarkiness...blamed it on being an old lady.   That's something I can't imagine she ever became.  Ann died July of 2013 without me ever telling her what impact she had on my life.  Without hearing that I wouldn't have became the same person I am today without her.  I can only hope she knew how incredibly special she was.  

Proper Introductions and Explanations

"If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies."

Realize I must, all the changes that have come about since the begining of my writers block.  First and most importantly I need to properly introduce Mr. Dexter Morgan Rhew Bell.  

This is the first picture made of him...he was a tiny 6 weeks old weighing in just under 3 pounds. We had to soak his food with water because he didn't understand how to drink.  It took him probably a month before he found the condensation on my liquor glass interesting and started licking the droplets.  Oh, how I had forgotten what life was like with a puppy.  He's 1 year and 5 months old now...not that he still doesn't have crazy puppy energy, but the super challenging parts of puppy-dom i.e. Potty training and chewing are behind us now.  He actually has a very extensive vocabulary, even much more than Roger ever developed. He understands "Do you need to go poop?" And will give you an appropriate answer of either heading for the door or returning to what he was doing...this, of course, after he turns his head and looks off into the distance as if contemplating his response.  The color of his babies, whether it's because they are shaped different or if he can see color, he will bring either blue baby or red baby on request.  Giraffe is his favorite and he has certain times of day that he will bring him out to play.  Certain words, like Sugar and girlfriends and cat and camp must be spelled out in standard conversation as to avoid the Pug meltdown.  Dexter is Velcro's first dog as an adult and first inside dog ever.  I doubt he could have ever anticipated the love that comes from furry four legged kids.  

This is his mostly grown-up self.  He dresses out just under 20 pounds now...judging from his appetite lately he will be putting on a few more lbs.  

As far as the Homefront is concerned, we have relocated a few miles down the road, or up the road as the case may be.  You know my feelings when it comes to things being meant to happen...if you feel like it's a struggle or there's a lot of effort going into it, then it's probably not meant to be.  But if shit just flows and there doesn't seem to be any real decision making going on, then it's supposed to be happening.  Somehow I looked up inexpensive lots and we decided to drive by a few...no real reason.  Most of them had obvious reasons for being so cheap...like a couple of them you couldn't even park a car on, much less build a house because of the almost shear drop off of the land...and we don't even live where there are hills.  Others where in super sketchy areas that back up to woods frequented by homeless tents and what not...no thanks.  One particular lot looked absolutely perfect.  It was level and without a transient tent community next door and as a bonus, walking distance or stumbling to all kinds of cool bars and restuarants.  So we throw an arbitrary low ball offer, half expecting it would piss the folks off, only to have it accepted.  We look at each other sharing a response of "Well shit...I guess we're building a house..."  And that's how life takes on changes.  It took us about 10 minutes to pick a house plan.  I googled raised beach cottages 1500 sqft and 3 plans popped up.  Both of us pointed to the same one...house plan picked.  About 5 months later we moved in.  My minimalist side went into shock/overdrive and it took me the better part of a month to be able to actually sit down in the house.  I have scored free furniture and free all new kitchen stuff...blenders, utensils, glasses, knives and even a full set of 8 fancy plates.  The Junior Soprano plates that I paid a quarter a piece for were sent along to a better home.  Now I'm a complete homebody verging on recluse.  In the garage I have project tables and fill my time painting junk furniture from thrift shops and gluing wine corks onto shit.  Still the bathroom houses my ratty bathmats that Dexter chewed the corners of when he was a puppy...as a way of keeping my minimalist tendencies alive and well.

Sometime in the early 90's I went to a boat show at the Convention Center in Charlotte.  It was there that I climbed aboard and all around a little sailboat that cost I think about $30,000.  Begin my infatuation with the idea of something that you could live in and move around.  I don't have any specific memory of when I became enamored with the VW Bus.  I would do Internet searches of buses for sale and pour over the pictures and save them, then look up more sites and compare Junkers to full restorations...pretty much a classic example of a pipe dream.  The thoughts of coming to a point of actually being able to buy one were so far out there.  Mostly you are limited to purchasing through EBay Motors and having a car hauling company go get it and haul it clear across the country, everyone I had looked at was somewhere on the west coast, costing additional thousands of $$ and buying site unseen. You can see the concern and logistical nightmares.  I happened to find one for sale by a small antique car dealer in mid state SC.  It was a 1973 (the year I wanted) orange VWCamper, mostly restored...meaning in decent shape and with a new engine for $18,500.  Being the first and only real chance that I have had, I sent the guy an email.  I got a reply right back from him...he had sold it almost immediately, but he had a friend in Florida that had one almost exactly the same and included his number.  I left him a message to send pictures, a little info and let me know what he wanted for it.  As things go, it all fell into place and we now have Old Hippie as a family member.

When trying to come up with a name, I was having trouble deciding whether it was male of female.  Several mornings in a row I woke with song lyrics bouncing around in my head...an old Bellamy Brothers song.  It was my sign that the bus had chosen to be gender neutral and "Old Hippie" it was.  Hippie is currently in the body shop having the little bit of rust taken care of, new paint and the camper top refiberglassed.  I went by to check on Old Hippie last week to see the progress and found it ironic that my gender neutral bus now says "PAT" on the window.  We are looking a bit naked with all the hardware stripped off.

I believe that should pretty much catch up the changes the last year and half have brought about...all the major ones atleast.  

Break From The Hiatus

I feel I have things to say again, atleast judging by the amount I talk to either myself or the dog.  When Roger got sick it kicked the shit out of me.  The job, that I had been working so hard at getting off the ground...I just walked away from.  Writing, or even expressing myself much at all came to a halt.  After I lost him, I couldn't walk into my house without breaking into sobs.  I only stayed at home 2 or 3 nights in 3 months and those nights I cried myself to sleep.  To me, It was so much more than just "loosing a dog".  It took opening my heart to a little furry wad of pug to be able to go home again.  Even now that Dexter is almost a year and a half old, he hasn't come close to replacing his big brother, but he has definitely notched out his little place in our lives.  

I suppose I decided to try a few changes and it just so happened to coincide with the new year...let's not call them Resolutions because that will be cause of their demise.  I am going to write again.  And this will likely be the place that my random thoughts and photos surface, as opposed to social media, where we look to others for acknowledgment and support and a sense of self worth via likes.  I recently purged my "friends" list.  In doing this I found one friend had died... almost 3 years ago...and I had no idea.  The worst part, I suppose, is that this is what we equate to having friends.  How very little do we actually interact with people?  You know that crazy idea of hanging out and actually talking instead of hitting a little thumbs up icon and feeling like we are involved.  Don't get me wrong, at one point this girl and I had been rather close.  But time and distance and moves and job changes had pulled us apart.  That part is called life.  I will be the first to admit that I have few people that dabble past the line of acquaintences and I'm ok with that too.  When it comes to conversations, I prefer to get out of the shallow end of the pool.  My lack of ability or care of small talk limits my friends...be it a character flaw or whatever, I don't mind it.  

The second thing on my list of self improvements is to not beat myself up quite so much.  To say I'm a little tough on myself is a dramatic understatement.  I have never been a competitive person at all, always having hated when someone wants to push me to compete and try to win against me.  I fucking hate it.  I've been known to tee off on a putt-putt course like Tiger Woods, knocking the ball three holes over to throw a game because someone was taunting to win.  Could be called a poor sport, I couldn't care less.  When it comes down to it, I am in an extreme competition with myself.  I have fleeting moments of being proud of my accomplishments only to catch a glimpse in a full length mirror and start picking apart flaws.  My attempt is going to try being a little more accepting and forgiving of myself.  In all honesty, I think I will have better luck with the writing.  

Today, the day that most grown-ups and people I know went back to the grind.  First day back at it after the Xmas / New Years vacation hiatus.  I started the day with the gym, then the used bookstore to exchange for a few new Carl Hiaasen and John McDonald paperbacks.  Came home...showered...read 5 chapters of a new book...colored in my coloring book...made some lunch...worked on gluing wine corks to a styrofoam ball to replicate an idea from Pinterest while the dog played in the garage...and I started writing again.  No emails to catch up...no conference calls...no new looming deadlines. It's the benefit of being a bartender and having worked through the holidays.  Seems like a pretty decent trade off to me.  Now I'm off to a dog walk with this guy....and possibly a nap.

Chicken Wing Debacle

It was the winter of 2007-2008. It was a ridiculiously cold winter, but a warm day.  We were living in the tiny apartment that backed up to Battleground Park in Greensboro.  It was a ground floor one bedroom on the backside of the building.  By we, I mean me, Roger and Carletta cat.  There was just enough space for the three of us and my little belongings, check that, there was enough space once I removed the foot board from my bed so that I could open the drawers to my dresser that sat facing it at the end of the bed.  It just took me major brain searching and staring into space to recall the name of the park and I'm still not a 100% sure about it.  I have an uncanny ability to completely block, forget or misfile entire years of my life at time.   Not sure whether that's a good or bad thing.  Anyhow...that day I decided to cook me some wings in the oven.  In case you don't know, that shit takes like 2 hours or something.  With my immediate gratification needs this combination can lead to much frustration.  I was already starving by the time the process started so smelling wings for hours and turning them over and over a 100 times and staring through the oven door at them...you can see where I was with this.  My porch/balcony over looked a small grassy area then the woods.  There I had a sheperds hook with a birdfeeder on it.  I could see it from my big chair in the livingroom and it made me happy.  Earlier that day me and Roger spent quality time in the yard filling it with bird seed.

FINALLY the damn wings were done and I grabbed my plate full and piled up into my chair.  I no sooner get started eating when I look up to see a big fat squirrel in my feeder with his cheeks stuffed full.  "Oh FUCK NO!"  Drop my wing plate to the ottoman run out onto the balcony, do some livid hungry girl acrobatics leaning waist deep over the top of the rail and down to the ground to grab a handful of rocks and start slinging them like a crazy person and cussing at this rat in a cute suit eating my bird seed.  I finally bing one off the feeder and he flees.  When I turn back around I see Roger gulping down the next to the last wing from my plate.  OH MY GOD!!  I don't remember exactly what I said but I'm sure it involved his full name of Roger Goddammit.  About a split second later I realize my dog just ingested a whole pile of chicken bones and then proceed to freaking out status.  Luckily he never chewed a single piece of food in his life so I knew they were all in there whole so there should be no worry of splinters or bone shards stabbing in his belly.  I decided to watch him and see if anything looked amiss instead of rushing him to very expensive vet visit.  Before the apartment I had never been privy to doggie waste bags and the picking up of poop.  As often I could encourage it we walked into the woods and away from places that ones poop may take up an undesired residence in the tread of a bitchy neighbors shoe and also where the poo bags weren't necessary.  That night no poo.  Next morning, next afternoon...no poo.  I was starting to be concerned because if there's one thing I know, it's the poo patterns of my furry offspring.  That night I take him into the woods and do a mexican stand off with his butt...literally.  I think he knew something was up and was putting it off as long as possible. When he finallly realized I was in for the long haul  he sniffed and circled and squatted.  And stayed squatted.  Then turns to me with this "Oh Shit MOM" look in his eye.  I can still see his face now.  He started doing these funny little squat pumps...straighten the knees....bend the knees...straighten the knees bend the knees.  As luck would have it we were in a rather dark section of woods away from the intrusion of street lights and it was well before the days of the smart phone and flashlight apps so I have no solid proof that he pooped whole chicken drummettes.  But he never was quite so quick to steal food from my plate...he honed his skill of sit and stare you into food sharing submission after that.  

I Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life

"Your life is made of two dates and a dash.  Make the most of the dash."

4 and a half weeks.  That's how long it's been since I said good bye to Roger.  I wish I could say that it has gotten easier, but the truth is that it's harder now for me than initally.  The gravity of permanence has landed on me and it's so much heavier than I knew it could be. Of the things that I believe in, I believe most in our souls being not fully contained in our human suits. That the bigger part of my soul (the part that remembers all the lessons I've learned in past lives) is somewhere else looking down, lending it's guidance through my gut instincts and intuition.  I know that Roger is now there with "her" and that he's running around healthy and happy and she is loving on him and taking care of him just like I did when he was here with me.  In that sense he is always with me and always will be. That should make me feel better...and it does but I'm just not done working through being without him.  I can't tell you the number of times Velcro has held me through my tears and listened to me saying "I just want him to come back", kinda what you would expect from a child.  He is the glue holding me together.  

Of the other things I believe in without doubt is the Law of Attraction.  Your thoughts create your reality.  There is no exception. So basically right now all I talk about is what our next dog will be like and creating  what I want our place to look like in the Keys.  To the innocent bystander I'm sure I appear teetering on the edge of delusion but it keeps me happy and that's the entire point of us being here. 

My plans are to let more of what runs around in my head out and onto paper or a screen as it is.  I know from years of experience that it's what I need.  

"Never allow waiting to become a habit.  Live your dreams and take risks.  Life is happening now."

Roger - November 15, 2000 - July 24, 2014

"Maybe the reason I love animals so much, is that the only time they have ever broken my heart is when they crossed the bridge."

Last night was the first night I've stayed at home since saying good bye to Roger.  Back in mid June he got his summer doggie hair cut and I noticed one of his lymph nodes was a little swollen.  He in general was a super lumpy guy especially as  he had gotten older.  Once when he was about 9 he had surgery to remove some of the lumps that the vet was concerned about, they were all fatty and from that point on I never worried about them again. But after about a week it had gotten bigger and the one on the other side could be felt and even though he was showing zero signs of feeling bad we went to the vet.  I was half expecting it to be some kind of infection or for them to want to take off some of his lumps.  He was diagnosed with Stage 3 Lymphoma.  Chemotheraphy was the only real choice I had to make a long term difference, meaning he could live another 6-12 months.  I choose not to put him through that at his age.  He took the news much better than I did.  I made him a promise that day as he danced all over the house  like a puppy, that I would never let him feel bad or get sick. Even with steroid treatments it only took about 6 weeks for the cancer to start making him uncomfortable and his breathing became labored.  

On his last day I woke around 5 to the sound of his breathing, leaning out of the bed I rubbed his head then crawled in the floor and spooned with him.  As he lay in my arms with his head on my soulder he panted heavily...I knew I was no longer keeping my promise to him.  So we got up and made him dog breakfast and me coffee and headed for the beach.  I wanted to make his last day special for him.  On the beach he didn't want to walk much but he sniffed sand castles and peed on them (that was his thing to do) and watched people and other dogs. We watched the sun come up together, like we've done more times than I can count. He took me into the water about 3 times and shook off as soon as he was ankle deep each time.  

I took a lot of pictures and even though I cried all day, I smiled in all of our pictures.  He made me smile everyday.  

I could tell he was getting tired so we loaded up and headed home.  He stood with his head between the seats like he always did...whenever I have to take my arm from around him to shift gears he would root under my elbow to get my arm back around him.

He was laying down by the time we go home and didn't seem to want to get out, so I stood him up and asked if he was ready to go in...he looked at me and got an excited look then went back to standing between the seats looking out the windshield as if to say "No, let's ride some more!" So we took off for the park.  Roger has always loved the woods and gets so excited when you pull into a wooded park.  He stood with his feet on the wheel wells and hung out the side the same way he rode into every park we've ever been to. 

I took his leash off, something I haven't been able to do much lately because he couldn't hear me call his name when he would wander away when a particular smell caught his attention or an unfortunate cat would cross our path.  He meandered tree to tree smelling who was there before him, then we found a swing over looking the marsh and sat and talked.  He layed his head in my lap and looked at me like he understood evey word.  

We talked and played remember when about all the adventures and mishaps we'd had together....like when I tried to take him kayaking at High Point City Lake when he was a little guy and dove off the boat before we barely got away from the launch and the fiasco of getting his flailing dog self back on the boat while trying myself to not go into the drink.  And the time I was hanging a ceiling fan unsuccessfully and yelled goddammit and he came running from another room and sat at my feet at full attention expecting a treat for his quick response time...I learned to stop saying Roger goddammit when he was doing something wrong.  And when we were hiking at Hanging Rock and a group of Mexicans were gathered around looking at a snake and Roger ran and jumped hitting one of them in the ass, pitching him forward into the snake and sending the rest of them scattering into fits of laughter...he knew what he had done and turned to me with a laughing dog smirk.  One day I look out the back window of the house and I see Roger next to a tree circling and jumping back from something.  Thinking it may be a snake I take off out the back door like a rocket to intervene.  It was a box turtle.  Afraid he may "play" with it and hurt it I pick it up and take it down to the garden and leave it.  A few minutes later I look out and see him coming up from the garden soft lipping the clammed tight turtle in his mouth.  He was so upset when I took it from him and put it out of his reach in the woods. As a puppy he loved to be held and spun around the living room dancing to Bob Marley, he would even recognize No Woman No Cry and make happy dog whimpers years later.  He only grew more awesome as he got older, he was no longer got scared and ran inside when birds screached overhead  and he learned to not bring cat terds and lie by the couch and munch them like popcorn at the movies.  He found his sense of balance and stopped rolling across the back of the car at every turn.  No longer did his leashes have knots tied in them, piecing them back together from being chewed through while I was trying to keep him from falling out of the jeep on road trips.  He never stopped playing and dragging toys all over the house or removing the stuffing and squeakers.  Once on a winter leashless walk on the beach, he got crazy excited and started running cirles around me then took off full speed down the beach,  he ran up into the dunes out of site.  As I got closer I see him poke his head up to see if I was coming then duck down again.  When I got to where I knew he was he came bounding out to surprise me then took off further down the beach and hid again...he did it over and over.  I couldn't believe he came up with his own version of hide and surprise...I figured out that when he got the idea is when he was so excited and running circles around me.  He always loved food and treats so much, for years he had his own monster sized jar of peanut butter in the fridge.  I didn't know until the last few weeks that he absolutely loved coconut ice cream.  I will never have either one without thinking of him.  

I can't even put words to how happy I am, even as sick as he was,that he was healthy enough to do all the things he loved so much on his last day.  My life was so much better for having him in it and it will never be the same without him.  Even when I cry, I smile remembering him butting his head into my chest and waiting for me to wrap my arm around him...we called it dog hugs. 

Thank you Roger Dog for spending your life with me, when I adopted you I thought I was saving you...it turns out it was the other way around.