Today, I feel like a lemming.
I will be starting a four-hundred mile drive at about 2:30 p.m. At the end of that drive, I will get together with family.
The next morning, I will wake-up as a guest in someone else's home as I have many times before at about this time of year. It is something that I have very little control over. It's the way it is for me on Thanksgiving weekend.
For some wacky reason, I will be treated like a visiting dignitary. I will watch football games and I will likely overeat tomorrow. Because of that, such indulgence will require a longer time reading in the bathroom. The conversation at the dinner table will have a certain familiarity to it.
On Friday, in another familiar home’s basement, I will play pool for many hours while more football games are played on the TV screen there. I will consume a copious amount of alcohol and more food during those hours. I will have to listen to sexist/disparaging (but often pathetically funny) speak about wives. I will feel very fortunate about myself after that’s over.
After that session, I will be driven out to a Sabres/Canadiens hockey game and I will consume more cold ethyl. If this gang that I'll be hanging with get lucky, perhaps we'll see a hockey fight at the game and perhaps there will be blood shed. The collective opinion regarding that will be that it was a great game to have been at. After the game, I will drink some more. I will not lie in bed until after midnight.
On Saturday, I will relax in the bedroom that I have been sleeping in. I will lay on my stomach while I hang my head over the edge of the bed and read a book or newspaper laid on the floor. I will do this for a long time. Later, I will watch more football and after drinking some more throughout the day, I will go see my in-laws' semi-pro rock band perform in the late evening.
On Sunday, I expect my ears to be ringing and my voice to be hoarse. I will also drive the four-hundred miles back home.
Woo Hoo! Now, that’s livin’ yo!
Once more unto the breach, Jerry. Once more. When the blast of Thanksgiving weekend blows in my ears, I will imitate the action of the lemming.
It’s my Thanksgiving weekend, AGAIN.
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One of the fine subtleties that I enjoy at about this time of year here in the eastern United States, is in the way that sunshine, when unobstructed, gleams from its low perch in the sky on a clear sunny day between the hours of 2:00 p.m. and 3:30 p.m. If you're fortunate enough to have that on an unusually mild day for the next month or during the winter at all, dining al-fresco, without the vulgar sound of traffic close by, can truly be a grand experience.
The experience can especially be dreamlike if you do so with people that you like or want to get acquainted with. For me, food seems tastier, drink is more gratifying, and conversation appears to sound clearer, more interesting and very crisp. Add to that: an envelope of bright turning trees rustling in a very delicate breeze, skilled transparent table service, the faint ephemeral aroma of burning birch wood and some good music.
Three weeks ago today, I was close to that above nirvanic state. In what has become an annual pilgrimage in recent years, I went away to attend a University of Arizona football game. My partner in crime, Julio, was again involved. This year, I included my eight-year-old boy. Yep. Pulled him out of school for two days and we flew out to Tucson to watch Arizona take on Stanford on a beautiful Sonoran Desert Saturday fall afternoon.
Hanging with Julio is a story all by itself. The fact that we almost got arrested but talked our way out of it in front of two police officers this time around, is not the purpose of this post. The purpose of this post is not about the "good times" that I have when I get together with him or how I seem to thread the needle when I'm around that guy. The purpose of this post is about the good time that I can have or find just by being self aware of some of the little things.
Wifey almost feels that because of the implied and impending debauchery of which I may become part of, that I may not be able to take care of The Savage properly. She feels that way even though both my in-laws and brother-in-law live in Tucson.
Wifey dropped The Savage and me off at the departures curb early on a Thursday morning and one of the last things she says to The Savage is, "You know how to dial home, right?". The last thing Wifey says to me after the goodbye kiss is, "Keep your eye on him and take care of him!"
I laughed.
Two days later on game day, we head off to the university's campus to link-up with some friends who tailgate before the game. I haven't seen these folks in a couple of years. Lots of high fives, hugs, kisses, smiles and the comforting song of some women speaking with that Hispanic southern Arizona accent. I can't very well describe it, but I know it when I hear it. I'm assured that I'm not in New York or New Jersey when I hear the delicate delicacy of that inflection.
Soon after we arrive at the tailgate, my Savage hits it off with some other Savages that are about his age. Three beautiful little girls and a handsome little boy. I notice that they think he's some sort of Martian, a kindly and interesting one from New Jersey. I overhear them all talking about their teachers and about what they are touching upon in school. I feel he's off on his way to a good time as I am.
Some minutes later, I notice that the tailgate and its environs start to slowly get crowded. So I tap on the resources that are there. I went around and kindly asked the other children's moms and dads, and a couple of others to help me keep track of my Savage because he has a very independent gene in him. I’m a little insecure since I’m not his primary caregiver.
No problem, Jerry.
I went and got lost in conversation with friends, acquaintances and strangers while I made love to a keg of some absolutely delicious Hefeweizen. I didn't even get around to tasting any of the delicious looking food in lieu of the drink.
Periodically, I'd glance around to see where The Savage is and what he's doing. Some more minutes pass by and I'd do the same thing. Then, some time later I looked over to where I saw him sitting last and he's not there. The only thing that I saw where he should have been, were his shoes and his socks!
I did a 180 and I did not see him. I then hollered his name as a flashback of me getting dropped off at the airport's curb flashed across my brain.
From the other end of the long tent, Clarisse, the very gracious hosting mom, hails my name. "Jerry! He's over here!", she said. I walked over to her and then she pointed to a couple of tailgates away. There he was. The Savage was organizing a limbo dance with about ten other kids from surrounding tailgates. He and another little girl were holding the stick. I could make out the calypso music. We both started laughing. It was a sight to behold. I will never forget that particular vision.
All the Savages returned back to our tent area some minutes later. I got my Savage’s attention and reiterated to him that he HAS to let me know if he’s venturing away. I told him that we’re a team and we have to stick together or at least know where we’re going every time. I need to know where he is all the time. It was not a scold, but a reaffirmation to him.
But I was curious and I had to ask him a question.
"Dude! Why did you take your shoes and socks off?"
He answered, "Dad, it just felt soooo gooood".
Mmmmm….perfect weather, good company, excellent drink, great food and an upcoming football game by the team I am most passionate for.
Yeah Dude, I know exactly what you’re talking about, I thought. I'm there.
I felt "soooo gooood" also.
*!*
As I was walking from my car to my workplace yesterday morning, I ran across a friend and colleague who works for a different company than I do. Coincidentally, he happens to live in New York's Upper West Side neighborhood where I work. So, periodically, and it's inevitable, I do run into him from time to time.
When I don't see him for a while, it is likely that he's away working for an extended period somewhere in Southeast Asia launching another one of his company's ventures/conduits. That was the case today. He mentioned he'd been living in Singapore since June.
We do some catching up every time we cross paths. Small talk. We exchange ideas, tips and work tales.
I've known LL practically since the first week that Wifey and I moved to NYC back in 1989. LL is one of those "damn glad to see you" type of guys with a firm handshake and good unwaivering eye contact. Some people find that threatening. Wifey used to. These days, since Wifey left the professional world ten years ago, on the occasions that I get to mention to her that I've run across LL, she'll remember him with a great deal of good natured nostalgia.
You see, LL was one of Wifey's co-workers back then and Wifey used to loathe him. Wifey used to have to work closely with him. Wifey always felt he was a little too bombastic. So, since Wifey's life experiences are very different than mine, and I sometimes feel they're somewhat cloistered, her perception of LL was totally different than mine ever was.
Things were so different way back then. We were all fledgling professionally. He had moved from Indiana just a couple of years before we did from Arizona. I know that when I see LL and he sees me, we can't help but to think about how it used to be all those years ago.
As always, LL asks about Wifey and the family. It's generally the first thing out of his mouth every time we meet. Fortunately, the refrain is and has remained consistant; that Wifey is fine and The Savages are thriving.
This time, I happened to have mentioned that Wifey was co-chairing a black-tie fund raiser for my ten-year-old’s school. That it's taking place tonight. Country Club, black-tie and items to bid on, picture in the local paper type of event. We went last year and I met some very nice people then. We had a great time.
LL had nothing but compliments about her doing so. I told him that next year, she's not the co-chair but, the chairwoman herself. Go Wifey go, he said.
But my thoughts drifted when I was telling him all this. I thought about how this event has stressed Wifey out and how it has allowed for much neglect around the home that has affected me and The Savages. Neglect that finally piqued some acrimony this past week. Acrimony that led me to put my foot down and declare that I will not be attending this God damned fucking gala.
This whole thing has had her lose some of her senses and when I pointed exactly what I meant by that, it only created more venting that made yesterday a no-phone-call-day at work for me. She pled her case this morning just before I left the house, but she attempted to do so in a most repugnant and ineffective manner.
Just to put things in perspective, in one incident that occurred last week, Wifey almost lost us about 800 dollars, AGAIN! Last year she went ahead and lost that amount regarding some insurance issues. I said nothing about it last year. I figured that it would have been a learning lesson for her and for me this coming year.
Yet, last Friday, after the deadline had passed to file for these breaks, she very glibly simply stated that she wasn’t able to get that done, even though I had conveyed my concern about it in the days leading up to the 5 p.m. EDT deadline. In paraphrase, she said something like, "Oh well, I guess you can just be upset at me all weekend then."
I practically exploded in a loud rage. I remedially explained to her how that attitude of her’s just cost us about 800 dollars, AGAIN. She had never thought about what last year’s oversight, over the course of a year, was actually worth until I explained it to her in black and red.
So, I said to her that two can play by those rules and that because of that, I will definitely not have time to attend her dog-and-pony event.
She had the nerve to call me from the event yesterday, ready to put some friends who I know on the phone, to have them persuade me to just come over after work. That only led me to hang up the phone on her before she could do that. She’s either lost her mind or she and her fundraiser pals have all turned into some sort of desperate suburban crack smokers.
After work, I leisurely sucked down on a Steel 40 while I relaxed inside my car. I bought one round-trip on the subway at the 72nd Street station and two stops later, I scalped my way into the John Fogerty concert at the Hammerstein Ballroom.
Mmmm…..let me see. John Fogerty or phony Cheshire grinning and air-cheek-kissing the rest of the night?
It’s so surreal seeing LL and thinking how different things are for both of us since.
I can’t possibly imagine or envision what our stories or situations would ever be like if I were to run into him on the street 18 years from now.
But one thing I do hope for then is for John Fogerty to still be playing concerts that I can go to as an alternative on a Friday night.
*!*
