Let There Be More Than Just Reruns

For those of you that read me, you know, family is first and foremost in my priority listing here on earth. God, family, work,..well a couple of things before work, but that’s another entry.

I attended a birthday party for my Mother and Father last weekend. These get-togethers usually include both Mom and dad, my sister, her family and extended in-laws and my family. My brother is out of town and usually can not attend. I was nice. From the start, my sister Shannon is the master hostess. Her house is beautiful, in a nice gated community on the west coast of Florida. It’s big enough to contain our brood and entertain at the same time. An invitation was sent to some of Dad’s sisters and brothers and his favorite niece popped in for the occasion. I say “popped in”, but we are Florida and she lives in New Jersey. My Dad was tickled. Everyone enjoyed themselves, the party was a success.

Part of the reason my cousin came, was to see my Mom and Dad. The other reason was to come and say goodby to her own Dad. Pat’s health had been failing these past months, but I , nor any of the family really understood how far he has fallen. Until I saw him , I really didn’t understand. He could only raise his arms to about shoulder level. His movements were small and deliberate. He had no strength whatsoever. He had sores on his wrists and arms and I am told he was incontinent. He was a shell of the man I knew as a child and his reputation in our family was not a good one these last few years. Out of respect for my mother, I had not seen him since he came to Florida. It was nice seeing him. Jen warned me before we entered the house of his condition. It must have been much more startling for her, because it wasn’t to me. I have seen that scene countless times in my younger days when I nursed old folks to health. His cognitive ability must have been effected by the fact he can’t get much oxygen in. His lungs are filled with fluid. The look of absence lingered on his face. His eyes were glassy and the man I knew, the Patrick who was smart, witty, and sharp at times was gone. He was just an old man, waiting to die.

In conversations with Jennifer, I told her, “No one knows what is in his mind. No one knows if he will last a week, or a month, or another year. How long he remains on earth is between him and his maker.”

The question came to mind after our meeting. What matters when it is your last day? What separates us, we the people of the world. Class, political power, social standing, none of this matters when each one of us comes to meet the reaper. When our organs fail and our body stops working for our soul, what then? Now, whether you look at it from a scientific view or a religious one, each one of us will return to the earth and fertilize the flowers. There is only one thing that matters..PEOPLE. Te richness gauge in one’s own life is the amount of people who will weep for you when you die. How many people’s lives have you touched? How many people’s lives are better because they have had you or have you in it? I apologize to the people who may read this and think it is void of feeling or religion. That is by design. I can sit here and hypothesize about the religious aspects of the hereafter. I can say that God, whom ever that is you, will take you in his arms at the time of your death and deliver you to the pearly gates of heaven. But I only have faith that some form of that idea will happen. It’s been what I have been taught and what I believe. But have yet to meet someone who has gone and come back and told me what to expect.

The people in your life makes the memories. They make the events the things to think about later in life. Children help. They are with you all the time. Most people have thier “person”. That one person in your life you can tell anything to without fear of judgement. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a brother of sister, that person is the one you will think about and yearn for when the chips are down and you are looking at the end of the road. So before that time, if you already have not, find that one person whom that connection means more than all others. Enrich your life with people. Family, friends, coworkers, these are the dollar signs, the substance to the lifelong picture album in your mind. unless you fill it with pictures, all you will be left with at te end are a lot of books read and reruns watched. So please, let there be more than just reruns!


Brutal Honesty

Hello Friends,

I am a middle aged man who many years ago wanted to be a writer, a cop, a nurse, a radiology tech, an entrepreneur, a business man, a teacher, and again a writer. As a young man, I learned the advantages of working hard and enjoying the spoils of his hard work. The only thing lacking was a plan to get more return on investment. While college was something I liked as an intellectual prospect, execution was a little more than a challenge. A wise man once told me, ” College is nothing like high school.” While he was correct in the social aspect, he was dead wrong on a mental capacity personal level. The learning ability still had to be there and “wanting it more” than the other guy is great. But if the other guy is a Yale graduate and a high school valedictorian, ability is slightly skewed.

So fast forward twenty years. Married with children and not knowing what you want to do when you grow up is slightly , no not slightly, a problem. The wife is a successful professional with two careers. My children are growing up and within the next few years, half of them will have left home. Writing is not something I think of as a passion. It’s not something I have tried and failed and gone back to. Writing is a part of this man and has been for years. Writing is a job that while garners no income now, could in the future. Blogging seems to be more of a hobby than a job, but getting followers is harder than one would think. Followers are the key and selling books is the goal. Getting there, the journey, and blogging is one tool in a writer’s adventure.

Brutal honesty. That was the deal. Let people in. This is the only way one can truly get to know the man behind the pen. So drop the public face, go completely naked and write what ever comes to mind. So here it is. What do you think of me so far. To twist the story just a little, Epilepsy is a very real part of my life. Medication taken while in my formidable years has done some damage to memory. This is why school is a near impossibility. See, for those of you in school or that have attended classes in the past, you will remember you have to retail information learned at least until examination day. For me, that was the problem. So school is a waste of time and money.  Image

So writing is the key to more than a job. It is relationship between relaxation and making money. I just have to get this gig off the ground. ¬†Tools are the challenge right now, however. With so many people in the house and someone running a business out of our home, computer time is minimal to sit down and do this requires Miss Entrepreneur to be unconscious. Not a problem. I think I am going to get me a laptop for Christmas. Short term challenges are somethings I can do. While family and friends are more than supportive, questions don’t come except from people I do not know well. People who know me think they know me, but don’t. To know me is to live with me. To those people I say thank you for giving me experience from which to draw inspiration. I bare no ill will or bad feelings. To those who do love me and know me, I say thank you and I love you.