Sally and I are sitting in front of
the fire listening to Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Phil Ochs. American folk
singers. Her idea. A bowl of tangerines. Nice pre-thanksgiving evening. Tomorrow
I’m going to get up early and make dinner for us. Just us. Two people,
comfortable. No one else, no socializing, no family or friends. It’s what we’ve
decided and we’re looking forward to the quiet, good music, perhaps some poetry.
There have been health issues, a few frightening moments, mostly self-generated,
but I’m clearly aware that I won’t go on forever. For much of my life I thought
I was bulletproof, that I’d be eternal. New realizations are prompting reconsideration.
Holidays and the busy, populated planet belong to the younger people in my
family, the ones who are not yet overwhelmed by a world they have just begun to
experience. Josh and Michelle had a new baby (Thomas Joseph) yesterday. Joe and
Lisa’s bambino, JP, is 4 months old. Valerie and Pat have Paige who is not
quite two, and Michael and Jackie are expecting. My nieces and nephews are
having kids and that is beautiful and bittersweet. The family goes on; the
newest ones don’t know if life was better or harder or happier. They aren’t old
enough to judge themselves or others and, so lucky, they are under the care of
incredible young men and women. I’m
finished with building this life and now I hope to enjoy what I’ve done, what I
have, who I know; I want to look forward to every goddamn morning. I’ve been
disillusioned, of course, beaten down badly sometimes, but that’s OK as long as
I recognize that I have options and can change my point of view. Which I
absolutely can. I’m cool with the past, for the most part, and the terror,
stupidity, anger and violence of the previous couple of weeks, years, decades,
haven’t ruined me. Miraculously. There are plenty of good stories, good people.
My life isn’t the world and it’s as decent or miserable as I make it; these
days I’m content not to get in too deep. Choices; a concept I’ve only become
aware of in the past 20 years. I love my wife, my home, the fine natural world,
great books and writing. Good writing gets me high. And I love working on my
own stories, poems, essays like an obsessed addict, full of self-doubt, pushing
on. I’m nuts about jazz and still dig good rock n’ roll. I can find colossal
joy in all forms of literature from contemporary comic books to Avant Garde to
pulp to 19th century classics: Spiderman, Sandman, Batman, Jane Austen,
Gertrude Stein, Thomas Mann. Film? Hell yes. French new wave, Italian post-war,
American noir, horror, slapstick and silent. I’m thankful for my brothers Paul
and Rich, my sister Chris, and my great friends: Armando, Roland, Terry (CDG),
Otha, Jonathan, Ernie, Barbara, Kate, Amy…. too many to name. Too many. I never would
have guessed. I’m grateful for fountain pens, intermittent windshield wipers,
copy/paste, delete/undo, Catherine Deneuve, a good haircut, desert boots, and most important, the
all time greatest innovation of the modern age that has offered me a life free
from guilt, confusion and stress:
Caller ID.
This is Paradise.
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