OK, my next assignment was to write an essay or short story about an influential person in my life. My instructor described this as a "fine, fine essay" "You really brought Tony to life." I thought it was lousy - no false modesty I promise you. What do you think?
Tony's Kids
Tony never finished High School. It seems so odd because he was so smart and articulate. But regardless of how high he rose through the management ranks of his company, it was still there in the back of his head. He really had a chip on his shoulder because of it and he would show anyone who looked cross ways at him that he was just as bright and well read as they were.
I suppose his outspokenness and outgoing personality in some way were his compensating for his lack of education. He was hard to miss. Everyone knew Tony and just about everyone liked him. All this probably had something to do with why Tony loved little kids so much. Not teenagers or ten year olds, little kids, especially babies. Kids were not a threat to him. They certainly didn't have more education than him and they weren't about to tell him what to do.
Tony must have liked kids. He had six of his own – three boys and three girls in thirteen years. He had a new one to play with about every two years. As each of the kids became toddlers, they would be invited into the evening ritual of going to the drug store for coffee and a coke. It was Tony's escape from working around people that he saw as over educated and dumb as rocks.
Tony was a handsome man and always got to know the waitresses by name. He got into the habit of bringing his youngest toddler along for company and to show them off to the waitresses at the drug store. But only the little ones – no teenagers allowed. As each kid grew up he or she dropped out of the group to be replaced by the younger kid.
One night Tony was at the bowling alley having a coffee and killing time. That night there were mixed leagues bowling so there were a lot of young kids because their mothers couldn't or didn't get baby sitters. Most people probably thought these kids were a nuisance but not to Tony. He saw them as little people to talk with. He saw a little 5 or 6 year old boy playing on one of the arcade games. Tony walked over and started talking with the kid. While they were talking he noticed something that looked like a fleck of dirt above the kid's eyelash.
"Come here little man, you've got something on your face" he said.
Tony grabbed the offending fleck and gave it a quick tug. The kid started screaming for his mother. Tony had pulled a stitch out of the boy's face. The kid continued screaming as Tony sheepishly explained to the boy's mother had happened. I can just see the redness of his face when he realized what he had done.
That little embarrassment didn't slow Tony down. After all he had six grandchildren to spoil.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Writing Class
I'm taking an online course in creative writing. It isn't what I expected. I wanted some professional criticism of my writing and to learn some skills. The instructor is a woman that lives near San Diego and has written dozens of books and thousands of magazine articles. She's knowledgeable for sure, but she believes in only encouraging you - no negative criticism. That's a problem for me. She also wants everything "G rated". That was an immediate obstacle for me, but it has forced me to think and write outside my comfort zone.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Father's Day
On my 40th Father’s Day I had the time of my life. What a joy ride! Actually it started out great the previous evening when my two youngest kids cooked me dinner and gave me a funny card and a gift card to a great golf store. We played Wii for a couple hours and I really enjoyed it.
At 9:00AM on Father’s Day I was finishing up my morning medications by giving myself a couple of squirts on a nasal spray I use daily to control allergic symptoms. About 10 seconds after I finished spraying it I felt liquid running down my lip. It was blood. Now I haven’t had a nosebleed in my adult life and any new symptom, feeling, or incident that happens to my physical well being freaks me out. So as I rushed to the kitchen and bent over the sink I saw lots of blood. Of course. I grabbed a towel and held my nose for a while. No good. I sat on the floor when I noticed that I was getting lightheaded, as I do every morning, and that blood was running down my throat. I was scared. And I called to my son to come and help me. He was great. He had me sit up and hold my nose while he went online to WebMD to see how to treat a nose bleed. He returned quickly and after applying ice to my face and nose and plugging my nose for ten minute intervals, we got it stopped in about an hour.
He went out after a while and I settled in. My older son called to wish me a happy Father’s Day and I went out on the deck to sit in the sun. In a couple hours the bleeding started up again in earnest. I called my younger son to come and take me to the urgent care center. I was really bleeding. After what seemed an eternity I saw a doctor who inserted a balloon with bandage qualities up my nose and it stopped. I was to keep that in for 24 hours. We went home and tried to relax. My older daughter called to wish me a happy Father’s Day and I told her of my adventures. While talking with her I noticed that when I bent over bright red blood dripped out of my unplugged nostril. I dismissed it but after it happen several times in the next four or five hours I told my son we were headed for the hospital ER. We got there at 8:30PM and got into a room quickly. I had a balloon stuck up one nostril and tissue stuffed up the other. God, was that A sexy look! Finally the doctor came in – well not exactly. Much later in the evening I realized he was a Physician’s Assistant. I’m fine with that. I have been treated by many PA’s and Nurse Practitioners and they are usually skilled and very competent health care providers. I just want to know up front that I’m not being treated by a physician. They’re not interchangeable. But Don (not his real name, of course) was doing okay I thought. At 1:00 AM I was still bleeding into the packing in my nostril. Don brought in something new, HemCom, A military dressing that stops bleeding, and stuck a piece of it in my nose. It worked. After waiting a while I stood up and bent over to see what would happen, There was still blood in my unplugged nostril, so he packed it too. At 1:40AM we went home.
That was my Father’s Day. As for the nosebleed, I followed up with an ENT doctor two long miserable days later. He chemically cauterized the suspected site of the problem and sent me on my way. Twenty-four hours later I was back again with a nosebleed and we did it again. This time another ingredient was added. It been 24 hours since and there’s no blood. No one ever figured out how or why I got the nosebleed.
I know a nosebleed it no big thing. Except to me it was a huge thing. I really believed I was going to die from this. Lately I’ve noticed a few characters on TV shows or the news saying that so and so woke up this morning never knowing it was his last day on earth. I asked myself if that was me. Now my nose and my psyche need time to heal.
P.S. The Lovely M dumped me. C'est la Vie.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Twittering
"Twitter is a service for friends, family, and co–workers to communicate and stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?"
My oh my. Now I'm twittering. Well trying to figure out what the hell it is and why I would what to do it -- or that it's the cool thing to do today. I'm still a trend follower like I've been all my life. Lately I'm joining a bunch of social networks -- first it was myspace, which was too creepy, then LinkedIn, then classmates.com, then babyboomerpeoplemeet.com, then seniorpeoplemeet.com which is real scary, then facebook (and many others) and finally -- for now -- Twitter. I'm still so new to Twitter I'm in the "what the fuck is this shit" phase. By the way there's a peoplemeet.com for every group you can think of. Someone's making a fortune off a crappy service that offers the clunkiest technology and minimal service but hey, that's show biz. If I ever figure out why twitter, I'll let you know.
Our early peek at summer has been nice -- forty degrees one day and eighty-five the next. That was a week ago. But things returned to normal. Low sixties and cloudy is perfect for me. I can golf alone on an uncrowded course. I know golf is the epitome of a social sport but there are tuns of guys who golf solo like me. I can remember when I took up golf in my forties and was thankful that it would force me to interact with friends and make new golf buddies. Hasn't worked out that way but I'm fine with it.
The health update is this: I had a full body PET scan to determine if there is active sarcoidosis in my nervous system or lungs. And I had a cardiac PET scan to see if it's active in my heart. The results were inconclusive -- basically they didn't show any sarcoid. I started prednisone the last week. Nothing has changed so far. This is the trial regime recommended by the specialist at Johns Hopkins. If the disease is active -- fifty/fifty chance -- the drug should reduce the disease and the symptoms. If not, there may still be some improvement. The best news for me would be that the disease is active because then it can be treated, if it's in remission then the damage may be permanent and there won't be any real improvement. That's the bad news. The good news is there is no down side; I'll just be back where I started and I will continue to work to maintain my quality of life. I refuse to think much about becoming an invalid. Not on my agenda. In any event, I am flattered and humbled by all the genuine concern and well wishes I've received.
Things with the Lovely M are great. Rather than look at this as our fifth attempt at a relationship, I see it was version 2.0. Starting on Feb. 28, which was not so coincidentally the first anniversary of our first date, I am looking at her and at our relationship a whole new way. I'm really happy with it and I don't have a clue where it's leading. Life is short so fret.
Two hillbillies were looking for a way to get from Dayton, Ohio - my home town - to Florida. They went to a used car dealer and said they had a hundred bucks -- what could they get to go to Florida. The car dealer was stumped but then thought of something. He said "Boys I've got something in the back that would be perfect for you." They walked around in back where he had a camel. They were confused but said okay and hopped about. They were loping down I-75 in Cincinnati when they came to a stop sign. I couple of guys in a white Cadillac pulled up next to them and looked. One guy looked at the other and said "Man, would you look at the two assholes on that camel." So the two hillbillies got off and looked.
Thanks for reading.
My oh my. Now I'm twittering. Well trying to figure out what the hell it is and why I would what to do it -- or that it's the cool thing to do today. I'm still a trend follower like I've been all my life. Lately I'm joining a bunch of social networks -- first it was myspace, which was too creepy, then LinkedIn, then classmates.com, then babyboomerpeoplemeet.com, then seniorpeoplemeet.com which is real scary, then facebook (and many others) and finally -- for now -- Twitter. I'm still so new to Twitter I'm in the "what the fuck is this shit" phase. By the way there's a peoplemeet.com for every group you can think of. Someone's making a fortune off a crappy service that offers the clunkiest technology and minimal service but hey, that's show biz. If I ever figure out why twitter, I'll let you know.
Our early peek at summer has been nice -- forty degrees one day and eighty-five the next. That was a week ago. But things returned to normal. Low sixties and cloudy is perfect for me. I can golf alone on an uncrowded course. I know golf is the epitome of a social sport but there are tuns of guys who golf solo like me. I can remember when I took up golf in my forties and was thankful that it would force me to interact with friends and make new golf buddies. Hasn't worked out that way but I'm fine with it.
The health update is this: I had a full body PET scan to determine if there is active sarcoidosis in my nervous system or lungs. And I had a cardiac PET scan to see if it's active in my heart. The results were inconclusive -- basically they didn't show any sarcoid. I started prednisone the last week. Nothing has changed so far. This is the trial regime recommended by the specialist at Johns Hopkins. If the disease is active -- fifty/fifty chance -- the drug should reduce the disease and the symptoms. If not, there may still be some improvement. The best news for me would be that the disease is active because then it can be treated, if it's in remission then the damage may be permanent and there won't be any real improvement. That's the bad news. The good news is there is no down side; I'll just be back where I started and I will continue to work to maintain my quality of life. I refuse to think much about becoming an invalid. Not on my agenda. In any event, I am flattered and humbled by all the genuine concern and well wishes I've received.
Things with the Lovely M are great. Rather than look at this as our fifth attempt at a relationship, I see it was version 2.0. Starting on Feb. 28, which was not so coincidentally the first anniversary of our first date, I am looking at her and at our relationship a whole new way. I'm really happy with it and I don't have a clue where it's leading. Life is short so fret.
Two hillbillies were looking for a way to get from Dayton, Ohio - my home town - to Florida. They went to a used car dealer and said they had a hundred bucks -- what could they get to go to Florida. The car dealer was stumped but then thought of something. He said "Boys I've got something in the back that would be perfect for you." They walked around in back where he had a camel. They were confused but said okay and hopped about. They were loping down I-75 in Cincinnati when they came to a stop sign. I couple of guys in a white Cadillac pulled up next to them and looked. One guy looked at the other and said "Man, would you look at the two assholes on that camel." So the two hillbillies got off and looked.
Thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunshine State Week 2
My time in the Sunshine State is over and I am back in the frozen North. Forty-four fuckingdegrees right now. This sucks. But further south . . . although it rained continuously the last two days I was in Sandestin, the experience just confirmed my new found determination that Florida is the place for me in January through Tax Day. To paraphrase the old golfing line, a bad day in Northern Florida is better than a good day in Southeastern Michigan. I don't know how I'm going to pull it off, but I am. The change in my health, mental and physical, is astonishing. I would not have believed it; but I do now. A simple walk in the sunshine is a better mood lifter than any anti-depressant.
I met two women in Florida. Not in the romantic sense - although there's always some kind of sexual tension between men and women - but in the sense that I would say they are friends now. If you've read my blog recently you know that for all my womanizing (the working title of my book is Womanizer), I am still awkward and shy about striking up a conversation with a stranger. And by a stranger I mean a woman. Men I don't even notice or, for that matter, strike up conversations. That explains the fact that I did not walk up to either of them and say "Hi. Come here often?" I met a real estate agent whom I'll call Anne and a bartender whom I'll call Christie. Anne and I looked at properties three different times and I got a good sense of what's available. I already explained last time that I went looking for a 40 cents on the dollar deal and it wasn't there. And when I thought I could google my way to a steal, I came up with foreclosures that weren't and better bargains than private sales. Anne was a true southern girl who knew more than she let on.
I ate lunch at Christie's bar every day. I had an excellent routine (for me, that is) going. Lay out in the sun until 2:00; walk twenty minutes to Beef O'Gradys (the bar in question of course); eat a reasonably light meal and walk 15-25 minutes after. It's easy to see why this beats the hell out of gulping down a Subway sub and driving home with a bloated gut like I do at home. Christie really developed a crush on me and when I left each day she wanted to be sure that I came back to see her. When I left for good she came out and gave me a big hug -- not for the first time. It was sweet actually. She was a working class divorcee who did whatever she had to to support her three kids and buy her own home. I really admire a person like that. We talked about our lives a bit and it turns out she is the same age as my oldest child, which is pretty old compared to my other bartender buddies up here. Although we live in pretty different worlds there are always plenty of connections if you look a little.
No conversation about women could omit the latest with me and Lovely M. We had a lovely, very, very expensive dinner at her favorite restaurant last night and the rest of the evening was even better. Hope I can just go with it and stick to my own rules; accept her without trying to change her; be true to myself; and get affection and respect in return. I've never been good at sticking to the rules or keeping anything simple, but that doesn't mean I can't.
The notes from Dr. Moller at the Sarcoidosis Clinic at Johns Hopkins were in the mail when I got home. Very obtuse but mostly understandable. There was a pretty amusing typo. When listing my medications the letter twice referred to Mestinon as Methadone. Not exactly the same. Tomorrow I hope to get into see my primary care doc and set out a treatment plan with him. Just hope I don't blow up like Jerry Lewis on steroids. Maybe I can resurrect my baseball career!
Thanks for reading.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Sunshine State
"Moving sale. Everything must go. No reasonable offer refused." What the hell does that mean? First, the whole point of selling things is that everything must go. Ever been in a store where they tell you that everything must stay? We're in the business to show you things you can't buy. And I can't even write anything about how stupid and pointless it is to say "No reasonable offer refused." Of course, the advertiser knows it's complete meaningless bullshit. But I want to know if it really gets people to come to the store expecting a deal. I know there's a sucker born every minute but how stupid would you have to be to think that all you have to do is make a reasonable offer. I know, I know. Why do I let shit like this bother me? Well, I'm bored and I can't think of anything better to do.
I just finished my first week at Sandestin Beach and Golf Resort in Destin (actually Miramar Beach) Florida. And a damn fine place it is. Twenty five hundred acres of pristine manicured gated complex with 40 or 50 communities of high rises, detached homes, condo, permanent homes, etc. It got its own golf courses (4), shopping center, shuttle service, marina and everything to make it self sufficient. Disney World without the rides. Golf carts are every where and the Gulf of Mexico is across the street from my condo. I know there are places like this all over Florida but I still think of Florida as that butt-ugly place with all the cheesy surf shops and mom and pop restaurants in Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona Beach that I remember from when I was a teenager. In fact I was in Lauderdale a few years ago and the strip along the beach is nothing like what I have pictured in mind from when I was a college kid.
Those memories are probably why I never thought seriously about living here with all the other old farts . . . until now. In fact I never even knew there was anything West of Georgia in Florida. I certainly never heard of Destin, but it's the place to be. It must be. I'm here. Along with about a billion families and college kids on Spring Break. Where the hell do these kids get the cash to come here anyway? Now I suddenly am looking at properties every day. Like I can afford a third mortgage! I came here with the bright idea of bottom feeding on bargains in this shitty real estate market. Surprise! They are selling homes here and lots of them. I didn't realize that this real estate market in Michigan is so totally different than in the South. The idea I had planted in my head by my financial manager of paying 40 cents on the dollar for a really nice place was a little too good to be true. Everything I've sen here seems normally priced to me and the real bargains are million dollar places for $600k which is a little heavy for me. I've been looking at foreclosures on line and they just prove the rule that if it seems to good to be true, it probably is. I thought I found a gold mine last night. A three bedroom, three bathroom house on the bay for $125K. I was ready to offer a hundred in cash and walk away fat and happy. Oops. It's a timeshare, a very nice timeshare, but you still only own 1/10 of it for that price.
When I'm not looking at properties, I'm lying in the sun or walking around the complex. After three days of rain the weather has turned beautiful and it feels great. Even better knowing the high at home today was 42. Most of my mental energy has gone into trying to entice the Lovely M to some down here for the remaining week. So far, no go. All I'm offering is gorgeous weather, relaxing by the pool, the Gulf, long walks on the grounds, dinner at a different restaurant every night and whatever else you can imagine. Oh yes, and my company! I guess I can see why sitting inside in 40 degree weather alone would be more appealing. But I'll keep fighting the good fight.
I fell down and went boom. Even though I had fallen, I could get up but not without cursing and thanking God no one saw. Where was Life Alert when I needed it? I fell in the parking garage and tore my favorite Ralph Lauren jeans. Damnit, that hurt!
As soon as I have some adventures, I'll write about them. Now it's of to tonight's mystery restaurant. Thanks for reading.
I just finished my first week at Sandestin Beach and Golf Resort in Destin (actually Miramar Beach) Florida. And a damn fine place it is. Twenty five hundred acres of pristine manicured gated complex with 40 or 50 communities of high rises, detached homes, condo, permanent homes, etc. It got its own golf courses (4), shopping center, shuttle service, marina and everything to make it self sufficient. Disney World without the rides. Golf carts are every where and the Gulf of Mexico is across the street from my condo. I know there are places like this all over Florida but I still think of Florida as that butt-ugly place with all the cheesy surf shops and mom and pop restaurants in Ft. Lauderdale and Daytona Beach that I remember from when I was a teenager. In fact I was in Lauderdale a few years ago and the strip along the beach is nothing like what I have pictured in mind from when I was a college kid.
Those memories are probably why I never thought seriously about living here with all the other old farts . . . until now. In fact I never even knew there was anything West of Georgia in Florida. I certainly never heard of Destin, but it's the place to be. It must be. I'm here. Along with about a billion families and college kids on Spring Break. Where the hell do these kids get the cash to come here anyway? Now I suddenly am looking at properties every day. Like I can afford a third mortgage! I came here with the bright idea of bottom feeding on bargains in this shitty real estate market. Surprise! They are selling homes here and lots of them. I didn't realize that this real estate market in Michigan is so totally different than in the South. The idea I had planted in my head by my financial manager of paying 40 cents on the dollar for a really nice place was a little too good to be true. Everything I've sen here seems normally priced to me and the real bargains are million dollar places for $600k which is a little heavy for me. I've been looking at foreclosures on line and they just prove the rule that if it seems to good to be true, it probably is. I thought I found a gold mine last night. A three bedroom, three bathroom house on the bay for $125K. I was ready to offer a hundred in cash and walk away fat and happy. Oops. It's a timeshare, a very nice timeshare, but you still only own 1/10 of it for that price.
When I'm not looking at properties, I'm lying in the sun or walking around the complex. After three days of rain the weather has turned beautiful and it feels great. Even better knowing the high at home today was 42. Most of my mental energy has gone into trying to entice the Lovely M to some down here for the remaining week. So far, no go. All I'm offering is gorgeous weather, relaxing by the pool, the Gulf, long walks on the grounds, dinner at a different restaurant every night and whatever else you can imagine. Oh yes, and my company! I guess I can see why sitting inside in 40 degree weather alone would be more appealing. But I'll keep fighting the good fight.
I fell down and went boom. Even though I had fallen, I could get up but not without cursing and thanking God no one saw. Where was Life Alert when I needed it? I fell in the parking garage and tore my favorite Ralph Lauren jeans. Damnit, that hurt!
As soon as I have some adventures, I'll write about them. Now it's of to tonight's mystery restaurant. Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Getting out of the Cold, Again!
Nine days ago I returned to Michigan, my home sweet home, and I have been sick every day since. What to do? Of course, return to the South. I'm going to Destin, Florida for two weeks. I was so flabbergasted by how great I felt in Florida two weeks ago, that I decided that there is no reason to sit here and be miserable. There is only only one limiting factor - money. The issue is not whether I can afford it. It's whether I can afford to stay here. I can fly for free and the car and condo are reasonable, so off I go. I have definitely spent my last January and February in Michigan. I might even consider buying a place as an investment and spending 3 months there myself and rent it while I'm not there. If I like it there and find something for 40 cents on the dollar I'll go for it.
Two sentences on how shitty I have felt. (1) My blood pressure is so damn low i called the pharmacist to see if I might have ruined my medication by exposing it to freezing (in my suitcase in the trunk)because it is not working and (2) my normal window of feeling good for twelve hours from about 11:00AM to 11:00PM has been reduced to about two hours.
I am sitting here waiting for my date with Lovely M tonight. I only wish I knew what I was doing and had something like a plan. Just being in love with her doesn't cut it. For some reason she continues to go out with me (and I continue to ask) although I don't know why. I can accept that she is cautious and reserved after our constant break up/ make up's but why do we continue this dance. Tuesday night after yoga class, Romy, Michelle and I were talking about relationships. Michelle wanted to know why I think she's an enigma when I'm the enigma. Then I started bitching about these text messages M sends me when we're "broken up". Michelle somewhat sheepishly said I talk out of both sides of my mouth regarding M. No shit! It's love/hate played out to the extreme. Which does me no good to realize because it just boils down to intense emotion where positive or negative. I if didn't care, I wouldn't care enough to get mad at her. She's that once in a decade woman as I said before.
Fast forward. The date's over and I'm in deeper than I was 24 hours ago. When she's good she's very, very good . . . but when she's bad she horrid. Last night she was the woman I fell in love with and, even though she won't go South with me (so far), I'm still feeling that wonderful glow. I sent her a love poem last night. I know it's sappy, but love is sappy; and a million other things.
I'm writing a book. You knew that. My goal is to start editing when I get to 80,000 words and see what I've got. I've been writing since I was in love with Gina and that's been a while ago. I'm at 73,000 words - no, I didn't count them - and am anxious to get this done this year. Maybe I'll try to finish while I'm in Florida wishing M was there.
Good bye, Michigan, Hello, Florida.
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