Made to Last

Yesterday as I curled up on the sofa re-watching episodes of Glee and playing Farmville, I debated whether I should go to the New Year's party. I told my mom I was going, so I'd ruled out going down to the parents house and seeing in the new year alone in the living room. Mom would be there, but she'd be asleep by then. I took a shower and did my errands then put my sweats on. I didn't have to go anywhere. It was perfectly fine to spend New Year's Eve alone, just enjoying the quiet of my new place. Last year, I had been at Pedro's with the puppies. So not alone if you count dogs. But it would be nice to get out, just to hang out with Ralph and Kate and Dax and talk to Dan about the Mets. No other expectations. But as it got later, it was harder and harder to get myself to get off the sofa. But at 10:00 I was decided. If I didn't go now, it'd be too late. I went upstairs, got dressed and tried to calm my nerves. Why was I nervous? It should be fairly mellow. No Janice meant no Keir. My plan was clear. Just stand around by the wall swaying to the music and holding up a bottle of water in the toast at midnight. Then head home and get a good night's sleep.

But Keir was there. I walked in and saw him to my left in the living room, face flushed red with inebriation. Ralph and Kate were in front of me and came to greet me at the door. I hugged them each in turn. Then Ralph half-whispered to me, in case I hadn't noticed, that Keir was there. He was stumbling towards us. "Oh, hey," I said, giving him a quick hug. "Nice to see you." He said the same. Though I was skeptical that he even recognized me. I moved on into the party. Ralph, as ever my faithful buffer, said that Keir had turned up early maybe around 7, already drunk. We shook our heads. It was terrible to see him like that, but what could we do? I met Johanna in the kitchen doorway and she recognized me as Keir's friend, asking if I knew he was here. I said, yeah, but he's not really aware at the moment. Yeah, that happens, she said shrugging. Kate had a little wine buzz going, not too much, just enough to make her a bit more happy and chatty. I could tell Ralph was glad to have another sober person to talk to. I found Dax too and stayed talking to him and Ralph, and Kate when she wasn't wandering off. We stayed in a little cluster in the kitchen. Every time Keir was nearby I managed to wander away, or look elsewhere. At midnight, the hugging and kissing and New Year's toasts in progress, he appeared again, so I hugged him awkwardly and turned to find Kate.

I hadn't had a chance to say hi to Dan yet, even though his brother Mike made a point of coming over to hug me twice and say he was glad I had made it. Another half hour and Ralph and Kate decided to head home. I wasn't going to stay long either, I'd decided. I met a guy outside who was wearing the same Fluevogs I was, just in a different color. So we amused ourselves with a conversation about our favorite shoes. They last forever, we agreed.

I was pulled onto the dance floor a few times by people I didn't know. Martin was playing good music. I was having fun and I wasn't anxious about Keir. I wasn't paying much attention to him at all. But then, he came to find me. I felt his hands on my waist. He was trying to dance with me. He came around and took my hands saying, you know this song, this is the best song. He twirled me around a couple of times and we tripped over each other. I tried to dance casually apart from him, but he kept taking my hand and we tried to dance some more, badly. After a few times he took my elbow and beckoned me to follow him into the living room. He seemed like he wanted to talk. But I let him go and he seemed to forget about me. I moved outside, then back into the kitchen; I just kept moving. Finally it was unavoidable, Keir pulled me into the living room and we sat down on one of the sofas. I asked him how he was. He asked me if he was being a jerk, if he was always being a jerk, or even better, an asshole. I told him I haven't seen him in two years. But back then, he continued. I was a jerk back then. Yeah, you were, I said. I've always been a jerk he said. Yeah, well, I said. No, tell me I'm an asshole. I shook my head. I think that's a bit strong. I'm too polite to say that. Well don't, he said. Don't be polite.

He leaned against me, then reached over and pulled off my shoe. Then he tossed it into the dining room. I sat there, one shoe off. Go get my shoe, I said. No, he said. Finally, I got up and collected my shoe. You are an asshole, I said.

Later back outside, I met Fluevog guy again. I grabbed Keir and pulled him over. Look, I said, we have the same shoes. Shoe buddies! someone said. You know what, I said to Fluevog guy. He took my Fluevog and threw it across the room. Why'd you do that man? he said to Keir. And then, he wouldn't go get it for me, I continued. I was going to, he said, but then you got it. I rolled my eyes and looked at him, teasing, as if to say 'whatever.'

A while later I finally got to talk to Dan. As he was the host, I didn't want to leave without at least talking with him for a little bit. We commiserated about the Mets, and the loss of Jose Reyes. Keir had wandered off back to the living room, where someone reported he was crying. I was outside talking to Johanna and she said, you know there comes a point where you can't say it's not your fault anymore. I agreed. I don't like to give up on people you know. I don't want to give up on him. He's obviously taking Janice's engagement pretty hard. Dan came over and said that he had been dropped off without making arrangements to get home. Violet said they should probably call him a cab now, and then give him the money to get home. Agreed, Dan said. Johanna and I both made a move to get our coats. I came back with my coat on and thanked Dan for his hospitality. I found Keir on the patio, sitting alone at the table. I put my hand on his shoulder. Hey, I said. I'm gonna head home. Take care okay? You're going, he said, sounding hurt. I bent down and hugged him quickly. I thought I heard him mumble "I love you," into my shoulder. I shook my head, waved good-bye, and turned to walk out. I realized on the way back to my car that I'd forgotten to say good-night to Dax, but I figured he'd forgive me. I had stayed way later than I'd meant to. It was almost 3am. I got in the car and headed home. I went straight up to bed. As I fell asleep I thought it was a decent night out. And that I guess I really could go to the party, just for me, whether he was there or not. And if he was, it wasn't my job to babysit him, but I could at least be kind. It was only once a year.

It Covers the Hillside

Today is my 40th birthday. And it's been a bit of a rough year. Lots of changes. Some of them sad. And yet, I'm still here to document it all. That's what I do.

Continuing my purge of old paperwork, I found some old letters from a friend I had when I was a freshman in college. I met him in philosophy class. Well, met is a strong word. Observed and admired, then slipped him an anonymous note. We weren't exactly fast friends. But little by little, we bonded over shared love of Herman Hesse and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Fast forward to the end of the school year. I joined the army and he found it hard to process. But, we wrote letters over the summer, then through basic training and AIT and continuing on to Fort Carson. Beautiful letters. But something happened. He was going through stuff. I was going through stuff and it all came apart. At the end, I was trying to hold on and he just wanted to get away. He wrote one last letter. It was blunt. It hurt. And I still have it. I have all the letters. Finding them reminded me of something. A pattern of some kind. I haven't quite been able to formulate what it is. I talked it over with my doctor trying to work it out. And she asked me a simple question: Why did I keep it? That last letter. The other ones, fine. They were nice memories. But that last one, what good did it do me to keep it? And I keep it still. It's history. My history. A document of what has transpired, good or bad.

There might be some greater lesson here. I haven't figured it out yet. Something about my obsessive need to record and catalog and process and reanalyze. Kind of like what I'm doing here. Why do I feel things like these decades-old pieces of paper define me? As I get older, my memory is not what it was. I need something tangible to help with things I don't remember anymore. But hanging on to words, will it get me any closer to the truth, or further away? It may actually be the opposite. Once you write something down, maybe it's less true. Once it's fixed in print, all the flexibility of meaning is gone. Or is it like I used to tell my students, a piece of writing is never done it's just due. Subject to change, in the next edition, constantly being revised, updated...like me.

Credit in the Straight World

Recently I had a legal problem due to an old credit card debt. Something that happened when I was unemployed about 6 years ago. It had been charged off, but unlike a few others that had been charged off, I never got around to settling it. This didn't turn out to be a problem when I was going through my clearance investigation, or when I bought Rory last year. But I guess the sleeping giant was awakened by my buying the house. The bank froze my accounts and the creditor put a claim in on a whopping $8000! The debt I actually incurred was only about $3000. Really I had thought since it was charged off that would be the end of it. I mean, you can't get blood from a stone. But unbeknownst to me, they decided to sue me for it a couple of years ago. As a result of the judgement I ended up owing the $8000 due to all the fees. It made me angry really. I mean the big banks are on the verge of failure and they get a bailout from the American tax payers. No such program exists for the individual. Though, if you are unemployed for a long time as I was, and there is no other way to settle your debts, you can file for bankruptcy. If I did that, I'd lose my clearance and then my job, which would make things considerably worse, not better. Fortunately I have an income and was able to settle. They ended up accepting $4000 to resolve the matter. So, there goes my savings. I'll build it back up again in time. But the timing was awful. Right before Christmas and my birthday. I had to come up with half the money. So the year comes to an inauspicious end.

It made me think though about how we are conditioned in this country to live beyond our means, and then when we get in trouble, it leads to profit for the companies that have perpetuated this way of life. We get hit with late fees, overdraft fees, over limit fees, and finally as I was, get sued. Certain members of these industries profit off making bad loans, loans they know can never be repaid. They take the commissions for granting these loans, and then they bet against the borrowers to make back many times what they loaned out. Home ownership was meant to be the end all be all of the American Dream. And it was so encouraged, not so that we could have a more equitable society, but so those who foster it can profit. I get that businesses need to make money. They need to profit. They need to employ people, and in turn those people can buy the products that are produced and have a decent standard of living. But there are those who get greedy. They make bets against people who are trying to live their lives and do the right thing. They make billions, and are still making billions without producing a single product, not giving society a single thing of value. I can't help thinking that's not the way capitalism is supposed to work.

Granted, I incurred some debt. I don't think I was being irresponsible, or living beyond my means, though. I just kept losing my jobs. And as a last resort, used credit to buy things I needed. Real necessities, like food and rent and such. I guess I was unlucky. And so were a lot of other people. Sure, there were those who were irresponsible and took advantage. And the fact is that all around us are irresponsible examples, such as our government's mounting debt, and the near default of several other countries for instance. Even so, most people just had a reasonable expectation that if they worked hard and payed their bills, then everything would be fine. There is no shame in borrowing and paying back. Most people couldn't own homes or get an education otherwise. But I think those who got greedy, they were and still are wrong.

My parents were lucky I was able to get a mortgage and buy their house for them. And I was only able to do it because I served in the military and qualified for a government backed loan. Most people who are severely underwater on their mortgages are not so lucky and lose their homes. I did not undertake the process lightly. I understand that if things go wrong for them, I am responsible. I am ultimately responsible for everything I do. So I settled my debt, mostly thanks to the fact that I have been frugal, and had some savings built up. I will continue to work hard and try to live a decent life. I've had more advantages than some, and less than others. That is not at all fair. Plenty of people get a raw deal, are poor, hungry, with no chance of an education to help lift them out of their situation. We as a society should be more sensitive to that. It's hard to look beyond our own situations; it's human nature to complain and want more than we have. Many, many people though, people of modest means like me, give to charity when they are able, consider it their duty to help others. Unfortunately, there are many more who think the opposite. With them it's, "I got mine, so screw you." It's hard not to be angry at those people.

So yes, I was angry that after all the corporate malfeasance and bad behavior, all the abuse with seemingly little consequence for the perpetrators, that I couldn't get away with a little something. If maybe they could let that go just this once, that piddly little amount I owed. But then wouldn't I be just like them despite the very different circumstances? Taking advantage of my middle class status, to keep working and living well. Plenty of people don't get away with that much. I should appreciate what I have been able to do; grow up in a safe neighborhood, have enough to eat, and clothes to wear, go on to earn two university degrees. That last thing at least is something no one can take away.

Things are fine now. But like so many others, I'm just one disaster away from losing everything. And that is something I hope never to forget again.

Faith

So they have found me. The Mormons. Last Sunday I was on the phone with Mom and the doorbell rang. I looked out the peephole and couldn't tell who it was so I didn't answer it. Then I heard something being wedged into the door jamb. After I hung up with Mom I opened the door to find an invitation with my name on it to a Christmas program they are having at the ward I would belong to. I can't go; it's a Tuesday night at 6:00. But it's not the first time I've thought about going back to church since I moved here.

Fast forward to this weekend: Veterans' Day. And I did something I do occasionally when I remember. I pulled out my dog tags and put them on. Just hearing them jangle around my neck brings me back to those Army days. But this time something struck me. The tags have my name, social, blood type and religion: Roman Catholic. I guess that no longer applies. If it ever did.

I'd been searching for something during my time in the Army. And I tried a few different churches aside from the Catholics. Then I got out, and went back to school and the Mormons found me. Just when I needed them. I wondered if maybe I needed them again now. And I wondered if that was too convenient for me to go back just when I need something. After all, I graduated from BYU. I think I kind of owe them.

When I was in Santa Barbara, and I was in over my head financially, they brought me food. When I moved to a new apartment, and then moved to Provo, and then finally left Provo for Vegas, they were there to help. I know God doesn't care how you come back or when, as long as you do. And he'll tell you that you never owe him anything for all he's done for us. But I don't want to be a hypocrite. If I go back it has to be because I really believe. I know I still believe in God. But as far as being temple worthy, I'm a long way away. It used to be so easy to live the Word of Wisdom. Now I have to do some work, to find my faith, and to see if I can make my life fit that mold again. So many things I haven't thought about for a while. Tithing, the long dresses, but mostly it's the time. I used to spend 3 days a week on church stuff. Even at BYU that became difficult. I didn't want to do my visiting teaching. Never got around to reading the Ensign. I was tired from school and my teaching. And now, I find it hard to make time for things, even with my shorter commute. I wouldn't be able to make it to anything during the week. That leaves Sundays. Giving those up again won't come easy. But maybe the recuperation I need can come from Sacrament meeting. I don't know.

As for Veterans day, I put on my tags, and went to see the CSI exhibit at MGM Grand. Gary Sinise was making an appearance to promote his benefit concert in honor of the wounded warriors. I waited in line for two hours. All the while thinking about the one thing I've always wanted to tell Gary if I ever met him. "Everything will be okay, Gary Sinise is here." Of course when the time came, we were rushed and everything slipped right out of my mind. I gave him the postcard to sign and he asked if I was going to come to the concert. I told him I was a Veteran myself and that my brother is a cop. He said, "Thank you for your service. Happy Veterans Day!" He asked my name and said, "You should come tomorrow, it's a fun show. We'll have some of the wounded warriors in attendance and we'll raise some money for programs that help them." And I think I said I'd come. Which meant I had to. You can't lie to Gary Sinise. Besides, he personally invited me.

I did go to the show. It was yesterday afternoon at Mandalay Beach. The stage was above the wave pool. I stood in the sand of the fake beach. His band, the Lt. Dan Band, played covers, typical stuff. But they were really good. Gary Sinise is an excellent bass player. And his singers and musicians were all top notch. There was a guy on violin that did a fantastic "Devil Went Down to Georgia." I was impressed. And there was a team of Veterans from Ride to Recovery; they'd just done a 100 mile bike ride or something and they were still wearing their team uniforms. Impressive all around. At the end they had a couple of wheelchair-bound Veterans on stage as some large checks were presented for Veterans charities. And I felt good about having served my country. I sacrificed greatly, though nothing that anyone can see evidence of. But every time I go to my doctor at the VA, I'm reminded that it's still with me, no matter how much time has passed.

A Place Called Home

Yesterday I went to see how the new house is coming along. My parents' new house that is. I mean, the mortgage will be in my name and I have to sign all the papers. But for all intents and purposes it's Mom & Dad's. I went to their house yesterday at the tail end of the garage sale they were having. So much stuff to get rid of. Stuff I didn't even remember they had. Some stuff I don't think I've ever seen. And some of my stuff. Still! I thought I'd got it all. But no. My old desk was in the garage sale. I've had that desk since High School. And up until I moved a few months ago, I was still using it. I suggested to Mom that if she couldn't sell it, I could find a place for it in my little house here. Then someone called her back saying they wanted it. I felt a little pang.

So last night I headed home; I'd been watching the World Series before I left. Albert Pujols had just hit his first home run of the series. By the time I got here though, Albert had hit two more! A dizzying display of power, fit for the record books.

Speaking of books, the shelves I put up in the spare bedroom fell down on Friday with a loud crash. I was downstairs and when I heard it, the first thing I thought was "Oh God, not the computer!" I don't know why, the computer is on a perfectly stable desk. But it was the shelves where I'd put my baseball card albums and books and memorabilia items. And my sheet music books. All of it fell on my bass amp, bringing with it little bits of dry wall. I guess the anchors I put in the wall weren't strong enough. The only casualty seemed to be the big Dalek. His eye stalk broke off. Everything else was fine. I've decided to be safe; I won't put up another wall shelf there. I'll get another bookcase instead. I spent part of the afternoon patching up the holes with spackle.

Little by little this place is coming together. Last weekend, I pruned the rose bushes out front. I used this pair of heavy-duty utility scissors since I have no gardening implements. It worked pretty well. But boy those flowers sure are serious about the whole thorny thing. Next time I'll have to find some gloves. I was gonna ask Dad if I could borrow his pruning shears this weekend to tackle that tree in front of the kitchen window. Just to trim it so you can actually pass by on the sidewalk without getting smacked in the face. But when I took a look out there Friday, it had been trimmed already. I guess the landlord has someone come round every now and then.

I also put up a new lighting fixture in the kitchen. Since the cover on the old one broke, I'd been living with the bare florescent bulbs. I got a fixture the same size that fit in the same place, but I started installing it before I realized I'd have to cut the power to the house, and work using only the daylight from the windows. Yeah, that didn't go so well. I took too long, it got dark, and I was standing on a ladder holding this fixture up over my head with a flashlight clenched between my chest and my chin. Then I dropped the flashlight.

I managed to get it fastened enough so that I could let it go. And soon after, the lights were back on. I felt pretty handy. Except for the whole getting hit in the face with the wire leads. They actually drew blood. Not enough though that I had to hide from my parents until it healed, rather than explaining what boneheaded accident I'd had this time. I wore long pants so they wouldn't see the very pronounced burn mark from Rory's tailpipe. Though I proudly showed it off to my Club mates at the Motortober event. My own little MINI branding. And I got a free oil change and lunch to boot.

So a little bit of damage done, but some reward too for good intentions. And as much as I can manage, I feel at home.

Ghost of a Dog

She's only been gone a week, but Dad says both he and Mom have had dreams about her. And then there is the jarring realization of her not being there when you come home. And in the middle of the night, you wake up in anticipation of her wanting to go out. And when you get out of bed, you check to make sure you don't step on her. And her hair is still everywhere.

How come it still makes me cry when I think about her? The way she snored softly when they gave her the sedative. And how her little tongue stuck out. The tongue she'd used so often to lick my feet. I'm her second favorite, I always liked to say.

Miracle had her quirks. She barked and barked for seemingly no reason. Hence the nickname, Miss Barky Bark. She could be sitting next to you on the couch for hours, and then if you got up and came back she would growl at you like she'd never seen you before. She was funny like that.

And at one time or another, she bit each one of us, leaving little scars on hands and legs. No one could understand how we still kept her around after that. But we knew it was just because she got spooked and we'd try to be more careful.

She had many other nicknames too. Mirala, Boo Boo, Grumpus von Puppybottom, Monkey butt, Fluffa, Woofie, Wooba and Woobie. We were always coming up with new ones. It was almost like we loved her so much one name wasn't enough. Though she came with one that was already tough to live up to. She was rescued by firemen days after she was born when she and her brothers and sisters had been left out on a freezing cold New York sidewalk in January. The puppies piled on top of each other to keep warm and those unlucky enough to be on top died. She was saved by being on the bottom of the pile. So the firemen that found her, took her to the pound and called her Miracle.

She was a beauty, everyone who saw her said. Big and fluffy like a lion (Puffy Lion Dog), the black tongue, stout frame and temper of a Chow Chow, the floppy ears and long nose and big paws of a Golden Retriever. She was our Golden Chow. Out in public we had to warn people, she wasn't great with strangers. But when you got to know her she was really sweet. She was chicken when it was storming out, or if fireworks were being launched, or even if it was just windy. But she protected Dad, and her turf 'til the end. By then so much of her hair had fallen out, she couldn't get up the stairs like she used to, and her allergies were unrelenting. But we couldn't bear to part with her any sooner than absolutely necessary. It was the hardest thing trying to decide when her quality of life was at its low point and it was time. She still looked at you with those brown eyes (one of them as ever overcome by eye gook) and her tail still wagged.

But she went peacefully to sleep and now she's in doggie heaven, running and barking and licking. And maybe she'll even run into my little Tiffer up there. Wouldn't they make a pair!

Sunrise

Of course I remember where I was. Don't we all? It was a Tuesday. I was in my apartment in Provo, UT getting ready to go teach my freshman English students at BYU. I didn't often turn the TV on in the morning, but I did for some reason that day. The plane had already hit the first tower. It was just after 7:00 a.m. MST (9:00 a.m. in New York). It was one of those morning shows and at first I wasn't sure if they were showing a clip from a new movie or if this was really happening. Or if it might be a terrible accident. While I was watching, the second plane hit. There was no denying now that this was real and intentional. I sat down. In shock. What was I doing? What should I be doing? All I could do, was watch my hometown under attack. And then there was the Pentagon. And the plane that went down in Pennsylvania.

Memories are fuzzy at this point. I know I got to school for my 8:00 class. But neither me nor my students knew what to do. Should we have a lesson? Go home? The class next door had a TV so we peeked in at the news as the other class was watching transfixed. There wasn't enough room for all of us to join the other class. So we went back to our room. Did we attempt a lesson? I honestly can't recall. I'm pretty sure I let the students go early so they could get to a TV or otherwise follow events. I went next to where my creative writing class met, and our professor gathered us together and took us upstairs to the English Dept. lounge. We were watching in there when I saw the tower collapse. I think it had already happened at that point, but we were seeing it replayed as the footage would be for days and weeks to come. The president of the university cancelled classes for the rest of the day, and there was a prayer session in the Marriott Center for all the students. Speakers came up to lead us in prayer, praying for the victims as well as asking the Lord to give us strength to weather this ordeal. I think it lasted about an hour, by the time we all filed in and then out.

When I got home I called my dad. My parents had moved to Vegas by then, so he no longer worked at JFK. But I thought he might hear something, anything at the airport that would shed some light on things. Air travel would be suspended. Schools closed. Baseball games canceled. It was all news all the time on TV.

Besides my friends and ward members in Provo, I sought out my friends online. Jules was in New York, I think it was a while before we heard from her. The rest of us met on the message boards and in the chat room. I remember writing to Skip seeking some kind of comfort. We were just in the beginning of our correspondence then. But Skip's wisdom and compassion were something for me to hold on to. And I began to pour my feelings out to him. He became sort of a lifeline. I waited for his messages each day. And I continued to rely on him as my primary sounding board. It helped that he, and Jazzie and our other friends in the U.K. and Europe could see what was going on in America and expressed their horror and sympathy and also their calmness in some respects as places like London were no stranger to terrorist attacks, and they were there to say, it's bad now, but it'll get better.

Later, bomb attacks in Madrid in 2004 and in London on 7 July of 2005, and many others, showed that the danger was everywhere. Before 9/11, we hadn't seen anything like this in the U.S. But now we were aware, as our friends in other parts of the world always have been, that this could happen again, anywhere, at any time, to anyone. Security measures changed at airports and other places too. What would have been considered great inconvenience before was now a fact of life. We could never go back to the time when we always felt safe.

Yet, life had to go on. It was early December of 2001 when I first got back to New York. I went to my friend Alina's wedding, and a Starsailor concert with Jules. New York had gotten back to business. But it was still in the air, debris blowing all over the city from the big hole in the ground. Or just the psychic debris. I never went to Ground Zero. I still haven't to this day even though I've been back to New York a few times since. I went instead to stay with my friend Hina and her family. I went instead to Citi Field to see my Mets play. I went instead on a Duck Boat tour of Manhattan. And I went instead to my 20-year high school reunion.

In February of 2002, Salt Lake City welcomed the world for the Olympic Winter Games. There was more security, sure. But we got on with it, and enjoyed the achievements of athletes from countries near and far. That summer I took my first trip overseas since 9/11, to teach in Belgium and to travel around Europe and the U.K. I met more friends, and went to concerts and taught kids and just had a great time. I went back to London in 2007 with my parents and had a great time then too.

In the years since 9/11 I've finished school and taught more students. I've had relationships and changed jobs and moved house a few times. I've had worries and felt anger and seen more sadness, but some happiness too. Ten years on, everyday the sun still comes up.