I Have Many Stories...and I Can't TELL THEM!

I had a great idea to talk about. However, if I did, I’ll be crucified by the few who would know exactly what I’m talking about. The idea was “lushes.”

Hemingway wrote in A Moveable Feast that they used to call Parisian women drunks “poivrottes.” Poivrottes are loose, female rummies . He was referring to the class of people who frequented low life bars like the Cafe des Amateurs just prior to the outbreak of World War II. He specifically said of the bar and crowd that frequented it as “the cesspool of the Rue Mouffetard.” Ernest avoided it like the Plague.

　

And I’m going to stop right here.

*****

In other news, I’m on vacation. It’s probably the first “real” one I’ve had in years. Well, it’s probably the first typical one I’ve had that everyone else in the workaday world gets. What have I done with it so far? The first thing I did was to turn my brain off.

Summer time can afford you the freedom of turning your brain off. Go to the beach for 17 hours with your toes in the sand while sipping a drink and a shift will occur within you. Well, if you’re lucky enough it will. You relax. By the way, it’s not the alcohol that does it either.

Whimsical, carefree and breezy. That’s my idea of a true vacation. It‘s one where you can invoke a certain state of mind.  I was buying a ton of new clothing at the Emerald Square mall today and I was walking and purchasing in an easy lighthearted manner. Even competing with the rest of humanity driving on Route 1 in Attleboro, I was still buoyant. Now compare that with a vacation in Ibiza or the Caymans. A sunny attitude can be had anywhere and it’s probably the only thing that does matter, no matter where you are, doesn’t it?

My sprightliness has returned. I haven’t seen that in a long while. I’m going to make an effort to incorporate that…and a few other changes.

Narcissim and Christ on the Cross (sort of...)

I love taking psychological tests. I love reading about myself. Why not? In today’s age the entire country is about narcissism and it’s high time I jumped on board. Sing it with me, loud and proud…”ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!”

The pop tests you can find on the internet don’t really measure anything. The better ones have reliability and validity tests done on them to make sure they actually work. Those particular tests actually do measure what’s inside of you.

One personality quirk about me is that I can throw myself into helping other people. Well, I’m not surprised by that since I started my career out of college in the social work world. But as you age, you learn why you are the way you are. And personalities beyond the age of 20 are pretty much set in concrete.

I had a conversation with a co-worker about this. I told her there are two types of people in the world. The nurses and the nursed.

There are those of us, who w/o thinking, help. It’s a knee jerk reaction. We help anyone who’s down. But, the problem with that is…are those who fail to walk upright on their own. Those people, who are quite capable of leading their own lives, give them over to someone else to lead. WE carry them. We nurse them. And like any fool, we learn too late when to drop their sorry asses into the dirt and realize that they’ll never learn to stand on their own. They were in no need of any “nursing” at all. They never wanted to lead their own lives.

We “nurses” need a triage system where we can correctly diagnose the wounded. We can list them as: Truly injured, Slightly injured, Needing a shoulder to cry on, needing someone to talk to. And…Faking it so bad because they just want out of working/being responsible/dishonest/unreliable…ok..you get the picture.

I”ve become better at this…and some I know have as well too.

I probably will never lose this aspect of my personality…and I don’t want to. It’s what makes me who I am to the very core. Though it’s tempered with some practical realties that there are those who will never learn to “grow up.” I will spend my precious efforts on those who need it.

Yakkity yak....

So, what can I talk about now? I’ve thought about loyalty to a corporate job, my inability to drink more than four beers now or say psychological affairs.

I’ll do all three.


Years ago, and I mean YEARS ago. My dad was what you would call a “company man.” He came out of the Korean war, got a CPA degree from Bryant U and was hired by First Federal Savings and Loan down in Providence. He started as a teller and through time kept climbing the ladder; loan officer, operations manager, VP then was finally voted in as CEO by the board. He lived and finally died there.

I remember the contract he was given to sign before he was finally installed as CEO. In it, there was a mention of his “loyalty” and “perseverance” to the company. With that, he was knighted. He would tell me that with enough time, hard work and sincerity I could attain a position like his when I grew up.

My Dad would be rat meat in today’s business world. In all my dealings with large organizations, I’ve never seen loyalty ever being paid back. Today it’s “What you done for us lately?” Your career success seems to be provisional, week to week.

******

Drinking. I can watch others pour it down , stumble and fall and somehow keep going. I cannot even come close to that. They say alcohol is a depressant and god, it is ever for me. I get enough beer into me and all I want to do next is crawl into my bed. This is a good thing. I’ve seen how others careen their lives into one wall after the other with their ability to “stomach their liquor.”

I do like the buzz it provides however. Generally I’ll loosen up and actually talk more. But to throw up Maker’s Mark through my nose? Forget it!

Also…

I once witnessed this girl who was busted twice for DWI. It cost her Dad $12,000 to get her “off” on both charges. Jesus H. Christ…$12,000. I’ve made this black comment to others before and I do stick to it. I’m not worried about sliding my car into a school bus full of kids, I do worry about hiring an attorney to mitigate the awful circumstances the State surely would like to crucify me with.

　

*****

When I want to, I can sit and listen to anyone go on…and on…and on about their personal lives. This patience was taught to me from an old career where you learn not to automatically respond to whatever someone can throw at you. You become aware of your own reactions and learn to quiet them down.

At my age, I can come across marrieds or those in long term relationships where they can open up, connect and develop a tighter emotional connection with me versus their husbands/boyfriends. It’s something to see really. Relationships that are utter deserts with little or no feelings involved. The girl stays put due to the financial DIS-incentive to leave. It’s even worse for marrieds as the girl can end up on the short end of the deal in a divorce. Yet, even though they choose to stay put, they still seek out someone to connect to. Welcome to my couch, please feel free to free associate and you won’t get charged the $80 an hour at a therapists office.

The best relationship, the most successful one I’ve ever seen was this couple who were dating for over 10 years. They refused to get married or move in with one another. They kept each other’s apartments and visited each other when they felt like it. They were the most relaxed couple I’ve seen. She never came to me to bitch, talk or whatever about her life!

Here’s something I heard a few years back about a marriage vow that I though was very cool indeed. A friend attended an outside wedding in some fields up in Douglas, MA by a lake. A perfect day I was told. When they came to the part in the traditional marriage vows you hear all the time, they changed it from this:

“from this day forward I promise you these things. I will laugh with you in times of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow. I will share in your dreams, and support you as you strive to achieve your goals. I will listen to you with compassion and understanding, and speak to you with encouragement. I will remain faithful to our vows for better or for worse, in times of sickness and health. You are my best friend and I will love and respect you always.”

To this:

“from this day forward I do not promise you these things. I may laugh with you in times of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow. I might share in your dreams, and support you as you strive to achieve your goals. I might listen to you with compassion and understanding, and speak to you with encouragement. I might remain faithful to our vows for better or for worse, in times of sickness and health. You are my best friend and I will love and respect you as far as I can.”

The whole point behind that, was that in promising NOT to promise, if the marriage should die of whatever reason, neither party can feel gyped as there were NO guarantees ever made.

That let both of them off the hook. What maturity!

Anger Management 101

If you know me well enough you’ll know that if you comment on a personal fault that I know isn’t true, I’ll just brush it off and never give it a second thought because I know it to be false. If the comment is true, then I’ll stew over it for a good hour and be very quiet.

A few nights ago in my watering hole I was talking general business, politics and whatnot to the owner when he made a comment that I vehemently agreed with.

T says, “College today isn’t worth it. The kids coming out of Boston are $100,000 in debt at a rate of nearly 9%…You could do better by becoming a plumber.”

That’s when I nearly rose out of my seat, sticking my finger in T’s face and rather forcefully said, “YOU’RE RIGHT! Those greedy bastards, those banks, are the ones who love enslaving you forever with their debt!!”

My reaction, to others, seemed over the top. To me? It was right in line with my leftist political ranting. Angry young man of my youth is “angry approaching 50 man.” Believe me, my life in whole has toned down a lot now that I’ve hit soft middle age. But…BUT…my views on how this country should operate are still hot.

“For fuck’s sake Ron, I’m only talking here…” says T.

Yeah, he was right…we were just talking. This wasn’t a pulpit to be preaching from.

I wasn’t always like this…

I have a friend, who was a Commander in the Navy and had taught me the art of “barking.” When an officer feels like dressing down a subordinate, you raise your voice and very clearly say what you wish to say. It’s not an emotional, off the handle yelling tirade. It’s a controlled, reason-filled near shout. You keep unbroken eye contact and never swear or you‘ll blow it. I have watched my friend turn to mush nearly everyone he’s managed to set his sights on. It can be pretty devastating. His having a career in the Navy as a bridge officer gave him much experience to do this correctly.

This trick has come in handy as I rag on bank managers, auto mechanics and any other person who manages to push that one button I have. And that ONE button is hard to push. But that’s another story…

Not only was I taught this, but I got to see him use it in so many instances I realize that he can be an angry fuck looking to unload on someone. Ah well, we all have our faults. I noticed I was beginning to ape this behavior in him. Uh-oh!

I had better choose my time and place more carefully when my revolutionary zeal fires up.

Mother Nature

The above photo is pretty cool, huh? Now you know what a miles and miles of smashed forest in Massachusetts looks like from 500 miles up.

I’ve never been, seen or even been remotely close to a tornado touchdown. Though the curious, twisted 12 year old boy in me would like to see one, from a good mile away. I guess it’s like watching a NASCAR race crash up. Rhode Island isn’t known for these storms, are they?

My only close brush with nature that nearly killed me happened when I was eight years old. My friend at the time Rick W. and I were on my street, trying to one up one another about the fact neither of us were afraid of a thunderstorm that was rolling by above us. That’s was pretty common as the boys in our neighborhood tried to prove we weren’t afraid of nuttin’.

It was strange thunderstorm, there was no rain nor any heavy wind, but plenty of cloud to cloud lightning strikes that boomed like God’s Own Bell. I think they used to call these “electrical storms” back then, if there ever was such a designation. This storm just flashed and banged for a good fifteen minutes before the “event” happened.

I can clearly remember. I was turning towards Rick’s house when I heard a weird snapping sound and seeing sparks explode from his bike that was lying on the lawn. I then remember I then turned toward my house and ran home SCREAMING like a little girl. As I was turning the corner of my house, I ran into my Dad who reached out his arm and scooped me up a bit and I fought him like a tiger to get into the house. I was yelling how I was nearly hit but it was obvious he didn’t see it and didn’t believe me. I made it inside and found Mom and spastically told her what had happened. She brushed it off thinking I was just plain scared from the storm itself.

About a minute later, Peggy Burns, who lived next door called up and asked my Mom was I alright. Finally, I had proof I wasn’t making the story up. Peggy said she saw a thin bolt of lightning hit the telephone pole and a second even thinner branch hit Rick’s bike. My Mom had turned towards me with this look of shock as she was getting the real story.

“SEE! SEE! I WAS NEARLY HIT!!” I kept saying.

My brother, on the other hand, just teased the hell out of me for acting like a little girl about it. Ah…what does he know?

To this day, I don’t like those storms that spray lightning all over the place, I still count out the flash to thunder in seconds to wonder how damn close it is.

The World at 3 MPH

“Nobody Walks in LA.” A song done by Missing Persons came to my mind today. I had to drop off my car on Broadway in Pawtucket to get some work done and walked the two miles back home. I never walk now and haven‘t for years. I drive the four blocks to the Pakistani store if I want Tic Tacs.

You miss a lot when you drive. I think most of us have driven routes so familiar that we can do it thinking about what we need to do tomorrow and pay no attention to what we drive through. I can.

But, walking back home, I got to see things at a slower pace and up close. I passed by an old cemetery that was populated by people whose first names that are never used now. Edwin, Jedidiah and there was one Percival that was buried there. These guys died before 1920. Then as now, you can tell who had some cash and who didn’t. The larger and more ornate the headstone, the more bucks. Then you’d see a crop of little limestone headstones with just the first initial of the person followed by the last name. That entire poor family was buried about 30 feet from a main road and train tracks. The last one died in 1902. The headstones were no bigger than desktop computer.

As I went on, I walked past the rail depot of Teknor Apex. They were using these huge vacuum hoses attached under the train that sucked out the powdered polyvinylchloride into three 100 foot silos. You see rusting steel latticework , old hurricane fences and dandelions sprouting up alongside them. For once I didn’t smell plastic. I could as a kid when air quality measures were a joke. Teknor Apex is probably that last of the old sprawling acreage type factories here. The other businesses I saw were smaller, hole in the wall types. I had no idea there was a small apparel shop dedicated to evening gowns for beauty pageants. That and someone still trying to make a dollar doing typing services. That was odd to see.

What I see driving around here but pay no mind to are the young mothers walking their little kids. I passed a few and they talk to you! “Good morning!” one Mom said and I halted for a half second before I responded, a bit surprised. Wow, people you pass on the road can sometimes greet you.

And the smells. The only smell I get in my car are stale cigarettes, transmission fluid leaking from a quart bottle and that faint hint of gasoline. On the streets I was walking I was hit with smells I knew as a kid. There is a house here where the same rhododendron I remember as a kid is still growing and it’s in bloom. I had forgotten about that creosote smell railroad ties have, but it was drifting up to my face as I was stepping from one to the other. Finally, when I reached my neighborhood, that house on Legris St still has that huge pine tree oozing sap, and that was fuming in the morning air. I used to walk by that each morning on my way to school a few hundred centuries ago.

There is a world out there within a two mile radius of this house, and I had forgotten about it.

(and on a happy note, the tire place called me to let me know that the price they’re charging me for two tires and an alignment, is actually pretty fair!)

Battle Hardened Kids

How Did We Survive?

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can and didn't get tested for diabetes. My Mom smoked. Then after birth, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints with bars wide enough to stick our little heads through and strangle on.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, no locks on doors or cabinets. I can remember as a kid the product “Janitor in a Drum” that looked like wonderful lime-ade that was under the kitchen sink cabinet. I never drank it though but it was accessible. When we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. My friends envied Evel Knievel and we built ramps to jump garbage cans with our bikes. More than a few of us landed badly. Cars of that time had no air bags whatsoever and the seat belt in the back seat was stuffed under the back cushion as it was an annoyance.

I drank the awfully chlorinated Pawtucket water from a polypropylene hose. Bottled spring water from Maine then? Never heard of it. Four of us would drink Coke from the same bottle and I don’t remember anyone contracting anything.

We ate those pink Hostess Snowballs, white bread and real butter and everything was full of sugar, but we weren't overweight because......

WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on. Mom’s of that time thought we were “underfoot” and shoved us out the door at every chance. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem. Trial and error didn’t kill us.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes nor video games at all. We had three major networks and fuzzy UHF channels. We had no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms. We had friends and imaginations instead.

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. We played in the dirt and probably had numerous microscopic thingys crawling on us from that. As kids, we all should’ve received Purple Hearts for wounds. I can remember falling off a 40 foot railroad trestle into a disgusting algae filled river. I was sideswiped by a moving car when I was eight while riding my bike. Mikey fell off his bike and smacked the pavement so hard he was knocked out.

We made up games with sticks and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out any eyes. The same goes for BB guns.

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Everyone was not a “winner.“ Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. There were no “Thanks For Participating” trophies then. Imagine that!!

We fought one another. Boys vs. boys and girls vs. boys. There was plenty of equality between the sexes then when it came to dirt yard scuffles. Over some argument when I was nine, I had smacked Gail S. across the face. She responded by gut punching me when I wasn’t looking. I saw Carrie M. swing a pool skimmer into John’s face about something I forget now. Yes, we were a violent bunch of rug rats at times then.

None of us died, no of us became deathly ill and we had FUN.