The Dark Side of the Moon

Although I love my younger sister there are times when I don’t like her much. When she looks at the moon it’s the dark side she sees.  

A Few Extra Screws

   When God put me together he handed my mother a few extra screws and said that even He didn’t know where they were supposed to go. 

My Life Before AA

They say that some are born with an “alcoholic gene” and I suppose I must be one. My own experience with alcohol started at 17 when I shared a quart of vodka with my best friend. We consumed it in less than a half hour and what ensued was comical from a distance but in the episode the seeds of alcoholic drinking perhaps were sown.  

That one foray into a drunken stupor kept me from indulging for a brief span until I finished High School. When I entered military college I quickly fell in with an experimental group of cadets. It was in this association that I drank and drugged sporadically without incident. Although there were a few tales that could have given me the warning signs that there was danger ahead but my blinders were still on.  When I got married drinking was for the most part social and it was not until I hit a single life again did my drinking and drugging get into high gear. 

For about 5 years I became a running fanatic completing 17 marathons and 3 ultra marathons (distances beyond 26.2 miles) and I can recall some friends asking me what I was running away from. I often scoffed at them telling myself they just had no clue. However it was me who had no clue.   At the bottom of that cycle I went from a chubby 214 to a borderline anorexic at 138 pounds. At age 30 a new group of friends introduced me to cocaine and the downward spiral was in full speed.  

Drugs and alcohol ruined me financially, physically and left me spiritually bankrupt. My reputation went from a man admired for his brain and running prowess to someone that people joked about behind my back. My success at work suffered in the sense that I never gave my employers my level best even though I did not get fired in any of the many positions I held. My alcoholism never brought me to a rehab or a DWI although if I had continued on the course I was on those “yets” would have come home to roost.  

What led me to the rooms of AA came from the addiction I had to cocaine. Let me explain.  After I had stopped using the white powder mostly for economic reasons my drinking began to escalate and I essentially replaced one drug for another. When I came to my senses that a drug is a drug my tenure in AA began August 28, 1989 a date that will live in my own infamy.  Fortunately for me I have not had a relapse and I know that I have been blessed to remain sober to this day some 23+ years later. 

My life has changed in oh so many ways to coin an old phrase. I never have wake up with a hangover or remember what I might have said the night before that might have been untowardly. My business has had its share of ups and downs but at the end of the day I can lay my head down and fall asleep knowing that most days I have given the world my level best. In sobriety I was able to earn a second college degree in psychology and I am currently enrolled as a CASAC in training and hope to finish that certificate by the middle of 2013.  My intention is to become an alcohol and substance abuse counselor because I know that my experience can be a wonderful way for me to give back to the sober life I now live. 

A Cat's Tale

A dream as vivid as they come this morning had my adopted out cat Audra reappear through an open door trailing a leash and in an instant she hopped into my lap.  It didn’t take long for me to figure out that my cat was me and the trailing leash of restraint would only work for a short time. Throughout my life I would usually break free even when it was  happiness I was enjoying.  I am almost 62 and the time for running away is drawing to a close. 

The Tactile Sense

Above the soft undulating clouds the fringe of sunlight headed west in the late autumn sky lengthens my breath. At nearly 600 mph the movement feels almost imperceptible beneath the wing. 

 It refreshes me knowing that as I tap the keys and enjoy the sense of tactile versus the glass screens that are ubiquitous in our lives today the sensation of touch will never go out of style at least not with this homo sapien. Somehow our touch is felt on our Droids and iPhones often with instructions never intended as we have no doubt pocket dialed one of our contacts at ungodly hours sometimes making for embarrassing situations that make our pulse quicken or worse yet our disembodied voice hears things they ought not to have.  Science in too much of a hurry has taken choice away from us and made decisions as if our electronic devices had an artificial intelligence of their own.  

From a movie in 1984 called Starman one of the characters verbalized about sending an anodized disc (a record) into outer space in the hopes of alien life forms picking up our signal to let them know they were not alone. The scientist in this offering verbalized that we humans were the ancients to the incredulity of one of the antagonists. He was taken aback as if knowledge had pretty much gone as far as it was going to go. That brings back the thought that pervaded the late 19th century when the powers that be felt they should close down the patent office as all the inventions had been accounted for. 

That fringe of sunlight as I started this piece is fire orange now and the clouds below look like matte photography. 

ADHD-FRAUD

No I think that acronym should be changed to LOAD. Lack of administered discipline. The ADHD fraud is how psychiatry makes “patients” out of normal children. It’s what Drs. Baughman and Hovey think anyway.    It’s intellectual dishonesty assisted by drug companies to manipulate using defective science. 

Truth is that there is NO available test to determine if a child has ADHD. None. 

Adults are probably relieved to hear that their child has ADHD so they can raise their arms up in futility and say, “I knew something was wrong”.  The majority of children that are diagnosed with ADHD have other disorders.  

Death

Death lingers longer for the living. The dead somehow get through it faster.  When you know you’re going if you have that much time to think about it what do you think about?  Does your life flash before you like a drowning man?  Or do you panic? Do you after suffering a long time welcome death with open arms?  

What would I feel if my life ended now?  

My Sister Carol McQueen

My sister Carol McQueen was my closest friend growing up as a teenager. Her boyfriends would befriend me and my girlfriends would befriend her. They knew we were as close as siblings could be. They knew it because of the way we talked about each other and how we behaved when we were in each other’s presence. 

 I am not overstating the fact that we both had the utmost personal regard for each other. When she did well I was as proud as can be and likewise when my star shined she put a magnifying glass on it.  She knew me better than anyone including my parents and my closest friends. I knew that her counsel came in the form that she was a great listener and never judged me no matter how I may have bungled a personal situation.  

I wanted her to like my friends especially the women that I picked as a romantic interest. Her innate talent of being able to know peoples insides despite what they were exhibiting on the outside was uncanny. Carol had a sensory acuity that could sense things before they transpired. Like when she told my parents two weeks before her death that she wanted to donate all her vital organs to those that might need them.  Which in retrospect was so extraordinary because after all it was 1969 even though this is a common practice now it was not then.  No one could fool Carol and for me it was like having my own soothsayer all I had to do was run upstairs and knock on her door. When I left her to resume the somnolent state I could always retire in peace.  

Oh and she loved Steve McQueen she liked him not because of what he said but what he didn’t. Most of you know that Jack Briant is my pen name my real name is John (Jack) McQueen just to keep the record straight. More about her life in the next installment.  

It's Not What I Think

How often I formulate what something might be even before I experience it. How can I with little or no sample size determine that I don’t want to go somewhere when I haven’t been there before?  I take evidence that has little or no bearing and construct in my head how the time might go. 

When I am lucky enough to move past the resistance to isolate and put one foot in front of the other I am always glad that I did. The trouble is that I have a short memory the next time a new opportunity presents itself.  

It’s not what I think and that’s the rub as conscious thinking is just a quagmire like the sticky floor in an old movie theater I hear the sound of my soles pulling off the tiles and I forget where I’m going. It’s not what I think because thought is faulty and intuition is the only guide that is unstained and pure. 

Breakaway

It’s time to breakaway. I feel I have trapped myself into a pattern of thinking that just doesn’t work for me anymore. I have to fly out of the cage that I think I belong in. The   door is open it’s up to me to take off.  No one knows what’s better for me no matter how much they love me. I love being loved but too often it has been a handicap for me. I know that my creator has given me a brain that is oft times out of time with conventional thought. I am tired of living within the imaginary lines that have been drawn for someone else. I need to practice what I preach. It was told me that what other people think about me is none of my business. It’s time I hear these words now and leave my pencil and eraser for indelible ink.    

   

The Price of Love

Being in love has a dear price. It’s so much easier to just love someone but when you’re in love the swing of the pendulum of euphoria and misery can have us flying thinking there is no ceiling as we climb higher and higher. Inevitably though what goes up must come down.  The pain of the descent is for some just too much to bear.  If the love is unconditional we get back on our feet and take to the skies again and only death can separate us from one of God’s greatest gifts true love.  

  

My Father

 After writing about it I have been able to let go of the resentment that plagued me towards my father. He is doing his best to maintain some semblance of a faded life that has no more to look forward to except the next meal. His worries are few although they loom large in his shattered mind. Where are my keys, my wallet? When are the Yankees playing next? What’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner? 

I hear the click click as his four legged walking stick moves inexorably closer to where I am. It will take some time however not to dread the sound but embrace it as a test as to gauge where my patience and tolerance reside in that very moment. My father sired me and for that I am grateful to be his son and the past must stay in the past as he did the best he could with the resources he had.  

My Heart

The metaphoric distance from my heart to my head has rapidly narrowed. I no longer can think without a consultation with my heart first. Too often my cognitions have been based on what happened in the past or a negative script brought on by low self-esteem. My heart has no such debilitations. It relies on the pure communications with the universal mind and the environments I travel through.  The universe is never wrong it just is. However the environments I traverse through can give me an unbalanced view of what I truly feel. The only way for me to “filter” this potential toxicity is to pray. Prayer for me is the Serenity Prayer and thanking my Higher Power every chance I get when he comes to my rescue emotionally, physically, spiritually and even financially.  

My cognitive self is one that has blessed me with an incredible creative mind that can write, speak and move among earthlings with an innate deftness I can only marvel at. I dare not take too much credit because it is automatic thought. This adroitness is unconscious competence.  This skill comes at a price however. I have a short attention span and can get too distracted by the “next thing” before I have even finished with the present thing. I also know that for those actions that I deem to be mundane like where my keys are or my wallet is bring me to consequences of wasted time and unnecessary consternation.  

What I can do is to actually think about how my shoe is tied instead of leaving it to my unconscious. In this way maybe I can teach my myopic camera to broaden into a Cinerama like view and allow me to function in a practical way, something that has plagued me for as long as I can remember.   The 18 inches of truth, the distance from my head to my heart may not in fact have physically changed but I will ask my heart to guide and guard me and let my head remember where my keys are. 

You Can Rain on Me

Might sound like Part II of Crying but this entry has more to do with my life on life’s terms. I have a tendency to ignore when the universe is telling me all is right in Jack World but give credence to fear at the drop of a falling leaf. The ego or my ego is always looking to protect me from any delusions of grandeur when I even give myself the freedom to think situations will turn out just fine and more often than not exceed my wildest expectations.  

Some say that I attract the rain and still others say soap opera like dramas as well. But as I alluded to in my last entry I think its because I fail to delineate between what I need to happen or what I would like to happen and what others false expectations of me are.  You can rain on me. I might get wet but I must be controversial enough to attract the clouds that unleash their heavy downpours upon my head.  

You can rain on me and frankly I like getting wet.  And if I need I do have an umbrella.  

Crying*

I have been crying but some might see them as crocodile tears or just  liquid insincerity. Only I know what my feelings are and those who might debate it probably don’t know me as well as they think they do.  My life has been a series of hellos and f**k you Jacks mainly because I don’t say goodbye and let people go when its their expiration date.  I let people walk all over me because I don’t want to hurt their feelings. Instead I take their s**t and hope it won’t stink a little later.   

*Inspired by Don McLean's version of:

Crying 

My Dad's An Alien

He looks my Dad. He sounds like my Dad. He even walks like my Dad. He’s not my Dad though.  He’s an alien inhabiting my Dad’s body. I cognitively know that my Father has left this earthly plain and my real Dad is  on a celestial journey to join his wife my Mother who left his side nearly 13 years ago. Sadly it seemed to me that when my Mother passed he started his wait for God to call him home but so much time has gone by that even he forgot to remember what he was waiting for. 

My Father and I were never the best of friends but I suspect that I am not alone in that some Fathers parented from the book they never read and that was how to rear a son with kindness instead of intimidation. This is not an indictment by any means I believe my Dad did the best job he could with the resources available to him. Trouble is that bringing up children in the 1950’s was still mired in the “spare the rod and spoil the child” mentality. A snap of the belt or the crack of a wooden spoon was the default setting as Sergeant of Arms. 

Today when he speaks to me in that subservient voice it stirs resentment inside me that I end up feeling guilty about. I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt a genuine hostility growing inside me. Then it hit me like a bag of ice across my face. I was never able to stand up to him even when I had left the nest for a home of my own. Was it a lack of courage not wanting to incur his wrath or was it that I was just holding him in high regard because he sired me? I suspect that I will never know but it’s too late now to do anything about it except treat him with a kindness as much for him as for myself.  

My Dad’s an alien and the entity inhabiting his body doesn’t know Jack.  

How Can I Be?

How can I be sure in a world that’s constantly changing? A song from the Young Rascals in the idyllic 60’s descended on me and so I write about just that.  The rapidity of the 21st Century’s dynamic make the 60’s seem like a turtle moving through molasses by comparison. Of course at the time change was beginning to accelerate just how much it would however was at the time incalculable.  

How can I be sure? Not as easy today as had been in the past when life was more black and white like so many of the TV sets in homes. Now to paraphrase the pop culture’s latest craze; life’s permutations are more like 50 shades of grey.  No longer can we be sated in thinking we’ve done the right thing by simply telling the truth. The oft-used anagram of TMI (too much information) is a discretionary tool we need to consider when we divulge every facet of our lives to another. The AA phrase of making amends to all person’s we have harmed except when to do so would injure another is a discerning tool to use in deciding what goes said and what is better left unsaid. 

This is of course is in no way to condone prevarication but there are some details that will only add needless controversy and exacerbate situations that if left alone would remain innocuous. The best way to proceed might be the completion backwards principle wherein we future pace what we plan to say. Then we can  try to predict with the most amount of accuracy what we are trying to accomplish in what we say to another and how much is necessary and how much is not.  There are always ways to make sure our point is made staying away from our inflated egos and self-aggrandizement.  Just how we navigate these shark infested waters have to be left prefaced with a prayer so that our words have a soft landing but never leaving our loved ones and friends left in the dark when to do so would also harm them.  

The Fall of '12

Last year in the summer of  ’11 I had one of the best seasons of my life despite a deeply controversial personal life.  Now that the summer of ‘12 has come and gone and fall is upon us I am determined to make it the best season of my 61 years. I often say the stick is getting shorter but with a rigorous exercise schedule and more attention paid to my diet I am determined to choke up on the bat and make contact with all the days my Higher Power chooses to bestow on me.  

A friend suggested recently that I should live everyday as if  it was my last and although I have heard this mantra before especially in AA I am taking it more to heart now than ever before. The only reason we don’t live this way is because we think we have all the time in the world. Of course we don’t and we only have today and if I keep this in mind even for part of each day I will avoid more chaos and sleep like a baby. I don’t know what’s in store I just hope I can make a difference starting with the Fall of ’12.  

In the Company of Strangers

This Saturday I found myself visiting with my good albeit enigmatic friend. I was to meet him at his home in Greenport and then take the North Ferry to beautiful Shelter Island.  When we arrived at the palatial estate of the resident 100 Millionaire he gave us not more than an askance look as he went about his business entertaining some of his weekend guests. He was polite enough be speckled in his red frame glasses, but this man could barely spare of a dimes worth of attention with us. That was okay enough as we were there for other reasons and as we surveyed the business portion of our visit I started to get antsy for the promised BBQ being held in Bridgehampton later that day in the company of strangers.  

As we headed to our eventual destination snaking through the winding road of route 114 we made our way to the South Ferry.  A pleasant enough break from driving and as we chatted about business the ride was over seemingly in minutes.  Two different companies operate these two ferries and interestingly enough they charge the same rate even though the South Ferry is half the distance of the North. I never get a discount on my Mini when I get it washed so why should I think this might be different. My friend knows the East End like the back of his hand and I was simply amazed how he avoided most of the traffic as tourists clung to the end of summer as if it might not come again.   

Arriving at our final destination we found a bunch of 30 something’s celebrating a birthday of a young man who made millions in some dot com sale and in his White Communion like suit it told me although he was rich he was as uncomfortable as anyone could be thrust into the spotlight. He gave us a very polite but perfunctory greeting.  His date was a statuesque beauty right out of Victoria Secret and as she sidled up and down his frame I thought to myself these two needed a room right quick. 

I love to be in the company of strangers because I can be totally free in my commentary and although I will always be polite I can be irreverent as I wish and be extemporaneously glib to my hearts content. I did wind up talking to a young Nubian girl of 23 (by the way I guessed her age) and had her complete attention as I rattled off little known facts that only an eccentric like me would know. Of course she didn’t know who Steve McQueen was and she promised she would google it when she got home. Fascinating how young people today think The Breakfast Club is an old movie and if it didn’t happen during their lifetime it didn’t happen. 

Strangely thinking I had life’s answers for her she asked me to come over and sit on the couch because she had an important question for me. She blurted out that she was thinking of joining the Marines and did I think it was a good idea. I was taken aback although tried not to show it. And as I took out my thinking cap I gave her my best set of questions to help her come to her own conclusion. A delightful child I hope she makes what she wants in life and that is to make a difference. 

I concluded the evening after wolfing down plenty of BBQ chicken and salmon with a night pool swim in the company of strangers.  

Minding My Ps and McQs

This is the Jack version that makes an old cliché a bit more personal. The formal version of minding my Ps & Qs is an archaic reference dating back possibly to the 17th Century. It means essentially be on your best behavior. 

Often it is not what I do it is what I fail to do.  Planning ahead was never a forte of mine and because I fail to plan I often get swamped when I wait too long to do things promptly when the monster is just a baby.  This default modus operandi causes money wasted, hurt feelings and leaves people including myself unsure of where they stand.  More about that in a Jacbook of the future.  

I like to think I keep to myself but because I am an attention whore (as someone once referred to me as) I get myself “in extremis” more times than I can count.  My intuition is strong but when it comes to minding my Ps & McQs as they pertain to my life I get a F- if that grade is possible.  

What to do?  One thing I have to do is keep my mouth shut when it comes to divulging information that is not pertinent.  Many times I get sidetracked in idle chatter that is seemingly innocuous but because I am so descriptive it often becomes a narrative and I end up with trouble that is totally unnecessary. There have been times when I withhold information for fear of losing something dear and I cause heartache all around. 

I think that my military schooling is the first road I can look to as an orderly approach to my day and weeks ahead.  This would help me to be less reactive to situations that my intuition tells me (but I often ignore) are going to happen.  It’s simple enough make a schedule and stick to it. Life has to be flexible but there are some items that I cannot leave out or deviate from. 

Socially I know what I need to do and if I adhere to it happiness will be my reward even if I have to disappoint others. This will help eliminate some of the psychosocial drama that seems to follow me like a pilot fish on a shark.  In business I need to take my persistence and relentlessness into a format that is orderly and systematic instead of the out of a clear blue sky, which is purely chaotic.  

Physically is the one front I seem to have a good focus on even though there are those that think my exercise regimen is obsessive and compulsive.  I know where my addictions are and feel comfortable that I have those in check.  

Psychologically I am fit when it comes to being an advisor to people that I don’t have a personal investment in. I need to take this calm demeanor and apply that wisdom to lower elevated heartbeats and a sweaty brow.   

Jack CASAC

As my studies in the curriculum of a CASAC begin I am marked by the genuine excitement I feel towards the vocation that I may have been born for. The study of alcohol from its history throughout the ages to the emotional, physiological and social affects it has on those that are dependent and abuse that liquid substance will be my ultimate therapy as I head into my sunset years. I know I have a lot to give between my God given grey cells to my experience and gregarious nature. The world I will touch will be the legacy I have always longed for.  

I have talked the talk and now I will be able to walk the walk all the while reinforcing my own sobriety that I protect like the pirates who guarded their buried treasure with their very lives.  

This past month marked year XXIII in Roman Numeral time of my sobriety and for the first time in many an anniversary I can genuinely say that I have a renewed sense of purpose as a sponsor and with my enrollment as a student in the certificated course as a Certified Alcohol and Substance Abuse Counselor.  Someone once told me I have "game" and for this alcoholic my “game” will be to really put in the footwork and help others do the same.  

Top of the Light Zone

Above the clouds once again and the week that was will be the last time my Father has forever left the building and there’s nothing I can do about it.  And when I said goodbye to him I merely chirped I’d see you later Dad.  No need for anything more as my words would be gone in an instant almost as quickly as he drew his next breath. I hope that God takes him home to my Mother’s side in the not to distant ticks of the clock because his quality of life is like an empty box of crackers. I have no regrets as I have said all I had to say to him some years ago when his faculties were at his fingertips. Although I always loved him he was a difficult man for me to like because of his intimidating parental style he employed in my formative years. 

My youngest sister gave me the insight I needed when she said his world was much like that of a child’s as everything is about him. His pronouncements of hunger and his next visit to the toilet were his return to the child he once was some 80 plus years ago. It was funny and sad as I listened to his exclamations. The smiles were tempered however with the realization that my sisters and I will soon have to relinquish the reins to the professionals of assisted living which if his health holds out are but a virtual certainty.  

Father time catches up with all of us sooner or later and I am ever cognizant that my own stick is getting shorter but I do hope my trip to the top of the light zone is quick like the extinguishing of a light saber. And I can only pray that the noise left in my corporeal form will ring like the bells of Notre Dame and not the static between radio stations on the dial.  

Driving With My Dad

When I automatically assented to take care of my Dad this week in the absence of my dear sister, I had no clue what I was in for, no clue. I have or so I thought forgotten all the psychic wounds between my Father and I after all I am an adult and a child can often misconstrue things in their own egocentric world. However, I discovered that two of my character defects of impatience and intolerance would wage a pitched battle with me and in some of the skirmishes I was vanquished. 

My Dad, in advancing stages of Dementia is not the Father I knew but when he is still alive on earth it’s challenging to remember that he is not responsible for anything he says or does.  And for some reason only known to God he remains in the waking state. Maybe one reason might be is for his son to learn lessons about himself that he still needs to.  I can only wish that he is oblivious to his own pain and cannot tell the hurt that my sisters and family feel as we watch him disintegrate before our very eyes.  

My Mom passed more than 12 ½ years ago and I know that she is watching over him and sending me messages through the medium of the universe that I am finally starting to listen to. I have begun to filter out my own selfish ways that I am being inconvenienced by his short-term memory that appears to be less than minute. It’s like pouring water into a glass with a hole in it and anyone who lives with a loved one with this condition knows what I am talking about.  

 I made a video of him and I driving this past week and when I watched it I laughed out loud and thought it was funny but I also knew that this time might be the last time.  Driving with my Dad a moment in time I will treasure all the days of my life.  

``

The Child is the Father of the Man

There comes a time in the child of the man that the roles are reversed. From afar I could see the mismanaged emotions of others trying to cope with the aging parent that could no longer function on the level their offspring were accustomed to.  Now it is my turn and the bath by fire is my tub. My father holds many mixed emotions in my psyche and I think that is partly the reason why I lose my patience with him when my own world is turned a degree off its axis.  

My younger sister put it in perspective for me quite succinctly: My father is 2. He wants what he wants when he wants it. A man that was fiercely independent has now become needy and he is loving it and I am falling right in as the enabler as if I was born for the part.  This is not a role I was ready to take on. When my emotional investment is nil I am cool calm and collected. Now that blood is mixed into the family soup I almost feel like I am in over my head. More to come on these thoughts….

Wait til Next Year

As one of my favorite titles from 1982 played in my head: Hot In The City* I never felt more uncomfortable without air conditioning than I did yesterday except for brief reprieves on the 79th street ferry back and forth to New Jersey. Those breezes albeit warm were brisk and a welcome relief to my sweating torso and I wasn’t even walking quickly let alone biking over a 100 miles or running a 26.2 marathon. It was after all the day my friend Tripp Doherty was taking on his 3rd Ironman challenge  starting out with a 2.4 mile swim in the brisk current of the North River more commonly known as the Hudson.  

A very long day was highlighted (when I couldn’t witness my friend competing) with two acquaintances that I now consider my friends. David Blatt and if you don’t know this man you’re missing one of the most generous and easy to be with personalities I have ever met in a long time and Constance Korol or CK as I call her who always is optimistic no matter what life throws her way or in Saturday’s case her dear friend Tripp.  We did a lot of walking on Saturday and both CK and David estimated it to be about 10 miles a far cry from the 140.6 miles logged by Mr. Doherty but nonetheless when you add in the standing on two feet it left this curmudgeon with back spasms and a blistered foot. And whatever I was feeling I knew that I could  multiply it by tenfold as to what my friend in the river and on the road was feeling in the sweltering heat and humidity.  

As I told him as he went by a few hundred yards from the finish it’s all about the love not about the competition. And as the Dodger fans of Brooklyn would say: Wait til Next Year! (Except for 1955) 

Fortune Cookie Philosophy

The last few days I have supplied a website “Share a Learning” with some of my original metaphors. I started writing creating these short similes about 6 years ago and they were my gateway to the writing I do today. I don’t make many entries in my blog Inner Knockings in which contains them but this website has given me the impetus at least in the short run to continue them.

My friend Lori Spiegel gave me a belly laugh yesterday when instead of her usual “Lori Spiegel Likes This” said instead:  “What’s with this fortune cookie philosophy this week?”  I suppose Lori it is and thank you for lampooning me it was a great metaphor you gave me. 

When Blue Skies Turn Black

Meeting love on my two feet gives me the balance to craft my amorous breath in a sustainable bliss even though swept off my feet is the romantic notion dreams are made of like the white knight for her and twinkle of violet in a brown eyed girl.  I can still enjoy the thrill of love while standing up and wide awake because love in dreamscape inevitably has the white cloud turn black under the weight of life on life’s terms. 

Anima vs Animus

A friend suggested that because I was brought up having 4 sisters and no brothers as the reason being why women more than men can identify with me.  There has always been that nurturing side of me that is stereotypically innate in the female of the species and because my formative years were spent in the company of female siblings exclusively I learned to empathize more skillfully than most males that grew up in a more balanced gender setting. This is not without its problems however as I have discovered more of late. Women are much more skilled at multi-tasking and I although am blessed with creative talent, I do not have that complex adroitness that distaffed humans carry like second nature. I am constantly forgetting everything from where my phone, wallet and keys are. Or I leave the house without articles of clothing to change into after exercise and without a conscious plan I tend to drive ad hoc and that has its advantages of spontaneity however it does not carry the fundamental need for practicality. 

This connection to my anima leaves me adrift because often I feel I am in a boat with no oars and without a coxswain to pilot my course. As a man I need to make decisions to let go of people and situations that deprive me of any peace of mind and keep me locked into people pleasing. When I have to make decisions about what to do logically they usually are much easier for me to make than those that face me when flesh and blood are involved.   Running in place never works for me as in most males we need to see and feel we are making progress even if it is sometimes in circles.  

  Nothing is permanent anyway but when we think things are about to change we focus on the future rather than be in the present moment. I have to stay rooted in the now because as I age even though I only have today my life feels ever more fleeting as one thing begins while the other is ending.  I don’t know where I am headed but I do know that my Guardian Angels are all around me and even if I don’t know the destination the journey will be a guided by province. 

A Wry Smile

Today was such a tumultuous one emotionally that I had to make a rather lengthy private entry in my Jacbook II blog, which are for my eyes only. However I can share that a very close friend had a mass said for my paternal Grandfather who up until his death in 1969 was the most influential man in my life.  He gave me many gifts including the gift of conversation and story telling. His wry smile with his lit cigarette in raised hand is one that will live in my memory for the rest of my days. When I heard his name, which is the same as mine, it sent a chill down my spine, as did the week before when my sister’s name was spoken. Her death also in that same year 1969 marked me for life. Losing the two closest people in the world to me scarred me up until this day because I never learned how to channel my sadness and anger at their passing. 

I took to the track this afternoon in an attempt to raise my HR higher so I wouldn’t be so out of breath in one of my other group exercise classes. It seems to be helping as I have been able to raise my HR to 160 and I am now feeling a bit more comfortable in the anaerobic zone.  I did 220-yard intervals with a 110-yard walk for just over 3 miles around the track.  

402 Calories burned and 129-160 range in HR.  

Jack Hard

Tonight in preparation for the next phase of my workout regimen I did 35 minutes of track work including 220/330/440 yard intervals. I did elevated pushups, squat thrusts and dips. 

Kristen handled my initial segment of getting back into shape over the last two and ½ years and now Rocky will take my fitness deep and narrow as I prepare to enter and thrive in the anaerobic zone. At first it seemed daunting especially getting up for a 6 am class now I think I am up and ready for the challenge not many sexagenarians will take on but who is really as insane as I am? Don’t answer that! 

My Body

Just as I feel lonely my friends are there to comfort me as if nothing has happened. Friends don’t have to sleep with us and because of that if we are true to them we need never feel like we have to be anyone except who we are. Sex changes everything and no matter what we say to the contrary it always does and always will. When a man and a woman engage in the act of love a whole different set of rules apply. Some are written and some are not and still others are just assumed. 

I love that I have friends that love me for me and not for some imagined illusion that my body holds. I will never forget that as long as I live.  

I'm Dreaming

I’m dreaming of a new me. I learned a lot this past year and found out that I cannot be controlled in any way shape or form. Not so much because I cannot conform quite the contrary I have conformed to many things but being kept from the things I love because a loved one thought they knew better than I even with good intention had to be let go. I did learn that I have to head towards center and check in with the word moderation because I just avoid that like the plague thinking that I have to do more all the time even when the age on my birth certificate says hold on there Baba Boy! 

The new me will keep some of the habits I learned from my last love and that was more confidence, higher self-esteem, losing significant weight and even the bugaboo for most of my life I’ve stopped biting my nails. I still will sleep like a baby because my heart is true but the idea that I can obfuscate parts of my life so as to prevent people from seeing who I am will be no more. I know what I need and I am on that path now and I will write with the idea that I am to pleasure only me and not what others might like to hear and in so doing I will have those who identify with me rather than those that marvel at my words.  I learned long ago when I wanted to do 2 hours 39 minutes in the Boston Marathon and run up the Empire State Building steps that by simply   envisioning it happened. The new me will learn from the past and I know it’s never too late.  

The Longing

Draped inside my mind I have a dream that’s lucid yet can’t see the light of day. It’s locked and there’s a set of keys that will open that elusive reality that will bring me to the happiness I long for.  

Summer of '11

The dip I experienced yesterday felt like I had shed blood along with my tears. Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things for me. Admitting to myself that the end of a relationship has taken place was never a forte of mine. And not being able to say goodbye may have cost me the most synchronicity I have ever felt with someone in all of my life. But life is doesn’t always mean you end up with the one you’re truly in love with, that is a story book that will remain a fantasy for the rest of my life I fear.   Some friends have told me I just have to let go. How do you let go when my life is forever changed? It’s not easy even when the other has made the decision for you and it’s out of your hands. 

Jealously has rarely been part of my nature and even now unless I have to read the newspapers I will wish the ship that has sailed a bon voyage and I will be sated knowing that I will always have the Summer of ’11. Like the Summer of ’42 except that I lived inside my own movie. I will play it on the VCR of my memory until my dying day.  

The Summer of '12 promises a new direction and one that I had put on hold as it seems my place will 

be right here in NY for at least the foreseeable future. Life moves on and I guess I have to now.  

Free Agency

When I first heard this term it harkened back to the man that gave birth to it for Baseball. His name was Curt Flood. He made history (not at the time) when he refused to report to the team he was traded to the Philadelphia Phillies. The Phils a moribund team at that time in Baseball history was not a prospect Flood was akin to after a successful career with the St Louis Cardinals. A team by the way that has the second most World Series titles (10) to the New York Yankees (27).  

I met Mr. Flood in the Balearic Islands off Spain back in 1971.  He had purchased a bar called the Rustic Inn (I still have the T shirt.) and when he introduced himself I was shocked that he had left a lucrative career in Baseball but this highly principled man gives me food for thought as I scribe about him right here, right now. It’s not enough that you love what you do. You have to love the way you do it.  

Free Agents have to choose wisely and not just sign when the first interested party wants  you. 

Blood & Glass

There is nothing more shocking to be in the presence of shattered glass still held fast by wooden struts with gaping holes as if baseballs were thrown through them in a fit of anger. As I looked at the pocket door hanging askew on its sliding hooks I realized that it was me that was off the hinges.  

As I struggled to sweep up the tiny shards, part of me was on the floor too and the feeling of being violated didn’t compare to the numbness that started to radiate all over my body. I know that there are always 3 sides to every story and I couldn’t fathom how any words out of the mouths of others could create this kind of conflagration.  But hell hath no fury…

When I saw the blood stains randomly smeared on doors and clothing it was for my benefit as if to give life to the death that just transpired. Blood and glass are powerful visuals that make statements words could never do.  

Three days later I feel no anger and although it might be easy to seek revenge, as an alcoholic anger is better left to those who can handle it.  It is not for me to judge because in the mind of the other it was justified and no amount of reason will suffice when rage takes over.  

Blood & Glass its life and death. 

My Inventory

I have been a different man these last few weeks. It’s been brought up to me that I am 61 years old more times than I care to mention as if this is something I can change or be upset about.  So the change is that I will not tolerate verbal abuse from anyone. I am also very tired of my inventory being taken by those that think they know what’s best for me. 

Up the Creek

I have been more frustrated lately than ever before. Not because I don’t feel better about life in general because I do feel better. It’s just that I cannot seem to remove some of the debris in my life that I have created in my past life. Most of my problems stem from being lost in the moment and not following through with the next logical thought. I get too caught up with one success and feel I can go off the rails instead of heading for the next station. My life is about allegory and its time I write more about where I want to be and go than letting the eddies and currents dictate where I find myself with no paddle.  

The Age of Aquarius?

Taken by surprise the emotion of happiness although fleeting has come again to visit me. Amidst the turmoil of the life that is Jack some things are starting to align with Jupiter and Mars. There is considerable debate on when the Age of Aquarius will begin or whether it is already here but for this Jack it is indeed the dawn of a new age.  Some say the present world governments have to fall before it begins but for me such wild notions are for the universe to determine not I. I do know that my Angels are still working overtime each and every moment for me and now maybe I can give them a respite.  

Isolation

What makes me think that by isolating that I can rediscover who I am? I do know that I need to awaken to the fact that there is a distinct difference between being alone and isolating. Alone time means that I am engaged in either disengaging like watching a favorite video, writing or just being in the somnolent state. Some people tell me that isolation is a deliberate form of hiding and avoiding either what needs to be faced or what needs to be done or a deliberate act of dropping off the grid.  (I learned this expression recently dropping off the grid.) And I do that probably more than most people. But is isolation all that unhealthy?

Webster tells me that isolation is separation. Nowhere does it say that it is unhealthy.  I like it mainly because I have to engage with people so regularly and for me isolation is a chance to catch up on my unconscious life.  

I don't mind being alone I just don't want to end up being alone.  

What is it about spiritual love that makes me think even that is transitory. Wayne Dyer related from an author he read that there were three types of love. Divine love, which never changes or varies. Spiritual love that never changes but does vary and Human love which always changes and always varies. 

I like these concepts because they are starting to help me in distinguishing what the hell I am feeling toward all the people in my life. Divine love is what our Higher Power holds for us and with that there is no room for discussion (thank God) but the other types of love are what bedevil me almost on a daily basis. Human love is what we all feel at different times of our lives and even from day to day.  That warm and fuzzy feeling we have for our friends that touch our lives even if it is only for short intervals like an exercise class or for some of our close associates at work. This type of human love doesn’t require any commitment other than the wave of serenity that cascades over us when ‘the spirit’ moves us.  

More to come. 

Cats Cats and Cats

Hey I actually made a Tripp and a ½ today. Up early enough to do the 6 am but those darn cats just take too much of my time as I have to listen to the cacophony of feline mutterings translated into: Feed Me Jack! As soon as I open my bedroom door they fly up the landing as if I didn’t know the way down the staircase.  And you would think that after so many 365 episodes they would know to be patient and just wait for me to open the can and dish out the Friskies. But they all go for the same dish even though I have three I set out virtually simultaneously.  Hey Jack this is a spin blog no one is interested in your mundane ruminations about your kitties.  Well Stacey Ries might.  

My favorite just for the record is the Little Mon Ami.