Hell of a Guy
If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough. - Mario Andretti

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Journaling and Nostalgia…

04/28/2016

A funny thing happened on the way to journaling, or as a result, thereof!

Recently as The Nancy and I were slated to travel to Louisiana, I decided to stick a notebook where I began to keep a journal January 1, 1993 in my bag. As expected, it made for some interesting reading, and as I started to read some of what I wrote 23 years ago, I was instantly transported back in time. Wow! What a ride that was.

As I read the words I put to paper back in those tumultuous days, I laughed a lot and cried a little and came to the realization I was at the time totally, though unapologetically, fucked up. These thoughts I had written two decades ago was who I was at the time, they defined me to a perfect “T” (whatever a perfect “T” is I have no idea, but I was it). I was 49 and oh so very much in the midst of a severe mid-life crisis. Basically, I was lost in trying to find myself, to find what I had defined in my own mind as happiness. Well, I found it, but it took some ugly twists and turns and the road to it was very long and very bumpy. I hurt some people and made some others happy. I cannot, nor would I care to, go back and change a single thing. It is history, my history.

This journal that began with some jotted notes in lined notebook, now has over 800 (single-sided) pages. I don’t write as much in it or as often as I used to write or should write. After my youngest daughter provided me with the blog site http://www.hell-of-a-guy.com about 10-years ago, much of what I wrote I posted there and also copied to my journal. The blog used to have a counter and registered every hit and was well over 500,000 when it hit a snag and stopped counting, so these days I have no idea if anyone other than me even looks at this stuff. Still, I feel the need to occasionally write some bullshit and post it here. And then a few years ago Facebook came along and I became a prolific Facebooker, and much of my bullshit is posted there for millions to see. With Facebook I get instant feedback from people I piss off and also from those agree or like my BS. I like that.

Journaling is both fun and therapeutic. It provides the writer with an avenue for one’s deepest thoughts, likes and dislikes. It is a place where bullshit can reside for a very long time…you see, bullshit does not decay, but over time it does lose some of its stink, especially when read 20 years later it is written.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
Tuesday, March 29, 2016

The Muffin

03/29/2016

I try not to think of myself as a senior citizen or just plain old, but I sometimes sure as hell feel like it when I get out of the bed in the morning (more so in the middle of the night) or out of a chair after sitting for a while. I suppose this is just a fact of life, part of getting older, and I am getting older.

The upside for me at this phase of my life hit me last September 3rd with the birth of one Lynnley Grace Carder at about 9:30pm on that wonderful Thursday night. The Nancy and I got to witness the birth in a fashion. We, along with about a dozen others, some with ears pressed against the hospital suite’s door, finally, after being outside the room in a hallway for at least an hour, heard some movement indicating the birth had occurred. We were joyous, and even more joyous when the door opened and we were allowed back into the room. There we found Lynnley cradled by her mother with her father looking on in utter amazement. It was a magnificent, beautiful scene and one I will never forget.

Later that evening when The Nancy and I had returned to our hotel room and hit the sack there a point in the middle of the night where I became restless and somewhat awake. As I lay there my mind wondered to thoughts of the baby, it was at this point I thought to call her “The Muffin,” and it has stuck. She will forever be The Muffin to me, and a beautiful little muffin she is.

I can just see Lynnley and I someday, the great-grandfather and the great-grandchild, having a one-on-one breakfast at Bob Evans as I have done with other grandchildren over the years. It was wonderful with them and I know it will be wonderful with her. I am so looking forward to the day.

I just love this little girl so much. I have loved her all of her life. She makes me feel young again.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Winter Weather Sucks…

02/16/2016

If I haven’t said this at least a thousand times since the winter solstice nearly two months ago, I hate winter (perhaps in memory of my mother I should say “detest winter”) and I totally despise snow. This is why I just know I should live in Florida or the Deep South for at least four months of the year.

I am sitting here in my family room watching ice accumulate on the plants and trees, as well as a thin layer of it on the snow that fell earlier yesterday. It is a nasty sight. I would like to close my eyes and be able to wish away the next six weeks and get to April. I can just hear Mother calling me out for wishing my life away, but what the hell is a week or two here or there.

Spring here on The Farm is the best of all the seasons. It begins with hints of the most brilliant and greenest of greens on the trees followed by the emerging flowers on the red buds. By the first week in May the trees will be in full regalia and grass mowing time be just around the proverbial corner (not pleasurable but necessary).

Late April, as the days get longer and warmer, will signal the time when the porch furniture – rugs, rockers and plants – will come out, followed by an almost nightly ritual of enjoying it with a beverage in hand before we have dinner. There will be time when The Nancy and I sit out there for hours just enjoying the sweet sounds of nature and this beautiful wonderland where we live. It is very relaxing.

But then, there is the reality of this sucky season we must endure before we get to the good stuff. I am told there are actually people who enjoy this cold, miserable, depressing time of the year. I feel for them, for they are demented.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
Thursday, January 28, 2016

The Funny Thing about Turning 72…

01/28/2016

In a mere 13 days I will “get” to celebrate my 72nd birthday. An auspicious occasion? Not really. It will be just another day of the 26,298 I will have celebrated on this planet. Not bad!

For a number of years, especially since beginning this Hell-of-a-Guy blog (I wonder if I am the only one who reads the crap I post), I have written something on my birthday or as it approaches about my aging. This year obviously is no different. I just cannot seem to slow down this spiraling aging process we call life.

Now, the funny thing about turning 72 is simply that there is nothing at all funny or hilarious about it. There sure as hell isn’t anything I can do to stop it, it is coming as the speed of light. I do have one God-given means, but I choose not to use it. The alternative to taking a breath every once in a while is far less conducive to my present lifestyle.

If I were to invert the age number 72 to 27 and run a comparison on how I felt then and what I could do, there might be some fun it that. Hmmm?

When I was 27, I had hair. At 72, not so much.
When I was 27, I could jog for an hour or more. At 72, not at all, actually, not at all.
When I was 27, I had a waistline. At 72, I have a much larger one.
When I was 27, I could sleep all night without a bathroom trip. At 72, a night with less than three is a miracle.
When I was 27, I could stay up and watch the 11pm news and maybe some of The Tonight Show. At 72, if I make it to 10pm it, too, is a miracle.
When I was 27, I had no problem tying my shoe laces and buttoning my shirt collar. At 72, both are a huge chore, so I wear loafers and collarless shirts.
When I was 27, my libido was alive and kicking. At 72, it’s in there somewhere and comes to visit once in a great while…I think.

I really think I could go one and on, but soon I will get into physicality and physical ability, and this whole conversation will take a nosedive into areas I would rather not explore. Suffice it to say, it is all still good. My life is good, my health is okay, what more could I ask for.

I really have but one wish, one abiding wish for my future: I want to get to hold the babies of all of my grandchildren. So far, that wish has been granted once, and it is one of the most spectacular feelings I have ever had.

Perhaps the funny thing about turning 72 is me and how I look at it, and in it I have 20-20 vision.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
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