Lots of things to do this weekend. I need to work on the garage door, mount a wall clock, get a hair cut, do some yard work, practice, laundry, and yes, get ready for my trip. I am also supposed to help at interfaith, and make it to church. Lots of things to do. Oh yea, I just traded my boat for a kick ass Taylor acoustic electric guitar. I need to hit the music store and get a decent acoustic guitar amp!!
It is seven thirty in the morning, and I am up - coffee in hand, taking Snowey to the poo park. Once the deed is done, We are back and I begin to replace the garage door rollers. They have been worn for some time, and it sounds like a Sherman tank is coming through the house every time it is opened. Like most things you put off for way too long, it doesn't take that long at all to actually do , and I was cooking breakfast by nine. Off to a great start.
Then a fellow member of a cancer support forum that I belong to commented on a post that I had made. He and I have ad a few exchanges over the past few months. He is without a doubt one of the most positive and inspiring people on the forum. He has also been dealing with the ravages of cancer longer than almost anyone in the group. He has been fighting his battle for sixteen years. He succeeded in squashing it twice, and is now fighting in the third round. I can not begin to imagine all the at he has been through - both physically and emotionally. Though all of that, he has been a continual guidepost to many - myself included - in our own journeys. Yet in his comment, he referred to me as "a brave man". WTH??!! This man has been though every imaginable reality of prostate cancer for over one and a half decades, yet can still smile at life, and then calls me brave? It just flat ass does not compute. I can not begin to put myself in his position. The thought of still doing all of this in 2032. Just, No! Not only no, but fuck,no.
I sent him a private message to ask how he was doing. It wasn't long before he replied. That was the beginning of a chat that lasted well over an hour. We really began to get to know each other - our lives, our hobbies, families, children. we were chatting while simultaneously facebook stalking each other. The conversation was all over the map - from politics to art - speckled with pieces of very personal information concerning health, fears, and eventualities. I can not describe how I felt hearing someone discuss their own death. I know that I was humbled that he would share such things with me - a total stranger. I will not get into all of the details, because that was between He and I. Although he is pretty much an open book on the forum, it is his story to tell. Not mine. I know for a fact that it was time well spent.Yet another person that I have gotten to know and admire on my journey. I hope that he enjoyed the exchange as well. Of course, I am now way behind schedule, and need to hurry to get to Sam's barber shop. They close at 2PM, but you really don't want their 1:45 haircut. I guess I will have to postpone some stuff. It's all good though, because I had much better things to do.
Made it to Sam's by 1:30 - no sweat. Sam is my favorite barber. He actually cut my hair when I was a kid. My dad would have him give me a crew cut, but leave a tuft in front to comb back with old spice short cut gel.
To this day, Sam is the only one that really knows how to deal with my wavy-assed hair. He is been doing it since I was seven, so I guess that he should have it down by now. I have absolutely no idea how old he is, but there isn't a grey hair on him. The Rolling Stone of barbers, I guess..
With my haircut done, time for lunch. It just so happens that Lorito's Italian kitchen is one door down from the barbers. Imagine that! almost like I had planned it. They have the best cheeseburger in town.
with a fresh haircut and full belly, I decide to head to the consignment shop at the other end and walk off my burger (or at least part of it). We have picked up a lot of stuff for the house there - from major furniture to decorations. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just browsing. Lots of cool and interesting things, but nothing really strikes a chord - until I poke my head into the bargain closet. Everything there is five bucks. Then I see this old school aluminum stove top coffee pot. Hand painted with a covered bridge scene. I don't know why, but I immediately grab this thing up. It has some dust and dents, but just cool as hell. Every single pot of coffee my mom ever made cane out of one of these things. I remember when Mr. Coffee coffee makers first came out. She would have none of it. Coffee was to be percolated. and not by one of those damned electric coffee pots either. Stove top only. I can only imagine the disgusted look that she would give, had she ever seen the modern day Keurig contraptions. I remember her last couple of years. She would continually lose the glass top to her pot, and I would have to constantly go to Reddick Brother's Hardware in Micanopy and buy replacements. When I explained to them what was going on with her dementia, they promised to keep one in stock for me at all times. Local hardware stores are good about things like that. Thinking back, she might have been intentionally "losing" them just to make me feel like I was doing something of value. In her more lucid moments, which were often her hardest, she knew that there was nothing any of us could do to fix things. But she knew the importance of keeping busy. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop, and lead to stinkin thinkin". something she said often. So yea, it is very possible that she purposely lost them just to give me something to do. Anyway, the pot is mine, and it is now perched high in the kitchen on top of the cabinets. Funny how such a small thing will trigger a memory.
It is now almost four. I promised some friends that I would help serve dinner at the Interfaith homeless shelter. The original group had backed out at the last moment, so this was a last minute deal. I had helped before though our church, so I knew what to expect. If you have never done this before, it is an experience like none other. We served probably 30-40 meals - all brought in by volunteers. When you see these people, and the thankfulness in their eyes, your heart melts. These are people - mostly women and children (the men eat whatever is left over later), are genuinely in a tough spot, and genuinely grateful and polite. Even the young kids. One of the most striking things is the way that they lookout for each other. The way that they make sure that food is set aside for others that have not arrived yet due to a job or something. Even though they themselves are homeless and hurting, their first instinct is to reach out to others. In many ways, very similar to how we on the cancer support group try to support each other. Maybe the willingness to love our neighbor is much closer to a reality than we realize. But why does it take hard times to do the right thing??
It is now 6pm. Time to hit Guitar Center and look at that amp. Yea, it's pretty cool, but I really cant get excited about it. I am trying really hard to like it, but just not there. On the way home, I begin to think about the day. What a day. I didn't get half of the stuff done that I had planned on, but some really great things happened instead. Important things happened. Human things happened. It was a good day.
And that guitar amp? Never mind. They can keep it. It's just a thing. It is pretty insignificant compared to all the good things.
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