Sunday March 1, 7:04 pm. I have written previously about my Aunt Alice on here. I won’t link, because I still can’t figure out how to do these fucking hyperlinks easily, and I doubt anyone cares that greatly about what I’ve said in the past. About an hour ago, my phone rings (or barks, as is my designated ring tone). It’s my brother Mike-the one who never calls me unless it’s something bad (which I’ve also written about). He tells me that Aunt Alice has just ‘passed away’. She fucking DIED. Why do we have to use these stupid ass euphemisms?
I’ve been ‘hoping’ for this phone call for almost a year or longer, because she’s had such a rapidly declining quality of life. I’m absolutely stunned and shocked with myself with how incredibly sad and upset I am about this. I really didn’t think I’d cry when this moment happened. But I am.
She was Mom’s oldest sister, the oldest of 14. Mom was #8. She took Mom after grade school and raised her. As such, Aunt Alice (and Uncle Orval) were always really more like Grandparents, more so than my actual grandparents were. My love of, and skill of cooking and baking are legacies from My Aunt Alice & Mom. When I was little, Aunt Alice always made my birthday cake, home-made Angel Food, in the long rectangular tube pan (that you don’t see anymore). Pies, cakes, yeast breads and cinnamon rolls, chicken (or beef) and home-made noodles were staples at every holiday or Sunday dinner. Ham and bean soup and corn bread; fried chicken, chocolate sheet cake, cherry pie, coconut or banana cream pie (the real deal-cooked custard base with meringue top (not this no cook refrigerator shit). Gourmet? No. Great cooking? Yes. Like most great cooks, when you ask for the recipe, she often didn’t have one. “I just make it.” About 10 years ago, in one of my rare moments of intelligence, I asked her how she made her cherry pie (and many other items), and wrote down the recipes. This doesn’t mean she didn’t use or have cookbooks. When she was moving from her condo to an assisted living home, without a kitchen, she let me come and select what I wanted from her cookbook collection. Many of which were the local church compilations that are done as fund raisers—each of them with many of her own recipes.
She also sewed. I still have the house robe she made me for Christmas over 20 years ago. I will never get rid of it. I still wear/use it. I have the original ‘sock monkey’ that she made and we played with at her house. The one she made for me was long gone, but I got the original from her sale when she left her house to go to the condo. I have one of her old quilts. She had reached the point of not being able to hand sew and I lamented to her that I wish I’d asked her to make a quilt for me when she was still able to do so. She made a quilt for each of her ‘true’ grandsons. When moving from her condo, she found one of her older quilts in her cedar chest, and she gave it to me. It has some great older fabrics in it, which I love. It worked out best, as I’d rather have the older more than I would new fabrics. It’s lighter weight, and goes on my bed every summer.
When you hear of people referred to as Pillars of the Community, that was her. In the small farm town where I grew up, she ran a restaurant, and then ran the cafeterias at my grade school, then high school, from where she eventually retired. But people still hired her to make cakes and pies, and breads/rolls.
When I came out, Aunt Alice is one of the people I was afraid of telling. Her response was, “There’s a lot I just don’t understand, but I’ll always love you. I wish I would have known you went through so much pain and hurt.” It was one of the most genuine and real responses that I received from family at that time.
When I was home at Christmas, Aunt Alice had declined greatly. Physically, she was much more frail, and mentally, the Alzheimer’s was really progressing. She still knew who I was, and asked me about my best friend by name. But, she couldn’t find her way back to her room on her own. Reading her Christmas cards, she had to spell out each word before she knew what it was. Then when it got to the names signed, I’d have to read that to her, and she wouldn’t know/recognize the names. It was so sad and painful to watch. A few weeks later, she went to the hospital. She went back to the assisted living home for a few days, but was back in the hospital, and then went to a nursing home. She stopped eating, and an even more rapid decline spiraled much more quickly. When I spoke to my parents earlier this week for Dad’s birthday, Mom said I wouldn’t recognize her. I told Mom, “I just wish she’d go quickly. She has no quality of life. She’s not able to discern happiness. She’s lived a hard damn life. It shouldn’t end like this.” Mom started talking about ‘the good lord’, and I tuned out to keep myself from corrupting that moment with my feelings of what bullshit (and oxymoron) I think ‘the good lord’ is.
It’s going to be a strained week—with her grandsons(my first cousins once removed, who used to be more like brothers to me) and daughter-in-law whom I haven’t seen since my cousin (Aunt Alice’s only natural child) died over 3 years ago and since they’ve sold her condo out from under her and took the money. They left my Mom with all of the responsibilities of being the caregiver, while they fleeced their Grandma of what little she had. Yet another way in which her last years should not have been.
Whether or not there is a heaven, Aunt Alice is much better off right now. My sadness is much greater than I would have imagined it to be at this moment.
Showing posts with label tribute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tribute. Show all posts
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Friday, April 4, 2008
Euckie the WONDER(ful) Dog
This is a long post. It’s been a while since I’ve written. I hope you will bear with me and read through to the end—not for me, but for the subject of this post. The pictures here are of Euckie. She was my constant and faithful, loyal companion for almost 11 years. Yesterday, (Thursday April 3, 2008) I had Euckie put to sleep. This is her tribute.
I adopted Euckie from the Anti-Cruelty Society in Chicago. They thought she was about a year old when I got her. She had been badly abused. One eye was smaller, and that ear was cocked differently from the other. This was a result of being hit or struck on her head from her abuser(s). My personal theory is that she was hit by or dumped from a car, as she totally wigged out if we crossed a busy, high trafficked street or road.
About 2-3 weeks ago, she had a seizure in the middle of the night. The past 3 nights in a row, she had seizures again, each one progressively worse. She seemed to be more impaired after each one. She knew something had happened, and it just freaked her out. Last night it took about 3 hours to ‘bring her down’.
When I called to make the appointment on Tuesday, I knew/felt in the pit of stomach that we were going to the vet, and I was going to come back home alone. Wednesday night, I made her eggs with cheese. Eggs for breakfast is--was a weekend treat for both of us. Instead of her usual one treat per night, she got one every time she went to the cabinet and stared up at the cookie jar with her treats. We had a great night until the last seizure that night—less than 24 hours after the previous one. I begged to the universe, “Let’s us get through Thursday without a seizure. Let this day be as good as possible for her.” This was of course before I knew what the outcome of the trip was going to be.
The vet said that the exam indicated that the seizures were neurological in nature, and that most likely were the result of a brain tumor, given her age and other symptoms. He said I could have had a CT or MRI done to confirm, and if confirmed, there was nothing that could be done.
After the procedure he told me that if she’d been his dog, he would have made the same decision, which at least helped me to feel that I’d made the correct decision, albeit a hard one—actually, the decision wasn’t hard. Following through was. My best friend G (and Euckie’s favorite human) went with me and was with us. We stayed with her, and I held her while she received the IV.
She was the most loving dog I have ever known. Although I’m biased, this is a sentiment that myriad people have said to me over the past 10 + years, time and time again. Last Thanksgiving, at Mom & Dad’s, my sister-in-law told me she’d never seen a dog so devoted to its master before. The devotion was mutual, but I’m certain she was better than I. She was the most loyal and faithful companion, and greatly loved by pretty much everyone who knew her. I think that the best testament of that is this. As I’ve come home and told two different neighbors, they broke down, crying, with me. It wasn’t just for my loss, but because they loved Euckie for the great and loving dog she was. That’s a testament to her, not to me. People consistently have told me, “she such a lucky dog to have gotten you.” That’s not correct. I’m the lucky one. We-I {the fucking strikethrough function isn't transfering on blogger-italics followed by bold indicates what should be a strikethrough replaced word} currently live in a Co op. When I was buying this place, before my offer could be accepted, I had to be interviewed and approved by the other owners of the building. (It’s one of the differences between a co op and a condo.) There had not been a dog in the building before, so we both had to be interviewed, and ‘pass the test’. After we were accepted and moved in, I was told that J my neighbor P’s son, kept asking, not when is the new man moving in, but “When’s the dog moving in?” Euckie was already in like Flynn. The jury was still out on me!
I think that she chose me as much as I chose her 11 years ago at Anti Cruelty. I had been going back every Saturday, after I moved to my first condo. It was almost two months of returning either seeing dogs that had already been adopted, or not ‘connecting’ with a dog. With Euckie, it was immediate. Here was this emaciated, anorexic, terribly frightened dog, with a crooked face and smile, who looked like a patchwork quilt. As one friend commented, “She looks like she was put together by committee!” She was an Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix. She was damned smart!
They had given her some name that just didn’t fit. I don’t even remember what it was, now. I used to be a florist. My dogs have been named after plants. My previous dog that I got after college (the first time) was named “Ficus”. I wanted to continue the tradition. Since my new vocation was healthcare, I wanted somehow to tie that in. Eucalyptus is a plant with healing properties. It’s native to Australia. It was a trifecta—plant, health, native origins! It was shortened to Euckie.
Here are a couple of my favorite Euckie Stories:
Not long after I got her, I took her downstate to Mom & Dad’s. She didn’t do well in the car the first few times. (I think she’d been dumped from a car.) But she came to love car rides, especially to Mom & Dad’s because she could be off the leash and run free. The first time we did that, I took her to my old high school, across the street, and she ran in the practice football field. I apparently was not keeping up with her, enough to suit her anyway. She began circling big and ‘herding’ me to get me to go where she wanted me to be.
She loved chasing squirrels. She almost caught them couple of times. Had she not been on her leash, I have not doubt that she would have. She’s the only dog I’ve ever seen who tried (and nearly succeeded) to climb a tree, while chasing a squirrel.
When Mom and Dad came up here after my first shoulder surgery, I was unable to sleep in my bed and was sleeping my recliner club chair in the living room. In the morning, I heard Mom, whispering, “Euckie, come here. Come here. It’s time for your walk.” (Euckie was always eager for her morning ‘constitutional’.) She had camped out beside my chair, and would not leave my side. It wasn’t until I told her it was ‘OK to go’, and I had to get up and take to the door, before she would go with Dad for her walk.
A few months ago I read the book, “Dog Years: A Memoir” by Mark Doty, which is a great book. I highly recommend it. At the time I didn’t realize it was preparing me for today, but in some ways as I read it, I knew that it was. Now it’s almost spooky. I have many pages ‘dog eared’—how apropos. At the end of chapter 1 he writes about his dog Beau. As this is not a critical article, nor a review, copyright infringement prohibits me from excerpting it. So GO BUY HIS BOOK, especially if you’re a dog lover! But he talks about how during his dark times, how his dog(s) gave him his will to live. I totally got that. Euckie did that for me, when my life was at its worst. I wish I could have conveyed that to her. She truly was my savior. One of the serendipitous things about reading the book when I did, is that it made me much more consciously aware that Euckie was getting older, and it caused me to spend more time with her. Instead of sitting at the computer constantly, I’d stop and play ‘tug ball’ with her when she’d bring a toy up to me. Or, I’d stop, and go sit or lie down with her on the floor and pet her. She was nearly 50 pounds, but she thought she was a lap dog. I later regretted that I got rid of that green leather club chair a couple of years ago, because that was ‘our chair’. We didn’t have a good sharing place after I gave that chair away. She made me a better human.
I had her--We had each other for almost 11 years. She outlasted a serious relationship and a few boyfriends. I will--do miss her terribly.
My quote on my home page is the perfect closing. I would just add, if there is anything I’m certain of, if there is a heaven, Euckie is one of those dogs.
Randy
I adopted Euckie from the Anti-Cruelty Society in Chicago. They thought she was about a year old when I got her. She had been badly abused. One eye was smaller, and that ear was cocked differently from the other. This was a result of being hit or struck on her head from her abuser(s). My personal theory is that she was hit by or dumped from a car, as she totally wigged out if we crossed a busy, high trafficked street or road.
About 2-3 weeks ago, she had a seizure in the middle of the night. The past 3 nights in a row, she had seizures again, each one progressively worse. She seemed to be more impaired after each one. She knew something had happened, and it just freaked her out. Last night it took about 3 hours to ‘bring her down’.
When I called to make the appointment on Tuesday, I knew/felt in the pit of stomach that we were going to the vet, and I was going to come back home alone. Wednesday night, I made her eggs with cheese. Eggs for breakfast is--was a weekend treat for both of us. Instead of her usual one treat per night, she got one every time she went to the cabinet and stared up at the cookie jar with her treats. We had a great night until the last seizure that night—less than 24 hours after the previous one. I begged to the universe, “Let’s us get through Thursday without a seizure. Let this day be as good as possible for her.” This was of course before I knew what the outcome of the trip was going to be.
The vet said that the exam indicated that the seizures were neurological in nature, and that most likely were the result of a brain tumor, given her age and other symptoms. He said I could have had a CT or MRI done to confirm, and if confirmed, there was nothing that could be done.
After the procedure he told me that if she’d been his dog, he would have made the same decision, which at least helped me to feel that I’d made the correct decision, albeit a hard one—actually, the decision wasn’t hard. Following through was. My best friend G (and Euckie’s favorite human) went with me and was with us. We stayed with her, and I held her while she received the IV.
She was the most loving dog I have ever known. Although I’m biased, this is a sentiment that myriad people have said to me over the past 10 + years, time and time again. Last Thanksgiving, at Mom & Dad’s, my sister-in-law told me she’d never seen a dog so devoted to its master before. The devotion was mutual, but I’m certain she was better than I. She was the most loyal and faithful companion, and greatly loved by pretty much everyone who knew her. I think that the best testament of that is this. As I’ve come home and told two different neighbors, they broke down, crying, with me. It wasn’t just for my loss, but because they loved Euckie for the great and loving dog she was. That’s a testament to her, not to me. People consistently have told me, “she such a lucky dog to have gotten you.” That’s not correct. I’m the lucky one. We-I {the fucking strikethrough function isn't transfering on blogger-italics followed by bold indicates what should be a strikethrough replaced word} currently live in a Co op. When I was buying this place, before my offer could be accepted, I had to be interviewed and approved by the other owners of the building. (It’s one of the differences between a co op and a condo.) There had not been a dog in the building before, so we both had to be interviewed, and ‘pass the test’. After we were accepted and moved in, I was told that J my neighbor P’s son, kept asking, not when is the new man moving in, but “When’s the dog moving in?” Euckie was already in like Flynn. The jury was still out on me!
I think that she chose me as much as I chose her 11 years ago at Anti Cruelty. I had been going back every Saturday, after I moved to my first condo. It was almost two months of returning either seeing dogs that had already been adopted, or not ‘connecting’ with a dog. With Euckie, it was immediate. Here was this emaciated, anorexic, terribly frightened dog, with a crooked face and smile, who looked like a patchwork quilt. As one friend commented, “She looks like she was put together by committee!” She was an Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix. She was damned smart!
They had given her some name that just didn’t fit. I don’t even remember what it was, now. I used to be a florist. My dogs have been named after plants. My previous dog that I got after college (the first time) was named “Ficus”. I wanted to continue the tradition. Since my new vocation was healthcare, I wanted somehow to tie that in. Eucalyptus is a plant with healing properties. It’s native to Australia. It was a trifecta—plant, health, native origins! It was shortened to Euckie.
Here are a couple of my favorite Euckie Stories:
Not long after I got her, I took her downstate to Mom & Dad’s. She didn’t do well in the car the first few times. (I think she’d been dumped from a car.) But she came to love car rides, especially to Mom & Dad’s because she could be off the leash and run free. The first time we did that, I took her to my old high school, across the street, and she ran in the practice football field. I apparently was not keeping up with her, enough to suit her anyway. She began circling big and ‘herding’ me to get me to go where she wanted me to be.
She loved chasing squirrels. She almost caught them couple of times. Had she not been on her leash, I have not doubt that she would have. She’s the only dog I’ve ever seen who tried (and nearly succeeded) to climb a tree, while chasing a squirrel.
When Mom and Dad came up here after my first shoulder surgery, I was unable to sleep in my bed and was sleeping my recliner club chair in the living room. In the morning, I heard Mom, whispering, “Euckie, come here. Come here. It’s time for your walk.” (Euckie was always eager for her morning ‘constitutional’.) She had camped out beside my chair, and would not leave my side. It wasn’t until I told her it was ‘OK to go’, and I had to get up and take to the door, before she would go with Dad for her walk.
A few months ago I read the book, “Dog Years: A Memoir” by Mark Doty, which is a great book. I highly recommend it. At the time I didn’t realize it was preparing me for today, but in some ways as I read it, I knew that it was. Now it’s almost spooky. I have many pages ‘dog eared’—how apropos. At the end of chapter 1 he writes about his dog Beau. As this is not a critical article, nor a review, copyright infringement prohibits me from excerpting it. So GO BUY HIS BOOK, especially if you’re a dog lover! But he talks about how during his dark times, how his dog(s) gave him his will to live. I totally got that. Euckie did that for me, when my life was at its worst. I wish I could have conveyed that to her. She truly was my savior. One of the serendipitous things about reading the book when I did, is that it made me much more consciously aware that Euckie was getting older, and it caused me to spend more time with her. Instead of sitting at the computer constantly, I’d stop and play ‘tug ball’ with her when she’d bring a toy up to me. Or, I’d stop, and go sit or lie down with her on the floor and pet her. She was nearly 50 pounds, but she thought she was a lap dog. I later regretted that I got rid of that green leather club chair a couple of years ago, because that was ‘our chair’. We didn’t have a good sharing place after I gave that chair away. She made me a better human.
I had her--We had each other for almost 11 years. She outlasted a serious relationship and a few boyfriends. I will--do miss her terribly.
My quote on my home page is the perfect closing. I would just add, if there is anything I’m certain of, if there is a heaven, Euckie is one of those dogs.
Randy
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Ledger Doesn't Reconcile
I have perseverated for two days about whether I should write a post about Heath Ledger. That much pondering seems to be a strong indication that I should write. The interesting, non-sequitor reply to my previous post is what I’ll take as the confirming signal to write. I really don’t want to be on the pop culture bandwagon.
The comparisons to James Dean were immediate. I love the three James Dean movies (East of Eden –also one of my favorite books; Rebel Without A Cause; and Giant). I’ve not seen all of Heath’s movies. It’s probably obvious that the one I’m going to write about and the one that has had a huge impact on me is “Brokeback Mountain”. This movie has such an impact that I pre-ordered the DVD and the movie poster (the real deal) when the movie was released. I saw the movie three times in the theatre—Something I NEVER do. (I bitch about the price of movie tickets), and each time I saw it was at full price, no matinees. It was the winter I broke my arm. I had been downstate at my parents for a few weeks, while they helped me out. I came back home when it was time for my regularly occurring appointments with my orthopaedic surgeon. I was still in a good deal of pain, and not able to drive. The movie was showing at an older theatre about a mile from my appt. So, I was able to walk. The first time was a Saturday night. I fully expected to like the movie. I expected it to affect me. I didn’t expect it to impact me and resonate with me to the degree that it did. It was Heath Ledge’s portrayal of Ennis Del Mar that hit me right between the eyes. I left the theatre that Saturday night, feeling like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Have you ever had the experience where something reaches you so viscerally, at such an intense deep emotional level, that you are so numbed, you can’t even have an appropriate emotional response? Ennis Del Mar did that to me.
I went back the next day, Sunday (OK, I guess I did see one matinee). There was a line that Ennis says, that I couldn’t remember. I wanted to get that line, and I had to see the movie again. Again, smacked between the eyes. I knew what was coming so the intensity wasn’t so raw, and my heart wasn’t in my throat throughout the whole movie this time. Damn it! I couldn’t remember the quote again, after the second viewing.
But, I still had to see this again. I needed to see it with my best friend. We grew up together. I was ‘man of honor’ at her wedding. One of the reasons I moved to Chicago was to be closer to her geographically. I needed to see this with her, to discuss it and process it with her after viewing. I didn’t tell her any more details about it outside of the media flap already surrounding it. As we were leaving the theatre, I said, “What are your thoughts?”
She replied, “That was Bumblefuck*, Illinois!—without the mountains and beautiful scenery.” (*pseudonym for our hometown).
She saw it too. It wasn’t merely my projection. I very easily could have been (nearly was) Ennis Del Mar—rural farm town boy, with a secret, trying to fit it, trying to be something/someone he was never meant to be; shut himself off from people, afraid that they would ‘discover’ his truth. The “love that dare not speak its name”.
There were some eerie coincidences with me and the movie. At the beginning of the movie, the Randy Quaid character (boss) drives up in a Rambler-American. While not the exact model, my first real car was Rambler, that my uncle Orval sold to me for $50. Later in the movie, Ennis is driving an old light green, with white top early 60s Ford F150 (I think it was a 150, maybe 100). That was the truck I learned how to drive in. My Dad’s old beater truck, 3 on the tree, no power steering, taking my first drive on the country gravel roads. The little grocery store, the Laundromat, the small country church, as my best friend said, “that was Bumblefuck, Illinois!” Even down to his mannerisms and speech pattern, talking in that drawl, barely opening his mouth as he spoke. Heath nailed it. That was my Dad and my Uncles. The eerie coincidences unnerved me just a little bit. How does someone you don’t know, have never met, tell your story –get into the dark recesses of your soul and make seem even more real?
I took pen and paper the third time to get the line down that I thought was so profound (to me, not all of humanity). The line is when they are on one of their camping trips. Jack is frustrated that Ennis won’t commit to being together.
As noted above, I was recovering from my broken arm/shoulder. It was another in a long line of major health shit that I’d gone through in 5 years. I was on a medical leave—no income, waiting to go back to a job that I loathed. It was hard to identify which of these hells was worse than the other. This exchange between Ennis and Jack became my mantra. I couldn’t fix it. My arm or my job. I had to ride it out. I typed it out on slips of paper, and put them everywhere that I would see it: in my wallet, in books, in my office(s) once I returned to work. It literally became my mantra. It helped get me through that winter, through that year, and finally out of that job.
Accounting has never been my forté. But this Ledger just doesn't reconcile. It doesn't add up. It certainly makes no sense. Thank you Heath. Give my regards to James Dean. RIP. © wtf/rle
The comparisons to James Dean were immediate. I love the three James Dean movies (East of Eden –also one of my favorite books; Rebel Without A Cause; and Giant). I’ve not seen all of Heath’s movies. It’s probably obvious that the one I’m going to write about and the one that has had a huge impact on me is “Brokeback Mountain”. This movie has such an impact that I pre-ordered the DVD and the movie poster (the real deal) when the movie was released. I saw the movie three times in the theatre—Something I NEVER do. (I bitch about the price of movie tickets), and each time I saw it was at full price, no matinees. It was the winter I broke my arm. I had been downstate at my parents for a few weeks, while they helped me out. I came back home when it was time for my regularly occurring appointments with my orthopaedic surgeon. I was still in a good deal of pain, and not able to drive. The movie was showing at an older theatre about a mile from my appt. So, I was able to walk. The first time was a Saturday night. I fully expected to like the movie. I expected it to affect me. I didn’t expect it to impact me and resonate with me to the degree that it did. It was Heath Ledge’s portrayal of Ennis Del Mar that hit me right between the eyes. I left the theatre that Saturday night, feeling like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Have you ever had the experience where something reaches you so viscerally, at such an intense deep emotional level, that you are so numbed, you can’t even have an appropriate emotional response? Ennis Del Mar did that to me.
I went back the next day, Sunday (OK, I guess I did see one matinee). There was a line that Ennis says, that I couldn’t remember. I wanted to get that line, and I had to see the movie again. Again, smacked between the eyes. I knew what was coming so the intensity wasn’t so raw, and my heart wasn’t in my throat throughout the whole movie this time. Damn it! I couldn’t remember the quote again, after the second viewing.
But, I still had to see this again. I needed to see it with my best friend. We grew up together. I was ‘man of honor’ at her wedding. One of the reasons I moved to Chicago was to be closer to her geographically. I needed to see this with her, to discuss it and process it with her after viewing. I didn’t tell her any more details about it outside of the media flap already surrounding it. As we were leaving the theatre, I said, “What are your thoughts?”
She replied, “That was Bumblefuck*, Illinois!—without the mountains and beautiful scenery.” (*pseudonym for our hometown).
She saw it too. It wasn’t merely my projection. I very easily could have been (nearly was) Ennis Del Mar—rural farm town boy, with a secret, trying to fit it, trying to be something/someone he was never meant to be; shut himself off from people, afraid that they would ‘discover’ his truth. The “love that dare not speak its name”.
There were some eerie coincidences with me and the movie. At the beginning of the movie, the Randy Quaid character (boss) drives up in a Rambler-American. While not the exact model, my first real car was Rambler, that my uncle Orval sold to me for $50. Later in the movie, Ennis is driving an old light green, with white top early 60s Ford F150 (I think it was a 150, maybe 100). That was the truck I learned how to drive in. My Dad’s old beater truck, 3 on the tree, no power steering, taking my first drive on the country gravel roads. The little grocery store, the Laundromat, the small country church, as my best friend said, “that was Bumblefuck, Illinois!” Even down to his mannerisms and speech pattern, talking in that drawl, barely opening his mouth as he spoke. Heath nailed it. That was my Dad and my Uncles. The eerie coincidences unnerved me just a little bit. How does someone you don’t know, have never met, tell your story –get into the dark recesses of your soul and make seem even more real?
I took pen and paper the third time to get the line down that I thought was so profound (to me, not all of humanity). The line is when they are on one of their camping trips. Jack is frustrated that Ennis won’t commit to being together.
Ennis “If you cain’t fix it, you got to stand it.”
Jack “For how
long?”
Ennis “As long as we can ride it.”
As noted above, I was recovering from my broken arm/shoulder. It was another in a long line of major health shit that I’d gone through in 5 years. I was on a medical leave—no income, waiting to go back to a job that I loathed. It was hard to identify which of these hells was worse than the other. This exchange between Ennis and Jack became my mantra. I couldn’t fix it. My arm or my job. I had to ride it out. I typed it out on slips of paper, and put them everywhere that I would see it: in my wallet, in books, in my office(s) once I returned to work. It literally became my mantra. It helped get me through that winter, through that year, and finally out of that job.
Accounting has never been my forté. But this Ledger just doesn't reconcile. It doesn't add up. It certainly makes no sense. Thank you Heath. Give my regards to James Dean. RIP. © wtf/rle
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