Autumn chorus

 

Good morning, my fellow early morning risers. While many of us relish this opportunity to catch a glimpse of a brilliant full moon traversing the sky or the August Perseid shower or even to just gaze upon the myriads of twinkling star light, I relish the appearance of things closer to my perch on my veranda while enjoying my fist cuppa by candlelight; white tail deer browsing my apple tree drops 20 yards away. This morning, I was greeted by the love songs of bow strings present only in late summer: this cool late August brought the persistent cacophony of cricket mating season! Male crickets in untold numbers are singing; choose me, choose me. For its the female who chooses their mate. Rejoice, it's cricket mating season. Love songs fill the air.

Is it ok to be boring?

A friend posted this on Face Book recently and it got me to thinking, is it ok to be boring? which, in turn reminded me of the time I took my youngest son to work with me in the summer between his high school graduation and beginning his freshman year of college.  Since neither of my older 2 children showed any interest in the healthcare field, I felt I should, at least, expose my last child to the health care field through the lens of my vocation of Nurse anesthetist (CRNA.)

He came to the operating room for the day and was able to observe both a couple of surgical procedures as well as me administering anesthesia.

On the drive home at the end of the day I asked him. "So, what did you think of surgery and anesthesia?"

Now for reference sake; one of the surgical procedures was a rectal procedure.

"As far as surgery goes," he says, "I could have gone my whole life without seeing that and been ok with that!"

"And anesthesia?" I prompted again.

"I don't want to offend you dad, but anesthesia is pretty boring."

He went on to say, "I know you want it to be boring, dad, because if it's not boring then something is going wrong, and the patient is in danger." But still, it's boring.

I went on to explain that the art and science of administering anesthesia requires intense knowledge as how to make anesthesia safe and boring.  A high percentage of surgical patient's greatest fear is the fear of not waking up from anesthesia.  I do my best to have each patient have the most boring and safe anesthetic possible.

And you may ask, what career did my son pursue?  Why, the exciting and dynamic profession of CPA (certified public accountant.)

From time to time, I ask my son in conversation; "what exciting things did you do at work today?"

Reminiscences with an old friend

 

Al Premo

Where to begin?

Spending a good number of evenings at the Iron Horse Grill since they opened here on Main Street, I'm happy/sad to say that on too many nights, the only people I know in a bar full of patrons are the bartender and waitresses.  Happy because it's an indication of how successful this place is, but sad that I've reached a time in my life where my friends and acquaintances are fading away.

It's here, in my doddering years, that on a dozen or less occasions I have been fortunate to become reacquainted with a classmate from our high school years; Al Premo.  Al has a home in Ogdensburg and, also, a place on the river here in Morristown.  When in Morristown, and it's his night to cook, he stops into the Iron Hore Grill to purchase pizza to go.  Most times he'll order a beer, which he rarely if ever finishes, while waiting for his pizza.  I don't think he ever orders ahead.  Last night Al arrived shortly after me and we shook hands and said our; good to see you agains.  He ordered a veggie pizza with extra veggies but no beer, took a seat on the bar stool next to me and, as always, we chatted along easily with no pregnant pauses.

Al was a year behind me in school and we didn't hang in the same social clicks.  We had something stronger; we were both athletes, playing first baseball together for 8 or 9 years and second, we played football together.  So, as you might imagine, we have endless reminiscences to exchange.

Last night started out differently.  Al says, "I've got a bat in my house. I've tried everything to knock him down, but without success. In fact, I almost fell through a window while trying to bat the bat with a broom." After many unsuccessful attempts with various 'weapons' he said he felt like he been through a vigorous workout and was sweating profusely."  Mind you now, Al was an accomplished athlete in his youth and had a long career as a physical education teacher.  I asked him if he'd tried a tennis racket to which he replied, "I bought a cheap one today at Walmart."  I then shared with him a method that my wife discovered back when we had an infestation of bats in our home.  Bats don't want to be in your house any more than you want them to be. They want to be outside eating and ridding the neighborhood of bugs, particularly, mosquitoes.  Shut off all the lights in your house.  Open a door to the outside, and scratch with your fingernails, on the screen or door casing.  the bat will echo locate the sound and fly out the open door.  It works, we did it.  Al said he'd try it after supper.

The conversation turned to long time acquaintances.  Al says, "do you remember a guy named Bill Frazier?  He asked me to say hey the next time I saw you."

I grew-up with Billy Frazier and he was part of a cadre of neighborhood kids who played pick-up baseball in Grove Street Park in Ogdensburg all summer. Corky LaFlair, Donny Powers, Bobby Mills, the Garvey brothers; Dick and Bobby, Bernie Reese, and others who's names I've forgotten for the moment.

Talk about uncanny, just the day before I'd been revisiting my childhood memories and thought, I wonder what ever happened to Billy Frazier.  I even did an unsuccessful Facebook search.  Weird, ay?     Apparently, Billy is doing well, retired from a local utility company and living out on the Heuvelton Road.

The conversation then turned somber.  The reason I'd been reflecting on that "old gang of mine" was the fact that my childhood constant chum, Donny Powers died last week.  I asked Al if he knew that, and he said he did.  We then went on to list all of our former classmates who have gone onto their rewards.  Al knew so many because he'd recently attended his 60th class reunion and the organizers had made a list of those who'd passed on.  I was surprised at a few that I was unaware of.

The grim reminder that we are on the last lap in our life marathon.  Every week there are fewer and fewer of us.

At the end of the day.

 

  The day was relatively unproductive yesterday: skipped breakfast, had coffee and a cigar on the porch and spent too much time on Facebook, Instagram and checking email.  checked on my new Substack subscription and decided to make an entry on my blog.  After a 2 hour session at the keyboard, I completed a blog post; hurray!

By now it was noon, so I walked down to the post office to collect one piece of solicitation mail from Samaritan's purse.  On my return I met up with Cindy Ackerman in front of the Ironhorse grill (she's co-owner.) She was trying to convince her dog to go upstairs to the apartment , to which the dog resisted preferring to check the surroundings for doggy messages.  Cindy and I chatted about dogs, boating, summer and what the grill was having for supper.

After returning home I made a tuna salad sandwich for lunch and I read a couple, or more, chapters in my recent book purchase; John Clark's "Journey to Daybreak. " Because I arose at 3 AM, now at 3 PM I was ready for a nap.  Shortley after awakening at a little after 4PM I received a series of texts from Leigh and subsequently, in short order, a phone call from him asking if I was home in Morristown and if so, was I interested in getting some "wings" at the Ironhorse.  I agreed to meet he and Karen at 5PM for dinner.  The conversation never lags when the 3 of us are together and after a couple of hours of dinner conversation we left and went our separate ways; Leigh offering to keep an eye on my porch, over the weekend, for expected Amazon deliveries while I was away visiting Jacob, Kristy and the kids in Niagara Falls. 

Within a few minutes of getting back to my porch, my phone rang, and it was Matt Menich, with Lynn in the background calling to say how much they enjoyed spending time with me and my girlfriend, Freda in Kingston, Canada a couple weeks ago.  We chatted for 1/2 hour at least.  They are flying east to Halifax later this month with their grandson who is playing in a Softball tournament; they'll be there for 6 days.  We also chatted about the recent Olympic games and farming and just a myriad of common interests.

Shortly after saying our goodbyes, I received a text from my estranged wife saying she and her boyfriend were motoring north on Friday, stopping in Albany to visit our daughter, and would be at Cassa LaRock Saturday or Sunday this weekend to retrieve some of her things.

I told her I was planning to go to Niagara Falls this weekend, but I'm beginning to rethink that and will probably stay here until the first of the week.

So, an inauspicious day ended auspiciously.  "And so it goes."  (Kurt Vonnegut)

approval seeking

 

I'm a writer.  I'm a writer because I write.  The question is, why do I write?   For approval, that's why I write.  Seeking approval is a life-long habit for me, and that is a long time.   Now, seeking approval is something most, if not all, of us do.  But when it becomes an obsessive and over-riding motivation for EVERYthing you do. then maybe, just maybe, it can be a problem.

Not to delve into the psychological root of my problem too deeply, let me just say that I never felt that I lived up to my parents' expectations.  They parented by the doctrine; it's best to criticize and point out a child's failures as a method to change and or improve behavior.  In contrast, however, my pseudo-grandparents (my father's aunt and uncle) were of the opposite opinion.  I say this only to show that my life/childhood was not devoid of love, affection, and approval.  But somewhere along the way I nurtured this feeling that I wasn't good enough; at anything. I was the proverbial wimpy kid.

A common comment on most, if not all, of my elementary school report cards was, "Bobby is not working up to his potential."  To be honest, ability notwithstanding, I didn't work very hard, academically, throughout my 13 years of formal education.

Not applying myself academically and, therefore, not getting positive/supportive recognition was a self-fulfilling situation.  I did, however, apply myself 100% to athletics, & music (singing.)  

Returning from the war in Viet Nam with 2 purple hearts incentivized me to attend institutions of higher learning and graduated valedictorian of both my nursing school class and Nurse anesthesia school class.

Because of my successes on the athletic field, performing stage, and career I became addicted to approval from others.  Yet, still, I never feel good enough.

In 2006 I became aware of internet blogging.  Opening an account on the Blogger platform introduced me to a number of writing groups to which I was soon a regular contributor.  I even tried my hand at poetry and surprised myself at my abilities there. The members of each of these blogs were extremely supportive of each other's work. Again, I became addicted to the positive feedback from my fellow bloggers.   And, for that matter, still am to this day.   It was here that I was introduced to NaNoWriMo, national novel writing month.  I took the challenge and attempted to write a novel in one month.  I failed.  I could give you the standard reasons for not finishing but in the end, I failed.  Later I started another project; a memoir dedicated primarily to me and my great grandfather's war experiences.  Both unfinished manuscripts sit in my file cabinet untouched for 15 years or more.

When Facebook became more than a place for college kids to communicate, I jumped on board and at that point, pretty much abandoned my Blog.  Although my writing groups there were also migrating away from Blogger.  I am thankful to say that many of my writerly friends on Blogger are also friends on Facebook.

Seeking approval and positive feedback is an obsession with me, and without that fix I find myself feeling too often depressed and uninspired.

How do I break this lifelong habit of approval seeking?