I Wish I Could Choose My Relatives

Here it is, the end of March, and the old fucking refrain about "in like a lamb, out like a lion" currently holds true. I walked down to get some smokes and booze a bit ago, and it was half rain, half snow. temp at 32 degrees, and it just can't make up its mind what the fuck it is gonna do. Don't think it gives a shit...

This time of year puts me in deep depression, and I struggle. Man, I wish to fuck my shit was real! I have been spending time lately looking back over my life, and the little things I have done, and am not happy with a lot of it. It is petty shit, like how we used to tease Roger A. in school. He was tall and skinny, and gained the name "Rouge" which was a really comical thing at the time. I remember going to a history class, though, and driving poor old Roger along with the rest, and seeing him blow, slamming his clipboard on a railing so hard that he broke it in two. I thought it very funny then, and now I am ashamed for being so cruel.

I thought about Julie Slone, my first real love. She was an identical twin and in my sisters class. Her twin was named Jolene, and Julienne was the fairest girl a man could ever come across. My sister introduced us, and as a naive school kid, fell for her instantly. She was a southern girl, with a father to match. This redneck fucker would not allow anyone within ten miles of his daughters, and I suppose that had merit. So, we snuck around.

I met Julie at a basketball game one winter's eve, and we sat together at the game, and were very much in love, as young love goes. I can see her shining face to this day - big beautiful blue eyes, long blond hair tied back in a pony tail popular at the time, and a blue ribbon to tie it with. Her sister, Jolene, sat with us, with the same eerily beautiful good looks, and a pink ribbon on her hair to tell the two apart. It was one of those "moments" ya know? Time stands still, you only have eyes for one another, and being in love is the most important thing in your life. I honestly say that this is the first woman I have ever loved. I took her most of the way home, made out with her in the back seat of a '49 Chevy, and had the opportunity to feel her up a bit. She was sweet sixteen, and a well developed, beautiful girl.

Life got in the way. Her father, may he rot in hell, found out about the relationship, and that was the end. Julie was grounded, and I had to sneak around to see her week by week when her friends could hook us up. I remember walking through snow asshole deep to a 10 foot Indian just to spend minutes with her at a pond where a good friend and her were ice skating. I had no winter coat, no boots, and subsisted on love springs eternal. We kissed, and wished for the future. The future, of course, was never to come...

To this day, some 48 years later, I think of Julie. It isn't an everyday thing any more. But the thoughts never cease. I see wintry blue eyes, a crooked smile, and the most beautiful girl I have ever had the opportunity to know. By now, she is probably fat, has a dozen kids, and probably doesn't remember my fucking name. But it is there for me, and it is a memory that lingers.

A good friend once told me that memories are what makes a life. For the Roger's and Julie's of the world, I salute you. I tip a glass of good Canadian Whiskey to those that have shaped my life - good or bad.

Fuck it, don't mean nothin'...

Drive on

Charlie~

Will Ya Stilll Need Me, Will Ya Still Feed Me, When I'm 64?

Today I turned 64. It is not an exciting day, with gifts and friends calling to buy me a beer. I sit, as I do every day, in front of the computer, hacking away on my current freelance assignment. I thought to chronicle a bit, and as I am not having a really good day, will set down a few things as seen from the POV of an old Coon.

I am relatively happy. I sat last night on the roof with a glass of whiskey and enjoyed the moon racing through high white clouds. It was very warm - in the 70's - and I was happy to still be alive. My own little brand of mental illness keeps me a stranger to many of friends and relatives, but I am secure in my reclusiveness. I am not unhappy because of this condition but hey! I medicate...

My daughter turns 35 this year. She and I are not close, and it bothers me. she has been distant to me since her mother and I divorced. I haven't seen my granddaughters grow up like I wish, and this will not go well with me when I lay a'dying. Being a son of the Buddha, I am reminded of how He expounds on forming attachments, and it comforts me.

I am making good money writing, which has been my lifelong dream. the checks come in like clockwork every two weeks, and it keeps me in beer money. The home I have chosen to live in is easily paid for, and although there is not a new Tesla roadster in the garage, there is a halfassed decent Dodge Dakota 4X4 that meets my needs. Good stereo and all. We eat regularly, I have the option of working for myself, and work when I want to. It doesn't get any better than that.

My work is such that I can take it on the road. Tonight my son comes from Indiana, and I will go back to Anderson after he plays around at salmon camp. His lovely wife Sara is the apple of an old man's eye, beautiful and fair, and treating an old Coon with dignity and respect. We bonded on first meet, and have been close every since. She is a delight to behold...

I have a good wife, strong willed and temperamental, but a great woman all the same. She takes care of my needs, gives me much space that I so desperately need, and puts up with my quirks and idiosyncrasies. She knows what it is like to live with an old vet with PTSD, and makes allowances, as do all that love me. We have a good but uncomplicated life. We are hard workers, generally working 7 days a week, and spending frugally in the process. I don't wanna eat dog food when I am too old to hammer this keyboard.

Life has dealt me some really shitty blows. But it has blessed me in the process. I have no regrets, and wouldn't do a thing differently than I have. And in the final analysis, when I finally reach end of days, I can slide up to my grave, tip a cold one, and say, "Man, what a fucking ride". Who needs more?

Peace,

Charlie~

:D