The Seventh First: Anecdotes

For all you religious and non-religious readers, reminding you that this more-or-less spiritually-inspired writer falls into the latter category, it is to my knowledge that in The [Holy] Bible (should I underline that?) it is Job who writes that the Lord hath given and the Lord hath taken away. It’s probably incorrect, the reference and not the statement (or both), but I’m not going to take the time to look it up for verification and having to quote the source; it saves me time and eliminates that needless break in my thought process, which already runs incredibly faster than my fingers can type.

This giveth and taketh has ultimately been defined, hitting close to home, but the entirety of this is not in an ironic sense as it is more of happenstance. Names, even first names, are being left out of this post; it is a personal desire to be respectful for the family and the recent activity.

This simply an introduction. This does not count.

* * *

While driving home, Alexi Murdoch’s “Crinan Wood” played through the iPod, through and out-of the PA system that is primarily for the world alive within the confinements of my car. The music, specifically, would probably play through this blog post. It would be up to you, the reader, whether keep the lyrics for the song clear or to simply have the musical composition playing. Please note that reading while listening to lyrics may be distracting. If anything, while you give your mind that brief rest between paragraphs, the white space and that pinprick of a jump from one blob of words to the next, the lyrics can be played and listened to. This will break up the text appropriately and into sections. It will be a two-for-one treat.

Your mind will thank you.

The route driven home after work was a different one. Roads were being added on as Murdoch plucked his strings. Cue up the song if you haven’t already; you’re wasting time and effect for affect. The sky was darkening already, and the time was shy of 20:00. The sky was painted a smoky dark blue, lightening to cobalt, and there had been a quick brush stroke of violet in there. The crescent moon hung there, beaming, and whether the moon was waxing or waning did not matter. This isn’t a glass half-full or half-empty association. The moment was simply there and decadent.

Aside the steak and potatoes leftovers, my car reeked of stale [rich and great] cigar smoke from Saturday night, the Seventh Day, but ironically the First Day, kicking off a countdown. The eve of the Seventh Day was highlighted by a family dinner at The Blarney Stone on Tipperary Hill in Syracuse, which is the only place in the world with a traffic light, upside-down some may say, but it’s preferred to be described as the only green-light-on-top traffic signal. Something being described as upside-down is a bit negative. This is a glass half-full association. It was a two-family affair, a brothers-and-sisters dinner, and we tackled burgers like nobody’s business–bacon, cheese, and deliciousness.

While driving by the Fairmount Fair plaza, the thought crossed my mind that I was gazing with the eyes of a visitor, but a returning visitor. The appreciation was there, and it was gratifying. Home. This is/would be comforting to come home to, remembering and reflecting on memories of times well spent. This would be night of the Fifth Day (or Third Day, depending on how you’re tallying this all up). Depending on how the cards fall, this may be a valid perspective, and this may come sooner than hoped. Who are we kidding though, right? It’s not so deep or in the back of the mind that this desire is now obvious and attainable.

It’s simply gaining courage to get up and leave behind all that has been built up. It’s not a forever abandonment. There will be communication to all loved ones, family and friends, and recurring hometown visits. Maybe there will be a permanent return.

That’s definitely only a maybe.

* * *

A trail had been blazed through an event (unrelated to this and, therefore, shall not be named), a review written, coffee consumed, and I had to fulfill my duties as a compassionate friend.

It’s amazing how we cannot fully comprehend the concept of death at a young age. A classmate of ours, this was in elementary school, passed away, and we could not grasp what happened. Family members and even friends pass on, and–depending on our age–we may or may not grasp the immensity of this. Grandparents and relatives pass, and then it hits closer to your heart, and you begin to understand why we will miss this/these person(s). We love them, which is simply said, and we will miss their presence and everything they have done for us. We do celebrate their lives, retelling their stories amidst talking about memories of them. They are captured in photographs. Their spirit is forever there, within us, in our minds and in our hearts,

Despite circumstances not everyone will be in attendance, and that is something they cannot control. We can and will forgive them for not being there.

The family I speak of, the majority of them have known me, or have known of me for over 30 years. It’s almost 31 now, but who is counting? My close friends, the children of the link to this entire clan, have both known me for over 29 and over 30 years. When we flash forward to the next morning, 2 AM specifically, the relationship has been acknowledged as it has several times in the past. My brother from another mother simply thanked me. He thanked me for being there, for putting aside several of my hours to spend with his family.

The gentleman, who had passed, I had met a few times. I didn’t know him as well as other members of that entire family, but I knew him whether it were the times of shaking his hand or hearing about him through stories. I heard more/new stories that day.

After the wake, I drove my friend and I to the family gathering. We ate, he drank for me since I had to drive, and I was a part of serious family time. I even opted help clean up and helped carry some of the flowers.

* * *

While in the car my buddy said he owed me; this is something he has said in the past, and I responded with my typical, No, you fuckin’ don’t. He said that he did, and I shut up after saying, Okay, if you say so. These repayments have been, and included, in the form of cigars; he orders them online, and they are amazing. We smoked two on Saturday, and I was surprisingly not ill from them. We went out for a night on the town that night, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn debauchery, and we engaged in analytical conversation to contemplate life and tried to answer the So, what’s next? We couldn’t, but at least we tried.

We can change who we are, but we cannot change others. It’s not as if we would want to change others, because the outcome may result in the scratching of our heads, which is currently where we are. It’s better to accept what you have, what you have going, and move on with it. You can’t stay at the same level your whole life. It’s redundant. It’s boring. Unfortunately, for some, it’s comfortable; and the debate of straying from being comfortable comes into play.

Being comfortable at times makes me uncomfortable. There has to be some risk to liven things up. My issue is regretting in the afterthought, contemplating the where-things-went-wrong, which prevents progression. You can’t go boating if you’re still tied to the dock.

We left with understanding that we’d take care of each other more or less and through thick and thin.  He said, if it came down to it, he’d [knock me out] if I ever got myself neck-deep in shit.  It would essentially be for my protection.

I appreciated it.  I doubt that I would find myself in a compromising position.

* * *

“Don’t give me that conservative bullshit,” my friend told me, holding the seat next to him, asking me to join him in front of the pack. Not a wolf pack. Regardless of the situation, I was being reluctant and unwavering, standing aside and drinking a Blue Light, shaking my head like a child not wanting to leave the dentist’s waiting room due to knowing what machinery waited behind those doors. The women he and I had joined were pleasant. The one in front of me, somewhat concerned, asked if I was having a good time. Dan admitted on my behalf that I can be a pain in the ass.

* * *

This section is only an intermission. It doesn’t count.

I love odd numbers; they work better for me. It happens that in this series of days the actual Seventh Day, which in our reverse countdown is the First Day, lands on Friday the 13th. Ironic that It’s the end of another chapter. A Twitter/improv/Syracusan will probably writing up his usual Friday the 13th scenario via Twitter. The stories are more than entertaining.

It’s reassuring to look forward to change, because change is only for the better in any circumstance, for better or worse; you just have to use what you have in front of you to move ahead. What would MacGuyver do?

It’s weighing everything: cost, risk, chance, possibility, potential. It’s the careful listening to the universe. It’s trusting in yourself to take that extra step in moving on despite how crazy or insane it all sounds. Sometimes you just have to let some crazy out. You cannot regret trying.

* * *

Love. It shits the bed sometimes.

Relationships do not work out the way we expect, and the train metaphorically derails. You are injured, you are tended to, but that’s after you walk away from the wreck. Sometimes the injuries are internal, and the survivor shows nothing more than a few scratches. Time passes, and they continue to talk about the wreck; no one saw it coming. The good times are spoken about, and the bad times and issues are confidently summarized in only a one-sentance statement.

There are paths and opportunities, there are always avenues, because it’s best to keep walking instead of standing still.

I’m not speaking about me. It’s about no one in particular.

If you have a pretty/handsome (ladies always first) face and personality, keep showing it, because it beams personality; your expressions illustrate it. You have your options, so shoot for the stars. Saying that you don’t know is not a decision or anything for that matter.

To speak about myself (I’ve got nothing further to say): I know my type, and she’s not here.

* * *

Sometimes we cannot help but smile.

* * *

“It’s a luscious mix of words and tricks
That let us bet when you know we should fold.
On rocks I dreamt of where we’d stepped
And the whole mess of roads we’re now on.”

– The Shins, “Caring is Creepy” off of Oh, Inverted World (2001)

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