elder999, Halfway to “What Comes Next.”

[elder999]

Well, it’s approaching quickly for me, now. In a mere 23 days I’ll be the big 50.

I recognize that’s not much of a milestone these days, especially for the few of you that are also nearing it, or are past it, but it’s a little different for me.

I wasn’t supposed to get here, of course-spent two years of my childhood basically bedridden, and almost alll of it being told I wasn’t going to reach 9, then 11, then 15.

Medical definition of “miracle?” Misdiagnosis. :lol:

‘Course, I’d have appreciated not enduring countless shots, a spinal tap, raging fevers, assorted infections, virtually no appetite, exploratory surgery, a lung biopsy and a marrow transplant in the bargain-but, hey, I got no reason to complain:

I’m still here.

It’s funny, though-that tag up in the corner is a pretty longstanding joke, but now, at least in the world where it started, it’s no longer a joke, it’s true: ceremonially, anyway, I’m really an “elder.” Kind of funny……

As I type this, I’m trying to figure out where I’ll ultimately post it, but my idea is to share, over the course of the next 22 days, some of the things I’ve learned and grown to believe over the years-much of it was gained from my elders, and so I’ll also be sharing them, some of it I actually learned from being a parent, so you’ll maybe “meet” my kids, and some of it is the product of my own twisted thinking and experience. Naturally, since I believe truth to be relative, I don’t expect all of you will agree or approve, or even understand, but, as one of my elders was fond of saying (and I always say myself) understanding is not a necessary adjunct to appreciation.

In any case, I hope to have some discussion-otherwise, it’s all about me.

Oh, wait, it is all about me, sort of! Thanks, Bob! :asian:

I’ve worn a lot of different hats over the years-been places and done things that amaze the heck out of me, looking back: earned several degrees, played in a band and studied martial arts in Japan, dated a stripper, taught middle and high school when I should have still been in high school myself , almost summitted Everest (in 1996, a bad year on that mountain….) made love in the back seat of my very own Rolls Royce, sailed the Caribbean and South Pacific, collected and raced cars, raced motorcycles, exported and sold cars and sundries, started a couple of businesses, operated a nuclear power plant, learned to clear rooms and defuse bombs, fallen in love with three truly outstanding women, (and been fortunate enough to have two of them love me back) been married, had kids, been widowed and remarried-gone into Kazakhstan and helped to bring 1500 lbs. of weapons grade uranium into the U.S., boxed in the Golden Gloves (and nearly had my head handed to me), kickboxed in Thailand (and had my head handed to me), made H.S. All American in lacrosse, trained with a genuine old-time strongman, scuba dived on wrecks, ridden around with a genuine “motorcycle gang,”….. (though I never prospected or wore a patch), been on JEOPARDY! . been mugged in three different countries, and…well, I think I’ve done a lot for someone who wasn’t supposed to make it to 11.

Some of it, of course, was stupid (like dating a stripper!)-I’ll try to share some of those lessons, too….:lol:

These days, I’m not with the lab anymore-I officially separated about 3 years ago, and have been doing, well, something else. After my last “contract job” back in November ended, I took several months off, bought a new boat, took care of some other personal business, and now work-for a while, at least-for the local utility here in New Mexico. After a few years of that, I figure to take retirement-that is, start teaching high school, and spending time on the farm and on my boat……In those months, though (not really that many-went camping from October to November, went overseas for work in November, then ran around from January to about now….) I spent a fair amount of time reflecting on where my life had taken me, and wondering, well-how did I get here, and what comes next?

So, now, I thought I’d share………

 

[knuckleheader]

Very interesting agent 99, I mean elder999. You have me curious about the Everest climb and the "biker gang". I'd be interested in more details of both endevors. Ous

One more, the radioactive outa Russia, err azacktstan:uhyeah:

 

[elder999]

Very interesting agent 99, I mean elder999. You have me curious about the Everest climb and the "biker gang". I'd be interested in more details of both endevors. Ous

One more, the radioactive outa Russia, err azacktstan:uhyeah:

Didn't agent 99 have breasts? :lol: I talked about "elder999" here, once...

I've actually posted about the Everest climb here, sort of....and if I haven't posted about it, I've at least alluded to Operation Sapphire-elsewhere, if not here.....though I've never mentioned my brief time riding with the Chingalings, back when Chuck Zito was still wearing their patch.......

But all that'll have to wait-it starts with my mom and dad, don't it?

 

[Jade Tigress]

My goodness Jeff! You certainly have been through alot, and experienced alot in only almost 50 years. Much more than I, or most people will ever accomplish in an entire lifetime.

I certainly am glad for the medical misdiagnosis in your childhood, though it must have been very traumatic for you and your family to endure.

I am looking forward to hearing the lessons you've learned and hopefully learn from them myself. Thanks for sharing. :asian: :asian:

 

[elder999]

I certainly am glad for the medical misdiagnosis in your childhood, though it must have been very traumatic for you and your family to endure.

That's one of my jokes, Pam.

After I was born, I left the hospital with pretty significant scarring on my lungs. Later, I developed anemia, and other conditions. I haven't been anemic since I was about 11....

....I still have scarred lungs.

Over the years, doctors have been perplexed by my continued survival, never mind my apparent thriving from my teen years on......

Medical definition of "miracle": misdiagnosis. :lfao:

Oh, and I'm glad that you're glad-thanks!

I'm glad too!

 

[girlbug2]

Well now, this should be very interesting opcorn:. The mystery figure emerges!

 

[tellner]

"May he live to 120!"

 

[elder999]

My mom was the oldest of six kids, in a very-very poor family. While both her parents were college educated, grandma was a Wind River Shoshone, and granddad was black, which pretty much meant that in the 30’s there weren’t many jobs for them in Wyoming-grandpa was a coal-miner. It’s from her that I get what some people tell me is a generous nature-she grew up sharing everything, and made sure that my brother and sisters and I did the same, or at least knew how to.

Dad was a different kettle of fish- He was the only child of what could only be called rich people. Grandpa was an Episcopal priest, and grandma was a social worker, and my family had been in shipping from my grandpa’s dad back to before there was a “United States.” The lessons I got from my dad were vastly different-he taught me to play lacrosse, the judo and boxing he’d learned in the Navy, how to navigate from the stars, sail, swim, shoot, fish, hunt, be quiet in the woods, and all about our heritage-a lot of this came after we moved out of the city, and I started to get better, but some, like stories of our ancestors, came while I was in my sickbed.

He also taught me how to cook, keep a clean house, do laundry and sew. Funny story:

Dad made fabulous breakfasts, usually for himself, because, well, as the only child of rich people, he was almost a polar opposite from my mom, and could be a selfish prick. One morning, I was about 8, and I woke up to that bacon smell, went into the kitchen and found dad standing at the counter eating eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast. Of course, I asked him for some…..No, you ugly little bugger. This is mine. Well, where’s mine? I asked…

Pointing with a knife, dad said, Get that potato over there…. and that’s how I learned to cook. :lol:

Once, he was showing me how to mend some pants that I’d split, and I asked him, well, why I had to learn how to sew, of all things, and “keep house.” Dad said that sewing was something all sailors should know, but then he said: You have to learn how to do these things because I don’t want you thinking that’s what a wife is for, and I asked, Well, what’s a wife for, then? Dad said, When you know how to do all these things, you’ll have figured that out… :lol: That was my dad-Russian history professor, Episcopal priest, social worker, prison chaplain, Scoutmaster, boxing coach, and pretty neat guy.

More “dadisms:”

Intelligence is like an expensive pocket watch: you should only take it out to tell the time-anything else is just showing off. (Still don’t have the hang of that one. :lol: )

You can stack an encyclopedia on a donkey’s back, and it’ll still just be a jackass (this on education, from one of the most educated people anyone could ever meet..)

A man has a woman for a companion so he has someone in his life to always be gentle with-even in anger. You can’t always be gentle with your children, friends, or coworkers, or anyone else in life, so you do this for yourself: always be gentle with your wife. (This last has served me well, men)

In my family, though, it’s said that men raise boys, and the boys make men of themselves. On my 16th birthday (having gotten there), dad prepared me a wonderful meal of my choosing. After I’d scarfed it down, off of china I’d never seen before, and they’d all sung happy birthday, had cake and I’d opened gifts, dad presented me with a bankbook, explaining that it was my money, to do with as I chose: go to school, start a business, buy a house. Then he asked me if I’d enjoyed the meal, and of course I had.

Then he smashed my plate in the corner: That was your plate, son. Clean up that mess, get out of my house, and find somewhere else to eat.

Cuffee family ritual: I was off to raise myself.

About ten years later, dad was diagnosed with liver cancer. Doctor told him he had about a month to live, three months tops, and to go home and put his affairs in order. It didn’t exactly work that way: while most people in his situation usually go through the familiar stages of dying, dad skipped right over denial and anger to bargaining and acceptance, and just went about his business.If he ever got depressed, my mom and I never saw it. He got into an experimental treatment program, went on a special diet, and went right on working. He lost weight, of course, and when people commented on it he’d say, Yeah, I’m on that get cancer and die diet… :lol:

Three years later, dad was confined to bed, and pretty much on his way out. At this point I had a wife. and two kids of my own, and a career-I’d raised myself to be a man I hope my dad was proud of, but we didn’t really have much time to talk as peers, the way some of you might get to do with your parents when you become adults and parents yourselves,or may remember doing (funny how parents go from knowing everything, to knowing nothing and back :lol: ) but we crammed quite a bit into the short time we had left. Biggest thing my dad taught me in that time was not to live with regret:

If you regret something, and can do something about it-do something about it, right now. If you can’t do anything about it, let it go, because it’s worse than any cancer-even the one that’s eaten me from 250 to 90 lbs.

Dad died in his sleep, the morning of his 59th birthday. 50 years trying to measure up to that guy, and, if I’m lucky, I figure I’ve come up to about his belly button.:asian:

"May he live to 120!"

Thanks for that sentiment, Todd, though there's not much chance of it. I'l take what I get, though.......:asian:

 

[Big Don]

Medical definition of “miracle?” Misdiagnosis.

That is a helluva good line.

 

[elder999]

That is a helluva good line.

Thanks....experience'll often provide those. Gues you could call this one the line of my life....keep it if you like it

 

[Big Don]

It's funny how 50 doesn't sound nearly as old as it used to, isn't it?

 

[Bruno@MT]

It's funny how 50 doesn't sound nearly as old as it used to, isn't it?

Back when I started working in a small engineering company, all of us were a couple of years out of college, age 21 to 24. There was only 1 older colleague. He was ... 28.

And we all had that feeling that 28 was old... really old. It was certainly going downhill for him

It's funny how your perspective changes with time. I'm 33 now, and a couple of years ago I visited my old college again to drop something off, and I couldn't believe what I saw. They had replaced all the mature, intelligent 'go get' 'can do' students with snot nosed hormone driven youngster who don't have a clue It certainly was a lot different in my day

 

[seasoned]

My mom was the oldest of six kids, in a very-very poor family. While both her parents were college educated, grandma was a Wind River Shoshone, and granddad was black, which pretty much meant that in the 30’s there weren’t many jobs for them in Wyoming-grandpa was a coal-miner. It’s from her that I get what some people tell me is a generous nature-she grew up sharing everything, and made sure that my brother and sisters and I did the same, or at least knew how to.

Dad was a different kettle of fish- He was the only child of what could only be called rich people. Grandpa was an Episcopal priest, and grandma was a social worker, and my family had been in shipping from my grandpa’s dad back to before there was a “United States.” The lessons I got from my dad were vastly different-he taught me to play lacrosse, the judo and boxing he’d learned in the Navy, how to navigate from the stars, sail, swim, shoot, fish, hunt, be quiet in the woods, and all about our heritage-a lot of this came after we moved out of the city, and I started to get better, but some, like stories of our ancestors, came while I was in my sickbed.

He also taught me how to cook, keep a clean house, do laundry and sew. Funny story:

Dad made fabulous breakfasts, usually for himself, because, well, as the only child of rich people, he was almost a polar opposite from my mom, and could be a selfish prick. One morning, I was about 8, and I woke up to that bacon smell, went into the kitchen and found dad standing at the counter eating eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast. Of course, I asked him for some…..No, you ugly little bugger. This is mine. Well, where’s mine? I asked…

Pointing with a knife, dad said, Get that potato over there…. and that’s how I learned to cook. :lol:

Once, he was showing me how to mend some pants that I’d split, and I asked him, well, why I had to learn how to sew, of all things, and “keep house.” Dad said that sewing was something all sailors should know, but then he said: You have to learn how to do these things because I don’t want you thinking that’s what a wife is for, and I asked, Well, what’s a wife for, then? Dad said, When you know how to do all these things, you’ll have figured that out… :lol: That was my dad-Russian history professor, Episcopal priest, social worker, prison chaplain, Scoutmaster, boxing coach, and pretty neat guy.

More “dadisms:”

Intelligence is like an expensive pocket watch: you should only take it out to tell the time-anything else is just showing off. (Still don’t have the hang of that one. :lol: )

You can stack an encyclopedia on a donkey’s back, and it’ll still just be a jackass (this on education, from one of the most educated people anyone could ever meet..)

A man has a woman for a companion so he has someone in his life to always be gentle with-even in anger. You can’t always be gentle with your children, friends, or coworkers, or anyone else in life, so you do this for yourself: always be gentle with your wife. (This last has served me well, men)

In my family, though, it’s said that men raise boys, and the boys make men of themselves. On my 16th birthday (having gotten there), dad prepared me a wonderful meal of my choosing. After I’d scarfed it down, off of china I’d never seen before, and they’d all sung happy birthday, had cake and I’d opened gifts, dad presented me with a bankbook, explaining that it was my money, to do with as I chose: go to school, start a business, buy a house. Then he asked me if I’d enjoyed the meal, and of course I had.

Then he smashed my plate in the corner: That was your plate, son. Clean up that mess, get out of my house, and find somewhere else to eat.

Cuffee family ritual: I was off to raise myself.

About ten years later, dad was diagnosed with liver cancer. Doctor told him he had about a month to live, three months tops, and to go home and put his affairs in order. It didn’t exactly work that way: while most people in his situation usually go through the familiar stages of dying, dad skipped right over denial and anger to bargaining and acceptance, and just went about his business.If he ever got depressed, my mom and I never saw it. He got into an experimental treatment program, went on a special diet, and went right on working. He lost weight, of course, and when people commented on it he’d say, Yeah, I’m on that get cancer and die diet… :lol:

Three years later, dad was confined to bed, and pretty much on his way out. At this point I had a wife. and two kids of my own, and a career-I’d raised myself to be a man I hope my dad was proud of, but we didn’t really have much time to talk as peers, the way some of you might get to do with your parents when you become adults and parents yourselves,or may remember doing (funny how parents go from knowing everything, to knowing nothing and back :lol: ) but we crammed quite a bit into the short time we had left. Biggest thing my dad taught me in that time was not to live with regret:

If you regret something, and can do something about it-do something about it, right now. If you can’t do anything about it, let it go, because it’s worse than any cancer-even the one that’s eaten me from 250 to 90 lbs.

Dad died in his sleep, the morning of his 59th birthday. 50 years trying to measure up to that guy, and, if I’m lucky, I figure I’ve come up to about his belly button.:asian:



Thanks for that sentiment, Todd, though there's not much chance of it. I'l take what I get, though.......:asian:

I'm enjoying the readings, thanks for sharing.

 

[elder999]

It's funny how 50 doesn't sound nearly as old as it used to, isn't it?

I was gonna save some of the darker stuff for later, but.....

I can remember when 12 seemed really old. Or 9. By the time I was 11, I'd been poked, prodded, probed, had exploratory surgery on my lungs (as in, Let's open him up and take a look, they used to do that then) been awake and immobile for a lung biopsy, had a fever of 106 and gone into convulsions-had a spinal tap, and spent nearly two years indoors-most of it in bed, taking a variety of noxious rostrums and potions, some of which made me even sicker.....

I can remember thinking I'd never see 15. That was my everyday reality, right up until the last time I saw my pediatrician,who'd been frank about my "chances" since I was 8, and was examining me for boarding school (at 13) and said, wistfully: Do me a favor? Just wait for my family to leave the cemetery before you come dance on my grave? :lol: Poor Dr. Gilbert-like most doctors, he never quite knew what to make of me and my parents. Heck, at 9 I was planning on attending the University of Hawaii for marine biology (that's another story, and a funny one!) not dying-at least, not today.

Remember what it was like to wake up at 3 or 4, take a look at the world for a moment and think something like, Wow! This is reality! What is this?

I still wake up that way. I've been blessed-aware many times early in life that death is (always!!) just around the corner, just underfoot, right there at your shoulder-so I've never lived with the illusion, all too common for men, especially at certain ages, that I'm never going to die, that I'm going to live forever. It's an illusion that may even be necessary for some to get through their daily life, but for me, when you realize how temporary, transient and absolutely ephemeral everything is-including yourself-then you're freed for a true appreciation of how wonderful it is....lots of people say "life is short, " and, perhaps when it's about to end it'll feel that way, but if there's one thing I know it's that life is long-an even better reason not to squander your time. And, in spite of planning otherwise, the reality was and always is that I could go anytime, just as it is for all of you....

I always looked forward to 40-it came in "the year 2000," which seemed so far off to me when I was small.....taking all that into account, I never planned on any of those ages-50 is a complete surprise, and seems old to me.

Heck, it's as old as I've ever been! :lol:

 

[crushing]

It's funny how 50 doesn't sound nearly as old as it used to, isn't it?

I remember back in the day when my mom and I were a generation apart. A couple weeks ago during my son's soccer game she used the phrase "people our age" when talking to me. :jaw-dropping:

Then I thought about it and I am in my 40s and she is only in her 50s; until late September when she goes up a generation on me again. :lol:

 

[elder999]

Anyone remember Jack LaLanne?

Oh, he’s still alive-he’ll be 96 in September, but I guess what I should ask is, does anyone remember his TV show? When I was a kid, he had a show that “housewives” were supposed to exercise a long with. When I was well, Mom and I would exercise with Jack LaLanne-or, at least, Mom would. I remember doing something, but I was like 3…..anyway, he got that show by swimming the length of the Golden Gate one year, then swimming from Alcatraz to Fisherman’s Wharf while handcuffed the next, and setting a record for pushups (1033 in 23 minutes??) and other feats….his show debuted with him performing 1,000 jumping jacks and 1000 pullups (??!!!) in 1 hr. 22 minutes at the age of 44…for his 50th birthday he hasn’t recorded anything special, but for his 60th he swam from Alcatraz handcuffed again, only this time he towed a boat with 1,000 lbs. I’ve never met the man, but he started my interest in exercise, and continues to inspire me-though I can do without his juicer commercials. Some "Lalanneisms":

Anything in life is possible if you make it happen.
Anything in life is possible and you can make it happen.
People don’t die of old age, they die of inactivity
Better to wear out than rust out
If it tastes good, spit it out. (I still don’t pay attention to this last one-neither does he, really: everything from my garden tastes good!)


If you click on his name up there, you can see some of his old TV program,a long list of crazy achievements, as well as the rest of the “Lalanneisms.” 96 years old, 5’5” tall, and still going strong…..


I did meet Joseph Greenstein, the Mighty Atom , though..


Anyone (from back east, anyway) remember The Joe Franklin Show? (Talk about dating yourself! :lol: ) One night, I was about 11 or twelve, I was watching the Joe Franklin Show, and there was this long-haired old man (later found out he was 78) bending horseshoes, twisting rebar, snapping chains, driving nails through boards with his hands, biting through coins, and talking about exercise, nutrition and vaudeville, where he’d apparently made a lot of money before the Depression, performing feats of strength on stage, and doing things like pulling fire engines around the block tied to his hair!


Oh, and he was only 5’2”-hence, the Mighty Atom.


After karate class I was talking about this amazing old guy I’d seen on television, when my teacher, a guard at the prison where my dad worked, said , “would you like to meet him?” As it happened, the Atom had once had a health spa in the Catskills, right next to my teacher’s family-and he was summering in one of the many Jewish bungalow colonies in my area. So I got to meet him….and train with him, a little. He'd been born even more prematurely than I had, only in 1893!


Mr. Greenstein-he was always Mr. Greenstein to me, sometimes Atom, and never “Joe,” no matter how much he asked me tocall him that-found out that swimming underwater was part of my family’s heritage, so he’d throw big painted rocks in the lake for me to retrieve. He had me lift buckets with sand in them with my arms fully extended to the sides, while breathing the way he taught me to-he added a handful of sand each day. He tied a piece of twine around my chest, and had me try to cycle air into my chest with my abdomen to try to break the string, the way he did with a chain.

He taught me how to breathe-and that breathing is everything, that all begins and ends with the breath. I asked him once how long I had to do these exercises and practice my breathing-his answer was simple (and, I later found out, the same one he’d gotten at 14): Forever. And so, I have-I’m an early riser (haven't ya noticed? :lol: ), and I’ll do my calisthenics-every day, and my breathing exercises, using the early morning air outdoors, just as he taught-for 39 years, now. For those of you who do danjun breathing in Korean arts, or ibuki breathing and sanchin kata in Japanese/Okinawan arts, you're a good part of the way there-I'm not even going to bother with those of you doing genuine gung-fu-do these things diligently, and they’ll add to your life-just ask our friend Wes (Seasoned) :wink:


For those of you that don't, yoga would be good, and there's a book put out by the Systema people that's pretty useful on the subject of breathing....

And, yeah, I got to be really strong. I'm not much for bench presses; my arms are too long, so I'll never got past 350lbs. I do push ups, situps and other weight-free exercises like nobody's business, though, and I’ll still bend the occasional horseshoe or piece of rebar for someone when my son asks, and take great delight in swimming long distances underwater, just as my dad and grandfather did, and all the Cuffee men before them, I'm told......


I actually got to see Atom perform a couple of times-he’d regularly bend stuff up for me for amusement, and, in 1977, I got to see the full on showman at Madison Square Garden. He died shortly after that, from stomach cancer-I heard that he’d gotten out of bed from a coma to lift a fellow patient who’d fallenback into bed.


So, the Atom and Jack LaLanne, two powerful small men who taught me that there’s no such thing as a little man, that you can do anything if you put your mind to it, that no one is in control of my health but me,that breathing is everything.

And both men who performed feats of strength well into their eighties, proving that there’s no such thing as an old man, either…..:asian:

 

[elder999]

Well, they rescued Abby Sunderland, the 16 year old that was trying to sail around the world. The Southern Ocean is a freakish place-I was praying hard for that kid......

You learn a lot from sailing-things members of my family are likely to say, like, The stars do not steer our lives, we steer our lives by the stars come directly from sailing. When I was 16, I hired on as a deckhand on a few yachts, while I was between schools and jobs. I'd impressed a few people with my ability, and had some good recommendations and a pretty fair amount of experience, but that didn't forestall people's doubt and surprise at such a young and.....ahem....dark fellow hiring on. THat's kind of what happened in this story, which I wound up writing a poem about, when I was about 35 or so..Everything in it is just as it happened, from me finding the book and the photograph, to the lobsters roasted on the beach and calabash gords rattling.Luperon is now a resort destination, but it was a nowhere place back in '77. It doesn't mention how the skipper blubbered like a baby, and how he wanted to get in the raft, or how he wouldn't let me check those damn hatches before we set sail, and ordered me about like some damned cabin boy until trouble started, when he became all What'll we do?What'll we do?What'll we do??? :lol: Or how, after he got back from Puerta Plata with what he thought we needed to fix the boat, I'd already dived down, fixed the hatch, and pumped the water out..multihiulls: fast, but not necessarily smart.....

Here in Los Alams, we're surrounded by a couple of fires again this summer. We had to evacuate our old house twice, and we're in the flight path for the helicopters fighting the fire, as well as the news copters. Rita-that's the wife-fought forest fires on a helitac (sp?) crew in her adventurous youth, and her ear is still tuned to tell what kind of chopper is approaching by the sound.....she's been bitching about the heat, which is part of the cause of the fires, and hoping for rain, and I've been firing back with my usual family sailor's adage: Don't complain about the weather; it's the only weather you're gonna get. :lol:

Anyway here's the poem-some lessons from my youth and early middle age, about youthful foolishness, and later regrets....

Cleaning the Bookshelves
On the back cover of Henderson the Rain King , I’d scribbled
"Pick up your ticket in the urinal, set sail for Morocco,
visit Rimbaud’s famous pig opera." No wonder my father
told me to stick with engineering, if I was writing such
slippery, arcane footnotes, and telling him I needed more money
for books. But I took my scratchings seriously, told
friends I would curl my lion’s tail around the night’s
disharmonies and wake up with a pair of wings. Mostly,
I propped up a bartender’s elbow in Syosset, stood watch
on the hours between midnight and dawn, waiting to take home
some lost image to help me confront the slumbering seed
of things, or at least that was my line when I grew tired
of hearing that battered green parrot scream"Whack his peepee!"

Every so often, I would like to go back to a
waterfront bar,
try to fix a situation, make an offering of some meager kind
to the places and people that dissolved into watery portraits.
this happened the other day, when, cleaning my bookshelves,
I found a photograph of a Spanish woman I’d met in the islands.

I’d left in a forty-foot trimaran from Georgetown, crossed
the Thorny Path to Hispaniola en route to the Virgins- in March.
The trade winds, so constantly puling from the north, switched
during crossing, and the skipper and I took wind in the teeth.
Our boat blew a hatch on the starboard pontoon, and she started listing,
badly. We radioed into Cuba and the Dominican Republic
but no one, not even the military patrol, would risk coming out
in such high seas. We hobbled toward Puerta Plata. By
dawn we knew it was too far off, so we found on the charts
the port of Luperon, where we had to sail between reefs
to spot the harbor entrance..

Once in the channel’s lee, dark blue water glassed over.
We saw men and women paddling canoes out to greet us.
We were offered bottles of local rum,
a pure blackstrap that hit the throat like a struck match.
We were given horses, and fed lobsters roasted on the beach.
And when the mayor learned I had brought a guitar,
the townspeople gathered in the square to hear me strum
my three good chords.

The women tried to teach us to merengue.
You couldn’t take a shower anywhere, or find a laundry,
but every night, bars were jammed with milky-brown women
in brightly-lit dresses dancing this limping, two-step shuffle
that made my voice play zigzag and bump up against my windpipe.
I couldn’t get the moves right-simple, smooth, like a bolt
of cloth that just kept rolling across the floor.

Inside the cheese-grater rasp and drag of that historical music
I met…this woman, with black-cropped hair, her skin the color
of cinnamon and cocaine. She could have crawled that night
out of an oil drum, or just stepped off the deck of a cruise ship
I couldn’t place her age. She motioned me to dance,
pressed her hips against me, rocking, rotating, nearly percussive

Later, we ate grouper with ginger and coconut, topped
with a scoop of mango sherbet. After we finished a bottle,
she said she needed money, so I gave her a twenty-dollar bill.

When I slept in her tin shack perched on cinder blocks,
I should have found a way to offer more than cash.
I should have written a song, listened to her stories, complaints,
dreams; composed a letter in my scattered Spanish
slipped into one of my empty rum bottles and thrown it
into the sea. I might have helped her stitch mosquito netting
which kept falling around us, or repair the rusted, sagging
corrugated tin roof. She asked for little-I gave less.
My head spun from the dance steps as I listened to the rattling
calabash gourds that hung in bunches from her porch.

 

[elder999]

His name was Robert Hawkins. I’ve had a lot of teachers in my life, and, while I wouldn’t call him the most influential or most impressive, he did have a big influence on me.

He’d gone to the Hotchkiss school, class of ’44, then on to Yale, class of ’48.

Then he’d gone right back to Hotchkiss, where he taught English grammar and composition until the day he died. Looking back, he wasn’t a very nice man, and maybe not even a particularly bright one;it’s always seemed particularly sad to me that, except for his time at Yale, he’d basically spent his entire life in boarding school. He was also what was politely called a “confirmed bachelor” back in the day. In 1973, though, he was my teacher, 1st period English for six days a week. In nearly 30 years of teaching (at that time) he’d never given out a grade higher than a B. We had to turn in a weekly composition-it was those compositions that comprised most of our grade-and we got graded on his (now rather archaic) 68 rules of grammar and punctuation. I say “now rather archaic” because the comma has supplanted the semi-colon in most modern usage guides. The first two rules in Mr. Hawkins’ little rule book (he didn’t actually write it, but I can’t remember the author) read as follows, though:

Mr. Hawkins’ anal retentive, Tony Kehoe go to hell guide on usage:

Rule#1:Two main clauses joined by and, but, for, or, neither, nor or yet: comma.

Rule #2: Two main clauses not joined by and, but, for, or, neither, nor or yet: semi-colon.

Breaking either of these rules in your weekly theme was an automatic failure.

Lots of people failed. Try explaining that to your parents after a lifetime of A’s, though…:lol:

Mr. Hawkins was one of a few teachers who taught me to express myself in my native language, though, and I think he did a pretty good job. I had other teachers who taught me to write creatively, or encouraged my poetry, but it was he who taught me to communicate my thoughts in a way that others could follow. Mr. Hawkins explained that his passion for grammar and punctuation were due to the fact that they were what made written communication intelligible, and that many good ideas might have been lost over the years due to people not knowing or following the rules.

Had one hell of a dust-up with Tony Kehoe about these rules, though-he was using Straus’s blue book, which pretty much eliminates the semi-colon in favor of a comma or period. Alas, poor semi-colon….:lol:

Funny thing about rules: live long enough, and they'll change. :lol:

(For those who didn’t “know” him, Tony is a shorinji kenshi and translator in Japan, and a pretty cool guy, but something of a self-appointed grammar and Japanese usage Nazi who's managed to get himself banned from every forum I've ever known him on-pne of those guys whose online persona is only marginally like what they are in 3D:lol: Guy could go on for pages correcting people for simply saying gi, instead of dogi..)

Mr. Hawkins taught me one other thing. There were two bells at the beginning of class, five minutes apart. Since I was an early riser (still am!) I’d usually get to class before the first bell. My desk was right in front of Mr. Hawkins’, and he’d usually arrive at the first bell, sit down at his desk, and finish the New York Times crossword puzzle before the second bell had rung! Well, I wanted to be able to do the NYT crosswords like that, and started doing them regularly myself. Now, nearly 30 years later…I do them like that :lol:


Oh, and I got a C+ for the year from him.

 

[elder999]

Mr. Hawkins taught me one other thing. There were two bells at the beginning of class, five minutes apart. Since I was an early riser (still am!) I’d usually get to class before the first bell. My desk was right in front of Mr. Hawkins’, and he’d usually arrive at the first bell, sit down at his desk, and finish the New York Times crossword puzzle before the second bell had rung! Well, I wanted to be able to do the NYT crosswords like that, and started doing them regularly myself. Now, nearly 30 years later…I do them like that him.

And it sort of begs the question, How can I do them like that?

Well, there are tricks of course, and a good vocabulary, and that I’ve been doing the damn thing daily for 36 years.

I’m a pretty smart guy. I’ve got a decent I.Q. I’ve worked with some of the smartest people in the world, though, and I’m smart enough to know that I’m not one of them. Hell, sometimes I’m not even the smartest one in the room, let alone the building..:lol:

That includes here on MT, btw…..

Same with athletics, and martial arts-hell, I’m a congenital klutz, really…..:lol:

I got to be good at lacrosse-wanna know how?

When we moved out of the city, my dad and I played catch with lacrosse sticks, starting when I was about 8. When I started to get healthier, I played little league baseball, and sucked so badly that you could hear the groans when I went to bat. I "threw like a girl" for the longest time.
I wasn’t allowed to play football. I couldn’t really run very well. I never got any good at basketball. I could swim well, but that didn't count until later, and I didn't know it until later.By the time I got to middle school, I was one of those guys who always got picked last in gym class. The high school lacrosse coaches started a developmental program for the middle school, though, and my mom-thinking of me playing catch in the backyard with my dad, and never having seen a lacrosse game in her life-signed the permission slip for me. Well, I already knew the fundamentals of catching, carrying, cradling, and throwing, and could actually fire and aim the ball pretty well. For the first time in my life, the coach was saying “Watch the way Cuffee does it…” :lol: (Poor mom, came to see my first game and never came to a lacrosse game again, and I played all the way through college...:lol: )

The difference in all of these, of course, is superior training and experience-whatever talent I may have, I’ve found that of the three, training and experience outweigh talent in almost any endeavor.

I stayed ahead in school-I learned to read at 3, which comes under the heading of “talent,” but I was lucky enough to go to a really good private school early on. Then I got sick, and really couldn’t do much: play with puppets, read, watch JEOPARDY! on television…and schoolwork. My teacher actually made weekly visits to our apartment, and left me schoolwork assignments-with not much else to do, I wound up getting ahead of my classmates, and setting a pattern for the rest of my life. It wasn’t that I was “smarter” than any of them, though I may have been, or had more talent, though I may have; I just didn’t have much else to do, and I enjoyed learning; always have. This, being close to death for parts of two years early in my life, turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise-one of those “when life hands you lemons” situations…..

So, two lessons, Cuffeeisms, if you will:lol: :

Superior training and experience usually outweigh talent

When life hands you lemons, throw them back, and insist on chocolate. :lfao:

There's a lot to be said for knowing when you are the smartest one in the room, though....

 

[elder999]

I always wanted to be a dad. I’m lucky to have been to two wonderful kids-adults, now….

My son Aaron, was horn two months prematurely, just like I was. His mother had gotten very sick, and he was born by caesarean. I was a wreck-worried that my wife would die, and that my son would as well, or at least wind up with the same sort of problems I had. Aaron was tiny, but he was ready to go home in just two days, and his lungs were fine.

We’ve always been really close-as he got older, some people have observed that we were sometimes more like brothers than father and son. When he was little-maybe two-he was playing with his crayons and made the very matter of fact observation that there were “pink people and brown people.” Well, his mom was white, so he had both kinds of people in his life, and never thought much more of it than that, until he recognized that society did, anyway. Later, he started writing poetry-like I do-and I made the observation that by the time he was 18 he’d be a better poet than I’ve ever been, but that he should have something as a back up, because he couldn’t earn a living making poetry:I know I told him,I’ve sold poems, and the most I’ve ever gotten is a lousy $15 and a stack of magazines…. Well, I’d say he surpassed me as a poet by the time he turned 15, and was competing in poetry slams. Shortly after he turned 22, he and the Albuquerque slam team won the world championship. In addition to teaching school, getting ready for law school and teasing me about becoming a grandfather, he and his wife travel around the country performing their poetry for different slam scenes or colleges, where Aaron sells little books of his poetry for $10 each, and often gets paid $400 for a performance of 20 minutes or less…..

….fat lot I know…:lol:

My daughter, Sara, has something of a surprise. Where Aaron is generally calm and cerebral, she’s tempestuous and sensitive-some people might say psychic. While we have fun together, we’ve never gotten along the way Aaron and I have, for a bunch of different reasons-though things were better between us when her mother was alive. She’s always been really good at math and science, and a remarkable jock: Once, her mother called me to the door back in New York in a complete panic, and there was Sara seated on her brother’s bicycle, pushing away at the pedals, riding up our driveway! She had taught herself to ride a bicycle when she was 2! What do we do?, he mother asked…Well, I said,looks like we go to monkey-Wards and buy her a bike. :lol: Colleges were scouting her for their basketball teams when she was still in middle school. She’s just a little bit shorter than I am, and she’s also something of a beauty- I was really looking forward to the whole scary dad thing with her dates…..and my gun collection. :lol:

…fat lot I know :lfao:

Sara and her partner, Shelly, live in Florida now, where she’s doing her internship. She graduated from UNM med school this year. She’s going to be a psychiatrist, so she'll probably be in school for another 10 years-in some sort of feeble attempt at using up all her inheritance before I die. :lol:

Naturally, being the kind of guy I am, I did try to do the whole "scary dad" thing to her dates in high school, but it just seemed to be comical to girls, and made me feel kind of pathetic, really…..though they did always get home on time…..

……hmm. Maybe I am scary…..:lol:

Anyway, for those dads or prospective dads who are reading this, happy Father’s day.

And remember, kids are like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get….:lfao: