I'm sitting in the living room, having just finished sipping a cup of coffee from my favorite mug. It's from South of the Border, and it features various images of the famed tourist trap.
You know a good mug when you find one. It's sized just right. It feels just right.
And I like how it looks. It's often perfect to gaze at with a sense of whimsy for days gone by and hopefully days to come. Dumb as it may seem, there are still people I'd like to take there with the hope that they can see it for what it is, as opposed to being hung up by one thing or another.
Some find it cheesy. Some find it politically incorrect and even offensive, not knowing the backstory. Some get it and find it fun and nostalgic. That's who I want to take there.
Things are quiet. Sean is asleep, not more than 15 feet away in his bedroom. Funny thing about his room. It was last used by my niece and has a border of sunflowers at the top of the yellow walls. He never elected to change anything. We put some pictures up -- baseball images, along with a few signs and other effects. But, in reality, he couldn't care less. His computer is there (it's a laptop but it never leaves his room). He has what he needs.
In the living room, the TV is currently off. I'll resume streaming The Haunting of Hill House after I finish writing. Susan got me into it. I know the book and its author, Shirley Jackson, mean so much to her. I bought her a T-shirt with the cover of the book on it when I was in Boston a few years back. Like me, she looks at interpretations of "sacred" works dimly, but she was overwhelmed by this one. She asked me to watch it and I admit I'm hooked. It's not my genre but the characters and storylines are just great.
The cat -- brat that he is -- is asleep on a mat five feet away. My mother had a thing for area rugs and bath mats that she could make into area rugs. This one used to sit near the microwave. He began tunneling under it so much that I just moved it out here.
My feet are up as I sit on the couch. It's not often that I have these kinds of moments. I just finished listening to a BBC documentary on the George Harrison album All Things Must Pass as it approaches its 50th birthday next week. It may shock you to know that I don't have it or many other Beatles' solo releases. I don't think I'll ever go all-in on that concept. I don't think I need John and Yoko's primal screaming.
It feels like the days of collecting music are over for me. If anything, I find myself pondering selling much of it or even giving it away, as I've put pretty much everything on my computer. I'd keep certain things of importance (The Beatles, Huey Lewis and Billy Joel are probably at the front of the line). Given the days of being in this house are likely dwindling, it's time to think about scaling down.
It's dark and fairly gloomy outside. Showers are expected today and it's pretty chilly. It's a good day for the aforementioned Netflix idea and perhaps downloading All Things Must Pass. I know I probably need a few more Lennon and McCartney releases. Perhaps there's a Ringo one that's worth it also.
And, oh yeah, it's my birthday. I guess that's why I'm struck by the peace of this moment and feeling so pensive. Sadly, this room would have been buzzing with my mother sitting in the chair a few feet away. She would have had the TV on, whose service will soon be turned off in favor of just using whatever streaming I can get access to. I'll keep the internet on and turn the phone number off that has been here since 1963.
There's no point anymore. The phone just gets marketing calls and the TV is mostly quiet since the end of baseball season.
It should be sad to see that empty chair, and it is, but there's also a certain resignation. My father died in that spot (different chair). My mother died there also. I'm not letting that diminish or depress. Just stating a fact. I miss them both. I think they delighted more in birthday celebrations than I did -- and do.
No, if anything, I'm pondering a brighter future. I've got a lot of living left to do. The aching back and knees and shoulder are a fine reminder that we're well into the latter innings but that doesn't mean I won't take each at-bat seriously.
This game still has a lot left in it.
About the only thing missing from this scene is warm weather and a deck to sit on. Oh I have one -- the chairs aren't that comfortable -- but it's only 40 degrees and it's covered. It gets literally no sunlight, even if the sun was out.
So that's minor, and here I sit.
My idea of a celebration is simplistic. Give me my loved ones. I don't need anything big. I need laughter and food. It's Sunday and we're in a pandemic. So, today, Sean and Rascal and I will keep it quiet. Being brutally honest, I'm not even sure if Sean knows that it's my birthday.
And so, to the next chapter. Quoting from George Harrison, in "Beware of Darkness":
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
No hopelessness today. Only gratitude and love for the world I've been a part of, the world that I've created, and those who have surrounded me to share it.
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