Springsteen is singing Streets Of Philadelphia and I am trying to figure out how we’re a couple of weeks away from the 31st anniversary of my Uncle Mark’s death.
Six months or so before it I sat in a movie theater watching Philadelphia, while I listened to two men softly sob behind me.
I remember wondering how long it would be before the complications that came with him being HIV positive would take him from us.
It feels like a different life because AIDS was a death sentence and you almost never hear it discussed any more.
Thirty-one years later he is gone, grandpa is gone and so is my father leaving me as the oldest Wilner man in my line.
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A few hours ago I got a tip about a more affordable cell service from another former parent blogger and almost picked up the phone to call Dad to share the information.
Technically I asked about it because I was interested for mom and my family but old habits die hard. Mom will be interested in saving money but if the tech is a hassle she’ll be less inclined to bother with it.
Dad wouldn’t have cared, I instinctively started to reach out and then remembered he is a different sort of long distance call.
Twenty Some Years Of Blogging
I had a follow up appointment with my cardiologist on Monday so I could do some lab work because they adjusted my meds.
When I first started pounding the keyboard to post my thoughts on a thing called a blog I was a relatively young father, with one kid and a full head of hair
We had barely begun the second Gulf war and 9-11 was a fresh wound upon the country.
I spent time writing about things my son did and then wrapped my daughter up into some of those tales too. In between I produced some comments upon life, politics and some fiction which if you balance against the last three posts here show some consistency.
Sometimes I read the old stuff and wonder whatever made me think it was worth posting and sometimes I think I was a better writer back then.
Suppose you can say that I am still my biggest critic and I am ok with that.
I am still pulling old posts from other blogs and integrating some of them here while I delete large numbers over there.
Still considering what I want to do as my time and desire for blogging has evolved and changed.
Some of those old posts are pretty good but they are riddled with dead links and I am not sure it makes sense to keep them any more.
It is interesting cruising through the old stuff and getting to revisit moments in time. I was slightly older than 30 when I started and I’m pushing 56 now.
I adjusted what I wrote about the kids long ago because they deserve to have more control over their digital destinies and footprints.
Adjusted some of what I wrote in general because I am not who I once was and am still becoming who I am going to be.
The Kitchen
It was close to 2 AM when he pulled into his driveway. Though the lights were off the interior of the house was illuminated with memories of what once was. Alone in the dark he walked the halls and listened for the voice that he knew wasn’t there any longer.
He walked over to the kitchen and dropped his keys on the island. In the past the counter would have been spotless, wiped down and devoid of dishes, food or bottles, but not now.
This time the sink was filled with empty bottles. A half finished bottle of Scotch lay next to the sink. The silent sentinel bore witness to the grief of a man who couldn’t figure out how to extract the pieces of shrapnel that had exploded around his heart.
Treading softly around the island and its blue pearl granite counters he took the bottle in one hand and with the other touched the dimmer switch and shed a minimal amount of light upon the room.
Moments later he sat down at an Oak table and stared at the three empty chairs where others had once sat. A bowl full of mail lay in the middle of the table. The pile of bills and junk mail was growing steadily day by day.
He took a long swig of the Scotch and looked down at the handwritten note in front of him.
So I kissed you one last time. One final kiss so that we’d never forget. One kiss so that if we ever lost our way we could use it to find our way back.
It was painful to read those words and remember what once was.
Echoes of laughter and love wandered through like the ghost of Christmas past. The sounds of children playing with their mother made an appearance.
Except in this case he always saw her as the girl she once was and the woman she became. He didn’t have to close his eyes to see the smile that she reserved for him or to remember how many other ways the kitchen could be used.
A soft hum emanated from the stainless steel refrigerator and reminded him to grab the remote for the stereo. Two clicks later music wafted through the night air. Softly he sang along with Johnny:
I Fell Into A Burning Ring Of Fire
I Went Down, Down, Down
And The Flames Went Higher
And It Burns, Burns, Burns
The Ring Of Fire
The Ring Of Fire
He closed his eyes again and remembered telling June a story and wondering if she was paying attention to him. So he had walked across the room to the walk-in pantry and discovered her still dressed in work attire but bent over in a way that was anything but business like.
She jumped when he grabbed her hips and in the process sent everything on the third shelf flying. He silently turned on the light, closed the door and began picking things up off of the floor.
When he turned around he found her face inches from his accompanied by a look that suggested he was going to enjoy the moment or potentially live to regret it.
Smiling he looked at her and remarked that he couldn’t imagine living with an ordinary kitchen that didn’t come with a walk in pantry and cook. He supposed that her lips upon his was her way of telling him to be quiet.
The problem with the kitchen was that there wasn’t anything about it that didn’t shout her name. Her absence was palpable and the silence deafening.
A giant wave of pain hit him and he closed his eyes again wondering why heartbreak made his legs hurt so badly. He brought the bottle back to his lips and took a big mouthful of Scotch.
To his right there was a built in wine cooler that sat just below a cabinet filled with hard liquor. Just then another wave of pain hit him and he thought that he could hear someone calling his name. It didn’t make sense to him nor did the rumbling noise that was progressively growing louder.
Suddenly a bright light made him squint and a man’s voice told him to relax. The rumbling noise continued and he remembered there had been an earthquake. He wasn’t sure how long he had been trapped in the rubble or why his legs felt like they were on fire.
So he closed his eyes and remembered their kitchen.
I wrote that piece of fiction 14 years ago but it feels longer. Still owned a house in the Valley and the thought of moving to a different city, let alone a different state seemed unlikely if not impossible.
Fourteen years ago I still had one living grandparent, both of my parents and retirement was so far off it seemed like a dream.
I still received pitches from brands that were focused on young children and I would snort because my youngest was most of the way through elementary school.
Of course back then I could always help with her school work. Now she is a Neuroscience major who is most of the way through her undergrad years and most of her school work is outside of my expertise.
Cellphone Service Providers
It is a little after 11 here in Dallas and I have Quicken open so I can review my bills and look at numbers while I look into moving us to a new cell phone service provider.
Any time I can adjust a fixed cost I smile because those things are harder to do than they once were. But often worth doing because those nickels and dimes add up and though my daughter is most of the way through school it is not all the way.
Tuition, books and housing are still part of the budget, but I can see a day when the payroll is lightened and that is kind of exciting.
Might have to find a celebratory ringtone for when that comes through.
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