It has been a while since the country bumpkin followed me around the Internet and left his dirty digital footprints all over like the bumbling bad guys in a Scooby Doo episode.
Thought I saw him in person and wondered what he would say if I called him by his real name and shared a few thoughts with him.
Had an exchange with a young fool who tried to explain what is or isn’t antisemitic and explained to him I don’t need any help, especially from a clown who isn’t MOT or a scholar who would have expertise in this area.
Went to a meeting and for the first five minutes felt like my brain was stuck in neutral but eventually kicked it into gear.
Colleague said I didn’t sound like a fool and complimented me but I was irked because I felt like I was far too slow in bringing my ‘A’ Game.
Reminded myself so much of this is similar to our interpretation of writing, it is subjective and even when you think you were awesome there are people who wonder if you wear velcro shoes and live in a house that is baby proofed even though you are an adult.
Been immersed in family history and have spent countless hours wandering through tombs and relics.
Made like Indiana Jones and chased down the treasures, found evidence of the destruction the nazis wreaked upon us and smiled when I looked at how many we are now.
We can’t get back those we lost but we can tell the ghosts of Hitler, Eichmann and all of Amalek to suck on rocks because we are here and they aren’t.
It is not as satisfying as I would like it to be but it is not too bad, got to take what we can where we can.
Found myself staring at pictures of family and thinking hard about stories and memories that no others can confirm now.
At least I don’t think there is anyone but there is hope I am incorrect.
So I close my eyes and try to take myself back through the decades into my dad’s car. He is driving grandpa and I to the shvitz and they’re talking about past and present.
I don’t know if they realize I am not sleeping and hear them talk in that tone that adults always do when they don’t want kids to know about something.
The memory is a murmur inside my head, a distant echo from a different world than the one that exists today.
It is mixed with dad asking grandpa if he is ready to go see grandpa. I am around five but I know dad is talking about his grandfather.
So much of this lies just under the surface where I can almost reach it, but not quite. Time to go deep.
I tell a girl it will be the greatest five minutes she ever had and she says that is not particularly inviting or something like that.
I smile and tell her California boys are the best and she rolls her eyes.
“Ok, I’ll leave.”
“No, don’t go.”
“You don’t really want me here.”
“Stop it, you know I do.”
“Ok, just don’t take a swing at me with that giant black purse.”
“She rolls her eyes at me again.”
“You must have been a teenage girl once upon a time, no one is better at rolling their eyes.”
I pause and say “Submit and say please.”
Went deep in a direction that had nothing to do with the family memories thinking I could fool my mind into letting go so that the fragment can break off of the main ice bank it is locked in.
The idea is it will be like an iceberg calving from a glacier but it is not working. I can go back past the point I am trying to reach. Can delve into the caverns of the early seventies but I haven’t found the right door…yet.
Help me Monty Hall, make me an offer and maybe I’ll take what is behind door number 2.
Skipped the gym tonight because my whole body hurts and I think a day of semi rest will help.
Hope the physical is met with some benefit because my mental state is aggravated. I need to sweat and to push the limits.
Aggravated because I can easily fight past the discomfort, but haven’t because I have a sneaking suspicion an almost middle aged man could benefit from a break.
Hit a wall or two today, not literally but mentally and fought to overcome them. Haven’t had a real vacation in years.
But if my plan works as I hope that vacation might be closer than I think…might be.
Might not be too, but we’re moving for maybe.
Stretching myself and heading into the mystery, it is damn awkward and uncomfortable knowing if I fall there is no one to pick me up but me.
But I am used to that and the challenge calls to me.
Stick out one hand and reach for the ledge, maybe I’ll catch it, maybe I’ll be surprised and find someone’s hand in mine.
Or maybe I’ll swing myself up and remember…