4ward @ fifty4 Part II

Papers have been signed, the awkward slow dance of negotiations, more papers to sign. 

The agreement is made. It seems more like a bill of sale than a divorce agreement. I give her a wad of cash and I get the kids, cars, cats, and home. 

As I wait for yet another flight in yet another airport I reflect on how we arrived at this point. Twenty nine years tomorrow we stood at an alter and pledged our undying devotion to each other until death. Of course, as in all marriages, the vows have been bent and broken on both sides. For the most part equal guilt can be assigned to each party. Recently only one party has decided that there will be no attempt at reconciliation. 

It has been a death of sorts, the girl I married has been gone a long time. She grew into a  beautiful, smart, hardworking mother of three and I loved her more than ever. 

Alcohol changes people. Not quickly but over time, months, years, decades.  The changes are almost unnoticeable at first, then as time progresses the changes come quicker. I watched helplessly as my beautiful creative wife became withdrawn, secretive, cold, and increasingly disconnected from the family she was dismissing until she was convinced that her children, home, indeed more than half her life is worth a cash payment.  

Unsure of how to proceed as a single father of three with a full time job (see Forward at FiftyFour at blogspot.com) I knew a few things with a certainty; I will no longer experience every thing alone. I have experienced so many things in my life both while traveling for work and escaping the ravages of alcohol, I want to find someone who shares my interests, and adventure. 

Also, I will no longer avoid 'couples activities'. Suddenly taste of whatever, new restaurants, fall festivals, movies, indeed an entire world of activities are available. Heck, I want to go to the Cow Pie Music Festival with someone! I hope I never have to occupy a couch with a remote as company on a Saturday again.

I would be OK with a couple of possibilities as dates; I have toolbox's full of different tools for different jobs, perhaps the same logic can apply here. Someone who likes motorcycles, another who may like theater, a traveling companion. It seems odd to me, having never dated more than one person at a time before. If God has taught me anything in the past year, the need to move out of my comfort zone is where I will find fulfillment. 

Where to find this mythical partner or partners that we all seem to be searching for. Again, check out my previous blog. I cautiously settled on a couple of Internet sites, free ones of course. I set my search parameters to within a few years of my own age and 25 miles of my location and started reading. 

I will save my specific insights and experiences for another blog. To say I was cautious is an understatement. 

I read possibly hundreds of profiles and predictably the common thread in this age group was history and baggage.  As as well as twenty plus year marriages and phrases like 'no drama', must be active', experience new things, make me laugh, and looking for a best friend, are in some form in almost every profile. I went so far as to read several mens profiles, checking out the competition so to speak. The same applies here. 

Incredibly, we all seem to be looking for the same thing! How to narrow things down a bit? After all, there are like 400+ non smoking singles listed within 25 miles of my location. 

Adjusting search parameters: I have never dated a tall woman, so anyone over, say, 5'8".  Call me shallow but she must be pretty, not overweight, and dress nicely.  (I am surprised at the number of pictures wearing sweatpants and mu-mu's) Oh yeah, another biggie; nondrinker or social drinker! When the search was complete, there were still around 45 possibilities. Also, discard people with phonetic spelling skills, punctuation challenged, missing front  teeth, and anyone from Allegan. (Semi-kidding on that) 

Still too many;

Narrow the search to 20 miles and look north, just because I am very familiar with that area.

Don't take this wrong, I am not looking for anything but company for dinner, a motorcycle ride, to fill an empty evening here and there, attend a festival or art show.  I am, after all, still legally married for the next few months.. I avoided all profiles that were looking for 'serious relationship', marriage, or other 'latch on' phrases. There must be others like me out there.  Right? Just companionship without a bunch of strings?

After reading and re-reading too many profiles, I settled on five possibilities, and ultimately made the decision to contact one. Test the waters so to speak. 

This is where my research stopped and what is best described as panic set in. I needed to write my own profile before being allowed to contact anyone else. Crap, that meant pictures too!

Breath deep, collect yourself, this can't be that difficult. I seem to be able to write about anything, I just need to think like a salesman: accentuate the positive, be truthful, and maybe different enough to set myself apart from the crowd a bit. 

Once again, I need to step out of the comfort zone, I have come to realize it is not so much stepping out as expanding it. Well, I was out of it alrighty! 

I 'free wrote' about five paragraphs for a profile. I trimmed out and corrected until I had a couple of generic "no drama, best friends, just wanna laugh, no addictions, must love motorcycles" paragraphs. 

Pictures. I recycled a few of my RFJ self portraits. 

I 'went live' just before 11:00 pm on a Sunday night. I also messaged the one profile I finally decided on. To say my expectations were low is being generous. This is after all, the Internet; the greatest collection of potential garbage on the computer side of a landfill. Adding to that was the preconceived ideas I previously held about Internet dating; that these were losers who could not find a date the traditional way. When I was faced with the prospect of actually finding one I discovered the big question; what is the traditional way for people my age to meet?

This is all i am prepared to share at this time, more later....maybe. 

Forward at Fifty Four

Nearly twenty nine years ago we said the "I do's" pledging to be there for each other in sickness and health till ..... well you get the picture.
Today we made a tentative verbal agreement to end the marriage uncontested if I buy her a condo and  keep custody of all three kids. Sweet deal if you can get it.
This is not the condo buying experience I had envisioned for myself at this stage in life.

Now the questions begin; namely now what? Followed up with; how does a fifty four year old doughboy with a substantial debt load and three wonderful kids find a female companion in this day and age.
If I were a marketing firm I would start with the positive;

•  I have all my teeth! (at least the ones you can see!)
• I have a good, stable job that does not require asking about the supersizing options. 
• the doughboy look is in; Jimmy Kimmel, Alec Baldwin, Gerard Butler are my proof.
• I still have a choice of haircuts, even if is all white.
• Debt load can be re-financed into a manageable payment schedule. 
• I can be charming as hell if I want to. 
• I am adventurous, and I like to travel. 
• The kids are mostly doing their own things anyway. As long as I throw food in the fridge once in a while and ask if someone needs bail money, I can stay away for weeks at a time. (Kidding)

Where to find someone? This is the really tough part. I refuse to go to bars alone. Only losers, or really, really, lonely people do that. Anyway, finding love in a bar would probably lead to same situation I was just "rescued" from. 

Co-Workers? Where I work, there are four females, all married, and only one my age. It would take a lot of time and charm to pry one of these girls away from their homes. Not to mention the awkward work environment when things go south. 

Church? Difficult for me. I would need to spend a lot of time there, and it really is not an atmosphere conducive to dating. What with all the singing, preaching, and COUPLES, hanging out and talking. Does one just walk around looking at ring fingers, approaching only those with missing jewelry?

"Excuse me, My name is Fred and I am looking for an age appropriate dating experience based on the morning service. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?".

"Oh, I see. You dropped the ring off at the jewelry store Friday morning for repair? Your husband is the police chief and really hates old guys on motorcycles? Thanks for your time...."

Grocery Store Dating; I once overhead a conversation between a couple of bachelors concerning this very topic. They were comparing which nights attracted the most potential dates and what aisles to prowl. I suspect I would stay away from the alcohol, Oreo, and ice cream aisles. Call me shallow, but fat alcoholic chicks are a turn off. So, the fruit and veggie aisle then? Anorexic runners who have a liking for old dough boys?

I have been doing the shopping for me and the kids for over a year. I have gone on almost every night of the week and have yet to find a plethora of age appropriate dating material. And at this point, the only interest you have in common is the need to eat, or at least purchase food in semi uncooked form. The scope of this seems like it would take a lot of luck and a greater amount of time. I only have about 10 good years left.

Marinas? Probably would require owning something like a boat.

Motorcycle Rallys? Again, difficult to pick out the unattached ones. "I see you are not wearing a Property of Shanker patch on your lovely black leather vest. Would you be interested in age appropriate dating questions? Miss, please pull your t-shirt back down. Thank you tho.."  

Craigslist? Puuhhlleese. I may as well drive to Fennville with a wad of cash, stand in the middle of a trailer park and yell "Take my money and give me an STD!"

That pretty much leaves online dating. Ok, I admit, I have been checking it out. The first thing one would notice is the prices, they want to charge for six months or a year at a time. This is serious money, like condo payment type money. 

There are a few free sites, and it seems that the same people are on all the sites, paid or free. 

The profiles of the dateless women on these sites seems to run in a similar vein; 

 "Looking for mr right. I am a no drama girl who loves to hunt, fish, camp, crap in the woods while holding your beer and watching NASCAR.
I would like to meet a kind sensitive man who will treat me like a lady, makes me laugh, is my best friend, will gouge his own eyes out before looking at another woman.
I am height weight proportional compared to say, a beach ball.
I love to dance, unless you don't.
My income is just mostly what is on my Bridge card. This leaves all my time to get you more beer.
I am a non-smoker, but I still have my lighter so I can light yours.
You must have a car, or pickup, because my bus pass just expired and my ex won't let me use his truck anymore on account of the DUI.
I am not in a relationship. That thing with my cousin doesn't really count. Does it?

A.D.D Attack; normal programming will resume soon.

Not too long ago I had to write a manual and instructions for something at work.
My mind was obviously elsewhere after my Saturday night experience.
While proofreading I found this;

blah,  blah, concentration is set manually in the Dosatron unit. When the water supply valve opens, water is forced through the Dosatron filling the main tank. When the tank reaches a preset level, the pump starts

[DaydreamMode/on; CommonSenseMode/off; RandomKeyboardInputRatio/high]

Gawd I feel like a teenager again today.

And Dammit- I want outta here!

 I wanna kidnap you on the back of the bike and go to a carefree place and dance.

I can’t keep my mind on anything for very long.

I am so frikin’ totally distracted!!

Sorry for this completely inappropriate outburst of endorphin induced brain activity leaking onto my keyboard….

Returning;
[BackToNormalMode/On] 

and maintains pressure and flow through the filter and steam heat exchanger. If the rinser is not calling for chemical, the flow is diverted directly[Gawd this is boring $h!t] back to the tank. If it is calling for chemical, it is pumped from the catch pans on the blah, blah, blah.


While I will get bursts of ADD provoked thoughts and occasionally I will hear myself say things, this is the first time it has shown up in print.

Should I be concerned?
[No! Absolutely not! Nothing to see here, Move along and just ignore the purple text!]

Lyrics

How is it that artists can capture the emotions of a so many with a few simple lyrics?
A compilation of several;

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all your tears
And I held your hand through all these years
But you still had All of me
You used to captivate me
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face haunts My once pleasant dreams
Your voice chased away All the sanity in me
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

I've been afraid of changes
'Cause I've built my life around you 
But time makes you bolder 
Children get older 
I'm getting older too 

(Adding my own version here;) 
I will have to make changes
Now I will build a life without you
Time made me bolder
Our children got older
I'm gettin older without you

(And for the next phase:)
I want to make more changes
I want to build a new life with you
Experience made me bolder
All our children are older
I want to get older with you

I tried to kill my pain
But only brought more
So much more
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?
Do you remember me?
Lost for so long
Will you be on the other side
Or will you forget me?
Return to me salvation
(Sometimes) I want to die!!!
My soul cries for deliverance
Will I be denied Christ?

I've been around for you
I've been up and down for you
But I just can't get any relief
I've swallowed my pride for you
I've lived and lied for you
But you still make me feel like a thief
You had me stealin' your love away
'Cause you never give it
Peeling the years away
And we can't relive it
I made you laugh
And you make me cry

You said we'd work it out
You said that you had no doubt
That deep down we were really in love
Oh, but I'm tired of holding on
To a feeling I know is gone
I do believe that I've had enough
I've had enough of the falseness
Of a worn out relation
Enough of the drinking
And the intoleration

I know it hurts to say goodbye
But it's time. 




Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise
Running in the shadows, damn your love , damn your lies
If you dont love me now, you will never love me again. 





I can't erase the stupid things I say.
You're better than me,
I struggle just to find a better way.
So here we are, fighting and trying to hide the scars.

I'll be home tonight, take a breath and softly say goodbye.




Intoxicated eyes, no longer live that life.
You should have learned by now
I need some peace of mind, no fear of what's behind.
You think you've won this fight, you've only lost your mind.
You had to have it all,
Well have you had enough?
You greedy little bastard,
You will get what you deserve.
When all is said and done,
I will be the one to leave you in the misery and hate what you've become.

Hold me down (I will live again)
Hold me down (better in the end)
Hold me down.

For my kids when mom doesn't call;

Oh, why you look so sad? 
Tears are in your eyes 
Come to me now 
Don't be ashamed to cry 
Let me see you through 
'cause I've seen the dark side too 
When the night falls on you 
You don't know what to do 
Nothing you confess 
Could make me love you less 

So if you're mad, get mad 
Don't hold it all inside 
Come on and talk to me now 
Hey, what you got to hide? 
I get angry too 
I'm a lot like you 
When you're standing at the crossroads 
And don't know which path to choose 
Let me come along... even if you're wrong 
When the night falls on you
You're feeling all alone 
You won't be on your own 
I'll stand by you 
Take me in, into your darkest hour 
And I'll never desert you 
I'll stand by you 
Won't let nobody hurt you 

Conformity and Education

On conformity;

The opposite for courage is not cowardice, it is conformity. Even a dead fish can go with the flow.

Jim Hightower

Follow the path of the unsafe, independent thinker. Expose your ideas to the danger of controversy.

 Speak your mind and fear less the label of "crackpot" than the stigma of conformity.

Thomas John Watson, Sr.

And just in time for the school season; 

“Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: 'You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself — educating your own judgments. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being molded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.” 

― Doris Lessing

Memories of Music

Most of my life, as I remember it, is with a musical score in the background.
For example; driving home from work in the late 70's I was stopped at the corner of 136th and Riley when a new song came on the radio. Some unknown band called Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers was introducing a new song called Breakdown. I remember thinking what a stupid name for a band and how this would be a one-hit-wonder and we would never have to suffer the indignity of hearing that name again.

Then the music started and wow, I was floored!.  Real blues base with a rock background and a voice that pulled it all together. I wanted more and I wanted it LOUDER.
I went looking for the album that night with my new girlfriend. We had to drive all the way to Grand Rapids to find it. I had to borrow a few dollars from her so I could get the cassette and the vinyl. I clearly remember the way she smelled, I only vaguely remember her face and not her name. I do remember the way our body's moved in time to the music in the big front seat of that old Thunderbird on the way home. She was curled up next to me, her perfect skin and blond hair gently lit by the dash lights and passing cars. Sometimes I can still smell her when that song comes up on Pandora.

My earliest memories of music were riding in the car with my parents. Dad always had some country station on with his perpetual cigarette spewing smoke and ash all over the car. His window would be open a crack and I would sit in a swirling pool of smoke, cold air, ashes and snow in the back seat of that '66 Mustang. I learned early not to complain; dad would either ignore me or my mother would start yet another fight about his smoking.
Later, I would occasionally ride along with my dad in his plumbing truck. The same country station tuned in on that built in AM radio would compete with the rattling, banging, and clanking of the sundry tools and mysterious metal parts in the back of a plumbers van. He would punch the dash lighter in and turn the volume up while waiting for the lighter to pop.
At that age, I really never heard anything but country. I know it was just noise to me, perhaps my brain was not developed enough to recognize music, maybe country is not really music, whatever it was I never gave it much thought.

Fast forward to the mid 70's. A buddy of mine called late one fall night and excitedly told me to tune into the vast wasteland that was FM radio. FM? I asked. FM is where old church music and orchestras go to die a slow boring death. Nobody listens to FM. Well, nobody under the old age of 30.
Tuning into 96.9 that night opened a whole world of music the likes of which I (and many other kids) had never heard. This was an AOR (Album Oriented Rock) Station.
Life, as I knew it, changed that night. Black Sabbath with a singer named Ozzy, Genesis,  Aerosmith, Jethro Tull, the forbidden Alice Cooper, Buffalo Springfield, the Eagles, all delivered at normal speed, without blabbering idiots or a 22 song playlist repeated every 44 minutes. The deep, dark, smooth as worn leather voice of Doc Whatshisname pulling everything together with history, names and venues. All delivered without interfering with the music. In this place the music was revered, important, the reason for being. The reception in my darkened bedroom with headphones was so clear I could almost smell the smoke on his breath. I felt like an honest to doG music connoisseur.

After high school as I was starting my career, my previously undiagnosed wanderlust flared up.  I bought a 1969 Ford Econoline Van with blacked out windows and a fur lined interior. The pussywagon (my buddy dubbed it) was my first camper. I paid $900 for it, put a top of the line cassette system with Rockford Fosgate speakers totaling almost half of what I paid for the van. And a sleeping bag in the back. My dad just shook his head as he crushed out another cigarette and walked away. My girlfriend and I (different one) packed up and drove to California for a month of Heart, Elton John, Jimmy Buffet, Tom Petty, Aerosmith, REO speedwagon, Steely Dan, Boston, CCR, and many many others. Yeah, we saw some of the country too. When I think of Needles, I think of Boz Skags. Highway 1 or 101 is met with Thin Lizzy and Bob Seger. San Francisco is Forienger and Heart.


Years later while watching the movie The Jerk in the Park Theater with a dark haired girl that looked really good in jeans, I knew exactly how Steve's character felt when his toes started moving to the music. He found music that spoke to the depths of his soul, and touched the inner reaches of his being. This was my WLAV moment in 1974.

The late 70's and early 80's produced a bit of a musical vacuum, Kiss and the hairbands really didn't do much for me. Then AC/DC Back in Black exploded into my life, along with Jeeps, PBR, and some friends I would not allow my kids to hang with. The next few years were Blue Oyster Cult, more AC/DC, the re-discovery of Pink Floyd, the forever irreverent and pissed off Neil Young, George Thoroughgood, Chrissy Hind and the Pretenders, Billy Joel. The weekends full of good party's, bad girlfriends, topless Jeeps, and no cares in the world. The nights of making love by a campfire to the sounds of Becker and Fagan singing Hey Nineteen, Cuarvo Gold, Gaucho, my Rival, Time out of Mind. As we lay nested together in the sleeping bag by the fire Bob Seger would serenade us with Old Time Rock n Roll, we would giggle at NutBush City Limits, and lull off to sleep to Beautiful Loser, and Turn The Page.  The mornings..... Well, some memories should stop with the good stuff.




In the early 80's when Michael Jackson was beating it and Marvin Gaye was Healing it, Billy Idol was screaming about a White Wedding while I got married. Music took much of a back seat during this time of transition from wild man to family man.

I took a job at Haworth in the mid 80's. Musically this time really sucked for me. Music, a loose term, was shoved in over a PA system. Every day we we were force fed a preset station . Country was played every other night (I was working 2nd shift), and top 40 the other nights. While U2 was looking for whatever he lost, Axel Rose was screaming about Children and Jungles, and Labamba was just adding to the noise. Country nights were the worst. The top 40 stations would at least rotate songs every few weeks, the country stations were playing the same old whiny crap my dad listened to while force feeding me second hand smoke and ashes. The few bright spots were the debut music by Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Peter Gabriel, and when Metallica finally realized that 45 minute scream fests were not really talent, and my perennial favorite Tom Petty.

I remember my first purchase of a music CD was Stevie Ray Vaughn's In Step. As brilliant a piece of post recovery, pre-death work as one could hope to leave as a legacy.

When the drinking started, I found myself looking to music to ease the pain; Neal Young offered an angry alternative. Evanescence offered a smooth lyrical salve on the open wounds of living with an alcoholic. I found that revisiting the memories of the music of happier times helped for awhile.  Hurt by NIN and later covered by a dying Johnny Cash addressed addictions directly as did several songs by Nirvana,  Sixx AM, and Pearl Jam. Addictions, it would seem, run deep in the creative community.

s

More recently I have discovered some 90's and early 2000 bands such as Lincoln Park, AudioSlave, Foo Fighters, Tool and Perfect Circle, and one that seems to reflect the angst of a destructing relationship, Breaking Benjamin. They also have the coolest album cover.
Even Eminm has made it onto my playlist.



As the next stage of my life unfolds without my partner of the past 29 years, I am looking forward to what music I will discover as I build another life. Already some new bands are showing up. A lot will depend on the next woman who chooses to share a life with me. I really hope she will be the last one. I hope our playlist will be as varied and full of good memories as my past ones.

The most recent memory was made as we walked arm in arm along the quaint main street of Douglas looking at art, sampling wine, and pondering the gender orientation of the small groups of people we passed. The post labor day weather was perfect in my dockers and short sleeves and her summer dress. The sounds of the previous generation's Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, and Dean Martin followed us up and down the street, always gently greeting us on the side walk as we exited a gallery.
Later in the fading daylight, after having a captivating dinner with an intelligent, beautiful, tall blonde woman in a summer dress, we strolled the streets of Saugatuck exploring the shops, talking, and watching the people. When we entered a shop with music in the background her body would involuntarily start moving to the beat. It was clear she wanted to dance! It wasn't long before we heard the strains of a live blues band wafting it's way down the side walk to lure us in. We followed the beat to the open front door of a decidedly sketchy looking bar with a large bearded 'backwards hat' and heavily tattoo'd bouncer. It was clear that our ID's were not to be checked tonight as he waved us right in.
We occupied a table on the dance floor very near the four piece band. The band was very good, as one would expect even in the off season. I shook off my silly chains of inhibition and joined her on that scarred wooden dance floor.  We danced for hours to covers of Joe Cocker, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Janice Joplin, and many others. I had the best slow dance of life that night, and I can't remember what the song was.
The rain started as we left. We ran hand in hand to the car dodging occasionally under the sporadic awnings and alcoves laughing as we tried to remember where we parked.
This magical night is one I will file away for the rest of my life. The music and the company forced back the rising tide of stress and situational hopelessness for a few hours.
Maybe a 54 year old guy can have fun again...

Blog A Day

I had a big plan of doing a blog a day while I am on vacation.
My only real thought today, other then when is my next nap, is:
Our next president will probably spend a billion dollars of other peoples money to get a job that pays $400,000 dollars a year.

Remember "vote for change?" that is not working out so well either.

The end

My Brooklyn Bathroom

Discomfort rating;

Recently I had to drive from New Jersey to LaGuardia airport. (I didn't make the travel arrangements, a mistake I won't make in the future.) I had all day to make the 54 mile trip. Gertrude Personnaire Sillyvoice, mostly known as GPS, chose a route requiring me to drive into Jersey City across the Pulaski bridge through the Holland tunnel into Manhattan, The Bronx, Brooklyn, possibley Queens, and finally to the airport.

Discomfort Rating:

Somewhere in Jersey City I began to notice that maybe I should think about a bathroom in the next hour or so. I did a mental note of how much I drank recently. Oh Crap! A bottle of water and two coffees in the past three hours!

Not to give away too much information about my bladder functions, but I am usually ok for hours at a time. In May I did 15 hours in the middle seat of a flight from Dubai to Atlanta and only needed to get up once and that was voluntary. In June, I rode 1535 miles in 23.31 hours on a motorcycle stopping only for fuel and timing my bathroom stops with the fuel stops. Suffice it to say that bladder stops are usually not on my radar.

Discomfort rating:

As I was crossing the Polaski bridge (Look at all the WATER), approaching Jersey City things suddenly ramped up, now I was getting decidedly uncomfortable. Not squirming quite yet, but certainly aware of the problem. All the exits in Jersey City had lines of cars leading down from the expressway. The last thing I need now is to get caught in a traffic jam in this condition. Ok, the Holland Tunnel is not too far away, I will find a spot in Manhatten. There has to be a gas station or MCD's along the way. Right?

Holland Tunnel, I hope this is not crowded because I am gonna be in trouble if it is.

Going down into the tunnel was smooth sailing, coming back out was different. Stop and go traffic for the last mile or so until we finally saw light again. Just how deep was the WATER above the tunnel?

Discomfort Rating:

The loop and roads after the exit of the Tunnel was typical big city traffic, waiting for two or three cycles before getting through a light. Left turns done on the red light. Elbowing your way through the throngs of cabs and delivery trucks. Normally I enjoy this sort of thing. Not today. I was on an island surrounded by WATER

As I approached the East river to cross the Williamsburg bridge into Brooklyn, I knew I was in real trouble. I was starting to squirm now. Oh, look, more WATER.  As I am looking for a suitable exit I continue to notice the exit ramps are backed up to the expressway! Doesnt matter any more, I need to take the next one! The next exit is Queen Blvd, I think. I don't care what the name is, I am frantically looking for a gas station. And not seeing any!!WTF? Don't these people buy gas and use bathrooms? Suddenly I remember that Gertrude knows were all the stations are. I punch up service stations and pick the closest one, a BP which is 0.3 miles away. Turn left, up a block then left again, then three blocks then right, then right. How can 0.3 miles have so many stoplights?!

Discomfort Rating;

I could not sit still if I wanted to. Each stoplight is a lifetime of pain as I rock back an forth behind the wheel desperately looking for a secluded tree or bush. Nothing! Nothing but people, fences, buildings and stoplights. 

There it is!! At last, that beautiful green and white BP sign! Only two more stoplights and the second one is green. Salvation at last!

Then,  panic!! As I pull into the lot I realize this is not big enough for a bathroom. This is a one person brick cubical with bullet proof glass and bars on everything. I ask the oriental attendent if there is a bathroom somewhere. In broken english she politely explains, “No bathroom!” I plead a bit and say this is sort of an emergency and where does she go? More emphatically this time she says “No bathroom!”

I am literally hopping around now. I frantically, desperately, look around for anything. Restaurants!! Across the way I see two of them, I can buy lunch and leave it if I have to. I get in the car and race out into the street without stopping. The resturants are both closed, of course it is only 10:30 am.

Shit!! Now what? I am physically pinching it off now. I try not to race as I drive up and down sides streets looking for a ball field, cemetary, inviting bush, anything!

Defcon 5

!

All reason and sanity are slipping away now. My entire world is centered around a bladder that wants to explode inside my body. My motions are becoming frantic, judgement has packed up and left the building, modesty was not far behind. What kept me from stopping in the middle of the street was the numerous police cars I kept seeing. The thought of spending any time at all in a holding cell was enough to keep a small amount of dignity.

Look, a driveway without a car or a gate. There are a few bushes around back, it looks hidden from view!

I pulled into the driveway and looked at the concrete slab that was their yard. The bushes were growing out of the sidewalk.

In a burst of inspiration I grabbed an empty Taco Bell cup out of the back seat, ripped the cover off and flung it into the back seat. I ambled into the extremely tiny back porch area noting, thankfully, that there was stuff back there. I really dont remember much of what was back there, but it was blocking the neighbors view quite well.

I unzipped and frantically rooted around trying to get “it” out.

I have been living with “it” for all my life. Used mostly for utility and sometimes for fun, “it” has never refused to come out. (Maybe on that day we went swimming in Lake Superior, but normally this is not an issue.)

Ultimately “it” did come out, and I started to fill a Taco Bell cup. 

The relief was unbelievable, ecstatic, bliss, fantastic! I started to worry when the cup was like ¾ full and there was no sign of slowing down! I started to look around for another suitable container; a few flower pots, a bag of something, rolled up carpet, nothing acceptable. I finally shut it down at about 7/8 full. There was a bit left, but I would survive to find another bathroom.

Comfort level and dropping

I can't get my  damp zipper back up with one hand so I balanced the cup on top of a plastic garden shed, the kind one would buy at Lowe's or Home Depot. The roof is not quite flat so I spend a few seconds balancing it.

As I slowly become aware of my surroundings again, I noticed another small oriental women from across the street moving toward my car with a curious/concerned look on her face. I notice my car is not parked completely in the driveway as the back wheels are on the sidewalk and the bumper is out in the road.

Also, this not a neighborhood where new rental cars are commonly seen. Or large white guys skulking around behind buildings.

Comfort level:

Where are my keys? I start looking for them, found in back pocket. Okay, not locked in car, whew! 

Oriental lady is advancing across the narrow street now, I need to move fast and not attract attention. At least not be memorable. Keeping my head down as if studying my phone and trying to look puzzled, I get in the car, back out, and put distance between me and this neighborhood.

Not long and I was back on the expressway heading towards the airport.

About that time I remembered the Taco Bell cup. I left it setting on top of a sketchy looking LowesDepot garden shed. The first hint of a bump and 23 ½ ounces of urine would be pouring onto someone.

I considered going back, I really did. I don't think I could find the place again. When I returned home I failed to find the BP station on Google Earth, it took me a long time just to find the exit.

In closing, I really don't know what to say. My dad would have shrugged and said, “you should have planned better.” He is correct, there were maybe other options that day. I did what seemed right for me at the time.

Deliberate Heros

We all hear about heroes on the news and in the papers and interwebby thing.

In my opinion there are two types of heroes; accidental and deliberate.

An accidental hero is the soldier who dives on a grenade saving his buddies, or does something other than run, gets shot in a firefight, is lucky enough to survive and save a few other guys along the way. These are heroes who do not have time to think about the consequences of their actions, they did what seemed right in the moment and succeeded at it.

The 9-11 firefighters are another form of accidental hero, they fell back on their training and never gave a second thought to running into a burning building. It is what they do, their job. They go through training and they fall back on procedures when things get stressful.

A deliberate hero takes another form. It could be the 9-11 firefighter who narrowley got out of the building, lost comrades and friends, and still chooses to go into burning buildings.

A deliberate hero is someone who has time to know the consequences, has other choices, and continues to follow the path even if it is dangerous or unhealthy. 

A less publicized deliberate hero is a found everywhere, a parent or a spouse taking care of a sick loved one when the outcome is uncertain. Someone who hates their job but continues to go anyway because it is the right thing to do and job choices are limited, he or she stays year after miserable year. The person who has to leave his kids and travel for work knowing the other parent is unfit. They have choices, some will say you do it for love or duty or other reasons. Regardless of the reasons, informed choices are made, and these are deliberate heroes. 

For those that don't know, I have been to Saudi Arabia three times now. It was never on my shortlist of places I wanted to see, not even last on any list I may have had. Each time I go, I hope it is my last.

Saudi is a dictatorship, they call it a Kingdom. They are the same thing; one person decides what is right or wrong for all the other people. Good and bad people have held both roles in history and our perception of a King is usually better than our perception of a dictator, mostly because dictators are the result of a coup and Kings are born into the office.

Saudi is a Kingdom/Dictatorship because Abdul-Aziz bin Saud took over his family's ancestral home in 1902 and basically took over the rest of the region in following years and by 1932 the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was formalized.  Saudi was one of the poorest nations on earth until oil was discovered in 1938. Since then it has become one of the richest countries and as a result, it seems a few family squabbles. At any rate, what is important for this blog, is the infrastructure of the country. 

Not many true Saudi's seem to work for a living. Most of that is left to contractors imported from other countries. 

There is a very real racial stratification of labor in the plants I have worked in. I am not going to go into details, suffice it to say that job descriptions are tied to the country or race one belongs to. Even living arrangements are racially motivated. 

Coming back around to the title of this blog, many of the people I have met in the bottling plants are deliberate heros; they choose to live and work in a different country so their families can have a better life. 

Some of the stuff they have to deal with; 

• Only allowed to go home once a year, after the initial two year stint. 
• they surrender their passports to the company
• depending on the position in the plant between 2 to 6 guys share a dorm
• Work six 12 hours days each week, often seven
• twice a week they are allowed to ride the bus into town
• Cooking is not allowed, they are fed in the commissary each day. (Think school lunch for three meals a day, every day) I was allowed to eat the good food, and couldn't wait to eat somewhere else after about 4 days. 
• Unless they are a particular sect of Muslim, they are not allowed to practice their own religion. 
• There is internet access, strictly controlled and monitored by the Mutaween (Religious police)
• No gambling allowed
• No Alcohol
• No Women
• No Children
• when working in the plant, they have one job. That is all they do. No job trading or safety committees. No concern for repetitive motion injuries. No unions or any kind of representation. 
• If you break your contract and want to go home...well lets not go there. 

They all say the first two years are the hardest. One of the electricians I talked to got tears in his eyes when I asked about his family. He is in the fourteenth month of his first two years and has a 4 and 8 year old at home. Because he works there, his kids can go to school, his family can live in a nice apartment. Without this job, he would not have work. 

Bachelor Housing is for the guys working in the plant and on the farms. 

The managers can choose to live here, or off compound. Most choose this because it is safer. My "villa" is on the right.

Below is a picture of several of the employees. The white shirts are machine operators, very sought after jobs given mostly to Phillipinos. They also get most of the maintenance jobs.

The blue shirts move product, think pallet jack not hilo or fork truck. They wheel around half ton crates of milk every few minutes. Do Not get in the way! The guys in the picture are Egyptian and Pakistani.

The guy kneeling in front is one of the few Saudi's that work. He is very friendly and always has a smile on his face. 

The white guy is an Australian. He lives in Thailand and works in India and Saudi.

These guys are true, deliberate heroes, They sacrifice their lives in this place so their families can live better back home. The guy on the extreme left side of the picture has been there over 15 years and has 4 children at home. (spaced about a year apart, no doubt). Most of the operators have at least 15 years, one of the guys not pictured here has over 25 years in. 

As an American, I cannot imagine having to make choices like this.