Well, Pessi got moved. She is now back in Los Angeles, and Fizzy and I are without our social coordinator. Now it’s up to us to figure out how to have fun on a Friday night. The move went well. It was nice to meet the Fizzies, and they seemed genuinely happy to have me in their home. Fizzy, Pessi, and I spent much of the time playing Chinese Poker, a variation of poker that I’d have to explain in person if you don’t know it. It’s easy to learn, quick to play, fun, and addictive.
I visited my Aunt and Uncle while I was down south. I always marvel at their place; the absolute definition of neat, orderly, tasteful decor. Every square inch of that house is exactly as it should be, always. Aunt Mary is unparalleled in the universe when it comes to house-keeping. Meanwhile, my Uncle Jack, though nearing 80 (Egad!) is the most precise and talented carpenter I’ve ever known. He builds amazing things.
He also served in World War II, and for the first time he shared some tales with me. He was in Europe on D-Day plus 5, initially as an engineer setting up bridges and such as the troops moved, but was soon thrown into the infantry. He marched into Germany with the rest of the liberating Allied Forces. The stories he told, and the entire endeavor, were utterly unfathomable to my modern mind.
This is turning into one of those journal-style posts of which I disapprove. At least some of the other diary blogs I’ve read are filled with heartbreak and despair; I lack the angst I see in so many other posts. Is my life really that much peachier then everyone else’s? I’m certainly happy. My life seems to have all it needs at this point, and regardless, I enjoy the bad as much as the good. Time is short on this earth. Heck, some day I’ll probably wish I could go back and relive even the worst of times, as even those will be better then what’s coming. That was probably the most uplifting thought about pending death ever written. But it’s way true. When I’m 90 and having my heart attack or whatever, won’t I wish I was 20 and stubbing my toe or 25 and barfing sick or whatever. It’s that philosophy that helps me appreciate every second of life, even seconds spent in dentist’s chairs or smacking thumbs with hammers.
I should wrap up soon…don’t want to bore and alienate my readership (all three of you?). I’ve set a precedent of asking a question, a precedent I am questioning, by the way, and so I’ll come up with one. Ideally, the question would relate to the above blog, but bear with me. I’m still semi-new to this medium.
So then, I was talking earlier with Fizzy about something kinda’ fun. Today’s Question: Based on the types of characters they normally play, if a film was made of YOUR life, what actor/actress would play you? I call dibs on Cary Grant, though my reasoning is maybe a bit backward. When I was a child I spent an inordinate amount of time alone, or with my Mom, watching old films. Cary Grant was always my favorite, to the extent that when adults asked me “what do you want to be when you grow up, little man?” my response was always, “Cary Grant.”
As to whether or not I in fact grew into a modern-day incarnation of Mr. Grant I cannot say. If pressed, I’d go with “punk rock Cary Grant for the new century.” Or maybe I flatter myself, and I’m actually a hillbilly Ralph Bellamy?
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