I used to call these “things” epiphanies. I don’t any more. I use the term “connecting the dots”. It seems to me that one could have only so many epiphanies in life, certainly no more than a handful. AND there was really no way, in my mind, to language around theIr magnitude. Large epiphany? Relatively unimportant epiphany? It just doesn’t work for me. With connecting the dots, there can be multiple dots. There can be large dots and small dots. There can be a small distance between or the smallest distance. THIS IS HOW MY CRAZY, ORGANIZED, CHAOTIC MIND WORKS.

Dad retired at 51 before FIRE was even a thing. AND, from my vantage point, he began his march toward death. Sometimes there were uphills and sometimes down. And make no mistake, it was a straight line. Physically he started to erode. Mentally, he was a finished product that only thought in ways that appeared selfish and focused on his comfort and pleasure. Rereading this sounds really harsh. I suppose it is, AND my ability to express his teachings would make him proud. To this day his approach to life from 51 to nearly 88 is with me and forms my very essence.

Mom was 48 when Dad retired. I was finally finding my way in life as a 24 year old that would graduate from Chico State at 25. I have such vivid memories of those days. If I can be allowed the latitude to use a bicycle as the vehicle that takes you through life, Chico State is a hub at the center of one of the wheels. The cycle surely isn’t a unicycle. It is at least a bicycle (2nd hub being “family”) and possibly a tricycle or even . . . One of the cherished memories of that time is a moment when Mom came to visit me to talk. Up to that point I had always called Mom and asked if I could come home for a short visit. She ALWAYS said yes. And I believe Mom always knew, in that way parents know, that I needed something. She had the patience of Jobe in those moments. I really hadn’t a clue why Mom wanted to visit. I just trusted her and always looked forward to our time together. And while the specifics of our discussion are not the point, I will say Mom was struggling AND wanted, no needed to talk and work it out in the way we always did. SHE ASKED ME!

To simplify things beyond reason, while Dad was devolving, Mom was evolving. It has taken me a long time to appreciate Dad for what he gave me. Believe me, my emotions over the years has swung wildly. I currently believe a gift they gave me was them in contrast to each other. Their relationship was complicated AND THROUGH IT THEY ALWAYS LOVED EACH OTHER.

I STRIVE TO EVOLVE.

Coming to NOLA I was so curious and excited to explore and that included doing something JDT and I love to do, EAT! I really wanted to explore from fine ding to truly hole in the wall dives. From traditional NOLA fare to the edges of other cuisines. From the well established to the new and daring. AND to a large degree we have been wildly successful. We remarked to each other that we had cooked very little while in NOLA. This is crazy different to our experience in Brooklyn. This is 180 degrees polar opposite to our life in Walnut Creek.

Last night we dined at (another) NOLA institution, Irene’s. I have dined there three times over the many years and frankly always left underwhelmed. Yes, the food was good, even very good in some items. Yet underwhelmed. Over the years they have changed locations, not unusual for NOLA. I’d never been to their new location on Bienville between Decatur and Chartres. It certainly is an upgrade to the whole experience. Upon arrival we were seated in one of the dining rooms next to the back patio. We tend to dine early. If you must, call it a late lunch. We got there right at 5. The only other people in the area were a young woman and what seemed to be her young (5ish) daughter. Our waiter came up, introduced himself (Michael) and did an excellent job of setting the tone for a wonderful great experience to follow. We ordered cocktails (hmmm, maybe this contributes to my dizziness – damn!). The young woman and daughter (?) proceeded to get up and leave. JDT then asked the young woman a question as they walked by, “Is she 5 or 6?” She responded “6”. JDT then said “I could tell, I taught first grade for a LONG time”. The young woman took a couple steps further, then handed JDT a piece of paper and asked her a question about some vocabulary “they” were working on when we arrived. As all of this was happening the waiter reappeared. And what we learned, in a matter of two minutes, was that he was a single Dad (HIS daughter) and that this must be his girlfriend (learned this when he said love you to THEM as they left). JDT’s simple two sentence “investment of herself” led to us getting to know Michael over the course of the evening. I learned a TON. AND he helped me figure something out and gain a new perspective. I, and perhaps we, take for granted the many bounties of Walnut Creek and the Bay Area. Among those is something I had never really thought about, or considered, regarding dining. We got to the final stages of our meal and Michael asked us about dessert. Our pat answer is, “It doesn’t hurt to look”. Michael told us there was no dessert menu, that he would tell us the dessert options. BTW, I really like this. It creates communication. After we went through the “all too familiar”, even cliche desserts. My frustration emerged and I said, “why no seasonality, or freshness to what appeared to me common dessert list among all fine dining in NOLA?” And his answer was the prize. He had learned we were from the Bay Area (short conversation about Cioppino) and he said the Bay Area restaurant scene had evolved to that state and that NOLA lagged in that area.

I’ve “stolen” the above from John T. Edge. Stealing is one of my best, most creative attributes. John T. Edge is an educator, a learner, a lifelong seeker of meaning. I was introduced to him watching his wonderful show – True South. He is the personality of the show. The host. The narrator. The guide. The storyteller. The revealer of meaning. A model for everything I strive to be. And, I get the sense he struggles as much as me. Or I could just be imagining.

My wife Joyce bought me a book on one of her many adventures out while we were living in New Orleans, LA. Living isn’t really the right word. Neither is residing. The former is too committal to what we were doing. The latter is too antiseptic. More on this to come in the book that follows. The book Joyce gave me is The Potlikker Papers by John T. Edge. He tells the “story” of the recent (past 60 or so years) past of The South. While I use punctuation and capitalization loosely, the capital T and capital S are intentional here to express a sentiment. I absolutely love the way True South and The Potlikker Papers are structured. It wonderfully supports his essence as a story teller. And using my brilliance as a thief, I have stolen its essence and made it mine. John T. – sorry and thank You!

Forwards to books are interestingly positioned in the structure of a book. Our western culture teaches us to go front to back and left to right and top to bottom. Forwards are almost always written by “another” that usually has some sort of insight into the author and the content of the book to follow. For reasons you would discover reading the book John T. departs this convention. I again steal. And frankly do it as I lack such a person. I also sense that forwards, while located toward the very beginning of books, usually are written with a book mostly, if not entirely, completed. I am who I am, so I am writing this at the other end of the book process. I am writing this without a single word of the book written. I have but a concept. My aim? To tell my story. I feel compelled to share as fully as my impervious (in the worst of ways) soul will allow.

I am writing the “forward” over several sessions. It is truly a look “forward” as I stated above: it is my first writing. It has been a few days since the last session. And my Mom passed during that time. As I work my way through the waves of sadness, I feel compelled to come back here. To write. To emote. To connect to those best inner parts of me. AND that is the intersection of my Mom and this writing. Mom nourished every ounce of what is good in me when others condemned. She prodded me when I needed a swift kick in the ass. Mom sought my council when I, myself, felt so unworthy of providing. AND she was the most selfless person I have ever been close. I stand on Mom’s incredibly broad shoulders of her 5’3″ 105 lb. body.

My simple promise – do every thing in my soul to make Mom proud. And as Yoda said, and I paraphrase, “There is no try, there is only do or do not!”

What a week.

Aging sucks and yet it’s much better than the alternative…at least so they say.

One day this week I got a call telling me that my 95 and 3/4 year old mom is starting to slip. Sheesh. Given her age…what would we expect? And yet…So I went into hyper-drive making arrangements for more care, making arrangements for handling her post-passing needs (I know…I can’t make myself call that what it is…I’ll just say…Forest Lawn…nuff said), and talking with my sister multiple times a day. Don’t you all cope that way…going into hyper-drive?

Then we got a call that Glen’s mom was likely in her last days/weeks. She had stopped eating and wouldn’t take her medicines. We respect that. She wanted to be in control of her own life. Wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you?

Then last night, as the Warriors were kicking The Mavs butts, we got the call. Glen’s mom, Joyce had passed. (See previous post to explain that coincidence of names.) She had passed peacefully and his brother and sister-in-law were there. What a blessing.

So now, here in New Orleans, we process what all of this means. Glen has “lost” both of his parents. My dad passed a few years ago and my mom is definitely failing. Somehow we are becoming the “senior” generation. I’m not ready for that. I don’t even know what that means.

I do know that my favorite movie, The Lion King (the only movie I saw more than once in a theater and I saw it five times!) still sings in my head…yep…The Circle of Life. It’s real and it’s happening.

In 1983, while at The Bear in Chico, I met Glen’s friend Russell. I was there with Glen whom I had only recently met through our mutual friend, Pete. Russell was a friend of Glen’s from college and like Glen, he was in town to visit and though Glen was there to visit me, Russell was there to reconnect with friends and the Chico scene. While hanging out at the bar, I was introduced to Russell and his reaction was memorable. because when he heard my name, he said, “Joyce? Well Glen definitely has a ‘mother’ thing.”

You see, Glen’s mom’s name is Joyce. And yes, he definitely had a “mother” thing because his mom was just the best. From the beginning, I loved her. She was welcoming, comforting, loving, and open. She teased me about “my” name and we went round and round trying to figure out how to differentiate between the “Joyces”. Old Joyce and Young Joyce? Nah. Big Joyce and Little Joyce? Nope. Joyce 1 and Joyce 2. Uh uh. Mature Joyce and Immature Joyce. Definite no. So how did we resolve this conundrum? We solved it by just being “Joyce”. It was for others to figure out. We were fine with our name and we loved each other…maybe even a little more because of our name connection.

And while I”m thinking about her tonight, after hearing about her passing I’m thinking…her gift to me was loving me for who I am, for loving our kids for who they are, and for loving her son, unconditionally, for who he is. Thank you, Joyce. My heart aches to know that I’ll only know your smile and embrace through my memories. And my heart sings because I’ve known your smile, your love and your grace. You gave us all the gift of you and your love. Rest in peace. Rest in love.

Tagalong by GAT –

YES, I have a mother thing. AND while at one time I was self conscious or even a little embarrassed by that fact, today I am incredibly proud to have been and always be a “mommas boy”. FOREVER!

AND the greatest gift ever? I realized today that I will quite likely never breathe a breath without a Joyce in my Life.

LUCKIEST MAN EVER!

This morning, I set on my wandering, AND just wandered emotionally . . . at least a bit.

The remnants of my fall of two days ago remains as a bothersome left hip. It is getting better. And is a stark reminder that, often, life evolves incrementally.

The title of this post is derived from Bonnie, she of our dear friends Todd & Bonnie. Todd and Bonnie love each other thoroughly. Yet they are incredibly different from each other. Todd is an analytical thinker, a scientist (PhD in chemistry from Cal) and (to me) represents everything in the scientist thought process. Bonnie, is every wonderful thing scientists are not. Pre pandemic we would go out dinner with them at least every four weeks. And when they were the drivers on our outings, it was ALWAYS Bonnie that was the driver. I won’t delve into why this is, let’s just say it is what it is. Directions are not Bonnie’s thing. AND over time, I came to recognize Bonnie’s use of the phrase “this way or that”. AND it was Todd and Bonnie speak for left turn or right turn. It was, and is with wonder that I observed them so effectively communicating.

I don’t know how to say this, other than just saying it. My Mom passed yesterday early evening. My brother Mike and his wonderful wife Angie were with her as she passed peacefully. I learned of this while watching the Warriors game via text. It is the most common way Mike, Steve and I communicate. AND as has become my tendency, I went to bed at halftime. This time with a more complicated intent. Certainly I have my Warrior “issues”. These took a background last evening. I read for a bit then laid quietly and asked my inner self to “be with” Mom while I slept.

I woke this morning with some sadness, AND also a clearness. It was early – 4:00 hour. I had my coffee. In the best of Thomas ways I thought of the things to do (call financial advisor, tell Linda (cousin on Dad’s side of family), ask Mike and Steve if I could text Sue (sister – it’s complicated), etc. AND with my mind cleared of this “stuff”, I set out on my wander. And wander I did. During my “best” wanders my mind races while my body ambles. This morning it was a combination of amble, pain, amble and more pain. I always make a conscious decision as I head out with a direction, a target, in mind. And this morning I just ambled. AND then the above title of this post popped into my head. This will be what I call my wanders. It is so clear to me it represents where I “am”. I think I may have the name of my “book”.

AND all of this brings me back to Mom. Boy how I love her and like her. She gave me all of the best parts of me. She nurtured me when others saw and punished me for failure. She prodded me when I needed a swift kick in the ass. She sought my council when I, myself, felt so unworthy of providing. AND she was the most selfless person I have ever been close. I’ve included three photos. They all take me back to Mom. The photo of my family in late 1964 or early 1965. Mom was the “rock” of our family. The one that allowed each of us to “be selfish” and come what we became. The second is of me as a new father with Niels. It might be second most favorite photo ever of Niels. Mom taught me every good trait I have as a Man and as a Father. The last is one of me (along with buddies Mike and Barry) as we pose on the “Diving Board” at the peak of Half Dome. I am standing on my Mom’s shoulders.

I HOPE TO SPEND THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF TIME TODAY REFLECTING AND LIVING – THAT IS WHAT MOM WOULD EXPECT OF ME!

Sergio Leone’s wonderful movies, often containing a young Clint Eastwood we couldn’t take our eyes off, were made of a simple elegance. At least on the surface.

Heading to NOLA I know it was my intent, and I believe JDT shared for her own reasons, to “prove” to myself I could participate in living how we want to live going forward. Surely this would include, or even require, compromise by JDT of her burning desire to adventure at 100 MPH. And it would require me to push myself “enough” in order for us to achieve the desired stasis. AND THEN LIFE HAPPENS.

Day 38 (of 51) and it was progressing swimmingly. We both had our separate outings yesterday morning in which we both achieved deep satisfaction. I came back from mine, prepped a little for three separate work “calls” and started down a new exciting path (more on that in the future if I have the courage). We had lunch at a new place to us – Herbsaint. It is top three in our fine dining lunch “category” (Atchafalaya, Clancy’s, Herbsaint – in no particular order). And we Ubered back. AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

I’m OK. I really am. Yes, a bit embarrassed. A bit scraped, bruised and quite sore. Upon arriving at 913 Governor Nichols Street I got out of the car. I felt dizziness coming on as the driver pulled away. I “drunk walked” toward the curb and fence beyond to steady myself . . . and I went black. No, I did not lose consciousness. The world just goes black to me when my blood pressure is so low it does not reach my brain. JDT tells me I nearly got to the “steady” state when I crumbled into the fence and sidewalk. I laid down on the sidewalk as cars drove by and people stared. I gathered myself enough to get up with JDT’s assistance. I made my way to the couch. I’M OK, I REALLY AM!

If it were me, I would re-write the above title to the movie as The Good (And Mostly Beautiful) & The (Sometimes Really) Ugly. And we all know I tend to use more words than necessary. I don’t believe in the concept of bad. Notice the omission? Not my nature. How can anything so wonderful as life be labeled Bad? AND this is my approach to the above episode and life in general. What is important to me is that I use this to assist in navigating our adventures. It could only be bad if I let it somehow curtail our efforts. Our struggle. AND I WILL NOT LET THAT THOUGHT PROCESS PREVAIL.

So, why the title? I’ll spend the next several paragraphs exploring the reason. Reason? Nope, not close. Thoughts? Sure, but still mostly off target. Explanation? Maybe, but really there is no explaining my mind, just wonderment. Purpose, again very close, and really pompous. So, maybe I’ll discover “it” as I write this post. After all. I come to these posts with a thought AND just riff.

I have written about my upbringing in a family that communicated through conflict. This is really uncomfortable for most sane people to experience. It sure is for JDT, Niels and Blair. For example, I can just imagine my kids reading the title, and at best rolling their eyes and saying “Dad . . . ” And at worst just shutting down. In my earlier, angrier, much less mature days this was mostly about me and somehow satisfying my big E Ego. Yet, there was always something lurking in there that made me hang on to this habit for practically my entire life. Apathy! It is what I consider one side of the coin that has passion on the flip side. Or on a spectrum of “caring”, these two words fall at opposite extreme ends. LIFE IS TOO PRECIOUS TO GO THROUGH IN A STATE OF APATHY. At least this is how I see things.

I have “wanted” to write for the last 13ish years. It began with my love to tell my story of my journey with cancer. You know I believe it to be a wonderful gift, just never one I EVER want to receive again. NEVER! I’ve talked with many friends about this desire and they have provided wonderful encouragement. Some of them have told “their story”. In one very specific case it has rocked (in the best way possible) the foundation of his world. I look on in wonder. Yet something has kept me from writing. Is this writer’s block? I have never been a writer, so that isn’t possible. Now? Something has changed. I head out on my morning wanderings with a few things pretty much guaranteed. I’m in a mental fog (the fog helps me escape of “reasons not to” and “just do it”). I’m feeling low energy / high caffeine. I’m worried about my body; my neck / back; my dizziness. As the wandering progresses my internal voices carry on a dialogue that my inner self takes and screams – you NEED to write. Ah, that is it. MY WANT HAS EVOLVED TO NEED. And like all true needs, without them we suffer a compromised life.

Scott Kelley is Jim Kelley’s oldest son. He is also a dear friend, and in many ways has been a spiritual savant to me over the last several years. I think JDT has talked about Scott and his Green Man walks. Scott uses these wanderings while in San Francisco on work (week long stays as he lives in Montana) to push himself to walk into the unknown; to satisfy a sense of wonder; to discover the new.

My version of Scott’s Green Man walks (I don’t have a name yet) with similar intent is to find smaller one way streets that I can walk against traffic. I do this for a variety of reasons. My earliest days of recovery from my battle with cancer were spent with another dear friend at my side – Mike Quillin. I will never, EVER forget our first walk (likely in late 2008 after treatment ended) in the Walnut Creek Open Space. I think it may have been 300 to 400 yards. Maybe. Early on, he was so patient with me. Mike and I spent the next 8ish years “walking” together. We walked through Mike’s struggle to overcome disease and glimpses at his mortality. We walked through Mike’s hip replacement. We walked through it all! AND walk we did! We walked nearly all of the most iconic Bay Area trails (there are many!). It expanded out of the Bay Area to Yosemite (including a midnight Half Dome adventure I will remember to my grave) and into national parks in Utah, Nevada and Arizona (yes, the Grand Canyon). You learn things and create a deep appreciation during such adventures. AND a couple of the things Mike taught me was “don’t just look down at the top of your shoes” and a deep desire to explore the personally unexplored. We don’t walk much anymore. Mike has gone forward and has nearly completed the PCT. I’m learning to live through Mike’s journey and somehow know that a piece of me contributed to a piece of him. My practical reason for choosing small one-way streets. So I do not have to look at my feet when I walk. Sidewalks here are an adventure. I find I need to look down while I walk. This is terrible for my posture and contributes significantly to neck / back pain. So, while Mike’s reason for “don’t just look down down at the top of your shoes” advice was about so much more than safety, I find it is often a health and safety tactic. I walk on the street (it’s OK, it is completely normal in NOLA) facing oncoming traffic (the pedestrian / driver thing in NOLA is a thing with which I struggle). This also feeds my deep desire to confront life head on. AND the curious thing? While I am learning to accept my physical limitations, my desire for the mental impact and import of walking is, if anything higher today than it has ever been.

My new morning wanderings have to this point started with either a left turn or a right turn. I would never go backward. First, I don’t know what that means, and even if I did it is not how I see life. JDT and I were talking last night. She was telling me about her two or three walks that day. She mentioned across Governor Nichols Street. I said I hadn’t gone that way. It meant “going straight” out the door. I rarely think of that as an option, especially in life. Going straight, which I internally translate to “staying the course” somehow seems uninspiring. It somehow seems boring. IT SOMEHOW SEEMS TO BE COUNTER-EVOLUTIONAL.

GOING STRAIGHT IS WONDERFUL.

Just wow.

Glen and I returned to Molly’s Rise and Shine for breakfast this morning. It’s a ways out Magazine toward the Garden District in a nice little neighborhood. It’s a definite Uber ride for us to get there. Glen loves their biscuits and gravy; I love their fried chicken biscuit sandwich. Whew. Today it was spicy.

Our outgoing Uber driver was talkative and interesting. He’s from Florida and retired from the Navy. (Another side-hustler.) BUT OUR RETURN UBER DRIVER WAS A STORY UNTO ITSELF!

We get into the small Nissan Versa and before we were half a block away, our middle-aged driver said that he had just “met his daughter”. Hmm…He told us that his wife had died and a year later he spent a short time with a woman. They both agreed to go their separate ways. What he didn’t know was that she was pregnant.

So wiping his eyes, he continued to tell us that this morning, he had picked up a female rider before us. As she got in the back seat of his car, she said that he looked familiar and he replied that she looked familiar, too. Somehow they sorted out that she was his daughter. Her mother had died in childbirth and she was raised by her two aunties. It turns out that her mother was the woman he had had a short relationship with so many years ago. He never knew that the woman was pregnant or that she had died. He definitely never knew that he was a father for a second time. (He has a daughter by his deceased wife.)

We traveled through the streets of New Orleans listening to this man pour out his heart. He told us that they had hugged, exchanged contact information and promised to get together to talk more. He repeatedly told us that he told her if there was “ever anything he could do for her…just let him know”. Imagine starting your work day like that!

As we continued our drive home, he kept talking and told us that he was thinking of quitting his other job (Uber is a side-hustle for him) and as we neared our house, he said that he had just needed to “tell somebody” his news…and there we were on the corner of Magazine and First just waiting to listen. Glen shared that we have learned so much about New Orleans and its people by meeting our Uber drivers and he told us that he never came to “this side of the river” until he started driving. He loves it. He says the people are beautiful and different. He called it “diversity of love”.

We felt honored to be the recipient of his emotional news and though we likely won’t run into him again, we will always hold a place for him and his two daughters in our hearts.

Diversity of love. Carry it forward.

GAT = THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN EVERY DAY!!