Where To, Bud?

I hadn't realized what a recluse I'd become until D and I took our son and his wife out to dinner Sunday afternoon. Other than meeting an old classmate of mine a couple of weeks ago for lunch, it was the first time I've gone anywhere of any substance in 8 months or longer. O'Charley's has a weird way of wrapping their silverware - they don't just roll it in a napkin - they lock it in some way, and as I ripped it open those utensils flew off the table, and we had to ask for new ones. I guess they've made them childproof or something. Anyway, I don't have a lot of luck in restaurants and Dondra had to hold me to keep me from bolting out of the booth. I remember once I couldn't figure out which goes on the lap; the silverware or the napkin and I kept doing back and forth "trials" until it finally "kicked in" and we all had a big laugh over it. That's the visual/physical stuff. Also still having trouble with the written/spo

Time. Man!!! Where does it go ??? Seems like only yesterday I was playing my drums, shaking my long hair and having a great time playing in rock band after rock band. Now, here I sit ("broken-hearted. Paid a dime and only farted," - an old pay-toilet joke.) 62 years old, feeling it in my bones and my brain, but not yet in my body (except for having to wear the incontinence "Speedos" of course!). I ask myself sometimes, "What are you still doing here, dumb ass? She doesn't look a day over 50, and you're just taking up space! Get the hell off the planet !" But then she does or says some little thing that makes me remember why I fell in love with her in the first place, and I gain strength from that to make it through one more day. "Madondra". (She hates when I call her that, but I do it because I like the way her eyes narrow and blaze as I say it, heh-heh!) Dondra: A woman for the ages. A woman for all seasons. And a friend to

Still not to the deepest and most regretful of all of them, but don't lose interest! There are several more to come which may make you wince and/or shake your head. I regret very much treating my brother like shit most of his young life, and this goes back to the "me-me-me" life I led and am still leading, regretfully , today. My Mom and Dad were both very industrious people and worked hard until they died - Mom sometimes 2 jobs plus her volunteer work at the hospital in Villa Rica. My Dad, retired after 20 years in the Army, went right to work in "millville", AKA "Fullerville" - a suburb (for lack of a better word) of Villa Rica. There he inhaled cotton dust until it finally killed him in '95. Mom died two years later, after we both had taken a vacation trip to Germany on my USAir employees' pass. An in-depth entry about my parents is in the works. But back to my Bro': Because they worked so hard and were gone much of the afternoon

I've always liked that Frank Sinatra (written by Paul Anka) tune, but never liked the part where he sings, "......too few to mention". Bullshit. I bet if some thought were given to it, that phrase could be written the way it appears above. I'll talk about a few of my own while I still have a little time remaining on the planet. I'm sure the list will be added to and amended several times throughout the course of this little diary/blog or whatever you'd like to call this drivel you're kind enough to read! It's your call as to whether what I'm about to write has any merit, but it does need to be written down and remembered. Consider it a "work in progress" ( "regress" ?) =============================================================== =============================================================== My first regret (note I did not write "deepest") is that I never "forgave" my Dad for bringing me, my Mom an

It was awesome seeing you again today after how many years - 44???? Darryl was the first kid ever to befriend me following my family's emigration to Georgia in 1960. Specifically a small town named Villa Rica - not really the friendliest place for a kid of 11, who barely spoke any English. =================================================== =================================================== So there we sat today at noon: two old guys with similar afflictions (he with Parkinson's added in), throwing memories at each other, correcting them and, at times, guffawing so loud it caused the Longhorn's clientele to turn and smile as they caught little wisps of our conversation. We couldn't have looked more different had we been born on separate planets. Me with my brown hair shaggy with bangs in my eyes, Beatles' style, and he with his snow-white hair and flowing beard, making him look like a pirate (his favorite historical character), his once flame-red locks no