I try......
"He tried, but he couldn't do it." That went to my brain. Forgot. Forgot where I'd heard it. Googled, ah.. of course, good ole Lays Potato Chips... (Commercial, circa 1960-something)
He tried, but he couldn't do it,
he tried, but he couldn't do it,
he tried but he couldn't do it,
'cause no one can eat just one.
he tried, but he couldn't do it,
he tried but he couldn't do it,
'cause no one can eat just one.
Actually, my AIM, witness the "Cupid, draw back your bow"... my intent was to NOT write about me. Someone mentioned yesterday, nicely, my blogs contain stuff, songs, mostly from the 60's and the 70's. Guilty. Was a great era. Yes, Sam Cooke wrote it (Cupid) in 1961. I dunno what you looked like, or, if you were even born.. I was a scrawny, redheaded, freckleface 9 year old.
My AIM, NOT TO WRITE ABOUT ME. Victor, you said that. Well.. i repeat myself, sorry. When I write about myself, folks here (ty ty for being here), tend to "Exit, stage left." (Snagglepuss, Circa 1961, see, toldya.) And, honestly, I don't blame you.
Then, I got off work, needed, wanted, a couple beers. Scratch the wanted.. I NEEDED a couple beers. Work was fine, I just didn't want to go home. Long story for another day. So, drum roll (not In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida long, (circa, 1968) but sumpin shorter (mebbe like Wipe Out, also, 1960 something)... I tried, but I couldn't do it. A strange, kinda, 2 beers. I gotta talk about me, or, my 2 beers.
Got there. Handicap spot open. YES! Bar full, so, borrowed the corner of a long table where a guy and a gal sat. "OK if I sit here?" (4 chairs away, same table.) Sure.
Did.
"Hi Vic, I'll get you a beer." Just shoot me. Gal fetchin' drinks recognized me. Rome wasn't built in a day, neither, I guess, were my occasional "beer here, beer there" habits. A time or two ago I was in was the day after Thanksgiving. I'd asked her how Thanksgiving was.. "Fine, but I didn't getta piece of pecan pie", So, next day I bought an El Cheapo one at Wally, put her name on it, dropped it off. Mebbe why she remembered my name. "Vic, did you hear about ______?" (A buddy of mine, same bar, friend, maybe 15 years) "He passed Tuesday." Criminy. So....... thoughts go to him. We'd talked about where he grew up (was near my fam in Central MO).. his boys.. (both, great kids).. his business (thriving, he'd stepped back, let his employees call shots, basically retired, with input. Nice input, not micromanage input. He'd stopped drinking several years ago. I wondered how, why, what happened, didn't ask. Spent a long time simply thinking about him.. Imagining his life. Imagining life of his loved ones with him gone. Remembering our talks.
Death. Death sucks. No time (if previously unsaid) now to say "I like you.. you are a good man, great, rightfully proud father.... I'm really, REALLY impressed with how you built your company. I always enjoy our chats." I sat for a LONG, silent time thinking about him. All of us, ALL OF US, are surrounded by death. There is no escape. Fairly recently I've had two longtime buddies lose a child. I simply can't fathom that pain, feel.
Later.. the two 'kids' I was sharing a table with 12 chairs.. I'd heard her say to her friend "I need a cigarette but I'm out". "I wasn't evesdropping, but here you go." "Thank you!" She was ultra excited.. so, I did some math. I smoke cheap cigs (Suprise surprise, Gomer Pyle, circa 1962-ish).. Thirteen cents. She flipped (nicely) over me giving her a cig, thirteen cents.
My friend the server, was busy cleaning the remnants of what was a pretty large party at our 12 chair table. And then it happened, it took me by surprise" (Ben E. King and the Drifters, This Magic Moment, circa 1968.. Now, I'm beginning to understand what my buddy said.) Gal's ex walked in. Sat at the table. Holy guacamole. One, I didn't know it was her ex, 2, then I did once I heard her say "NO, GET THE (CUSSWORD) OUT!"....UNCOMFY.
Breaking up is hard to do. (Neil Sadaka, 1962).. Also (exit, stage left) learnt to me via a marriage here, 1980-something, and me, a marriage there, 2000-something. Basically, the party had whittled down from 12 to 2. Those two, a guy and the gal telling ex, "We're who's left." She explained that (big party, only her him left, not on purpose) to him, then realized, "I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU ANY MORE, WE'RE FINISHED"
So. NO, not a needle pulling thread, but, if you're keeping track, Do-Re-Mi, Sound of Music, 1959. DAMN you're old Victor. Uh huh. So, it reminded me of breakups.
Breakups are ugly. Ya (both, most times, I think) say things ya don't mean... and oft times, I think ya do so because hurt is a two-way street. "You hurt me, thus, I'm gonna hurt you." You don't say it (purposely), or, even think it, you just instinctively, perhaps unconsiously, do it. Hurt. I hate it. (Hurt, Johnny Cash, 2002, see, sometimes I don't do real old stuff). I've been there. Hurt hurts. Weirdly different than death. With death, one is gone (and I DO NOT make light of that). With breakup, the relationship is over, but, both people are 'still there'. Ne'er again to be the same as what's gone on for however many months, years, yada. Loss of spouse = earthquake. Breakup, yes, still a jolt, different on the Richter Scale. Cupid's arrow in lover's heart taken out, snapped in two.
Dunno the end. Gal paid tab, left. Ex within inches of her throughout. "New guy" still sat at table, with a "Wha' happened?" look (1970 sitcom).. Bouncer called. Followed her to car, as did Ex. Hopefully, The Great Escape (movie, 1963) happened. I hurt for her, but too, could see the hurt from his shoes (he wasn't ugly, aggressive), and, ya just do stuff you wouldn't normally do. If you've been married close to fitty years, count your blessings, and, KUDOS. Obviously, not taken for granted. So.............. this relaxing 'two beers and home' has found me now, all ten fingernails mebbe down an eighth of an inch. Heartache, sympathy.. then, WOWZA.. real life reality TV stuff. Where's Judge Judy whenya need her? Or Maury Povich, he still around?(Cut me a break, his show didn't start until 1991.)
Sandwiched inbetween, a guy who came up to me, "Vic, VIC! Howya been? Ya doin' ok?" I didn't have a clue as to who he was. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. So very good to see you! How are you?" It's too bad one can't Google "Whointhehell was that?" Get with the program AI.) He didn't get specific, for which I'm thankful... and swung back by one more time to say goodbye.
And, an old softball buddy. Quick chat... "Well, i better go home." As he left, I said "Tell Bo hello for me".. He looked at me oddly. I don't care. Bo is his tiny hound pooch. He's infamous on Facebook, darn near one post a week with his mug. Cute little dude.
Bo made me think of hounds. A pleasant end to the kinda stressy, VERY sad 2 beer experience. (Dogs from the 60's... Meet George Jetson, his dog Astro... Duke, Jed's companion on the Beverly Hillbillies.. of course Lassie.. Tiger, Brady Bunch.. Tramp, My Three Sons (can't ya hear the horns of the song).. Muttley, Augie Doggy, Scooby Doo, Underdog, Snoopy............. Dogs from my past. Dogs of friends on Facebook. AFV dogs.. lotta dogs doggoneit.
2 beers isn't the end all be all. It's a respite, which, sure, is fancy for attempt to escape from ugly. Faces that hadn't necessarily smiled in recent times prior - but, perhaps in however long 2 beers takes, smiles (even if arriving misguidedly) can, do happen. There was good, maybe better said feel. I felt, truly felt for my buddy, his family. I temporarily slipped into the shoes of the breaking up couple and felt for each of them. At times, the struggle of life is real. Four paws. I thought of four paws at the end. How good'a feel is that? Bo knows. (Nike ad, 1989, see, sometimes I don't use old crap.)
Hopped into my car. (Hop is being liberal. I need a new hip. (Hip is circa 1952.) I don't wanna getta new hip. A month without driving. Six to eight weeks "you can't work." TMI, eh, whatever.
Work. 2 Beers. Death. Breakup. Dogs. Hip? It's all about feel.
That's all folks. (Circa, Warner Brothers, 1930, and no, I wasn't born yet.)
Love, Victurd
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