Holy crap! Judy’s ranch, thirty miles inland from Panama City, Florida, just got slammed by Hurricane Michael! She was talking to my father this morning—who lives in Metairie, LA— on the phone, reporting live in the middle of the storm, when the roof of a 3-story building next door to her home blew off. She told my father that a multi-use brick building which she had recently built was blowing away before her eyes as large southern pine trees were being snapped like twigs and tossed into the sky. Then, the phone line went dead.
Judy has been my father’s out of town—out of state—girlfriend… second half of life partner… significant lover… since, 1973? The year I graduated from Isadore Newman School on Jefferson Avenue in uptown New Orleans, LA. Judy is a panhandle mogul. She has an empire of [[U-Store-It facilities]] in the Panama City area. She has many other real estate holdings. And. Is a highly regarded, successful… wealthy ($$$$$$$) hypnotherapist.
My father, Hugh, and my mother, Lorraine, divorced in 1975. The same year I… “received knowledge”… as mentioned above. In the Divine
Shelter of Guru Maharaj ji, on the corner at 1607 Race Street, in the Capitol Hill area of Denver, Colorado.
Shelter of Guru Maharaj ji, on the corner at 1607 Race Street, in the Capitol Hill area of Denver, Colorado.
But. That’s not all folks. My daughter, Syrah, just texted me that her mother, my ex-wife… child-bonded partner… Debbie, was just diagnosed with breast cancer. Syrah mentioned… “indications in the lymph nodes”… which would imply a form of stage 3 cancer? “There will be a meeting” (with an oncologist, I assume)— apparently on October 19… “to discuss her options”. EEeesh. The same day I go for my yearly meeting with my new (ninth) oncologist.
Don’t you ever take a break, Senor Cancer? Go rent a fine villa down on one of those sparsely inhabited islands in the Caribbean. Turn on the ac. Netflix and just chill.
Syrah is now twenty, in her junior year at Rider University, near Princeton, NJ. She has been awarded a $45,000+ scholarship to study Applied Behavioral Analysis. Yes. This is the same girl who threw the party… That is. The “rager of the year” 2014. In my father’s house here in Humboldt. The same girl who did two rounds of drug rehab in the big
house, courtesy of the great state of Vermont, during her 15-16th years of life.
Thank you, Bernie!! Call it “socialism” if you like… But, something is working, in Vermont, at least.
And. Not only did Syrah get herself “clean and sober”. While placing herself, really— almost single-handedly—into a scholarship program at a topnotch university… She just received a grade of 100!! on her philosophy term paper. With an added hand scribed note from her teacher: “Enjoy. This does not happen often”.
Ahhh. Let us count our many blessings.
Apparently we may have… a budding Hypatia in our midst!
In the meantime. Debbie dearest, who has the further complicated responsibilities (headaches) of an 80-something year old mother with Alzheimer’s to contend with, added to— the inescapable trials and elusive joys of a live-at-home 23-year old son— our beloved Hugh. Who like many live-at-home young adults these days. Just can’t seem to figure out what he wants to do with his singular, precious life. Besides…
Play all day on the computer?!
What?! Who?! Me?!
Like father, like son, eh what?
Yeah. We all see you there… hiding in your room, son. The universe is watching.
Ahhh. Poor Debbie.
Her cautious, first steps.
Across the threshold.
Into the carefully crafted modern…
Cancer Cure Maze.
No dearest.
Sorry.
Not exactly your local organic corn and pumpkin imbroglio.
Her cautious, first steps.
Across the threshold.
Into the carefully crafted modern…
Cancer Cure Maze.
No dearest.
Sorry.
Not exactly your local organic corn and pumpkin imbroglio.
O. How bewildering the labyrinth.
Which unfolds before thee—
Which unfolds before thee—
My deepest sympathies, of course.
And, did I tell you the latest?
No. Of course not. We don’t talk much.
Simultaneous to Hurricane Michael nearly wiping out Judy’s Ranch and U-Stor-It Empire in Panama City, FL—
We finally closed.
That is.
Signed closing documents.
My father and the buyers did.
We closed on the old farmstead.
The handmade non-toxic house I built.
Our unfinished timber frame bakery.
Along with seventeen acres.
Of the original seventy.
The organic farm.
Dark Shadows.
The homestead where the kids were born.
Or.
Where Syrah popped out anyway.
At home with three midwives.
During two weeks of solid rain.
In June.
Where we spent most of the first five.
And seven years.
Of our two childrens’ lives.
In rural New Hampshire.
On the dirt road.
That is.
Signed closing documents.
My father and the buyers did.
We closed on the old farmstead.
The handmade non-toxic house I built.
Our unfinished timber frame bakery.
Along with seventeen acres.
Of the original seventy.
The organic farm.
Dark Shadows.
The homestead where the kids were born.
Or.
Where Syrah popped out anyway.
At home with three midwives.
During two weeks of solid rain.
In June.
Where we spent most of the first five.
And seven years.
Of our two childrens’ lives.
In rural New Hampshire.
On the dirt road.
Farms and ranches.
Towns and cities.
Whole islands!!
It’s amazing how they just keep.
Sprouting up.
Towns and cities.
Whole islands!!
It’s amazing how they just keep.
Sprouting up.
And disappearing.
North and south.
These days.
North and south.
These days.
Remember?
Both my father and mother.
Lost their homes in Hurricane Katrina.
Back in ’05.
Well.
Not exactly.
Dad had four feet of toxic water.
He rebuilt his house.
Lorraine sold her flooded heap.
Both my father and mother.
Lost their homes in Hurricane Katrina.
Back in ’05.
Well.
Not exactly.
Dad had four feet of toxic water.
He rebuilt his house.
Lorraine sold her flooded heap.
It’s amazing.
It’s amazing there’s anything left.
For old Senor Cancer to collect.
From us.
At this stage in life.
Really.
He’s already got a foot or two of my colon.
A third of my liver.
And my gall bladder.
I guess he’s coming for your breasts now.
He don’t let up.
He don’t bargain neither.
He the doctors the hospitals the insurance companies.
Even the nurses.
Well.
You’ll find out.
It’s amazing there’s anything left.
For old Senor Cancer to collect.
From us.
At this stage in life.
Really.
He’s already got a foot or two of my colon.
A third of my liver.
And my gall bladder.
I guess he’s coming for your breasts now.
He don’t let up.
He don’t bargain neither.
He the doctors the hospitals the insurance companies.
Even the nurses.
Well.
You’ll find out.
Best wishes.
And yeah.
Lisa’s mom is dying.
Quietly.
With Lisa and Jasper up in “the mitt”.
And.
Not to forget.
Sure.
Lisa’s mom is dying.
Quietly.
With Lisa and Jasper up in “the mitt”.
And.
Not to forget.
Sure.
With six forms of terminal cancer and…
Alzheimer’s.
Whomever the hell he is?
I guess Senor Cancer has some serious competition.
Up on empty Bear Lake.
Alzheimer’s.
Whomever the hell he is?
I guess Senor Cancer has some serious competition.
Up on empty Bear Lake.
It does strike me as curious. That Judy’s ranch gets attacked by Michael. That the homestead in New Hampshire finally sells after all these years. And that you get diagnosed with breast cancer. All at the same moment in time.
Is it that thing they say to do with threes?
Bad news always comes in threes?
Or, like you used to say a lot: I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I can assure you. I did not get up this morning with the intention of wandering down this country road…
“Country road
Take me home
To the place
I belong”
Take me home
To the place
I belong”
Nevertheless. Everthemore.
Good luck to all of us!
Sure would be nice to have a puff of whatever that Hindu Kush mountain farmer— who lost his horse and all the rest— was smoking. But.
All I gots to offer dis fine mornin is dis hea… Humboldt Tangie organic indoor weed. And. Of course. A swell, warm cup of dragonwell tea.
To Our Health!
