The last 20 years have flown by. I remember clearly everything about our first few years living in Minneapolis south of Lake Calhoun, just like it was yesterday – although I can’t remember what I did yesterday. I wonder if the next 20 years will go by as fast or faster. Twenty years from now my kids will have hit full stride in their lives. I’ll be dead or very close to it.
When one contemplates their own demise, one cannot help but wonder about heaven and hell. It's not as simple as good people go to heaven, bad people go to hell. It depends on in whose eyes we are judged as having been good or bad. Jews send Catholics to hell. Catholics send Jews to hell. Muslims send everyone to hell. So, then, everyone who belongs to a religion is going to hell -- sent there by some other religion in whose God they do not believe, except I’ve never fully understood where the line is drawn. The Shiites and Sunnis send each other to hell even though they are both followers of Mohamed. Does that mean United Methodists send (plain) Methodist to hell?
I’ve been thinking of my old friend Tom Conway. We met when I was 18. When he died 4 years ago, we had been best friends for 40 years. The thing about Tom is that he never had a pot to piss in, but was the most upbeat person I’ve ever known. We used to meet regularly in restaurants around town. Perkins, Nora’s, 1st WOK, and the like. Whenever I would arrive at our designated meeting place, he would have been there a long time, cigarette in hand, sitting by himself reading his latest book. First words out of his mouth would be a really stupid joke. He’d laugh and giggle and then repeat it, laugh again and ask if I got it. I think about Tom a lot lately. I miss him.
After he moved to Vegas we saw each other less, but talked on the phone once or twice a week without fail. We would have talked every day if he could have afforded it. Once we were talking about his income which had slid to $16K/year and I was supposing he’d be feeling pretty down, but he wasn’t at all. He said that he was glad because he now knew how little he could get by on.
The end game for Tom was hard. The IRS put him in jail for 90 days for owing $30K and was still making him report in person once per month to prove his income. His ex was continuing a 30 year quest to recover back child support. His son, then his second wife, who was a true soul mate, both drowned in a swimming pool 20 years apart. Toward the end, he couldn't get a job. But, every time we talked, every time we met, we’d laugh for hours at ourselves and everything around us. Being with him always brought me into the present, into the moment. He could find joy in the most pathetic circumstance. Anyone who can do that, lives a life of joy. I needed him to do that for me.
Tom turned himself in to the VA hospital but not until his neck and chest became covered with golf ball sized lumps. Tom had been a three pack/day smoker his whole life. They put him on chemo and it would knock him down for 2, 3 weeks at a time, then he’d have 2, 3 weeks of near normalcy, then another dose would knock him down again. I asked him what the prognosis was and he said that when he asked the doctor and the doctor was finished with her answer, Tom said, “Pardon me, can you repeat that? I wasn’t listening.” Then he’d laugh. He thought that joke would make the doctor laugh. I wonder if she did.
The doctor told him she did not know what would happen, which, as I look back, had to be a lie. She knew he would be dead within months. She apparently figured, “Why tell him?” He lives alone. What possible good would telling him accomplish? I used to disagree with that and I disagree with that when a person has a close family, but I am glad she didn’t tell him. It would have taken away hope and hope is all Tom had – but, it was all he needed.
Tom spent the last few years of his life in Vegas trying to figure out how to beat the odds. First, Black Jack, then Roulette, then Baccarat. He kept buying “systems” through the mail. I kept arguing with him, explaining that when the odds are 51% against you, that means, by definition, no matter what pattern you play, you lose 51% of the time. I’d ask him how, if the Chinese have been playing Baccarat for 2,000 years and haven’t figured out how to beat it, why you think you’ll figure it out in a few months or a year?
I stopped disagreeing with him about his ability to beat Vegas because I finally realized, albeit too late, his expecting to find a way to beat the odds was the only thing that gave him hope. I even sent him $800 when he felt he was on the cusp of a breakthrough. He had no chance of finding a good job, no chance of buying a little condo, no chance of ridding himself of the IRS or his ex. He had no chance of fixing the air conditioning in his car or buying new socks. Tom’s only hope was to beat Vegas, and even when that is all you have, which is precious little, every time we met, he’d start out with some stupid joke and we spend the next couple hours laughing and laughing.
In my lifetime, I’ve had two friends like Tom. He’s dead, the other now gone. I hope that by the time I die, I have another friend like him. It will make going to hell worth it.
63 Years of Memories....
63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.
There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.
Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!
How do you thank a place for memories?
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