Ain't That a Shame: Am I Wasting My Time?

Ain’t That a Shame: Mr. X, A True Story


Cast of characters:
Mr. X:  an Ashamed GAY MAN ‘of a certain age and from a different era’ who is in a tizzy of concern of what people may think in our current early 21st Century Society
Peter:  Mr. X’s male partner/lover/spouse
Nick:  A concerned GAY MAN ‘of a certain age and from a different era’ who is worried that if someone google’s his name a bit of his past would be revealed.
Michael:  Me, the BLOG writer, who is transcribing his diary from a generation ago
Distinguished Author:  The one sought for ‘advice and counsel’

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Hi Michael,

I hope you are well.

Hey, I need to talk to you about something. Mr. X is still a friend, in fact, he does some freelance work for me. His partner Peter and he are the proud parents of two great kids. He contacted me the other day because a friend had Googled him and your blog posts with his full name and image came up.

Mr. X is pretty upset.  To be completely honest, when you notified me on Facebook about the ones concerning me I wasn't thrilled but naively thought it was limited to the people who read your blog, who don't really know me. It never occurred to me that it would show up in a Google search. Mr. X is concerned about his kids and family as well as some of his personal and professional connections.

I also run in a lot of circles and some of that stuff is rather personal. I realize it was 25 years ago. I am currently writing a book in which I talk about my past but am careful to leave out names and even to change circumstances so that people would not recognize the individuals involved. It is, after all, a book about my experiences, not an expose about others.

So, is it really necessary to use names? I'm not all that concerned about an old fully dressed photo, but I'd rather essays about my personal connections from decades ago not be readily available to anyone Googling my name.

Mr. X would like you to contact him. His e-mail address is MrX@.net. Mr. X wants his name and image removed and said he is prepared to take legal action. I would just as soon have my name be changed or initials used as well since, again, it just didn't occur to me that this would surface in a Google search.
Thanks,
Nick

Hi Nick,
What are you talking about? This seems so silly.
The ‘ONE’ picture of Mr. X in my blog was taken with his permission and is a simple portrait (as well as the photos of you were taken with your permission).
The mention of you (or Mr. X) in my blog is strictly based on my own words in my diary from years ago with my own reflections of those times.
I am sorry the two of you don't want any information about yourselves on the internet but there's nothing negative that I've written (or that can be misconstrued as an invasion of privacy).
I don't really want to contact Mr. X. If---after 25 plus years he has never chosen to contact me--why would I want to talk to him now? He can, of course, still email me via my blog.
Sincerely,
Michael

Our understanding of the law is that taking a picture of someone with their permission does not translate to permission to publish it. I guess we all have our own definition of respecting others. Mr. X doesn't want to talk for personal reasons, he wants to have a legitimate discussion about a situation he didn't invite.
Nick

I will be in contact with my attorney and I will get back to you.
Michael

Well, it's kind of sad that it would come to that. I've inadvertently posted pics or posts that friends were uncomfortable with because of their involvement and went out of my way to remove them as soon as I could because the friendships mean way more to me than the post. I don't even question why they might have an issue with it because it's none of my business. This is, after all, supposed to be about fun and positive sharing. I don't get why it matters in the least if you use pseudonyms. The people reading your posts don't know us from Adam. But our friends who now may stumble across the published diary of someone we met 25 years ago do not know you from Adam. They know us. Because I am the face of the company I work for in the community, I work hard to separate my public and private lives. I'm thoughtful about which posts I share with whom. I realize we were more acquaintances than friends, but basic human decency would never lead me to insist upon keeping a post online that hurt someone else for the sake of my own vanity. At my place of work we always have individuals sign consent forms before posting photos.
Nick

Dear Distinguished Author:
How are you doing? I have a favor to ask you....
As you know, I write a daily blog: www.007gentleman.blogspot.com where I have transcribed my old diaries. I was recently contacted by someone whose picture I posted and who I wrote about. The picture was a simple profile pic taken with his permission '25 plus' years ago. There was nothing negative written about him but he's concerned that family members and/or business associates will google him and see this photo and my blog (which has a definitive gay man’s slant in the 1980s).
He has threatened legal action if I don't remove the picture and change his name. Since you're the most proficient writer I know...what would you recommend?
I guess my blog is getting so popular maybe I need to publish a book. lol
Hugs,
Michael

Dear Michael:
Sheesh. What a royal pain. I presume this is a gentleman 'of a certain age and different era'. He can’t really sue you, but in the name of keeping the peace I would recommend taking the photo down and changing his name.  But you're right: that's a flattering sign that your blog is getting popular.

P.S. I just went through your blog, trying to guess who the injured party would be. But it's all so playful, and fun, and elegant and attractive, how could anybody not be flattered to be included? You're right, it could make an entertaining book.
Warmly,
The Distinguished Author

Yeah Distinguished Author,

"Sheesh" is right. You'd think the injured party would be happy with a picture of him from 25 years ago. He surely looks better then...I'm sure. LoL
Alas, I learned from a former roommate of his that he is with a man named Peter and they have adopted kids and is concerned that his kids may see it and/or any colleagues or biz associates (I GUESS). Ridiculous bcuz there's nothing devastating about him in anything I wrote.
I like to write full names of my real life people because there are some that I've lost touch with and I have 'in fact' been found by a few old friends/coworkers via the blog. In addition, I have a success story where one gal who was trying to find her mother (a longtime high school girlfriend of mine) actually found her and was reunited with her mom after she emailed me. Luckily, because her mom died 3 or 4 years later from pancreatic cancer and she would never have had the bond with her real mother otherwise.
I think you're right though...just to keep the peace I'll remove the picture of Mr. X. Who needs to deal with it? I would think he'd be flattered to be included but you know how some people are...scaredy cats.
Thanks for your advice.
Michael

Nick,
Can you send me your tel#? I'd like to call you NOW. Thx. I just tried this telephone number but I guess that's not good for you anymore (?).
Michael

Here is my tel# but I have to go pick up my roommates from work and don't have a hands-free device. Would be happy to talk tomorrow. I hope we can figure this out because you're a great guy and I guess we have very different viewpoints on this.
Thanks,
Nick

No, I think our viewpoints are similar. It's not like I don't understand. I completely understand. I just want to discuss it with you verbally...easier than writing for hours and I have a few stories to share. Can I call you when you get back?  It shouldn't take long.
Michael

A few days later...
SATURDAY Morning, May 5, 2012

Hi Nick,
I found out that I cannot really be sued for what I've written in my blog. An attorney & a well-known published author friend advised me; however, I did remove that one pic of Mr. X and changed his name to a very appropriate new name. Mr. X was not----and never will be---a big part of my life, so I just decided to do this to 'keep the peace'. Have a happy day. After all, that is what our lives are meant to be: HAPPY
Hugs,
Michael

Thanks, Michael. Mr. X and Peter are very protective of their kids because people sometimes freak out about them being gay parents.
Nick

Ain’t that a shame?   I would think that Mr. X and Peter would be proud to be who they are as gay men with children. I am a gay man with a grown daughter.  My daughter will surely learn much about me by reading my blog. I am also in a long-term relationship with a man with two children of his own. One would think Mr. X and Peter would be overjoyed to be included in the blog written by a gay man—even if the tidbit of writing was brief and not harmful.  If it was harmful I would surely omit it.  Alas, it is the early 21st Century and I can relate to our current society who are so discriminating. It’s clear that Mr. X and Peter are two men ‘of a certain age and a different era’. The new generations of gay men and lesbian women of today in their 20s and 30s are getting married left and right. This above episode may be quite an eyebrow raiser in years to come.



I don’t know what went wrong between us, but you and I discussed friendship once. I said that friendship is built on two things—respect and trust. Even if you don’t like me, you can still depend on me and trust me. I’ve never shared your secrets with anyone.

-Stieg Larsson
THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 15, 1987
Friday

Work was rather stressful today. I think it was because Steve Flander called. I met him for lunch across the street at MAX’s. Word leaked to Nikki, my second line manager, and she shared the fact that I met with him. He’s delinquent on his advertising, yet the sales people view it different. Suddenly, Nikki, Jim Prichard and Bob Bilejeu of KEY ACCOUNT SALES gathered around my desk. They made me feel as if I’d done something wrong to meet with Steve Flander today.

Steve treated me to lunch and we had a good talk. We may even meet up next Wednesday at SPENGER’S FISH GROTTO in Berkeley. However, now I am having second thoughts about meeting up with him at all. He’s a jolly, overweight character. He could be a bad ‘eat some more’ influence.

I telephoned Eileen. We finally had a discussion. I went over the letter she’d written me. As far as I can see our relationship is NOT working out.
“Why don’t you come over and stay with me next weekend…or even the weekend of my Birthday?” I asked.
“I’m supposed to spend the Memorial Day Weekend of your birthday with Katrina in Lake Berryessa.”
I thought quietly, without saying the words, “Why in the hell am I wasting my time?"
Eileen shouted, “Do you notice how I’m not jealous when you tell me things?”
This leads me to believe that she IS jealous or she wouldn’t have asked that question.

And so…on this Friday evening I felt a need for a walk along Alameda’s South Shore beach. I invited my Dad to go for a walk with me but he had to go to work at 11PM tonight, so he passed on my offer.

I dropped by around the corner to see John, Sherri and Ashley in hopes that they might want to take Ashley off of their hands. John was getting ready for work.
John said, “Oh, Sherri and Ashley went to some SESAME STREET Show with Tony, Helen and Lauren.”
And so, I talked to my brother, John, for a while.

I forfeited the walk along the beach idea. Instead, I went to WHEREHOUSE RECORDS and rented two dumb movies that I didn’t really want to watch: ON THE WALL and ON THE NICKEL.

Finally, I decided it was a Friday night and I felt like dancing and meeting someone fun. I drove to Palo Alto, near Stanford University, to that fun club called THE VORTEX. It was a mistake. THE VORTEX was just ‘dead’ on this night. I stayed for a short while and actually ‘danced with myself’ when they played BILLY IDOL, singing DANCING WITH MYSELF. I left the club at 11:45PM. I sat there in rest mode in the driver’s seat until I finally started the car and just drove back home. Suzy Miller was coming to visit tomorrow. I went to bed. Yawn.

The sense of loss and aloneness was at last becoming a dull ache instead of a burning pain. It might be that he could begin to go out and act like a human being again.
-Nial Kent
THE DIVIDED PATH

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What About Our French Kisses?

Conversation should be as easy as breathing.
-Michael J Armijo
PHILOSOPHICAL STATEMENTS

In Catholic school students are taught that lying is a sin. However, instructions also advised that using a bit of imagination was ‘OKAY’ to express the Truth differently without lying. Below is a perfect example of those teachings.

Getting a Hairdryer through Customs

An attractive young woman on a flight from Ireland asked the Priest beside her, “Father, may I ask a favor?”
“Of course child, what may I do for you?”
“Well, I bought my mother an expensive hair dryer for her birthday. It is unopened but well over the Customs limits and I'm afraid they'll confiscate it. Is there any way you could carry it through customs for me? Hide it under your Robes perhaps?”
“I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn you, I will not lie.”
“With your honest face, Father, no one will question you.”

When they got to Customs, she let the priest go first.
The official asked, “Father, do you have anything to declare?”
“From the top of my head down to my waist I have nothing to declare.”
The official thought this answer strange, so asked, “And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?”
“I have a marvelous instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused.”
Roaring with laughter, the official said, “Go ahead, Father. Next please!”

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 14, 1987
Thursday

It was payday today. The $597 new pay was nothing to write mom about though.

Suzy Miller telephoned.
“I think I’m going to move again. I might want to take you up on your offer to move in with you at your townhouse.”
“You should do what feels right to you.”
“Could I come over this Saturday? I just want to look at your place again.”
“Of course you can. Where is your brother, Mike, these days?”
“Oh, he’s in Sacramento.”
If Suzy moves in with me it will give me an additional three-hundred dollars a month. It would allow for some monetary ‘breathing room’. I’m all for it.

Eileen wrote me a letter. It confirms what I already knew. She is a mere child. I couldn’t believe her statement about our NOT HAVING ANY MEMORIES. She is too much. I’m sure she’s wondering about how I shall respond now. She also acted so surprised at how I referred to her as ‘my girlfriend’. Give me a break! She’s the one who implanted that notion into my head. I really don’t have time for her silly little games. I say, “Later for that broad!”

I called Danny Garcia at his hairdresser work number.
“Can you come over to my shop at 8:30 tonight?” Danny asked.
“Okay.”
Danny is in somewhat of a predicament. They sold his apartment building and it will soon become condominiums.
Danny said, “Laurie and I have to move out soon. We have only three days to be out of there!”

My brother, Tony, came over to visit my new office at Pac Bell Directory. I introduced him to Carla and Nikki.
I advised Tony, “Well now, I think I should come over to visit your office next.”
I didn’t make the time to visit his office today but I may do that tomorrow. It’s only a block away.

My Dad called me, so I went to visit him.
“I’m sorry about last Sunday. You were right about parking in front of the Ida Tawasha house. It’s a public street.”
Dad was loving and said, “You know, I love you, Mike.”
I noticed he’d had a couple of beers. I believed his words though. I love him, too.

Johnny phoned from L.A., leaving a message on my recorder while I was on my visit to Danny in Alamo.
I measured the distance and it was thirty miles from Alameda to Alamo. When I configure the going and the return this means I biked a full sixty miles! That’s pretty good. Danny was cutting someone’s hair when I arrived. When he was finished we went to that New Mexican Restaurant. Danny’s cohorts from work tagged along. We drank margaritas, gabbing and laughing at the way some of the people were dancing. It was a pleasant evening. I drove straight to mom and dad’s house afterward.

I let Carla borrow sixty dollars from me today. She went to the bank exchange and her purse was stolen. She had to get new keys, etc. What a pain! She was meeting a locksmith at her house after work.
“Michael, I even had my telephone number disconnected.”
She seems to be such a risk as far as a small loan; however, it was payday. I have a heart. She says she will repay me my sixty dollars as well as treat me to lunch (because I treated her to lunch today). For some reason I doubt the lunch treat will be reciprocated.

Danny, his coworker, Laurie, and I may all be going to Los Angeles on the last weekend of this month. We’ll see if that happens.

I keep thinking of Eileen and her written comments and reasoning. How do I come back with a good reply? She burns me up! I refuse to dwell on it. She’s such a flake. We learn from the foolish mistakes we make.
‘No memories’ she wrote…give me a break! What about our French kisses?
Perhaps now I will make it a point to erase her from my memory!

Anthropologically at least, a kiss on the mouth, especially with all the plunging of tongues and the exchanging of saliva, is another form of intercourse, and it’s not surprising that it should make the mind and body surge with gorgeous sensations.
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES

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Don't Dream It's Over

“No one thinks about the bigger picture anymore, just his own gain.”

-Olen Steinhauer
THE NEAREST EXIT, a novel

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 13, 1987
Wednesday

It is so damn busy at work right now. Ugh!

I thought Danny Garcia and I were going to see a flick but plans didn’t work out. He did call me after I left two messages on his recorder. We may just meet up tomorrow for dinner.
Danny said, “Yeah, there’s a grand opening at this new Mexican restaurant in Alamo.”

Steve Flander returned my call. We may meet up at SPENGER’s in Berkeley next Wednesday. I hope he’s not getting delinquent with his Yellow Page advertising again. I need to review his payment arrangement to be sure he’s on-target.

I did call Jeff Sombat and gave him the details of my arrival to Honolulu on July 4th. He seemed to show some excitement about my returning to the island.

I tried giving Eileen a call but there was no answer at 9PM. It’s strange. The folks she knows are visiting from New York and I can’t believe she took them out at such a late hour. Or could it be that her phone was unplugged? Why can’t she just ‘play ball’ with me?

Paul Margolis listened to two of my incoming phone calls with customers today. How degrading. He’s such a jerk!

Laverne Butler called me from Pacific Bell. She’s going to apply for a Customer Service Representative job in Pac Bell Directory’s CSO-Customer Service Office. I encouraged her.

I said to Laverne excitedly, “That sounds like a good idea if you want to get into Yellow Page sales eventually!”

Of course, Rachelle has not called me. I’m giving up on her.

I like getting out of work at 4PM. I just need to halt the naptime scene once I get home. I did some aerobics last night for about an hour. That was all I did though.

I wrote to Jeff in Hawaii and sent him a check for twenty-three dollars for his 23rd Birthday. I really like the song by Crowded House called DON’T DREAM IT’S OVER. It was relaxing to write to Jeff as that song played.

Say what one will, words rarely capture the immediate emotional assault of a piece of poignant music, which allows the composer to say not “It felt something like this,” but rather “Here is the unnamable emotion I felt, and even my obsession with structure, proportion, and time, inside of you.”
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES

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A Bumble Bee

As the robustly sensuous painter Georgia O’Keefe once said: “In a way, nobody sees a flower really, it is so small we haven’t time—and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 12, 1987
Tuesday

Work is so busy that it is beginning to get mind boggling. Both Rhoda and I feel we are doing the work of two representatives single-handedly. I am even at the point where I hate to take my break as I will get behind.

Dave Trapp said, “You look like a bumble bee.”
He said this because I was wearing my 'very short' vertical striped yellow and black shorts that Eileen bought for me.  Do I sting like a bee?

I ran into Steven Green at the gym. I hadn’t seen him in a while. He reminded me of what an obnoxious pain he could be.   I didn’t give him any mind and went on with my work out.

Angela came by me now and then for some simple flirtation time. I was happy that I burned 244 calories on the rower machine. It’s always a triumph to see that ending number light up.

I shouldn’t have done it but I took another nap after work. I heard Dad and Ashley at my front doorstep. I surprised them because they didn’t think I would be home until around 6PM. It’s nice to work the 8AM to 4PM shift.

The party is over. I received a parking ticket at my newly discovered free parking spot in San Francisco. I still came out one dollar ahead when you calculate the days that I did get free parking. Who is to tell whether I will get a ticket tomorrow? It’s not worth it to park there on a regular basis. I will be safe to park at my usual $2.75 per day parking lot.

Freddie called.
“I’ll be returning to work on Monday, May 18th, Michael.”
“That’s good news, Freddie, because we are overloaded with work. We need your help. I haven’t been taking my breaks but I’ve decided to just take them ‘no matter what’. That health break time is too important...you know.”

There’s still no response from Eileen after the ‘Dear Jane’ letter I sent. Perhaps she is simply a lost cause.

I still dream of going to London, England in November. I will do it if I really decide I want to do it. The second trip to Hawaii in July is still a likely happening.

The number ‘EIGHT’ means money. I foresee 1988 as a money year for me. My debts shall be gone. I will have more and more to build on and save. I must not forget that I will be going into commission sales sometime after April 1988, too.

That Steve Green pissed me off when he downplayed my Account Collections job. He’s such an ass. He acts like he’s Mr. Qualified Expert sometimes. As far as I’m concerned it makes me view him more as Mr. Imbecile.

Carla complimented my haircut yesterday. She also made an announcement that wasn’t too surprising.
“I have a new boyfriend.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Oh Michael, I’m in love. He’s visiting from El Salvador, my home country.”
Her eyes popped and her pupils dilated, making her look all the more sexy.
Carla added, “You know, I’m on a new FIT FOR LIFE ‘Richard Simmons’ weight loss program.”
“That’s great.”
I encouraged her, thinking that Mr. El Salvador must be rather sexy himself for her to want to get more fit.

I should take my Grandma out for dinner on her birthday in July. That would be a first for me. She deserves the love and the time.

Our pupils expand involuntarily when we’re aroused or excited.
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES

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I Want To Get Serious

He looked at her coldly with eyes that expressed the most perfect scorn.
-Stendhal
THE RED AND THE BLACK

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 11, 1987
Monday

Work was a breeze. Steve Adam is gone and Paul is his stand-in. I just despise the Paul Margolis attitude. Nikki walks in now and then to make things seem a little better.

Carla, of course, called in for a sick day. She’s too much.

She did confide in me, “Michael, I’ve been thinking of quitting. I only get one-thousand dollars a month and I don’t feel I need to work.”
I was a little envious.

Eileen called me while I was at work.
I said, “You can expect an in-depth letter from me soon. I wrote it last night.”
“What did you write?”
“Well, you’ll see.”
I wrote that she needs to make a choice. It’s either me or Katrina. I want more.  I want to get serious. Does she?
PHOTO:  Eileen Grabinsky

I napped when I arrived home.

Danny Garcia woke me. He wants to get together and we may meet up this coming Wednesday night. We shall see.

I received travel information and brochures for London. It’s interesting. I do want to go there in November.

I did about an hour of aerobics exercise. I biked for half an hour. I drove to my gym in San Leandro. Stewart was there. Angel was there, too. I lost 166 calories according to the rowing machine workout.

I stopped at the store and bought some almonds and six diet sodas along with a box of Vanilla Wafers. I started to watch Joan Rivers on the Tonight Show but it seemed boring, so I switched to a video that was also boring. It was perfect for allowing me to fall asleep. I went to bed. Yawn.

Craving vanilla…
A large bar of vanilla bath soap, sitting in an antique porcelain dish, acts as an aromatic beacon. While I steep in waves of vanilla, a friend brings me a vanilla cream seltzer, followed by a custard made with vanilla beans that have come all the way from Madagascar.
-Diane Ackerman
A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SENSES

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A 'Dear Jane' Letter

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’s is set in New York in the 1940s.

I suspect that much of its charm comes from something left half-said: it’s the story of a romantic friendship between a straight woman and a gay man. Since their affection cannot end in sex or marriage, the two must explore other, less obvious ways to be intimate. They can have romance but must remain pure, the modern equivalent of courtly love.
-Christopher Bram
THE GAY WRITERS WHO CHANGED AMERICA
“EMINENT OUTLAWS”

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 10, 1987
Sunday

It was a lazy Sunday all the way around. Well, not really. I did go bike riding this morning but my baby toe on my left foot had a blister from yesterday’s jog. It was painful so I cut my bike ride short. I started watching parts of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’s which happened to be on TV.

I went to mom and dad’s house and dad had a tizzy because I parked across the street (in front of the Tawasha neighbor’s house). It’s a public street and there’s no reason why I couldn’t park there. Dad wanted me to move my car. I moved it all right. I put turned the key, started the car and drove back home. I just left.

PHOTO: During Ashley’s Birthday Party
Tony, Helen and Lauren

My sister-in-law, Helen, and my niece, Lauren stopped by at my house to see me. We ate Chinese food that Helen had brought. I decided to go back to mom and dad’s house after Helen’s power of persuasion.

A little later I tagged along with Helen, Sherri, mom, Ashley and Lauren to the ALAMEDA FLEA MARKET.

When I telephoned Eileen a bit later she had someone on the other line. She gave me lesser priority, asking me to call back later. I decided to write her a ‘DEAR JANE Letter’. It will all depend on her response to the letter.

I telephoned Rachelle and she turned the other foot.
“I’m sorry for being so rude the other night. I was going to call you back but my car conked out off of highway 580.”
I was surprised by her apology and said, “Oh don’t worry about it.”
“I still want to meet up. I’ll call you tomorrow because I’m curling my mom’s hair.”
I laughed, “Okay, sounds good.”

Mark called to ask, “Are we running the Bay to Breakers next Sunday?”
“I think that might work out.”
“I went to a Bruce Hornsby concert on Friday night.”
“Oh, so that’s what you’ve been up to.   He does that song called THE WAY IT IS, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t do anything spectacular on Saturday night.”
Mark got me all hyped-up about the Bay to Breakers run in the City. Mark’s a cool guy.
Mark announced, “Oh hey, I got my first issue of WIND SURFER Magazine that you subscribed for me! Thanks a lot.”
That was nice of him to thank me.  He didn’t have to--but it was nice that he did.

I started to watch the Sunday Night movie after mom and Ashley dropped me home. I found an old videotape that I thought I had erased that entertained me.

After my phone chat with Mark I went to bed. I felt a need to getaway. It works in one’s dreams easily. Yawn.

For Tourists, everything is possible; contradictions are minor inconveniences. Tourists, like children, believe the world is theirs.
-Olen Steinhauer
THE NEAREST EXIT, a novel

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Ashley Is Three

“It’s funny about fate…You never know where you’ll end up.”
-as heard while watching the 2008 Japanese
Film “DEPARTURES”

Twenty-five years ago today:

May 9, 1987
Saturday

This morning I went for a jog to the end of the beach. Then I chose to walk back. I was feeling as though I needed to break myself in if I plan to do the BAY TO BREAKERS run next Sunday. It’s not for sure…but I may do the run.

Stewart Western called.
“I’m running tomorrow at Golden Gate Park.”
I almost felt like he was inviting me but he didn’t actually ask.
“Are you going to run the BAY TO BREAKERS?”
Stewart answered, “Oh no, I’ll be in Reno next weekend.”

I relaxed for a while and went to Ashley Marie’s Birthday party.   Ashley is three years old now (as of yesterday, the official day).

Last night I made rounds by going to MACY’s and getting mom a Mother’s Day gift of a cool umbrella and some eau de toilette de Paris perfume. Tony’s birthday is May 12th, so I bought him a belt and a lint brush (it’s what he wanted). I found Ashley a toy and an outfit.

I left Ashley’s party per my Grandma’s request to drive her home to Oakland.   Mom and Dad left early to go to mom's brothers' home in Castro Valley for his HouseWarming party.   I had mom take a picture of me, Dad and my brother, Tony.

When I returned to my house I just wanted to lounge. I rented HALF MOON STREET and THE JOURNEY OF NATTY GUNN.

Mom and Dad called me after they returned from Raymond’s (mom’s youngest brother) House Warming party. So I took the videotapes to their house and watched the movies with them.

HALF MOON STREET was another Sigourney Weaver film. She plays a doctor at some Institute in London who is frustrated by her job and begins moonlighting with an escort service to supplement her income.

THE JOURNEY OF NATTY GUNN takes place during the Depression years where a twelve year old girl is left behind in Chicago by her father to look for work in the timber industry. She runs away from her guardian in search of her father and befriends a wolf and hops a train and is presumed dead after the train crashes and her wallet is found.

January 5, 1994
In the book I am beginning it says that it is easier to remember bad things than happy ones, that happiness is the hardest thing to describe, and I believe this. When I want to think about happiness, I think about Ogunquit, Maine when I was a child, about playing in the sand in the dunes because then, at four, I was allowed to take off my bathing suit and enjoy the sun and the wind.
-May Sarton
At Eighty-Two, A Journal

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