It's Christmas Eve

Jenny, Lauren and Mark and their British shorthair cats are with us. They're enjoying themselves playing a video game for hours on end on the projection tv in the upstairs guest bedroom.  They and Maureen have avoided one another so far, an awkwardness that will culminate in a Christmas Day brunch at Maureen's house. But the ambience at our house is relaxed and pleasant. The five of us are having lunch with the Phams at noon.

Mary Lou and I watched The center will not hold, a documentary about Joan Didion. The film was beautifully done and despite my having no memory of ever reading anything Didion wrote, I related strongly to her personality and her story. She was frail and stoical, sharp and honest, articulate and incisive, a benevolent eccentric of the highest order. I want to read something she wrote and learn more about her.

When I awoke from an intriguing dream this morning, it took a moment to remember her name. For some reason,  I also wanted to think of the authors of The Color Purple and I know why the caged bird sings. I came up with Alice Walker but it didn't seem quite right. It is but it still doesn't feel that way. We saw a wonderful documentary about her at Manship Theater awhile back. I had to look up Maya Angelou. All of this is humbling. I lay awake from 530 to 7 am with these and many other things running through my mind. I'm a bit worried about losing vision in my right eye but viewing the prospect philosophically, as always. 

Max Clark

I noticed today is December 18 and it occurred to me it might be the birthday of Max Clark, my first best friend. It took several searches but I found that Max (Louie Maxwell Clark, Jr) was born on December 17, 1951. But he died of a gunshot under mysterious circumstances in Belize on December 18, 1996, 25 years ago today. Did he commit suicide or did he fall in with dangerous people who murdered him? I don't know if the truth was ever uncovered. I do know Max was an intelligent thrill-seeker and likely alcoholic who fled the USA to avoid some kind of legal trouble. RIP Max and may God forgive us all for our shortcomings.

The projects of civilization

Continuing my theme of going over basics, I'm revisiting the familiar ground of historical theories.

Civilization is built upon our capacity to speak, learn, cooperate and innovate. It had to begin with bands of humans establishing campsites,  making tools and organizing missions. The earliest must have been food gathering and hunting missions followed closely by war parties against other bands. Aggression is an engine of survival and the tools of hunting were the first weapons.

Organization led to early projects such as constructing traps to capture and kill animals. Cooperative effort directed by authoritative leaders was necessary for success. The permanent settlements, domestication of animals and farming that emerged were all directly related to survival needs.

Group identity was created and reinforced by storytelling. This led to enduring myths and building projects lacking a direct survival function yet clearly necessary for the sustained success of the group. Evidence is found throughout the world in the ruins of ceremonial sites and temples left in ancient times by now extinct societies. 

The City

I'll be flying home tomorrow morning after an enjoyable visit with Jenny. I took Jenny and Wendy Solem to an NBA game at Madison Square Gardens- Knicks vs Milwaukee Bucks yesterday. Afterwards, Jenny and I had early dinner at a Korean barbecue restaurant. Today Jenny and I visited the Neue Gallerie and saw a powerful exhibit of early 20th Century German and Austrian art featuring several iconic paintings by Gustav Klimt as well as works by Kandinski, Dix and others. I got Jenny started on Foyle's War and she has taken to it, binge watching all the way through World War 2. I alternated viewing with her and listening to the Audible version of The City We Became, finishing it this afternoon. I then read some reviews, all of which were very favorable. I liked the novel and found it stimulating, as noted (I think) in my prior post.  For some reason, I took notes on each chapter in a manner similar to my method of taking clinical notes during my professional career.  I summarized the action impressionistically, copied down some memorable quotes and made a few observations. What purpose did this serve? I'm not sure- maybe to help me remember the story later, maybe thinking it would internalize my thoughts for the "book club" meeting with Amy, Donna and Joshua on Saturday. Perhaps I'll post them as a blog entry.Perhaps I'll revisit them at some point.  OK, I'm going to add them to this post!

The city we became: Notes

Read by Robin Miles

Chapter 1.  

The reader sounds like a black female. The story is poetic and reminiscent of an acid trip. Two characters open the story, a young kid and Paulo, an old, portly Hispanic mystic who smokes and drinks coffee. This kid is chased all over midtown by the monstrous Mega-cop, a merging of two NYPD officers. He escapes and defeats an outbreak of an evil force by running across the FDR Freeway.

Chapter 2.  

A new character appears, a preppy black man in his 20s, coming to New York for grad school. He leaves the subway and has an apparent psychotic episode (“blackout or delusion or whatever it is”). He hears the voice of the first narrator telling him “Fuck you! This city belongs to me!” Then, he encounters Douglas who is a plumber. Two Asian strangers assist him.  He’s afraid of being committed to a hospital. He keeps oscillating between sanity and psychosis. He can’t remember his name or where he was going to school. He picks the name Manny (i.e., the fluffy cat)! It’s short for Manhattan. It emerges he is the avatar of the borough, its human embodiment. He jumps into a Checker Cab replica driven by a very young woman named Madison.

“He’s just seeing multiple juxtaposed realities while being plagued by inexplicable compulsions and phantom sensations.”

The borough of Manhattan is ‘the nation”s shrine to unrestricted predatory capitalism.”

A BMW with jellyfish tendrils appears.  Tendrils explode out of the pavement forming a tower of “ick." He's menaced by a “spectral hedgehog.”  Everything is him. Something is blocking the flow of the city. The total strangers are his allies.  Manny and Madison manage to defeat the alien force.

“from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair.”

Chapter 3.  Manny is dropped off at an apartment by Madison where he encounters a transexual “bloke in progress” male Asian roommate with a British accent named Bel who discloses they are both Ph.D. candidates in Critical Theory at Columbia University. They met on Skype a month earlier. They take a walk in Inwood Hill Park at the alleged location of the purchase of Manhattan from the indigenous people where they encounter a white female embodiment of the evil force with the tendrils.  ...“but, mind-controlling parasitic otherworldly entities are the rudest of tourists” and they aren’t welcome.  Brooklyn Thomason, Esq. appears and helps eradicate the alien force that possesses the white woman. She was rapper MC Free in her previous life. Now she is on the City Council.

Chapter 4.  A woman with a pixie cut dressed all in white rescues Aislyn Houlihan from her panic episode while trying to board the Staten Island Ferry. What happens if the “Primary avatar finally wakes up?” “Let’s get started on temporarily saving this local node of your consensus reality from existential annihilation, why don’t we?“ “Six of you are more in charge than the rest and those six are highly attuned to one another, naturally, which means finding one of you will help me find the rest of you.” 

The woman in white claims to be responsible for the collapse of the Williamsburg Bridge in the Manhattan chase episode, so is she the embodiment of the evil force or is she here to save the city from it? She discloses being the woman at the park who accosted Manny and Bel as well as being the force that Manny defeated with the lady's umbrella. She asks Aislyn, “Why did the others leave you unprotected?” “That damned Sao Paulo is here somewhere- he must be guarding the primary from me!” But Manhattan and Brooklyn haven’t thought about helping Aislyn. The Primary (manifesting the unity of the five boroughs) is the kid from Chapter 1. There must be some kind of city sonar that guides them to one another, “You don’t fucking matter- nobody gives a shit!” “See something, say something” if you see a white fern frond, says the WIW. The lady’s name? Whispered in Aislyn’s ear. Welts break out on Aislyn's arms. She forgets the woman and what just happened until 10 minutes into the bus ride to her home. She can only recall the name started with an R followed by “an incomprehensible blur of foreign sounds.” Island settles on “Rosey” like Rosey the Riveter. 

Sao Paulo visits Inwood Hill Park seeking clues to what is happening. New York is a “reeking parking lot and glorified shopping mall.” Paolo senses a battle has taken place here. Money is strewn around the ground, a construct used to aim the power of the city at “the enemy.” Twenty people, mostly white and well-dressed (all white), are milling around the rock monument. They are talking but not to one another- to the air, cell phones, a little dog. Paulo takes a cell photo that alerts to crowd to his presence. They fall silent and he exits. He checks the photo and finds every face is distorted with a warping of the air behind their heads. Paulo goes to a little cafe and orders food. He texts the photo to the international phone number and asks for help. 

Chapter 5.  The toilet stall of doom. Bronca, a 70ish Lesbian Lanape Native American artist from the Bronx is that borough's avatar. She encounters the white alien woman in the bathroom of her publicly funded art center. She defeats the WIW by kicking in the door.

Chapter 6. Quest for Queens. Still the same day. Manny and Brooklyn are waiting for a bus to go looking for the avatar of Queens. “Gravitic shifts” are taking place in “weird New York.” “Grandmaster Flash could save me from the alien feather monsters.”  Who can see the tendrils besides the avatars? Manny has to learn how to be a New Yorker. Brooklyn could teach him. He resents being in this position. He could flee and someone else would take his place.  “All of this is just the precursor to something much bigger.” “Tell me about New York, then.” Brooklyn explains about leaving her career as MC Free to do things that actually matter. She shows him the subway map of NYC. Brooklyn and Queens are on the south end of Long Island, “This map is bullshit.” “What people think about us isn’t who really are.”  “Queens is what’s left of old New York.” Long Island City.  Descriptions of what kind of people Queens, the Bronx and Staten Island are going to be. “Brooklyn is doing its own thing.” As they’re riding the bus they feel vibes emanating from Queens. They find a photo on social media with search terms “Queens weird.” Manny sees the truth is an abstract mural made by Branca (“creative with an attitude”). 

Chapter 7. The inter dimensional art critic, Dr. White.

Branca (Pink Crawfish-Older  Lesbian support group), Jess (mean-ass Jewish lady), Vanessa, Y Jing (?).  A group of young white bearded misogynistic racist male artists who produce offensive exploitive, pornographic crap are at the center seeking an exhibit. “Did Four-Chan put you up to this or did you come up with it on your own.” “We don’t do bigotry!” They insist upon showing their best piece “Dangerous Mental Machines” which turns out to be true art of remarkable quality. Something strange happens as they look at it. “What’s happened here is an attack,” HP Lovecraft thought Asians don’t have souls. Strawberry man-bun has a white string protruding from his ankle that extends and contracts as Branca observes. He admits working for the toilet stall lady. A number of displaced key holder artists sleep at the center. A reverse image search of their logo which turns out to belong to the “alt artistes.” “White dude whining is a growth industry.” 

Chapter 8. 

Padmini is Queens, an overweight, overworked young mathematician in grad school. She happens to be looking at the Manhattan skyline when she sees a gigantic translucent tentacle rising up and destroying the Williamsburg Bridge.  She thinks it’s an illusion and a hoax. But it’s not. Then something weird happens to the bottom of the kiddie pool in the yard next door.  Intuitively Queens knows the kids in the pool must not touch the bottom of the pool. She turns into a bullet flying down a tunnel to grab the boys out of the pool. She gets one boy out of the pool but he fights with her and stops her from getting the second one. That one touches the bottom and is grabbed by gray tentacles that threaten to envelop the boy entirely. Queens frees him by visualizing flow dynamics equations. Shortly after defeating the pool entity, Manny and Brooklyn show up at her apartment. It was “something immense and inhuman that almost broke through.” They form an alliance. They get a glimpse of the Primary New York. Manny is choosing not to know his actual name and identity. “I used to hurt people.” It was a job. He decided not to be that person any more and moved to New York. They all go to Brooklyn’s two brownstone houses that are worth millions now. Sao Paulo finds Padmini’s house and speaks to her Aunt Ashwara who gives him minimal info about what has happened. There is a “latent strengthening effect” of calling his International phone number. Paulo decides to go find Staten Island and to meet the trio at Brooklyn’s location the next day. 

Chapter 9. No sleep in or near Brooklyn

Brooklyn repels the white x-spiders from the brownstone where her daughter JoJo and father live by rapping.  Exhausted, she sleeps until late the next afternoon where she finds they’ve gotten an eviction notice. The Better New York Foundation now owns it. 

Chapter 10. A better NY is in sight.

The Board rejects $23M from Dr. White to sell out to the alt artistes. Branca spends the night with the key holders. A more authentic Dr. White appears during the night. White generates scary murals all over the walls. “There’s no need for you and your favorites to die in the conflagration that is to come.” The City painted the portrait of the Primary sleeping on newspapers. Why is the City’s avatar sleeping? “Because NY is too much for one person to embody. Because the City needed him and he did it anyway.” The Primary needs the Five to revive him so he can awaken. “You just threatened the existence of an infinity of dimensions.” Branca again defeats the White Woman who steps away into another dimension leaving the artistes lying about. She summons the police who reluctantly arrest the artistes for vandalism and breaking and entering. After the dust settles, Manny, Queens and Brooklyn show up at her office grinning

Chapter 11. Make Staten Island great against Sao Paulo.

Aislyn is high on Benadryl taken to treat the breakout of hives triggered at the ferry landing. She is sitting on the roof in a reverie. Her mother, Kendra, has joined her.  Her father Matthew brings Connell, a disgusting creep who is under the control of Dr. White, home as a guest. Connell makes a gross pass at Aislyn during which he insults Staten Island, causing her to unleash the power of the Island at him, driving him backwards into to neighbor’s hedge. Aislyn walks away from the house into the night, A car approaches slowly and stops. Sao Paulo is the driver. He greets her with the question, “Staten Island? Get in!” She starts to comply but his car is immediately engulfed in white fronds. Dr. White appears behind her wearing a track suit.  The three confront one another. Paulo’s cigarette smoke dispels the white fronds. He informs Aislyn of her role in the New York mission and offers to help. Aislyn, however, views Paolo as a foreign intruder and blasts him with her Staten Island power. Connell claims he was jumped by a big black guy. Aislyn is empowered to stand up for herself but rejects the idea of being allied with the rest of the City. 

Chapter 12. About that teamwork thing.

Branca doesn’t like the other boroughs, especially, Brooklyn.  “I don’t need you! I handled it by myself and you weren’t around.” The Bronx don’t trust nobody. Branca recognizes Brooklyn as the former MC Free.  After an initial refusal, Branca decides to cooperate. Manny realizes his role is to protect the Primary. It is revealed that when a city becomes whole, infinite alternate universes are annihilated. Some things must die so others may live. They confer on whether to go look for Staten Island or for the Primary. Then, Branca takes them on a perspective view of the Multiverse where various emergent cities are shining points of light, then back to the hiding place of the Primary avatar. Then they all conk out, They come to when the avatar of another avatar, Hong Kong, comes in carrying Sao Paulo over his shoulder. Sao Paulo has been injured from the attack by Staten Island on her own turf. He is revived by a brigadeiro, a Brazilian candy, Vanessa happens to have in the frig. They determine the Primary is sleeping in the decommissioned Old City Hall subway station.

Chapter 13. They don’t have cities there.

A gigantic white column has appeared in Aislyn’s front yard. The Woman in White explains it’s an adapter cable connecting “my Universe to yours.” The place of stark shadows appears in the rearview mirror. The WIW asserts that once there was only one Universe with no cities. Cities are monstrous and terrifying. A black cylindrical Ding Ho is moving around in the mirror world. “Have read any Lovecraft?” “Algae once nearly wiped out all life on this planet.” Hybrid vigor makes humans stronger. The WIW seems to make internally contradictory assertions. Somehow this wipes out alternate realities in the Multiverse.” I told you to stay in the staging area.” The Audible reader does the voice of the WIW like Ursula the Sea Witch in the Walt Disney cartoon the Little Mermaid. 

Chapter 14. Beaux Arts, bitches!

The Better NY Foundation is a subsidiary of TMW, LLC (Total Multiversal War Company). They have demolished the Murderburger Building across the street from the Center and evicted it’s tenants. Evidence of infestation has erupted all around them. Brooklyn has an injunction against being evicted from her brownstones,. TMW has been prepping its campaign for many years. Sao Paulo is wounded but getting healing from the remaining brigadeiros. Hong and Paolo deliver information about the failure of New Orleans and Port au Prince to achieve life, despite their presence as halpers. New York could suffer a massive earthquake and fall into the sea in the event of failure. Personal issues among the avatars are evident. They debate their next step. A wave of illness comes over them. Something is coming up through the floor of the Center. They all run for the exit. Manny thinks about a subway train and it actualizes into a ghost train that sweeps them out of the Center. A massive tendril column bursts out enveloping the Center and rises up into the sky. Then Madison pulls up in her replica Checker Cab. “Can you take us to City Hall Station?” Manny and Paolo get in the cab. Branca has a car she can drive some with.The column seems to breath with an aversive sound, Branca persuades Vanessa to leave to a safe place. The cab leaves for City Hall Station. 

Chapter 15. The gauntlet of 2nd Avenue.

Bronca heads toward Staten Island on 2nd Avenue with Hong, Queens and Brooklyn in the car. Queens takes over the GPS with flying fingers. Hong is serious and arrogant. Bronca has a son McSheesh (?) in California who is expecting a child. JoJo’s father died of cancer. “I thought only white people believed everything they heard in rap was real.” Bronca lights into Brooklyn about her former homophobic lyrics. Hong chastises them for arguing, Brooklyn gives a speech about maturing past her abusive rap lyrics and having genuine remorse that mollifies Bronca somewhat. The GPS directs them around an accident on FDR. It turns out to be a right wing protest by racist males called The Men of New York City. “What, a racist white dude march?” “City avatars are usually blessed with good luck,” says Hong. “Gentrification has taken the form of endless coffee shops.” A Starbucks is covered in white tendrils. A big white monster with an open mouth looms ahead causing Bronca to swerve. Another Starbucks jumps at them causing a second swerve without disturbing the zombie customers inside. A third Starbucks drips coffee grounds sludge as it snaps at them. Hong reprimands Bronca for her driving earning a sharp tongued threat. Bronca hits 70 mph in a 25 mph zone with impunity. A snake-like lunging Starbucks bites the car impotently. The Williamsburg Bridge is gone so she heads for the Brooklyn Bridge. As they approach the Island, they are flung into the other world where they can see a new, perfectly circular city has appeared between them and the fifth borough. They realize the WIW is actually another city! “Hong Kong, is it time for the final confrontation, then?” “Smart amoebas are still just amoebas, aren’t they?” The alien city is Rl’yeh from Lovecraft.

Chapter 16 And lo the Beast looked upon the face of Beauty

The Checker cab ride is smooth and uneventful. They get into the decommissioned station without incident. A female cop in plainclothes waves them past the cops guarding the entrance (reminiscent of Obi Wan Kenobe getting past the Imperial Storm Troopers on Tatooine). They get into an empty train that takes off with them and stops at the Old City Hall platform. They find the Primary who is surrounded by a protective force, Their train starts to move on its own motivated by the evil force, Hong and the three female boroughs (Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens) confront the WIW in Aislyn's front yard, Island’s immense power surges: “Get off my lawn!” Aislyn recognizes them as other borough avatars. The 3 boroughs and Hong are flung to the street. Why? “I don’t know you!” “You’re crazy!” Says Queens which incenses Aislyn further. Now they see a brown skinned girl in a dark tunnel covered in slime- it’s Vanessa. Rl’yeh offers a deal that allows the avatars to live out their lives in a pocket Universe. Aislyn realizes Vanessa is in the mouth of a beast that is about to swallow her alive. It’s the Ding Ho! Aislyn closes her eyes and wishes with all her might all of this would just go away. A monster train is coming after Manny, Paolo and the Primary to devour them. Paolo blows smoke at it. Manny goes into a red haze of instinctual rage.  Then, Manny turns into King Kong. Back at Staten Island, Aislyn blows everyone except Rl’yeh away entirely. Aislyn feels safe, knowing a whole city loves her, even if it isn’t NY.

Chapter 17.

The female avatars find themselves lying in front of the Wall Street Bull predawn. Vanessa is now with them, hair wet with an alien stink. The poor girl was in Squiggle Bitch’s mouth!  Hong Kong is not with them. Where is he? Branca's Jeep was teleported along with the ladies. Branca suggests going to the Primary which Queens finds frightening. Brooklyn uses her political clout to get the group into the City Hall Station. They encounter the remains of the bio-mechanoid  train monster which has been ripped apart. Manny is naked and panting. They all try to touch the Primary but each one is stopped. Paolo yanks Vanessa toward the newspaper piles. Above, them, unearthly structures are materializing. But Vanessa has become the avatar of Jersey City, NJ which is now a part of NYC. And somehow the Primary awakens despite the absence of Staten Island. A monumental blast of New York energy is unleashed to cleanse NYC of the Rl'yeh invader, leaving the WIW with only the foothold in Staten Island. 

Chapter 19. Coda

The Primary narrates the postscript. If you can’t eat ‘em, join ‘em on Brighton Beach/Coney Island. “Still alive, pass the blunt.” Manny lusts for him, Hong turned up in Hong Kong and then called a summit of the cities in Paris. They can look across the Staten Island which is covered in a cloud of gloom. Paolo is flying back to Brazil leaving his sublet to the Primary until the end of July. 

Personal growth comes from our relationships with others

Just now I remembered this insight from my career as a psychologist. I see how Jenny has a simple way of life as a single living in a small, one-bedroom apartment. She's been here since graduating from Columbia Law School. She has her bases covered and is content with that, making a 6-figure income and saving most of her money. She has her beautiful cat, Manny, and good friends she socializes with and stays connected to.  She knows how to get around and negotiate life in the city. I told her I'm here to harmonize with her way of life, not to interfere with or get in the way of it. She is who she is and I love her unconditionally,  Even being single with no intention of having a partner much less children, I see she has grown exponentially. She will continue to grow and learn and it will work out.

The City We Became

 Here I am in Manhattan staying with Jenny at her apartment on E. 96th. We went out for lunch and my groceries yesterday and again to get coffee. She left to attend her office Christmas party at 630 pm and didn’t return until 230 am. I awoke when she came in and was able to go back to sleep easily. According to my smartwatch, I slept a total of 9 hours 33 minutes, I've started listening to N.K. Jemison’s novel The city we became, which Jenny and her friends are reading and getting together tomorrow to discuss, It’s a well written fantasy novel that reminds me of my own novel in some ways as well as Vonnegut’s The sirens of Titan and the classic sci fi movie Invasion of the Bodysnatchers. 

What’s the point of writing and reading a novel or any fictional work? We are in part story-telling machines. We need to create and consume stories. The epic poems surviving from ancient cultures demonstrate this. Stories entertain us while helping us stay oriented to our society and the larger world around us. 

What am I getting out of The city we became? It’s timely given my being in New York City and my ongoing reflection on the state of human civilization. Four chapters in, it seems to revolve around a variation on the theme of good versus evil with good being the life force of the great cities of the world and evil being an invasion of “mind-controlling parasitic otherworldly entities.” 

The story triggers associations with the apparent wickedness of the political currents channeled in the USA by the late Rush Limbaugh, Donald Trump, Tucker Carlson, Steve Bannon and their ilk. But their wickedness isn’t alien- it’s the time-honored method of manipulating the wired in survival instincts of the tribe as reflected in the idea of “American exceptionalism.” We’re not exceptional because of our unique innovation in constitutional democracy- we’re exceptional because we’re big and rich and powerful and white. 

A second association is the covid-19 pandemic that is rolling along mutating with no end in sight. I doubt the novelist had this in mind when she began writing but the parallels with her story are obvious. An evolving virus seems more alien and insidious than a neo-Fascist political movement yet it’s still part of the Earth’s natural order. So I’ll continue listening to the theatrical reading of The city we became and remain open to where Jemison is taking me.

I walked out a little while ago to pick up a huge Italian sandwich for our lunch at a shop down on 89th and Second Avenue. There I was out in the very city, encountering and observing everyday life during the time of covid.

Post-script to the review

Writing down my thoughts about my life was helpful. Today, I have clarity on my priorities, the most general being to manifest love toward myself and the people I'm closest to whom, especially Mary Lou. I still woke up and had difficulty getting back to sleep but I felt more settled. Today, I will be packing and making final preparations to fly up to New York tomorrow to visit Jenny. 

Love one another as I have loved you. Love your neighbor as yourself.

What does this look like? How do we manifest love in thought and action? Our power is limited but our efforts make a difference. View others as priceless works of art. Be considerate, respectful and affirming. Provide help when possible. Be generous with time and resources without causing serious harm to oneself except in extreme circumstances (No greater love...). 

Reviewing the basics

Often I awaken after five hours or so of sleep with the need to visit the bathroom. Returning to bed, my brain sets off on a long train of thought attempting to make sense of my life. A central theme is somehow I have achieved remarkable success in surviving and being physically and financially secure in a world where so many people aren’t. Below is an outline of my reflections and conclusions at this point in time. I hope that by writing my thoughts down in black and white I may get some relief from waking up and thinking about them. I will note that I've got some good skills for shutting off my thinking and going back to sleep when I choose to use them.

1. I find myself in a vast and stupendous Universe as a member of the human species.
2. I don’t know how the Universe came into being but I didn’t create it. Of course, it’s possible I somehow did but that seems very improbable and if I did, I don’t know about it. Everything points to my being a small, transient part of the vast and mysterious process that created me.
3. I’ve lived almost 70 years during which I’ve made a concerted effort to understand myself, my fellow humans and the Universe as much as I can. I’ve arrived at provisional conclusions about everything that seems to me important.
4. I was taught the Christian faith by my mother and the Methodist Church starting from an early age. The fundamental teachings of Christianity are that God created the world, Adam and Eve disobeyed God and were banished from Paradise, God sent his son, Jesus, to atone for the sin of the entire human race, and God will forgive everything if we believe in Him and Jesus and accept the gift of forgiveness. That’s all we have to do to be received into eternal life with God. Failure to do so, however, results in being banished eternally from God’s presence which is the definition of Hell.
5. Being taught the faith by a mother who set a sterling example of living according to Christian beliefs and values with humility, compassion and generosity of spirit, I was compelled to come to terms with my own beliefs. Being a bright, curious, sensitive and thoughtful person, I read and thought and analyzed these questions over many years and came to provisional conclusions about them.  Needless to say, I had serious doubts about the whole question of religion.
6. I don’t see how the Universe can exist without something transcendent bringing it about. Logically, nothing should exist since “nothing can be made out of nothing.” Whatever did it would be what humans call God. Therefore, I believe in "God." However, it’s impossible for me to believe that only one of the world’s numerous religions is the correct one and I just happened to be fortunate to be taught the one that’s true. 
7. One argument I have is that every religion depends upon the written teachings of its founder or founders, ancient texts in various ancient or classical languages. Interpretation of these texts depends upon the understanding of scholars who can read and study them.  In every case, serious and conscientious experts within the same religious community disagree radically on what the texts are saying and what the implications are for us. My favorite interpretation is that they’re all trying to say the same thing in different words. Trust God, seek the truth, love your neighbor as yourself, don't stay attached to transient material things, do good as you understand it. I am deeply skeptical about anyone claiming to have authorization from God to tell us the correct understanding. Fundamentalists, in their need for certainty, aren’t worshipping God- they’re confusing themselves with God and worshipping written words. No human has such certainty.
8. Additionally, I don't see how people who live "sinful" lives deserve eternal punishment. In my understanding, they are acting from their own limited understanding and psychological makeup according to the way they developed as humans. The omniscient Creator would understand this, having created the entire Universe. Jung and Joseph Campbell made convincing cases that universal religious ideas and themes are part of our psychological foundations. They serve an important role in individual and societal life. The story of Adam and Eve is obviously a myth that combines two different stories by the E writer and the J writer.
9. I'm open to whatever is true and, given the magnificent and mysterious Universe we exist in, I can imagine a transcendent Being who knows everything about everything such that nothing is hidden from It; but, I am unable to believe that the transcendent Creator is all about whether we humans believe exactly the right things or not. I'm unable to believe that the entire Universe revolves around our species and whether each individual is rewarded or punished for how it lived its life. The incomprehensibly powerful Creator of the Universe couldn't have such a narrow and limited focus. 
10. If I'm wrong about any of this, I'm sincerely wrong and will trust God to deal with me fairly. Show me the way, O Lord. I surrender.
11. The above notwithstanding, I resonate with the teachings of Jesus as expressed in English language Bibles and do my best to follow them as I understand them. I also believe, as Job argued, that we must trust the Higher Power Greater Than Ourselves that brought all of this into being, even though we can’t understand why things are as they are. I think it's more important to follow the teachings in this life than to be preoccupied with getting rewarded afterwards for asserting the correct belief. I pray regularly for the people I'm close to both quick and dead, for myself and for all of humanity, including those whose behavior and attitudes I reject, 
12. My own personal situation, as I said, is amazingly good. I don’t believe I deserve this kind fate more than anyone else but here it is. I did work diligently to achieve it but many factors beyond my control were necessary for it to happen. I'm grateful every moment and I don't take it for granted in the slightest.
13. Many things about the human race make me sad and concerned. That’s nothing new- as a youth coming up in the 1950s and ‘60s, I looked at human history, at American society and the world and became disillusioned and cynical about the state of the species (e.g., our materialism, greed, abuse of power, racism, violence, oppression of the vulnerable, rape of the environment, etc). I did and do value friends and creativity and I recognize that we as a species are capable of remarkable accomplishments in science, technology and the arts. I had some hope that progress would be made toward peace and justice as is possible within the US political system and other democratic societies. The current US and world situation gives much cause for anxiety. I'm frustrated that we're capable of solving so many of our problems but our cultures and flawed leaders don't do a much better job of it. I realize there’s little I can do about this and I accept all of that. 
14. I do realize there are many, many dedicated people throughout the world contributing in various ways to a better human society providing a balance against our selfish and destructive dimensions. I am hopeful we won't devolve into universal dystopia and bring about our own extinction. I still want to find ways to make a small difference using what power and resources I have. I stay connected with friends via social media and give them support and encouragement they value. I strive to be considerate and loving.
15. During my career as a clinical psychologist, I did my best to do my small part in making human society work. For example, I made it a mission to help Vietnam veterans and other vets to cope with PTSD and the related issues of returning from war.  I’m still in touch with a number of grateful vets whose lives I touched for the better. I helped a lot of other people, too, and made a good and honest living from it, resulting in me being able to retire in safety and comfort. I don’t want more material things. I don’t want to cause harm to anyone. I believe each life is valuable and worthy of respect. I want to live by my values.
16. Taking all of this together, I have every reason to be pleased with my life. I eat healthy food and exercise enough to stay in pretty good shape,  I’m still in overall good health although age is beginning to affect me and I think about the reality of aging and dying every day. I recognize that I, like everyone, am always vulnerable. This is all in the order of the Universe and I accept it intellectually, albeit with sadness. But I wouldn’t wish to live forever in this body and this world, even if my body didn’t become old and infirm over time. 
17. Having thought all of this and reached these conclusions, why do I wake up and go over them in my mind so regularly? Why do I need to keep reviewing them knowing they are unlikely to change? Why do I keep thinking about the troubling aspects of humanity? I think I’m trying to reassure myself, to make sure I haven’t missed anything, to double-check and reaffirm my vision. I know a part of it is to convey to God that I'm doing my best and hope He doesn't punish me.  Another part is I'm seeking a state of peace and acceptance. Because there's no certainty, we must rely upon faith. My bottom line conclusion is I want to stay positive, stay grateful and use the time I have left wisely. I will do my best to follow through.

 

On "Listening to Kenny G."

I used to be a music snob- a song or artist had to pass my "coolness test." No longer. In the infinite variety of the musical universe, I believe it's a matter of 'Do you like it? Does it work for you or not?'I used to be a music snob- a song or artist had to pass my "coolness test." No longer. In the infinite variety of the musical universe, I believe it's a matter of 'Do you like it? Does it work for you or not?'

Comment on a post in Owen's Geopolitical Analysis Facebook Group

Maybe it's good that Democratic voters are more optimistic about our system remaining viable? You're obviously right that the GOP feeds on fear and hate. I tell people "In my youth, Bob Dylan confirmed for me that things are as screwed up as I thought they were." Looking from an historical perspective, our US political world is no more cynical and driven by selfish forces than in times past and is in some ways better (e.g., no more legal segregation, equal rights for LGBT..). I was dismissive of US politics for most of my life, viewing both parties as money driven, disconnected from daily life and unwilling or unable to address core problems such as poverty, education and racism. Our foreign policy enabled considerable evil throughout the world. More radical solutions like Communism would have been every worse IMHO- at least in the USA the Bill of Rights enabled a high degree of personal freedom. I did vote, almost always for Dems as the lesser of evils. Obama gave me and many of us hope for movement toward a better society with more enlightened voters leading to better government. I actually got involved with his first Presidential campaign which was a new thing for me. His terms were disappointing for reasons I won't get into in depth here (short version- he set a good personal example but was largely stymied by GOP scorched earth strategy and tactics). I've drifted back to viewing our politics as an endless war between those politicians who have a vision to make the Union more perfect and those who only care about their own narrow interests and/or think things are fine the way they are. That's a simplistic breakdown but it's an overview that puts the ongoing struggles into a manageable perspective. What seems different to me at present is the GOP dropping any pretenses of having traditional conservative moral and philosophical values, rejecting medical science and embracing lying, cheating, and frankly antisocial behavior.

The Candlewick Archives

I shipped off my Mom's archives today in 4 boxes to the National Imperial Glass Museum. Inside each box, I placed a copy of the following letter. I posted the note on my Facebook page and on the Michiana Candlewick Collectors Facebook group page. The comment about Mom were very gratifying. 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/191287934218174/permalink/5203830156297235/

November 30, 2021

Re:  Donation of Virginia R. Scott Candlewick archives

These four boxes contain the records of Virginia Scott’s lifelong passion for the Candlewick pattern of glassware made by Imperial Glass Company.  Her contribution to the Imperial community consisted of researching the Candlewick line exhaustively, publishing her findings in a long series of articles and booklets, and promoting interest in Candlewick among collectors over a period from the late 1970’s through the early 2000s. To preserve her legacy for persons interested in the history of Candlewick and of the community of collectors during her lifetime, I have included her publications, research files, photo albums, correspondence and a few items from the desk where she typed her articles and put together her long-running newsletter, The Candlewick Collector.  My mother’s devotion to this work was a labor of love and she would have been proud to know that these records have found their home.

Owen Scott, III

The shift

I sense a change,  a shift in my thinking reflecting acceptance of my age and life situation. I've had the thought for some time 'The window of opportunity is closing,' meaning certain things I've sought and hoped for are no longer realistic possibilities, if, in fact, they ever were. I won't say what all of these things are. What I will say is, I want now to focus on appreciating the enviable situation I have and taking care of business to maintain it. My new mantra is 'Do as much as I can as long as I can.' 

Milton Leathers

I only knew Milton through Facebook and a few telephone conversations. He was a few years older than me and from Old Athens people, Cobbs and Irwins and McWhorters. He was a Southern eccentric, a gentleman, widely read, thoughtful and progressive, yet deeply respectful of and steeped in the past, in the story of his family and community. Milton recognized my intelligence and vision and reached out to me to make personal voice contact. We shared on the level of values, interests and beliefs, both wishing for a kinder, more compassionate and enlightened human society.

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, I learned of Milton's death through a Facebook post by Roy Bell.  I had missed a phone call from Roy the day before and I thought Roy must have called to tell me about Milton. I called Roy back and found him sitting on his porch. Roy has had very serious health problems recently (esophageal varices on top of diabetes and cardiovascular issues) and is limited physically as he slowly recovers from a harrowing episode of burst blood vessels in his throat. 

Roy sadly informed me Milton had committed suicide by jumping off a highway overpass. Unknown to me, Milton suffered from Bipolar Disorder. He had just undergone a course of hospitalization and only been discharged a few days before. He left a note for his wife and departed in the night alone to meet his fate. Roy found out from Lucy Minogue Rowland, a close friend of Milton's I'd met via his Facebook posts. 

Milton was a person everyone loved. He was an iconic pubic figure, a man who knew everyone in and everything about Athens, Georgia. His generous, extraverted spirit touched and affirmed anyone who came in contact with him. As Roy and I discussed, Milton had to have been experiencing unbearable agony to take his life in such a sure and violent manner.  It was unjust for Milton's shining life to end so miserably. He deserved to die peacefully of old age in bed at home surrounded by love ones. How cruel that mental illness drove Milton to a depth of despair and agitation he could no longer stand to endure. 

As always, there's more to the story than we can know, questions that can't be answered. His death is a devastating blow to the people closest to him and that's the very last thing he would have wanted. I hope in time they are able to realize that and forgive him as he would have forgiven a person he loved were the roles reversed. Milton was overcome by a terrible and irresistible force that took his life but can't negate the tremendous good he did over its course.  

Peace is yours, my brother, Milton Leathers, and may peace be with all of us.

Thinking

Looking at my situation positively, my successful career as a human being has led me to a period of safety and freedom with time to consider what I wish to do with myself. I am profoundly grateful for my good fortune and well aware that it's not an entitlement. What I've done with it so far is to simplify my activities and to spend much of my time thinking. What do I think about? Pretty much everything but one major dimension is my place in the history of our species and what to do with it in whatever time I have left. At this point, I've let go of the idea of having any widespread impact through putting my thoughts into writing and disseminating them to a large audience who would then be inspired to work toward creating a more enlightened future. 

I realize that sounds ridiculous as if it were ever a possibility; but, I still believe I see the human world more clearly than most and that my ideas and insights could be valuable if I found a way to get them out there. I could at least make an effort to consolidate them and leave them in a form where they might be discovered one day. I have it in mind to make that effort. 

What holds me back is my dysthymic state. I'm not clinically depressed but I struggle with apathy, low-level demoralization and having trouble staying awake and alert. My eyesight is also a growing concern as I'm blind in my left eye and I see signs of issues with the good one. As noted previously, I have trouble carrying out meaningful projects such as my music and the family archives in a disciplined process. I move slowly and rest frequently as each day goes by. I think regularly about my experience with my aging parents and the inevitability of death. I realize that all of this is fleeting and one can't hold on to much less be validated by transient material and social possessions and accomplishments.

There's something to say for keeping things simple- watering the plants, weeding the flower beds, doing 15 pushups and 6500 steps daily, keeping the house straight, being supportive of Mary Lou, Maureen, Cody, Jenny and my social media friends, entertaining myself following the success of the Milwaukee Bucks' NBA championship and the Georgia Bulldogs' pursuit of the NCAA football  trophy. I kept Regina this weekend while Cody and Maureen were in Dallas visiting friends and Patty Ken's family. I took her for walks, fed her treats, let her follow me around and lie down wherever I was sitting. I enjoyed her company but was glad to return her this morning after keeping her an extra day (Monday) because Cody and Maureen were ill. 

I'm not giving up on life but I've detached and let go in many ways. I'm in a good place with God ("Trust the Creator" is one of my mantras). I believe that whatever happens happens and it's ultimately OK. My power is limited but I want to use it wisely in keeping my my values of compassion and unconditional love.

  

The big question

How am I going to spend my precious time today?

Accidents happen but...

In the past 2 years, I've had five minor accidents driving my car. Three involved backing into a stationary object (two times hitting the exact same post in a parking garage!), one involving changing lanes to my left into the path of a car who had turned into that lane at the same time I turned right and in the fifth case, two nights ago,  I stopped for a light at night in the left lane and tried to pull into the right lane where another car had pulled up to a stop without my seeing it. Needless to say, this is an alarming trend that warrants scrutiny. The nice lady I pulled over into is allowing me to pay for her damage without filing insurance, so our coverage won't be affected; but, I really need to stop causing these accidents. 

The family archives

After Mom died in January 2015, I became curator of the Scott family archives. This disorganized collection of stuff includes portraits of Scott ancestors from the 19th Century, letters, diplomas, certificates and documents dating back to WON Scott I down through Grandpapa (Frank K. Scott) and my Dad, Mom's Reeder mementos, Mom's Candlewick research and publication archives going from the 1970s through early 2000s, my jumble of personal papers from high school until the present, myriad photographs covering all those people and eras, greeting cards from one person to another, WONS I's diaries, books and God knows what else. I packed much of this into bins when I cleared out our house in Athens and brought them over to Baton Rouge where they've languished in our storage units, in one corner of my studio in the garage building and in the back of various storage spaces in our house. 

I'm not sure who, if anyone, will be interested in these things after I'm gone, but I feel meaningfully responsible for getting them into some kind or order before that happens. This has been on my mind since I collected them here in Baton Rouge; and, retirement (in July 2019) has given me the free time I can use to execute the task. Getting started on it has been another matter, specifically, a matter of procrastinating for the past two years. As documented in this diary, I've had repeated dreams about my parents being alive and often infirm and in need of my care and about aspects of my old life in Athens, perhaps reflecting my anxiety about the unfinished mission. 

I made an abortive start a few weeks ago, assigning plastic bins to different branches of the family and beginning to sort items and place them in their proper boxes. It seems there's always something to distract me from a concerted effort; but, today I spent the morning and afternoon making good headway. I've been in touch with the National Imperial Glass Museum in Bellaire, Ohio and they've accepted my offer to donate to them Mom's Candlewick materials. This would have made Mom very proud and happy. I've got a good chunk of her material organized in a shipping box that's pretty much ready to go. 

I also put a number of my immature writings saved on old sheets of notebook paper, into plastic sheet protectors and placed them in notebooks. Another notebook contains lyrics and chords for my original songs. I threw out, among other things, a large number of charts for songs I've played or intended to play in cover bands over the past 15 years, thinking I'll probably never play them again. 

All of this is, of course, rather sad. As my song says,

        In with the new life/Out with the old life/Farewell to past life and on with the show...

Another classic dream

By classic,  I mean one of the recurring themes that have recurred as far back as I remember dreaming. This particular theme might be called "Harassed by an offensive man."

In the dream,  I was leaving a workplace that might have been my Psychology internship. I was driving away in a convertible like my first Volvo C70 with three passengers, shotgun and two in the back. As we started out, a man jumped over from the passenger side into the car.  I was incensed by his audacity and continued driving while yelling at him to get out. But he stayed put. My three passengers remained passive as I told the man I was going to get the police to get rid of him. He didn't seem to care, even as I got in his face and spat at him. We were approaching downtown Athens from Lumpkin Street and had to slow or stop. I saw some uniformed men but realized they were just security guards loading an armored car at the bank on the corner. The dream ended without a resolution. 

Upon awakening, I immediately recognized this as what Jung would call a confrontation with the Shadow, the embodiment of my disowned personality traits. The man was aggressive, bold and rude in imposing himself on me and I showed no interest in finding out what his motive was in leaping into my car. I've had any number of similar dreams over the years including one way back before I went to graduate school where I was handcuffed to a psychotic policeman who was berating me for using amphetamines. Today, I used Jung's active imagination method to explore the character from last night's dream. His reason for doing it: He's tired of being ignored and left out. I have to admit I could use his aggressive passion these days.

Coping with emotional stress

Life is stressful for most people regardless of specific circumstances. Why is that? The many different factors producing the experience of stress have one thing in common: They trigger one or more of the negative emotions: shame, fear, grief or boredom. Physical fatigue and exhaustion may also contribute. Consider the Biblical creation story. The first two people,  Adam and Eve, lived in a beautiful and peaceful park where they apparently subsisted on gathering fruit, they didn't work, they faced no threat from oppressive authorities, dangerous people and other animals or disease and they enjoyed intimate companionship without fear of losing the partner to a competitor. In short, before the intervention of the serpent, they experienced no fear, no shame, no grief, no exhaustion, no loneliness, not even any anger. Did they ever get bored with this easy life? Not as far as the account reveals.

The Garden story contrasts with the unceasing demands of real life. Individual circumstances vary greatly around the world but almost all of them impose forms of stress on the individual. Every individual must find an adaptive niche within her or his social milieu. A critical part of the adaptive skills an individual develops is a repertoire of coping skills, behavioral practices that manage his or her particular stressors.

Coping skills are distinguished from those that directly support survival (e.g., food acquisition and consumption, work). Coping skills function to build positive emotions and manage negative ones so as to facilitate adaptive stablity.

An examination of coping skills (or mechanisms, if you will) reveals they may he assessed in terms of costs and benefits to the individual.  Some common patterns of thought and behavior,  other things being equal, produce healthy, sustainable adaptation and longevity (listening to music, positive thinking) while others (abuse of alcohol or opiates) lead to dysfunction, ill health and early death.

Ephemerality

Just back from a short walk in the neighborhood down to old Highland Road Cemetery where I meditated for awhile on the worn gravestones and open spaces of lost and forgotten burial sites,  I receive a call from Maureen informing me that her friend from high school,  Max, has died of a drug overdose. Maureen learned this from Alex, who dated Max during those years before they parted ways to attend different colleges.  Maureen and Alex went on to become successful professional people and mothers while Max struggled with addiction. His parents did all they could to help him recover and at one time he seemed to be on track. How sad this is.

I've been thinking about my own path. I think about doing certain meaningful things but have difficulty getting going and following through on them. I have things to say about but don't put the thoughts into writing. I spend a lot of time reading articles about my favorite sports teams. Nothing wrong with that but is it how I want to use my most valuable resource?

To do:

Organize the family archives 

Contact Candlewick people about Mom's research archives 

Practice my songs 

Work on my recordings 

Get Moderna booster 

Get blood work 

New phone 

New headphones

Get Boss blue box repaired

Catalogue and value my stamp and related collections. 

What else?

New watch 

New shoes

Review and organize my writings

The naked therapist

I find myself writing mostly about my dreams. It's believed that if one pays attention to ones dreams, one begins to remember them more frequently. This could be the case with me, as I've been recalling my dreams regularly. And they've been rather interesting. 

Yesterday (October24), I dreamt I was having a therapy session with a talented professional lady who in real life is an artist and long-term case who consulted me on and off over a period of years.  The session was normal except that I was completely naked. We may have been talking about vulnerability, an important subject in my therapeutic approach. During the session I noticed a door to the outside was open so I got up to close it. At the end of the session, I got dressed. Ww both behaved as if this were perfectly normal and ok. A couple (not people from my real life) was waiting to see me. I needed to use the restroom so I went out into a hall and entered a mens room. If I'm remembering correctly, this was the dream where all the urinals on both sides of the room were occupied. Finally, a boy vacated an old fashioned sink-like urinal giving me my turn. At some point, I was thinking I had allowed my license to lapse, so I shouldn't be seeing cases and I would need to take some steps for damage control such as informing people they couldn't file for insurance reimbursement.

The above dream has a connection with my song Wings of the Muse which has the line "Knock and the door will be open/ But, think twice before you step outside/The keys to the kingdom are broken/We're out there naked and there's no place to hide."

This morning, I woke up around 3am. I began thinking about all sorts of things including what is known about the life of Jesus, how the accounts in the Gospels have been interpreted and what I believe about it.  I wasn't able to turn my train of thought off, so I got up and ate a bowl of cereal while reading articles in the Athletic.  I went back to bed around 430am and had an elaborate dream in which I was visiting a group of people with Mary Lou in an unfamiliar place. We had driven in some sort of large vehicle like a bus or RV and at some point, Mary Lou drove off in it and left me behind. I didn't seem to know the people I was with very well and I became anxious as to what to do. The people were friendly but didn't offer to help. Additionally, I had lost my shoes and couldn't find my wallet and cell phone at first. I finally found them and tried calling Mary Lou but she didn't answer. The people drove me to a hotel in a city and I planned to get a room using a credit card.

Charlene wants to speak to you

Dream: I was in a big department store dressed in a coat and tie. Someone complimented my tie and I commented that men don't have a lot of options when it comes to dress clothing. I don't know what I was doing in the store but an announcement came on a PA system saying that Charlene, who seemed to be the store manager, wanted to speak to me. I saw her on a video monitor- she was a middle aged black woman who had a managerial air. I went to look for her, first wandering into a lab where some technicians were doing some kind of tests or research (drug screens?). I found an office with some secretaries with whom I inquired about Charlene. She was elsewhere. I didn't feel that I was wanted for any kind of reprimand but I don't know what Charlene wanted. Maybe she wanted me to do some kind of consultation.

346-4921

I went back to sleep around 545 am after deciding not to get up and eat my bowl of Great Grains and woke up at 7 am from an elaborate anxiety dream.

I was at our private practice office after seeing a few patients. I looked at the schedule book and saw I had a busy week ahead. There was a break in the schedule just then so I decided to go for a swim in a nearby river with Karl Scott and another nameless guy before returning in 2 hours to see more cases. I remarked to Karl to the effect that life is good when you can do what I was doing- see a few people, take an enjoyable break, then seeing a few more people.  We got into the river where quite a few other people were floating (rather than swimming), just drifting along downstream in the current. We had a small boat with a motor floating next to us and I suggested we get in it. I bumped into someone as we scrambled trying to board the boat and begged his pardon- it was a minor brush and he didn't seem bothered. I'm not sure we were successful getting into the boat as the motor seemed separate although it wasn't sinking under the water. After we apparently had floated downstream for awhile, I realized I needed to get back to the office for the rest of my schedule. It was almost time and I also realized I was not going to get there on time and might need to cancel. We got out of the water in an unfamiliar area. I thought we could take a street parallel to the river and reach a major highway going back to the office. We seemed to be in an upscale subdivision. I ended up leading us into a house without permission and walking through a door to encounter the family who lived there. I apologized to the apparent father for intruding and explained we were lost and trying to find the highway. The man didn't appear to be alarmed at the group of strangers in his home and he gave me simple direction "Go left, then turn right." I checked to make sure I understood by pointing "We should go that way?" which he confirmed. Meanwhile, Karl and the other guy were acting goofy making me suspect they had taken LSD. I wanted them to cool it so as not to alarm the family. We left and started down the street. We came to a downhill stretch and, feeling a sense of urgency to get back to familiar territory I started gliding rapidly on the soles of my feet as if the street were greased. We were passing various buildings where I tried to read the signs to determine where we were but we were moving too quickly. On the right we passed a multistory brick tower that said Sears. It looked empty and abandoned. Finally, we came to Freedom Mall, a  shopping complex that looked new and was filled with shoppers. I decided to use my phone to look at a map and/or call the office to deal with missing my appointment and have someone come pick us up. It occurred to me I had allowed my license to lapse,I was seeing people illegally and I needed to resolve that situation before it came to the attention of the licensing board.  As in a number of previous dreams, I couldn't get any functions on the phone to work. I wanted to dial the number 346-4921 but couldn't access the dialup keypad screen. At that point I awoke to the usual relief that this was a dream.  The number seems familiar but after awakening, I was unable to identify it using search function. It doesn't match any numbers in my address book.

Heading to Athen for the weekend but first, my latest dreams

I went back to sleep this morning and remembered some dreams when I awoke again around 8 AM.  In one, I was riding a bicycle on a highway going to some city. The highway forked and I went to the left. I wasn't sure if that was correct so I got off the bike to use my phone to look at map. I moved to a dirt shoulder between the forks that went down to a ditch. I could see highway signs on each fork.  Later, I arrived driving my car at a place in another city, perhaps, Savannah, GA, where I was going to perform as a solo artist at a combination music store/event venue. I parked the car and went into the venue where I met some people who worked there. Other musicians were also going to perform and there were amplifiers and other gear lying around. I set my guitar in its case down on the floor.The wedding of a black couple was in progress at the front of the large room. Food was being served at the reception and I wondered if it was OK for me to partake of some sandwiches. I went to look for my Gibson acoustic guitar which was in a hardshell Gibson case and it had disappeared. I was distressed of course and I started looking all around the place until I determined someone had taken it. I found myself in a concrete corridor that led outside to a loading zone. I walked all around the building. While doing this, I took out my cell phone to call someone but the phone was very hot and it immediately broke apart and spewed out steaming liquid. Eventually I found my way back inside where I began to explain to someone at the store what had happened, mentioning how I had gotten the guitar at a police auction I had gone to with Kate Pierson in Athens. "Yes, that Kate Pierson," I said proudly. I noticed I was relatively calm and composed discussing how someone had stolen my prized guitar. Although I was in a strange place without my phone where I didn't know these people, I felt they would try to help me.

Roy Bell

Roy is one of my best friends of all time. We were part of the small group of "Athens High Hippies" who hung out together on the steps next to the school auditorium from 1968-1970. There's an iconic photo of that scene in the 1970 Trojan yearbook with Ken Van Eseltine, Keith Strickland, Roy, myself, and Guy Wright (below).

Everyone except Roy eventually left Athens and dispersed across the country. Roy stayed on and through a long progression learned carpentry, married his fabulous and amazing wife, Debbie Craddock Bell, had two lovely daughters, and became a highly accomplished builder whose work is simply beautiful. We remained friends and got together from time to time. Through the emergence of e-communication, social media and my many trips to Athens from around 2005, we continued our friendship and spent many lovely hours visiting and driving around Athens and the surrounding countryside. 

Roy is one of the best people I've ever known, smart, compassionate, industrious, generous, artistic, caring, loyal, a fiercely loving parent and grandparent, a friend to all dogs and cats, and just generally wonderful.  As he'll tell you, Roy's family of origin was extremely dysfunctional and he suffered much emotional abuse and humiliation from his alcoholic father prior to leaving home around age 16. I've often said I'm much more impressed by Roy than I am by myself, both of us having managed to succeed in our professional and personal lives, me with the help of many advantages, Roy in spite of numerous daunting obstacles.

I had a dream last night in which Roy and a group of friends came by unannounced to my parents' house and picked me up to go to a high school reunion. I thanked them sincerely for thinking about me and mentioned that I had been planning to call Roy that day (which was in fact true in real life). I got into the middle back seat and found myself next to Roy who was sitting on the driver's side window. More people got in and I made a joke about how he'd have to sit on my lap. However, that didn't prove necessary. We drove away and I saw Roy had one of his small dogs on his lap. He allowed the dog to get on his shoulders, drape its body over his head and stick its head out to the window to enjoy to wind as dogs like to do. I thought that was so cute I would take a photo of it with my phone. I only recall a little more about the dream- I was walking down the hall at AHS to the party with a couple of male friends and I encountered some women including Brent Shuford Gunn who was standing on a chair or something making her tower above me which I joked about as I gave her a hug. 

I had thought yesterday I wanted to call Roy to see how he's doing. Roy has had serious cardiovascular problems as well as diabetes. He's had several close calls with cardiac episodes that were all treated quickly saving him from a likely fatal heart attack. A month or so ago he has an episode of esophageal varices suddenly bursting causing him to have severe bleeding into his throat. Again, Roy got timely emergency medical care and survived the episode. He learned this condition is associated with cirrhosis of the liver and is fairly common in advanced diabetes. I did call him this morning and we talked for about 30 minutes. Further testing has revealed he indeed has serious liver damage such that he might require a liver transplant in order to survive much longer.  He goes back in a few weeks for follow up at which time he expects to find out what his prognosis and options are.  

It was good talking to Roy. Naturally, I am most concerned as are many, many other people who love and admire Roy. This prods me to plan a visit to Athens in early October to see Roy and my other dear friends from this fleeting life of ours. Who knows how many more opportunities he and I will have?