This is Not the Greatest Song in the World (this is just a tribute)

On a spelling test in elementary school I once spelled it S-O-X.

I was beside myself when I got it wrong.

The Iguana is the Sneeziest Animal

A couple of years ago I was at a party.  The apartment had hardwood floors and I was in my socks. 

I had more than a few drinks, but was still keenly aware of the slippery floor under my socks.

Later when I sneezed, I lost my balance and fell to the floor. 

I lay on my back, laughing at myself as the hostess chimed in to her boyfriend, laughingly, "I told you the floor was slippery".

I got up slowly, casually.  I played the fool; played it off as if it could've happened to anyone.  As if it was too many beers and a slippery surface. 

It wasn't.

Vulnerable

I never used to feel vulnerable in public.  Walking home from the bars or a party late at night, or as a tourist in a strange city by myself, I never once was afraid.  What if someone this or that?  What would I do?  I never gave it any thought at all.

Maybe it was a false sense of security, but it was real to me.

Now I think about it all the time.  I wonder what I would do if someone approached me alone.  If someone wanted to do me harm, what could I do about it? 

The answer is nothing.  I could try to beg for their mercy; to put my fate in someone else's hands. 

Once again I've lost control.  I have to rely on someone else.  And I hate it.

Back at Home

I've spent the month of October living with my parents in their new house.  I moved out of my Waterbury apartment and won't be moving into my new place until November 1^st. 

My parents have been amazing.  This Sunday morning they are making Hilary and I blueberry pancakes with bacon, sausage, coffee, orange juice, and Vermont maple syrup. 

Tonight my father wants to make lobster bisque to accompany the marinated flank steak (local grass-fed Hinesburg beef) he has already planned. 

They have been so welcoming of both of us over the past few weeks, making us more meals than I can count, and sharing their beautiful home. 

Thanks so much for everything, from Hilary and I.

Golf

In 2009 I bought my first golf membership.  I joined Williston County Club with three of my friends.  We played 9 holes most days after work, and 18 on Saturday and/or Sunday.  I went out by myself when no one was available.  For the first time I was playing enough golf to see myself improve.

The next year we upped the ante.  We became junior members at Burlington Country Club.  We didn't get the perks of the real members, like a locker, bag storage, club cleaning, or preferred tee times, but we also paid a small fraction of the cost.

Sitting at the bar in the newly remodeled pub, fresh off a day in the office and 9 holes at a private country club, I felt like I had arrived.  And my game continued to improve as I learned how to hit my driver to its full potential, draw the ball with my long irons, and consistently emerge from the sand trap unharmed.

And I learned how to play real golf, without the gimmes of a friendly game.  I learned how to putt with confidence and play without mulligans.  I played in tournaments and lowered my handicap to single digits. 

I became the kind of golfer who could play with anyone and make a respectable showing of it.

That winter something happened.  I didn't feel the same.  But when it came time to pony up for another year of golf, I did.

A friend and I took our golf games to the Country Club of Vermont ("CCV") in Waterbury.  CCV is an incredible picturesque, private course laid out in the links style.  With views of Camel's Hump, Mount Mansfield, and the nearby Worcester Range, it feels more like heaven than earth.

Before the course opened, I played a round at Lang Farm in March.  The weather was in the 40s and raining.  I couldn't grip my clubs and was freezing cold the entire time.  I attributed my experience to the weather.

When finally the driving range opened at CCV after a cold, wet early spring, I found it wasn't just the cold.  I wasn't making solid contact.  I couldn't hit the ball nearly as far.  And all I could focus on was my tight grip on the club.

I went to a doctor in April, but it would be a long time before all of their poking and prodding would provide any information.  For the time being I just knew that my golf game, and anything else that required strength and coordination, had gone to shit.

I tried everything I could think of to get stronger, keeping my mysterious ailment to myself.  I actually improved my short game, but everything else was so terrible it was embarrassing.  I don't know what people thought because I didn't ask, but those who had golfed with me the year before had to know something was up. 

I began to choke up on my driver for more control.  I couldn't hit my long irons for shit.  I'd go to the driving range alone, and shrink with embarrassment when I couldn't reach the 90-yard green with a pitching wedge. 

I was embarrassed at my futility, and soon I quit playing.

Now when I drive by a golf course I feel a range of emotions.  I feel a sense of longing.  I feel sad.  But mostly I feel nothing at all.  My memories of summer evenings on a peaceful golf course seem so foreign; so distant they’re dead and buried.

My House

The house I grew up in is still standing.  So is my memere and pepere's house, where I lived for 3 years after college. 

The airport bought both houses as part of their "too many decibels, expansion, who knows what the hell they’re doing" plan. 

Occasionally I still drive by 57 Dumont Avenue and 6 Patrick Street and take a look at the empty, neglected buildings.  They still look the same from the street, sort of.

At some point the houses will be demolished; razed and removed from existence.  Instead of driving through a neighborhood of abandoned houses I will drive through a set of empty lots, newly planted trees, and eerie stillness.

Both still feel like my house.  One day I won’t be able to visit anymore.  

In the Moment

People seem to think that if I get down, it's because I'm thinking of the future; the big picture.  Sometimes I get down about the present.  When I am in the moment and those around me are enjoying themselves in a way that I feel I can't.

I went to a wedding this past weekend.  People dance at weddings.  People drink too much at weddings.  They let it all out, forget all their worries, and enjoy the moment.

I try to do the same.  To enjoy myself.  To blend in with the crowd.  To smile, to laugh, to live. 

But I can't dance.  Anxiety fills my mind as I step to the dance floor and move my body awkwardly.  I can think of nothing except "don’t fall" as I try to look as natural as possible.  

And I can't drink too much.  If I am to retain the ability to speak and walk, I mustn't drink too much.

I tiptoe around the people on the dance floor, worried that someone might bump into me.  I move through the crowd on the way to the restroom.  Walking deliberately I avoid eye contact.

When the DJ calls for all the singles (unmarried) out on the floor, I keep my seat.  I'm afraid of what happens next.  What if I have to dance with a stranger? 

When a middle-aged woman gives me a hard time for standing still, not moving to the music, I take the criticism.  I feel some sort of embarrassment, like I'm a stick in the mud, incapable of having a good time.  I try to be invisible.

When someone asks what's wrong, I don't know what to say.  Everything is wrong.

Thumbs Up

Don’t take your thumbs for granted.  

Try going a day without using them.  

Good luck.

Made of Iron

I have a lot of kitchenware.  Most of it thanks to my memere, Genevieve Vaillancourt, who passed away in 2009. 

One item (or set of items) of note is her four-piece set of Wagner Ware iron skillets. 

Living in an apartment on lower Maple Street in 1950 with her newlywed husband, Roland, she walked to Strong Hardware to buy them.  She was a woman just over 5 feet tall, and they were iron skillets to be carried back with her; she bought them one at a time.

Strong Hardware, along with a restaurant, saloon, and its namesake 1,500 seat theater, was housed in the Strong Theater building at the corner of Main and South Winooski.  The building was completed in 1904 and stood at that site until it was razed following a 1971 fire.  It is now the site of the 6-story Courthouse Plaza building.

Thank you memere and pepere, they still get plenty of use.

Thanksgiving

In a little over two weeks I will be moving into a new apartment with my girlfriend.

I never thought I'd be lucky enough to say that.

Life's Little Problems

Sometimes I want to stop and get coffee some place; to-go coffee from a coffee shop, not a gas station.  But I’m afraid because I can see that moment when I’m handed an uncovered steaming hot coffee and I have to a) take it from the employee’s hand, b) carry it to the “coffee prep station” for a lid and coffee cup sheath (not possible without significant spillage), c) carry it to my car without making a mess (yes, even with the lid on this can be an issue), and d) not spill it in my car as I try to steal a sip while driving.

All of this causes enough anxiety that I decide not to stop at all. 

I’ll just make coffee at home. 

Changes

At the urging of my parents, doctors, and girlfriend, I have moved out of my 2^nd floor apartment in Waterbury.  It had 15 wooden steps, a cement landing, and laundry in the basement. 

I looked at the apartment, and signed the lease, on Sunday, August 28^th, 2011.  The day Irene hit Waterbury with over 6 feet of flood water in some places. 

I was diagnosed with ALS three days later.

My building at 25 N Main, protected by a small rise in the road, did not see any flooding.  To the west, the water reached three or four buildings away.  To the east, it was a bit farther, reaching up past the old Alchemist location at the corner of Elm. 

The flood waters had subsided by the time I moved in that October, but the signs were everywhere.

Two years later Waterbury and I have both changed. 

We're not quite what we used to be, but we're moving forward.

Random Excerpt

Because this blog is titled as it is, I have included this excerpt from some writing I'm doing.

In July Hilary and I took a trip through Eastern Canada.  The following is an observation from a cafe we stopped at outside Kejimkujik National Park in Nowheresville, Nova Scotia.

We overheard a fellow patron complaining about the service to her husband.  Of course we weren't sure where she hailed from, but based on her dress and attitude, we pegged her as an over-privileged, city-dwelling, heiress to the throne of entitlement.  I may be out of line, but at the very least we felt bad for her lapdog husband.  The look in his ever-weary eyes seemed to cry out "I still can’t believe I married her."   She didn't seem like one of those "shit happens" types.  She was more of the "everything better be perfect or you're gonna hear about it" type.  We discussed her and those like her as she complained about the soup selection, lack of half-sandwiches, and slow service to her now brain-dead partner.  At least she gave us something to talk about. 

After eating and leaving a nice tip for the poor waiter/counter-service boy, (we assumed he would be getting exactly nothing from Queen Victoria to our left), we were on our way on Nova Scotia 8 South.  

Sore Subject

Don’t offer help when I don’t need it.  That’ll only piss me off.

Don’t ignore me when I do need help.  I’ll get frustrated and think you’re an asshole.

Guess I should try to be more understanding.

Not Me

There are probably a lot of people who would love to spend their lives in a chair.  

I’m just not one of them.  

Impressive Feats

I'm fascinated by the most mundane of things.

I see someone typing at what would be considered a normal speed and I am taken aback.

The level of finger dexterity and precision it takes to use a keyboard or touchscreen is incredible. 

I see children jumping around outside and expect them to fall and get hurt.

Balance is impossible NOT to take for granted, until it begins to fail you.

I hear someone speaking in a rapid manner and cannot believe my ears.

You always assume you'll be able to precisely express yourself with the spoken word.

I know I used to be one of you, so why am I so impressed?

On Traveling

Want to go visit my friends in ANYCITY ANYWHERE?

Come to think of it, no, I don't.

Well, that's not really true; I just don't want to as much as I should.

Nothing is as simple as it used to be.

Of course I enjoy visiting places I've never been, but I'm so limited in my abilities, I know I'll never get the full experience.  I'll never enjoy it the way I would have before.

I'll stay in while you go hiking, skiing, biking, or kayaking. 

It feels like such a waste.

Dials and Knobs

Dammit I hate dials and knobs.

I don't have the thumb strength to pinch the dial and turn.  I end up wrapping my index finger around it and rotating awkwardly. 

A few months ago, I was at my parents' house watching television late at night, and had to unplug the lamp because I couldn't turn the metal knob.  I almost went to the garage for a pair of pliers. 

Try turning a small knob without your thumb.

And don't get me started on can openers…

Just to Clear Things Up

Recently I've gone "gluten-free".

Most people assume I've done it for the same reason everyone else does, but some people ask.

Yes, I have found that my digestive system runs a bit smoother, but that's not it.  That would never be enough to give up approximately half of the American diet; pizza and beer.

I've found I can't control much in my life but the food I eat is one thing I have full control of.  As a result I've been experimenting with the food I eat for a long time now and though it seems that I have to re-convince myself of things I thought I knew (always having doubts), I think I've learned a few things.

Last weekend I scrapped my gluten allergy theory and guiltily ate lots of wheat-containing products.  I ate a batch of hot cider doughnuts from Adams' Orchard in Williston.  Go there and eat some.  I ate everything that was put in front of me at Misery Loves Company.  This included lots of fried chicken, pasta, and various sauces no doubt containing flour.  Go there as well.  That night I drank a single Smuttynose Robust Porter.  Fuck it was good.

I felt terrible after eating the doughnuts, but so does everyone.  After dinner I was too full to know what I felt like.  I went right to bed after the beer.

The next day, and possibly that night though I don’t remember for certain, it felt like my skin was crawling.  It's tough to describe, but essentially my arms and hands were very tingly. 

For ten days or so, my left pointer and middle fingers twitched constantly.  This has happened before but not in a long time.  The tendons in my forearm that control the bending of my fingers were firing for no reason, causing my fingers to curl up each time.  Needless to say it's very frustrating when you can't straighten, or keep your index finger straight.  For one thing it makes typing very difficult.

This has almost stopped now, and I'm not fucking with gluten for a long time.

Try telling this to a doctor and take down his response.  I'd place bets on "Hmm" or "Huh".

Hurry Up

I'm incapable of doing anything fast.

If the phone rings in the other end of the house, I'll call you back.

If I'm crossing the road and a car is coming, it better stop.

If you want dinner made in less than an hour, make it yourself.

If your dog or cat gets out, I'm not catching him.

If you're behind me in line at the grocery store, sorry but the register girl is much faster at swiping my food than I am at loading it onto the conveyor.

And if you ask for my I.D. at a restaurant, give me a minute.  It's in my pocket but I've got to get it out.

But hey, I'm in no rush.

Control Freak

I used to be a bit of a control freak, getting upset when things didn't go my way.

Then life happened.  And I had no control.

Now I try to keep a level head; never too high, never too low.

I control what I can.  I try not to worry about the rest.

But when there’s less and less that you can control, the few things that remain become very important.  You may take these things for granted, but the line can blur between what you can and can't control. 

And as time passes, you must accept that you have less and less control.

That's the difficult part.