The Ballad of David… and George

This is the tale of a man who I see nearly every day yet know almost nothing about.

Everyday around the same time he shuffles into my place of work.  A small older man whose skin has the look of an apple dried in the sun.  Slight, stooped, and possessing glasses with lenses that would not look out of place on the bottom of coke bottles; he enters, stopping in his journey to survey the station.  Dressed in his constant outfit of work boots, khakis, baseball cap and old faded work shirt, with the only change being if it is warm outside (light vest) or cold (bright multicolor ski jacket) he ambles up to the counter and begins talking with us.  His name is David Chase, and he is a foamer.

What is a foamer, you ask?  It’s not Chikenese, but rather a term used in my field of work.  It is used to describe an EXTREME train fanatic. These are people who build their schedules around trains.  And that is David.  Be it his daily riding of our local light rail system back and forth, his constant interest in our train line from Chicago, or many other things, he is the very model of a foamer.  In David’s life (that I know of) there is only one thing that rivals his love of trains:

His love of what he calls ‘kitties.’

He is crazy about cats.  For some time he carried a book of cat breeds with him so he could look at the pictures and show them to people.  I say look at the pictures rather than read it because it is the common thought at my work that he is illiterate.  In its own way, it’s kind of amazing that a 67 year old man can survive in this day and age with that disadvantage- but I digress.

Any day David gets to see a kitty is a good day.  Any day he gets to pet a kitty is an ecstatic day.  And the day he met George?  Well, that is a red letter day.

George was a tuxedo (black and white) cat who lived on Capitol Hill.  Big, fat, and loving attention in that unique way only cats can pull off, George was a minor celebrity around town.  And when these two met, it was love at first sight.

I remember when David first met George.  He had a bit more hustle in his shuffle and would come up and talk about how George would not only let you pet him, but would crawl onto your shoulder and perch like a parrot.  Every day he would talk of George and what they did- some days totally forgetting about trains.  He would talk of buying tuna and treats, petting him, and even getting their picture taken together.  David would laugh his distinct rapid machine gun laugh, and show off a picture he was given by George’s owners.  During this time, to try and add to his happiness, I would show him pictures of my parent’s cats- all tuxedos as well.  He really liked the picture of Pumpkin resting on my chest- it made him laugh.

One day David came in and right away you could tell something was wrong.  It wasn’t anything specific, more like the air around him was broadcasting.  He came up to us and relayed the news:  a dog had gotten free and attacked George.  When he was asked about it, David said that George was at the vets getting fixed up, and should be OK, but there were worries since he was an older kitty.  He then said that after George is released, his owners would most likely keep him inside from now on, and with that revelation, you could see how crestfallen David was.  A part of his happiness, his life was gone.  It didn’t stop David from going to check up on his progress every day and reporting it to us.

Every day we would hear that George was still at the vets, then that he was released and sent home, that he can see George looking out the window all lonely, it would go on.  Things seem to go better and David got happier.  But then he came in and reported George getting sick- pneumonia, I think. He was sent back to the vets, but this time the prognosis was not good.  George was old and weakened from the attack and was just too weak to survive.  The owners took him home to spend the time left in familiar surroundings in comfort.  They also let David play with the kitty one last time.

When George died, David just stuck with his routine.  It was all he had.  He would come in daily and talk about George’s passing, mourning him in his own way.  It just seemed he was going through the motions more than anything else.  We were his support group.

After a couple weeks of this, David came in surprisingly excited.  Without surveying the surroundings, he quickly came up to us and pulled out a small black book.  It turned out that since so many people loved George, his owners made a small picture book with pictures of George throughout his life, both by himself and with those who adored him.  There were also written memories about him throughout the book.  David opened it to show off all the pictures- two in particular.  They were of the two of them, with David smiling the biggest toothless grin I have ever seen on him.  David had his kitty back, at least in a way.  This was about 8 months ago.

David still comes in nearly every day.  It is his life, and it makes him happy… at least I guess so.  He talks about the trip he is going to be taking shortly (by train, of course) to visit his sister.  He talks about how he will never drink whiskey again.  Then he will then pull out a now slightly dog-eared black book and proceeds to show pictures of his beloved kitty.  We warn him to take care that book, and in his defense he guards it very well.  He eventually takes off, to who knows where, with his kitty in his pocket.  While it is obvious that he is still mourning George, he at least has something to give him comfort.

And for him, it seems enough.

Synchronicty- The final revelation from 20 years ago

Synchronicty:  A word coined by the 80’s band The police, taken to mean the interconnectedness of seemingly random events to a specific outcome. 

When I first started writing about the death of my grandfather and the events put into motion because of it, it was mainly to show the results of choices I made because of this loss, and their outcome.  It ultimately had what could be considered a good ending, but it wasn’t complete.  There was an important part missing that I will rectify now.  It is a tale of loss… but also much more.  It is a tribute to a truly great person.

First, a small recap:

·         In December of 1988, I did what I feel is the most horrible thing I could do to one I love when I rejected my grandfather who was dying of cancer.

·         In the first half of 1989, after he passed away, I made a choice in sadness that permanently changed the trajectory of my life completely.

·         In the latter half of 1989, I made another choice based on lust that set up friendships that continue to this day.

When Tony, Jason and I decided to go see the movie ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ I agreed to pick them up in front of the old Thriftway in West Seattle.  As I waited in the parking lot for them in my ginormous 1976 Chrysler New Yorker I drove back then, a reddish-brown 80’s sedan pulled up and Jay and tony hopped out.  Driving it was an old lady.  Her name was Alice and it was my first introduction to her.

She was small in stature, but enormous in presence.  Possessing a razor-sharp mind and wit, she could crack a joke, give you advice, or chastise you when the moment demanded it.  And was all of that desperately needed, for the entire lot of us were far from saints… particularly myself.

I don’t talk about the early 90’s much, except to the few who were there.  I was in the military, but that was the only real order I had in my life.  I was kind of in a freefall.  Like a battered wife, I tried to win my mother’s affections, in the process isolating my father and most of my family.  I had no goals, other than work enough to keep myself sheltered and oblivious on weekends.  Maybe I was living that time in denial of myself, subconsciously punishing myself for the things I would not deal with in my life.

During this time of chaos, Alice was an oasis.

Hungry?  She would cook up something for you.  Needed order?  She had PLENTY of work for you to help her with.  Needed a couple bucks?  She had PLENTY of work for you to help her with.  She took care of us all, telling us all to call her Grandma… a term I couldn’t bring myself to say for a long time, since I feel I hadn’t earned it.  Throughout that time, I would find myself going over to Tony’s place when he wasn’t around just to talk to her and help her out.  She used to send me to the old FFC to by myself a candy bar… and if I could pick up a Snickers bar for her, she wouldn’t object.  I’d go shopping for her; help her clean, do maintenance, anything to be helpful.  I realize now that she was that sense of stability and security I had been missing since my grandfather passed away.  Slowly, her care for me and all of us brought me past my potentially destructive ways.  I started calling her Gramma Alice and slowly pieced my life together into something meaningful.  My helping her out increased when Tony left for film school, making sure she was taken care of, and when he graduated, I rode up with her for the ceremony.  It was good times…

But eventually all things must end.

I honestly don’t remember when it started.  It may be me that I am too self-absorbed to have paid attention, or it could just be I didn’t want to notice it.  But Alice started getting sick.  I thought it was nothing at first, but it became bad enough that she had to go to a nursing home.  To say she was not happy with that was an understatement.  We all went to visit her, hoping it was just a temporary setback, that soon she would be back in her Laz-Z-boy, watching over all of us.  But she never went back home.  She got progressively worse, and had to be moved to a hospital.  Now if you went by my past behavior, you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking I stayed away.  But I didn’t.  I went every day I had free to go visit her, even when she was not able to tell I was there.  I would go with Tony, or by myself.  I’d like to say I was there when she left, but I wasn’t, but not because I was afraid.  At her funeral service I had the distinct honor of being one of her pallbearers, a duty I couldn’t have done years before.  And to this day I still miss her in the way I miss my grandfather.  And because of her I have not touched a Snickers bar since, which when you consider it was one of my favorite candies, is kinda actually impressive.

When I started this post I said this was about loss and yet more.  A part of me, the less rational me, would like to think that while I lost Alice, I gained a part of myself back, a part of what I lost when I denied my grandfather in his time of need.  I know I can never forgive myself for that, but just maybe, thanks to Alice, I can be at least somewhat redeemed.  And I thank her and try to honor her memory every day because of this.

Now why did I call this post Synchronicty?  Because years after her passing, Alice came to my rescue again.  While I will not reveal exactly what happened (although some people might guess some of it if you have talked to me) I can say this:  Alice was a truly great judge of character and her faith in me shown through to others in most… unexpected places. 

And for that, and a great many other things, I thank you Gramma Alice.  If I was a bit more theologically minded, I’d like to think she’s sharing Snickers bars with my grandpa.  I hope I am doing them proud.

The Death of Thinking OR ‘It’s got what plants crave!’

It doesn’t take a genius to see people are getting dumber.

At my job, I am tasked with being the main representative customers talk to prior to their trips.  I help plan itineraries, sell trips, and answer any questions they may have.  And more often than not, have to burst their bubbles.  Through years of working in this position, one phrase has risen above all others to show just how far we as humans have fallen.  More than ‘I’ve never done this before, what do I do?’  More exasperating than ‘I am going to make you repeat yourself four or more times on what I am to do because I was distracted by a bright shiny object.’  (Actually they say ‘Could you repeat that?’ several times, but it’s all in content.)  More tedious than ‘I booked for later, but can I go now?’  FAR less complimentary than ‘OH GREAT JEEBUS, you truly ARE the Personification of Greatness!!’  (OK, that one doesn’t happen, but I CAN see them wanting to say it in their eyes.)  No, the phrase I dread more than anything perfectly exemplifies what is truly wrong with humanity today:

‘Well, nobody told me!’

I could use this to go off in a myriad of ways and reasons why this phrase sets me on edge, but they all boil down to one thing:  not wanting to take responsibility for your actions.  People don’t want to take responsibility for themselves not thinking or of the consequences of this.  It is easier to abdicate responsibility to the all-powerful “Nobody’ instead of confronting the one in the mirror.  As an exercise, add ‘Well, nobody told ME-’ to the following phrases:

·         ‘-that I had to be here more than 30 seconds before departure!’

·         ‘-I need government identification to use a credit card!’

·         ‘-that I can’t strip naked in public!’

·         ‘-you have to pay for groceries!’

·         ‘-to not drink too much alcohol!’

Really, I could go all day with these examples, but I like to believe the 3 that read this are smart enough to get the point.

As I mentioned earlier, people want to give up their responsibilities of taking care of themselves and live blameless lives.  Be it to corporations, government, what have you, it’s easier to live in blameless bliss than accepting the consequences of your actions.  And when people give up responsibility for their actions, they also give up thinking.  Think about it:  if you give up all responsibility for what you do to someone else, no matter what you do you are taken care of.  Why worry about anything?  Why actually utilize your mind for anything?  Let all that difficult thinking be done by someone else.

And we slide closer and closer to a world of eating margarine and drinking Brawndo…

I wish I could end this posting with hopeful ideas to counteract our decent into Idiocracy, but I have no answers.  I will, on occasion, challenge people to defend their actions, to get them to flex the mental muscle, but there is nothing else I can really do.  I am sure I could man up and make a more concentrated effort to counteract this…

But nobody told me it would be this hard.