Home is where the broken heart is

This getting to be a habit. My blog posts? Not really. Actually, my mom would say that a lot growing up. Amusingly, the last time I remember her saying it was feeding her at the hospital during a bad UTI episode. A couple spoonfuls in and she goes, "this is getting to be a habit". I was more stunned to hear it than laugh. "Ya, gotta eat mother..."

I'm a week late to acknowledge mom - Mother's Day being last Sunday. I guess I didn't feel a blog in me last week. She passed in March and joined dad who went in 2018. Good memories and still some things we may never understand, as in most families. Mom was mom.

Just take me along when you slide on down. That song comes to mind now. Commonplace lyrics, from Hey Nineteen by Steely Dan, aren't so commonplace anymore. If I talk music with someone a lot younger than me, I can no longer make assumptions. A conversation might have sounded something like this: "Yeah, that was that group you may have heard in this movie. Really popular...or were...oh, never mind."  But as for those particular lyrics? It's getting pretty obvious, with the passing of parents, some of us have moved up to the front of the line in life. You get the gist.

Am I going to complain about getting old now? Heck no. I have a lot to be grateful for. God is good and letting him have control at least sounds right. But then I put my hands all over a troubled life and I'm back to feeling angst and brooding...and that's when a blog comes out. Sorry folks. Not sure if going into the personal details of my life would help, not that I can or will do that, but I'm not looking for therapy thru social media. Just trying to make sense of it all. I still need to function.

So I'm left to ponder life, and nearing 59, the challenges mount. If I'm going to be single at this age - something I've rarely been my entire adult life - difficulties exist. Do I date again? (do people actually date these days?)  I'm not looking for hook-ups. But do I fold it up and withdraw from life? I see a lot of people say, "that's it, I'm done. Gonna stay single and happy the rest of my days". Sounds great, but I can't even get through a weekend without putting on my Sad playlist and ponder what I'm supposed to do. (oh wow, just as He stopped loving her today, by George Jones comes on) I figured I'd hang out with my friends and ex-coworkers by now; find some great groups to join for hiking, writing, or whatever; and do just about anything I want to do. I'm a free man! Or cut the grass, take a nap, eat Chinese food and wonder what the hell happened these last four years. I've been doing the later - hard.

Potentially, life is going to be a blast. I'm working out, running on treadmills (ugh!), walkingtrails, back fully in my church, and writing a little. Good stuff, right? I should have wrote this blog just dedicated to the last four years - meaning, how things look after a four-year hiatus. The juicy details of my last four years personally will be left in the land of PM's, if some are curious. I'm talking about what happens to you and others after four years away, and it was looking like I wasn't coming back. But I am back, for now (actually, living closer to work would be great, but that is another challenge), and it has become a study in human nature.

To some, I was instantly recognized and hit it off like nothing ever happened, aside from, what the heck happened to you, or where have you been? Others keep a healthy distance, as do I. I can be slow to assimilate and don't blame folk for doing the same. I don't actually want to pretend I never left and am ready to do all the same things I did before. I need to pass out a card with the answer to all the questions of my last four years, because I'm tired of talking about it. Then there are those who don't seem to recognize me at all. I'm not one to run up and reintroduce myself. I think I was more outgoing before, but now I carry the stigma of two-time loser...so I suppose some of this is protective in nature. I also realize much of this labeling is self-imposed. Then too, some are gone, and that is sad all the same. I wish I could acknowledge all the wonderful people I have known over the years. Heaven is getting full.

This may be my longest blog post ever. Who hoo! If I can figure how to get back into my old twitter account I can post these to be seen by more people. I am not only life challenged, I have media issues at times. And speaking of feeling challenged - whatever happened to writers being skilled at reading people and reactions, etc? We are supposed to be the masters of human emotion and reaction. We are always watching, lol!  I don't have a clue how to approach people these days; yes, including women. At my age there is a fine line to being creepy or kind and that can be social death for us geriatric men. 

Read some relationship articles. Don't ever call yourself a nice guy, and believe me, I don't. That's code for creepy. And remember back in the day our parents or whoever would talk about how they met. "Oh, I wasn't interested in your father, but he kept showing up and eventually won me over." This day and age - that would be called breaking a restraining order. And here they are fifty years later, just fine and dandy. And no, I have no restraining orders against me (that I know of). 

But I'm not wearing labels. I carry no sign about my neck. I love Jesus and will point to him long before I point to myself. That's a sign I am happy to wear. I no longer fear death. I expect to live a bit longer...meaning years. And don't these years go fast. I am who I am and always looking to improve. I'll eventually have my life back. I won't be so broke and broken and my blog posts won't be so dark...and hopefully more about my writings. I guess what I am saying is people may change, but mostly they stay the same. It's good to accept others where they are. Don't change to appease someone else. It's not fair to you. And if I like you - it's a compliment. You don't have to like me back. God bless you all for reading this far. Until the next blog.

Current song on the playlist, 500 miles away from home by Bobby Bare.