Thursday, December 4th, 2008
Man, It’s been a rough week.
I did a little complaining recently. I called a few people who are close to me and vented my frustration about the goings on of our world. They politely listened for a while, but both came to the same conclusion. They said, “Well Jay, things could be worse. You could be doing this or that, etc…” I guess that’s why I call people, so they can tell me to shut up and put things in perspective. I need that every once in a while.
I still think about life way too much.
Sometimes I just sit here with my head in my hands. I would just like the answer to one question: when did it all change?
In 2000, right after a graduated from Binghamton University for the second time, I had a plan. My plan was to release myself from all attachments with the real world and walk the Appalachian Trail. I was going to set my school loans on auto-pilot with my bank and fly as free as a bird. All I have ever really wanted was freedom; freedom from thought, freedom from today’s world, freedom from being dragged down by anything and everything.
I figured that walking the trail would really change my life. I was not interested in repeating the 9-5 job I sat through the year before while living in Atlanta. That was painful. All I was looking for was a way out…something different that wouldn’t trap me in the good ol’ American way of living day in and day out like the rest of the population.
Did I ever walk the Appalachian Trail? What do you think? Considering the fact that it takes about 10 months to complete and I never mentioned it before, I think not. I have actually walked a few miles on it here and there, but towards the end of each hike, I looked forward to driving back to the house, taking a nice shower and drinking a glass of wine. I don’t think I am exactly wired for growing a beard down to my waist and sleeping with the bears. The thought of a bear picking my tent up and eating it kind of freaks me out.
Let me tell you what bothers me about life as I know it – Worry.
Every day, I concern myself with each and every thing that probably concerns all of you. I think about money and security and politics and friends and life and everything else. I walk around in a fog, trying to make sense of every decision I make. It’s rare that I break out of that fog to have a clear thought. Maybe that’s why I like tennis so much, because I don’t think about anything else besides having fun. Although, I do like mowing the lawn for the same reason.
So, when did I change from the care free Jay to the constantly worrying Jay? I can tell you the exact day.
I have mentioned the fact that I moved to Atlanta a few times in the past. I lived there for a year, but the way I talk about it, it’s like I have a “Braves” tattoo on my right arm. Really, it was only a year, but it was a fun year.
I moved down when I was 24 years old. I packed up my 1989 Honda Accord with all of my belongings and hit the road. Basically, I just repacked the same items that I unpacked about a month ago after graduation.
I remember that drive down. I had one of those luggage containers strapped to the top of the car packed to the gills. Everything else I owned was spread out inside…on the back seat, on the front seat and in the trunk. There was no room for anything else.
On the highway, I remember the pleasure of wondering what my new life was going to be like. I didn’t know one person, the area or anything else about the entire state of Georgia. I usually do my best in these types of situations. As Rob always says, “You need to be like an Chameleon. Just change colors and fit right in.” Well, I did that and started off having a very good time.
Upon arrival at Morgan Falls Station, our awesome apartment complex, I was crazy excited. While I was waiting for the folks to finish up the apartment, I walked around a bit. I visited the 3 swimming pools, the work out centers, the tennis courts and the nature trails. It was nicer than anything I had expected. I recall wondering how $800 per month was paying for all this. Then, I remembered that things were a little different in the South. Up here, you get a tiny apartment above some old lady’s garage for $800 a month, and that’s a good deal. Down there, it’s like living at Club Med.
Needless to say, I was pleased. After I got settled in and had the phone hooked up, I called Rob. I was a non-stop talker. I told him about all the cool stuff that was there and about all the things we were going to do. I could tell that he was getting fidgety because he kept asking questions. We even got to the point of discussing what time it got dark in Atlanta. There is about a half hour difference between down there and up North. We used the scientific method of, “Is it dark now? What about now?”
After a few weeks of driving around a midnight (because there was so much traffic during the day) and getting to know people, I had really gotten used to it. I had a few friends and was playing tennis like it was nobody’s business. I didn’t have a job, so what else was there to do? I felt like I was living in a resort.
At the same time, my parents were planning their big move to Wilmington, NC. My sister Laurie had her first child and I guess my parents thought that watching water drip off their cars in the morning was a better idea than scraping ice off of them, like they did up North for all those years. The stars were aligned and they made the jump. They broke out of the New York shackles and started moving to North Carolina.
For the years that I attended Binghamton University and up to the time I moved to Atlanta, my parents took care of my big, beautiful Golden Retriever. I acquired this hairy beast a few years earlier, while I was attending Westchester Community College. It’s funny, because before getting a dog, I really gave no thought to what was going to happen to him for the rest of his life. I figured I would give him to my parents after I moved out and that would be that.
One day, while sitting on the floor (I had no furniture) of my Atlanta apartment, I received a phone call from my mother. “Jay, your father is driving a big truck down to the new house in Wilmington and he is bringing your dog with him.” she said. I replied, “Oh good, he will really like it in your new house.” “No Jay.” she said, “You are going to drive over and get him. He is your dog.”
Well, this came as sort of a surprise to me. Why in the world would someone want to hand over a perfectly good dog to someone as irresponsible as I was? As my mother put it, she couldn’t bear to see the dog laying on the kitchen floor looking up at her. His eyes broke her heart. She knew that he needed to run in the woods and swim in the river. He was a Golden, after all.
The day my father arrived at the new house in Wilmington, I was there to pick up the beast. I made the 7 hour drive and was quite excited to see my dog again.
I remember pulling in and seeing him tied to a small tree at the end of the driveway, waiting for me to give him a big hug. I leapt out of the car and ran over to him. I untied him and we instantly became entangled in a long embrace. That was my dog.
After a few hours of hanging out and going to the ocean, we left to head back to Atlanta. Again, I hadn’t given much thought as to what would happen next.
After my new roommate and I arrived back at the apartment, we did a little hanging out. Things were great. We went for a walk and I showed him all the stuff he was going to do for the next chapter of his life. It really was a grand ol’ time.
That night, a friend of mine called and asked if I wanted to go out to do something. I immediately said yes. Then, I looked down and saw my dog looking up at me. I paused and said something that I am not sure I have ever said to anyone in my life before that moment…”Wait, actually, I can’t.” I didn’t offer any reason for not being able to go out that night, but I definitely knew that something big in my life had shifted.
At that very moment, while standing there talking on the phone that night, I think I actually became responsible.
I know that sounds like the strangest thing you probably have ever read, but it’s true. I feel strange writing it. The reason I didn’t go out that night is because it was my dog’s first night in his new home and I didn’t feel right about leaving him there all alone.
All of a sudden, I started giving all types of thought to how my dog would feel if I did certain things. I knew I had to take him for a walk in the morning and that I had to be back after work to feed him and take him for another walk, but what really struck me was how I was unable to go visit friends in other cities and stay over their houses or apartments. I wasn’t ready to say no to trips to fun places, like the one that Rob made down to the Okefenokee Swamp in Southern Georgia. That one hurt because I really wanted to go there. I had to keep thinking about my dog and how I didn’t want to put him in a boarding kennel in a town I hardly even knew myself.
As it turned out, my consideration for everything and everyone snowballed from there. I began making sure more and more things were okay. I started saving my money and getting ready for the move back to New York to go to grad school. I stopped going out and doing stupid things that wouldn’t help me get to that goal. I never called in sick to work and I paid off that huge balance I had on my credit card. I don’t even want to talk about how much my soul has tightened up after I graduated from graduate school after the move back to New York. They basically train you how to become a herb.
I was most certainly becoming a worrier.
One might say, “Well Jay, aren’t those all good things?” I would agree, but I have to admit that once you grow up and become overly responsible, a little part of you disappears. How many times have you asked yourself, “Remember all those times we used to do that? Do you think we’ll ever do that again?” The answers are yes and probably not.
I was talking to Laura the other day about what I like to talk to my friends about. I told her my three top priorities are real estate, business and personal finance. Can you get any more boring than that? What ever happened to travel, drinking and where we are going to move to next?
At this point in my life, I feel that I am almost the opposite of what I wanted to be after graduate school. Sure, my little dream of walking the Trail may have been just a dream, but it was an indication of what I wanted to do and how I wanted to live my life.
At that time, I wanted two legal associations. I wanted one bank account and my student loan. That was it. Currently, I have more associations than I know what to do with. I understand that this is what happens when you buy a house and operate a business, but I must admit, at times it’s smothering.
Lately, I have been thinking about how I could get back to my ideal self, about how I could loosen up and at least become a shadow of that fun guy I think I used to be. I think I have a plan.
While I won’t precisely lay out my plan here, I will at least tell you that it has a lot to do with seasonal weather, long walks on the beach and campfires.
As you may have guessed, I gave Mickles a very good life and in return, he was a very good dog. I appreciate the fact that he spent the majority of his life with me. I would guess that he enjoyed his time in Atlanta the most. He had the field, the woods and the river. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.
I decided to post a few photos of my good friend here. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed taking them throughout the years.
Related posts
Tuesday, May 8th, 2007
This post was written by Kristin G
If you’re the type of person who sees a beautiful garden and can’t wait to get home and incorporate some of the ideas you’ve seen into your own backyard, take the garden tour some year at the Azalea Festival in Wilmington, North Carolina. I’ve been lucky enough to have lived in Wilmington since 1998 and this tour is the highlight of the year for me.
Of course you can also attend the street fair on the beautiful Cape Fear River, or attend one or two of the “big name” concerts given in the auditorium of the UNCW campus, or take the home tour of some of the gorgeously restored homes in the downtown area, or attend the parade chock full of princesses and queens from local communities, etc., etc., but to my taste the garden tour beats all the other festivities.
A ribbon cutting at the most impressive house on the Friday of the festival starts the tour and can be attended by anybody who buys the $15 (early bird) or $20 ticket. Every cent of the proceeds which is collected by the Cape Fear Garden Club goes back to community beautification and conservation.
Not only is the home surrounded by colorful gardens exuding Southern charm, but it is adorned with high school-age belles, dressed in handmade antebellum hooped gowns, holding their delicate parasols and escorted by the extremely handsome Summerall Guards from the Citadel, South Carolina’s state-supported military college. Lording over all these youths is the queen who is the center of attention for the week.
But for me, the best part is the exploring of the gardens on the tour, which range from the manicured lawns and flower beds professionally done by landscape artists, to the hidden “secret gardens” in small spaces overflowing with the imagination of dedicated gardeners. As an added bonus, each garden has one or two of the belles welcoming you, usually with her skirt spread out under the shade of a live oak tree and her curls bouncing under her parasol.
If the hot sun gets to you, a few of the gardens are designated as “night-time” gardens and there is a magical quality walking through these special places which makes you realize how beautiful a spring evening in the South can be. As you can see I’ve been completely won over by the charm and friendliness of my new home state!
Related posts
Tuesday, May 8th, 2007
This post was written by Steve Henry
One never knows what will be found on any given Saturday morning yard sale or a late Friday night at your local auction house.
I started going to these things a few years ago, just for something to do. How exciting it was! I was hooked the first day. I have found many bargains and treasures that I have re-sold on ebay. I once bought an old skateboard…the kind I had back in the 1970s. It was made of plastic, was skinny and was short in length. The lady was asking $2, but I gave her only $1. The only reason I bought the skateboard was because it reminded me of good times when I was a child. That night, I looked up the skateboard on ebay, and to my surprise, it was being sold for $50. I decided to sell mine and I got $54 from a college student in Colorado.
I do not attend auctions for the single pieces, but for what is called “box lots.” These boxes are stuffed with “junk” and usually you cannot see everything in the box. I usually pay between $1 and $10 for a box. I have found many treasures in these boxes including; old coins, antique pottery, video games, tools, antique tools, etc. Some of these things I keep and some I sell. I always wonder if one of my treasures will end up on the television show “Antiques Roadshow.”
Let’s talk about my favorite type of auction. This auction occurs at what is known as mini-storage units. Every month, these businesses advertise auctions on the contents of units that rent has not been paid on. Sometimes the auctioneer will sell the whole storage unit for one price. Sometimes they will do what is called a “piece it out.” A piece it out just means that the auctioneer pulls out things from the storage unit one piece at a time and sells it individually. I love buying boxes this way. The good auctioneers will not open the boxes, but sell them contents unseen. I have found many treasures in these boxes, such as old militaria, and have been able to do some good along the way. For example, one box I bought was full of pictures, some personal memorabilia and a program from a funeral. I looked up the information from the name of the deceased and was able to return the box to the daughter of the gentleman who had passed away 18 months earlier. She was very elated and thought she had lost these things forever.
Below is something I discovered in one of my boxes. It is a whole notebook of drawings and prints from the 1970s…most of which are of characters from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, The Lord Of The Rings, The Fellowship Of The Ring and The Return Of The King. I would like to know more about the drawings and prints. There are many other drawings, sketches and prints in the notebook, but do not have any idea of who made them or where they came from.
Finds like this keep me going to auctions and yard sales all the time. I just never know what I might find.
Related posts
Saturday, May 5th, 2007
This post was written by Steve Henry
My beautiful wife, realizing that the weeds around the house have grown to over three feet tall, surprised me with an Anniversary Edition Craftsman 32cc 1.9 cubic inch 2-cycle 17 inch cutting path gasoline weedwacker with Sim-Pul technology for smooth easy starts.
Personally, I don’t mind weeds. I think weeds get a bad wrap. Weeds should have just as much right to grow as do grass and flowers. Weeds can be beautiful too. It is part of nature.
Anyway, I got the hint so last Sunday, April 29, 2007, I fired up the weedwacker and went to work. I live in Southeastern North Carolina, in what is known as the sub-tropics. Wilmington, North Carolina to be exact. Home of the famous Azalea Festival. The reason I mention this is to help explain some details to the people reading who are not familiar with the Southeast United States.
The Southeast has many creepy crawly creatures that like to make homes in overgrown areas with lots of weeds. Many, many reptiles and live hand in scale with humans. There is also a plethora of small rodents and mammals crawling around out there…so makes the circle of life. I like to refer to my backyard as “The Jungle.†We have a fairly large backyard that is fenced in by a wooden 6 foot fence. The first half of the yard, the part that is next to the house, is cleared (except for my overgrown weeds). The back half is “The Jungle.†Many a day I have heard things rustling through the underbrush in the jungle. It doesn’t bother me, because I am a tree-hugger nature boy, and I love all animals (except that German Shepherd that lived up the street when I was a kid, the one that used to chase me all the time).
So I start wacking the weeds next to the house. I have to admit, there were a lot of weeds. It took about 30 minutes. I had forgotten about the hole my dog Keesha had dug last fall. Keesha is an Akita.
The weeds had totally covered her hole, naturally I stepped in the hole, tripped and fell. I chuckled, because I bet it looked pretty funny. I got up and wacked the hole, which is right next to the house. I then stopped the Craftsman weedwacker. I suddenly noticed numerous unusually large geckos running away from the area. I thought this to be a little strange, since this was something with which I had never noticed of their character before. I then noticed some sort of commotion about 25 feet away near the corner of the house. I walked over to inspect what was happening. Apparently, I had disturbed many creatures, two of which were a young opossum and the largest Cottonmouth Water Moccasin (Agkistrodon piscivorus) I had ever seen. The cottonmouth had its fangs sunk into the opossum. I was totally in awe. This is something you would see Steve Irwin (Crocodile Hunter) examining. The opossum stopped struggling after about 10 seconds. For some reason, I automatically tried to help the opossum, like it was a murder victim or something. Without thinking, I had grabbed my trash grabbers, those things you can use to pick up trash without bending over. I reached out and hooked the snake and picked it up. It would not let go of the opossum. So I grabbed the opossum with the tongs and started shaking it. After about a minute, the snake fell to the ground, not very happy with me. My neighborhood is built on what used to be a swamp. Cottonmouth snakes are not uncommon, but usually do not come this close. I figured it must have been living in that hole that Keesha had dug.
I did not want to kill the snake, since I am a tree-hugger. It was obviously very angry at me and coiled to strike. I tried numerous times to pick it up with the grabbers, but apparently, to my dismay, Cottonmouth snakes like to climb. This thing wanted a piece of me bad. I then decided to chase it away, into one of the many streams or ponds that are around the house. The snake was very adamant about getting around me and going back to that hole. It struck several times, hitting the grabbers with an impressive force. I now know why they are called Cottonmouths. Very white mouth. I jumped back, and the snake made quick move toward the house. I did not want the snake to get to the hole or the house, because right beside the hole, is the back garage door, which is broken (it is on my honey-do list) and has about a 2 inch area on the bottom that is wide open. I knew the cottonmouth could fit under this, and this is where he was heading. I have small children at home, and really don’t need large poisonous snakes in my garage or next to the house. The only thing I could think of doing was throwing the grabbers at the door, and hopefully scare the snake into a different direction. It worked, but the snake turned and started to climb up the electric outlet box. It got pretty high, and then I noticed the vent that goes into the attic. It is not that high, only a single story house. The snake was heading right for it. It then fell off the house, then started climbing again, straight for the vent. I ran to pick up the grabbers and noticed an old rusty machete lying on the ground. I don’t even know where it came from, since I have never bought a machete. I ran back to get the snake and all of sudden the snake falls, but falls on the other side of the fence, and has a straight shot for the front door. I hop over the fence and fall, then quickly notice that I am face to face with the beast. I did not hesitate swinging the machete with full force. My aim was true, and I hit the snake in the head. I then jumped up. I felt really bad, because I knew the snake was dying.
I stood there and watched over it for the next 30 minutes, while it tried to still bite me. I figured it must be in pain, so I swung again and put it out of its misery. I put it in a bag and had a proper burial. I still feel bad for killing it, but I guess this is what happens when humans start encroaching on wildlife. I will leave “The Jungle†for all beasts that wish to live there.
Related posts
Friday, August 11th, 2006
Life is way too short. There are many reasons why someone would like to take flying lessons…for the thrill, the advantages of getting from one place to another in a shorter amount of time than driving, enjoyment, etc… Many reasons.
For me, the driving force is to get places fast. I really need to start visiting my family in North Carolina more. I need to see my nieces and nephews. I don’t want to be that uncle who never visits, or the one who the kids hear alot about but never really got to know.
My dream is to have my family waiting for me at the Wilmington International Airport (KILM) and for them to watch me land in my own plane. I really think that would be something.
My father has talked about getting his pilot’s license and getting a plane, but never got around to it. Maybe some day. Until then, he will have to sit in the passenger’s seat. Maybe I will let him fly…a little.
I looked around the area for a small airport and bumped into the Orange County Airport (KMGJ). It’s about a half hour from where I live. I called Quade’s Flight School. Gary answered the phone. He seemed like a very nice guy who has been around planes for a very long time. I set up the “Intro” flight lesson for $60. Basically, it is a half hour flight to get the tip of your toe wet. When you land, you say, “Sign me up, I am taking out a loan” or “Get me the hell out of this thing.” I said “Sign me up, but I will pay by check.”
We went up in his trainer…a Piper Cherokee. The intro flight consisted of learning about the pre-flight inspection of the plane, going over the checklist, taxiing to the runway, takeoff, some maneuvers and landing. The instructor, Gary let me perform some turns at about 2500 msl (mean sea level). That was pretty cool. I have never controlled an airplane before, so that was a thrill. I flew by myself for about 15 minutes. When we were approaching the airport for landing, Gary cut the throttle. He said he liked to do this for the new students to show that if an airplane of this size loses the engine in mid-air for some reason, you won’t spiral out of control and plummet to the earth. We landed very smoothly with no power.
After we landed and taxied to the hangar, Gary asked me if I was in. I said I was and set up my next lesson for Sunday, August 20 and 10:30AM.
Related posts
