Wave Bye Bye in General

”This is the last time I’ll ever Say
I love you
This is the last night
I fall among these graves
The and last time that I’ll
Cry and walk beneath a dark
Lonely sky and wave bye
Bye, bye bye…”

Title song came on my iTunes on the way back from ‘Salem’s Lot on Sunday – dropping off Mother’s Day flowers for Mom.

It hit me hard “This is the last time I’ll ever say I love you.”

A corollary to the saying “At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went outside to play together for the last time, and nobody knew it.”

Inevitably, there is a last time you will do everything. It is a little depressing because occasional optimists think everything that is will always be. The glass half-full crew knows everything comes to an end.

I never seem to have much motivation to write these days. My mind is always full of interesting things (to me, at least) but that need to write every day is gone.

So what have I to write about?

There has been a Covid outbreak at Mireya’s group home. She has a cough.

The utter stupidity of the approach to Covid is mind boggling. A few months ago Johns-Hopkins put out a study that the lock downs, quarantining, masking, and obsessive use of Purell mitigated Covid by .2%. Two mother fucking tenths of ONE fucking percent. Bravo Little Lord Fauntleroy Fauchi. What exactly do we get for your half million dollar a year salary?

Covid-19 – lest we forget is a contraction for “Corona Virus ID 19.” The freaking common cold is a coronavirus. They have been around since before humans went bipedal.

/C19 rant

A week ago Saturday I went over to my Uncle’s house (which I still think of as my Grandmother’s house) and helped my parents and my uncle’s business partner and his wife, and his son and partner move my Uncle’s stuff out of the house.

My uncle broke his hip last fall and has been living in a semi-assisted living facility in Portland. Well, said Uncle was not a great homeowner, and since my Grandmother passed away in 2003 never had the furnace serviced.

So in the midst of some ridiculous cold snap in the middle of the Maine winter, the furnace flamed out. And the copper pipes, installed in 1943 all burst.

From the outside it is still a nice-looking house. A New England Salt Box. Inside is down to studs. The upstairs toilet is on a pallet. There is no drywall, or ceilings.

They decided to sell as-is. Two weeks later they have twenty offers, one of which they accepted. 305 grand for a thousand square foot salt box.

My Uncle owns 1/3, my Mom 1/3 and my Father 1/3. Looks like the folks just fell into a puddle of money. Who knows what kind bite taxes are going to take?

Looks like I need to unretire. I have resumes out, 3 of which are with my previous employer.
I really have no idea how caustic I am there. I told them to go fuck themselves when I quit 10 years ago. And they have never been able to replace me. About every 6 months my old job is relisted and I laugh.

I’m not laughing now.

Another option is to do overnight stocking at Wally World. Holy shit that pays 19 bucks an hour – 36K a year. And I wouldn’t need to deconflict taking the folks to the hospital or my own doctors’ appointments. And I could borrow Kettlebells from the outdoor section and do farmers walks on my breaks.

On a lark I looked at my log book to see what I was doing on May 10th in years past. Turns out 30 years ago I had my first fleet cat-shot and trap. Blue water off the USS Saratoga, a week into our ’92 cruise.

Back then deployments felt like eternity. Little did I know it was an eyeblink. I was 29, I had been married for eight years. My son was 5.

”I could take
The bitter cold
And wrap around your soul
In the light of your lie
All the things we’ll never be
They were right in front of me
I can ever deny”

Last updated May 11, 2022