Category: Words

The recent deaths of Lauren Bacall and Robin Williams have me thinking about death a little more than usual. I think about death a lot anyway, so it’s not like I am out of my comfort zone there.

While I am a fan of both performers, I did not know either of them personally. Their deaths are passingly sad to me, but won’t make much of a dent in my life.

Williams’ suicide in particular seems to have hit people hard. Is it because he was so beloved by children who grew up with Mrs. Doubtfire and the Genie?

Because someone who dedicated his life to making the world laugh committed suicide?

I don’t really understand it, but grief is grief. I am sure I will need a lot of compassion when either Elton John or Elvis Costello die. A lot of people probably won’t understand the depth of my feelings either, but everyone feels what they feel or don’t feel in their own way. Grief is something that deserves compassion, always, even if you don’t feel it yourself.

Maybe especially if you don’t.

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This was all just dumped totally on end for me as I learned of the death of an old friend who committed suicide in Bend over the weekend. I haven’t seen him for a very long time, but he was one of those people who always made me smile when I thought of him.

Farhad was a natural born host. He hated to see an empty plate or glass, and they never stayed empty for long if he had anything to say about it. He was someone who loved to laugh, and see people around him having a good time. He was a good humored cheater at every sort of game. He was always a lot of fun to be around, and people always liked him.

But you never know what sort of burden people are carrying around on the inside. I don’t know what led Freddy to end his life, but I do know this:

Farhad was not a coward.
Farhad knew he was loved, and he loved his family and friends very much.
Farhad would never, ever want to hurt anyone.

Depression lies. It lies and it tells you that it will be better for everyone if you are not there any more. For whatever reason, the pain or sadness that he was carrying inside of him got bigger than the love of his friends and family and he couldn’t stay with them any longer.

Depression is very convincing. If you have never heard the stories that Depression tells you, it can be hard to understand how seductive they are. If you are lucky, there is enough of your right mind still there to convince you that Depression might be wrong. Or at least that you should wait a little bit.

On Saturday night, Farhad listened to the lie.

If you hear about someone like Freddy, please take a moment to send your thoughts out to their family and friends who are grieving. Stop and think before posting a critical comment about their death in a news story or in social media. Try to make things better rather than worse. Consider the impact of your post on the people who are now missing someone they loved. Imagine how you would feel if someone said something unkind about someone you loved who just died.

It doesn’t take any longer to say something kind than something hurtful, and it takes even less time to say nothing at all.

It won’t hurt anything if a cruel thought goes unsaid.

Be kind to each other. Make sure the people you love know how you feel. Things can end so unexpectedly. One minute, a person is alive and the next they are gone.

If people are important to you, make sure they know it. You really might not ever have a chance to tell them again.

If there is an afterlife, Freddy, I am sure you have already got your family and friends together having cocktails or tea and playing backgammon. You are probably already cheating like crazy, and grinning when you get caught.

Rest in peace.

Last Friday, I was at the Sportsman’s Pub with two of the boys. (Have I mentioned yet today that I miss them?) As we were ordering, Kyle wanted extra limes in his drink. I ordered something on the side with my dinner, and we joked about being high maintenance.

Then I was wondering what that even really means.

Getting a mess of limes in a drink that already calls for lime doesn’t seem to qualify. Probably not my side of mayo for my fries, either.

What does?

Getting a bunch of limes for a drink that doesn’t normally include them?

Maybe.

Asking to have half the ingredients of a dish substituted and the rest served on the side?

Probably.

But obviously, it isn’t a very serious life problem if you are only high maintenance in a way that is mildly annoying in a bar or restaurant. Especially if you tip well.

There are people who require a lot of attention and energy to keep them going. Maybe a woman needs several hours a day to keep up her appearance. Maybe she needs constant attention and emotional reinforcement to feel her friends, family and lover value her. Maybe he has to have only the most up to date toys. Maybe he is only satisfied with a woman who stays home and irons his sheets,cooks him dinner and dedicates all of her attention to him.

I’m obviously not high maintenance as far as my looks go. I can roll out of bed and be ready to leave for an adventure or work within 20 or 30 minutes. I’m not picky about my clothes. I don’t care about cars, jewelry, or having any of the usual trappings of success. While I do occasionally get a massage or a pedicure, on a day to day basis I have a sore neck and polish my own nails. I live in a small house which I clean myself.

Well. Clean is a relative term.

I do have rather an expensive haircut, but my stylist rolls her eyes at me because I don’t blow it out or even actually brush my hair a lot of the time.

No one would ever think of me as fancy.

So why am I even thinking about the idea of being high maintenance?

Because for some reason I keep thinking I must be. I am not quite sure why, even after considering it. And it kind of niggles at the sides of my mind. I’ve only had on person call me high maintenance and it was because he thought I needed too much of his time and attention. He thought I was too needy.

He’d seem vaguely annoyed if I made plans with my friends and wasn’t available when he did get around to calling, and then act like I was being too needy when I pointed out that if he returned my calls he might have been the one I had plans with instead. But he always made a big point of pointing out that I should go out and do my thing.

I didn’t ever think that he actually cared one way or the other. I figured that if he wanted to see me, he could let me know ahead of time. Maybe make an effort. If I was in need of reassurance about his feelings, it was because there were so many signs that his feelings were indifferent ones.

The irony is that normally I get the opposite reaction–that I am too prone to wanting to be alone. That I am too detached and solitary. Maybe emotionally unavailable.

In the end, I just didn’t think I wanted to be a convenience to him any more and I didn’t want to feel like I was emotionally high maintenance for wanting him to pick up the phone and talk to me.

Like everyone, sometimes I do need reassurance. In a rough patch, I might even need quite a bit of it.

If you care about someone, aren’t you happy to provide it?

Never risking anything meant never having or doing or being anything either. Life is risk, it turned out.
–Lev Grossman/The Magician’s Land

Yesterday: Isolation tank float
Today: Balloon float

Now I just need to have a rootbeer float or go on a river float to complete a trifecta of floats.

OH! I just remembered that tomorrow I am making a float in glass blowing class.

I didn’t really set out to do that. Serendipity.

So, how was it?
Compared to a helicopter flight into a volcano on Kauai? A little tame.
Still. A whole lot of fun, and I didn’t have to go all the way to Hawaii. The people at Vista were pretty awesome. All volunteers, aside from the pilots. Friendly, helpful, all having a great time.

It was surprised by how still the air was. Of course, that’s obvious in retrospect–the balloon moves with the wind, so there wouldn’t be much sensation of windiness. Plus, balloons don’t go up if it’s windy at all. Too dangerous.

I didn’t realize just how much improvisation is involved in piloting a balloon. They really can’t set out in a specific direction. They can go up and down by heating the air more or releasing air, and they can rotate the entire balloon by opening vents to one side or the other–but they have no directional control at all. They are completely at the mercy of the wind. They land in whatever field happens to be nearby and friendly to balloonists, and were calling ahead to the farmhouses to let folks know there was a landing coming. They pay the landowners in balloon rides.

And guess what? Even though I went alone, I talked to people. A little. Hey, I am still me. I didn’t do a standup routine. I didn’t dazzle anyone with my charm. Do I even have any charm? I wonder. I did manage to sit at a table with other people and chat with them like a civilized human being instead of just getting in my car and leaving as soon as we got back on the ground. And it wasn’t just because I wanted a mimosa, either.

Risky behavior for me.

It was a typical Oregon day: gray. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but a few drops came down during the flight. It never rained hard enough to deter Oregonians from their recreational duties. We are a rain-resistant lot.

To summarize: the only downside to the day was that it started at the unholy hour of 0430. I would have an easier time staying up that late than I did getting up. Nice people. A gorgeous ride. Pretty scenery.

And it’s not over yet–tonight I get to up to Tequila Hill. That may not be a positive for them, because this time I am cooking.

Update: dinner was good. I made chelo kebab. Persian food. It even turned out well.

We all put on some lotion after dinner because we had dry knees. Per Maliya. Then Rick and Maliya jumped rope. We smoked some hookah. We drank some cider. We drank some wine. The usual.

On the way out Chelle reminded me to have fun glass blowing, and it hit me. That is another activity involving fire. I am scared of fire. She pointed out that I am facing my fears, and that is a good thing.

I guess maybe I am, although I did make Rick grill the meat. Cooking over flames is still not something I am comfortable with.

So I keep thinking, and I do NOT know why, “got joie de vivre?”
And the answer is “hell, yeah!”

Life is good.