Stood up by a Friend

Tonight I was stood up by a friend. I had received an email about live Brazilian music at a downtown club and had asked three people if they would like to join me. Two said no, one said yes. We made plans to meet at 8, and I confirmed--thrice--by leaving messages on her home phone and cell.

I got to the club about 8:15. It was just me and the bartender, so I ordered a club soda and lime. I nursed it for 40 minutes while the band members straggled in. They weren’t going to start playing for another hour, so I gazed at the flatscreen and the colored lights behind the liquor bottles, then walked out.

I go out so seldom. It’s so hard to find someone who doesn’t have a wife, husband, boyfriend, or girlfriend who is taking all his or her time. Once in a while, a single friend is available, but not very often.

I called her home and cell this morning, saying that I hope she is OK and that when she is able, give me a call to let me know she's out of the hospital or whatever prevented her from showing up or calling. Of course, it's possible that she was injured or violently ill, but I suspect she just blew me off. Or maybe someone asked her out, and she didn't think to call me. And now she's embarrassed to call.

I've been stood up so many times in my life that I was not upset. It was nice just to go out into the world and see what people with wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, or--miracle of miracles—friends do on a Friday night in Long Beach.

I wandered the streets for a while after leaving the club. A salesclerk at an interior design store was very welcoming, and I’m thankful for the pleasant interchange I had with her. Sometimes we have to get from strangers what friends are not ready, willing, or able to give.

Finally, a Quiet Apartment

I’ve moved again. Yes, it’s getting to be quite a habit. This is my fourth abode since May of 2005. If I can’t get other things to shift in my life—career, finances, social life, health—at least I can pack up and change my abode.

Of the nine places I have lived in Long Beach, this is my favorite. I’m at 666 ----- Ave., Apt. 6. No satanic references please. I refuse to buy into that.

It’s a Spanish-style building with arches over the courtyard, and huge papyrus and big-leafed philodendron planted outside my front door. There’s a vanity with built-in drawers ,a mirror, and a closet between the bathroom and the bedroom. A walk-in closet is off the bedroom, and built-in benches and a table are in the kitchen. There are crystal doorknobs and a space in the living room where a Murphy bed used to be. Outside my back door I’ve arranged the rocks I’ve gathered from special places and a bunch of potted plants. I’m growing parsley and looking into what other veggies might thrive in a few hours of direct afternoon sun.

Best of all, this place is quiet. At long last, no barking dogs. No car alarms. No horn-beepers. No TV-blasters. No loud, angry people

The back of my apartment faces the back wall of a monastery. Almost every day I can hear music from the monastery floating gently over the wall and into my space. Sometimes it’s Indian chants. Sometimes it’s passionate blues, like the other afternoon when I laid face up on my bed and let “Summertime” sink into my heart.

I am so thankful that after 26 years in this city, I have finally found a place that’s right for me. As I plan to leave Long Beach following my separation from Cal State next May, in all likelihood, this place will be my last in Southern California. What better way to depart a place—or a job or a relationship, for that matter—than when one is at peace, rather than in a state of desperation, resentment, or despair. This apartment is my farewell gift from Long Beach. A gift for which I am very grateful.

No Fatted Calf

My son has returned home from a foreign land! Let us slaughter the fatted calf and invite all the villagers for a feast and a celebration!

Or perhaps just take him out for Mexican food.

Boy, how things have changed since Old Testament days. Think how many events were once public displays of joy or sorrow, but are now private, even solitary episodes. Think what this has done to the human psyche. What was once shared by all is now unknown to all but a few.

Take my son's homecoming yesterday. He returned from an 18-day trip to Europe. This was his first solo adventure, save for a three-day road trip in Northern California a few years back. He toured 27 museums, had a little romance in Paris with a French-Canadian, stayed at a hotel in the Red Light District of Amsterdam, and used his Spanish more than he ever has in So Cal. He found the French much friendlier than he had expected, and they said he was a good ambassador of the United States. He was 21 and traveling through northern France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. And he returned safely and happily to his native land. Certainly a cause for a feast and a celebration.

But I was the only one who met him at LAX. (No villages accompanied me.) He and I drove back to Long Beach and had a late dinner at Linda's Mexican restaurant. A private celebration. No fatted calf.

Giving Thanks for Small Things

The last few days I have been giving thanks for things most people take for granted. Thanks that I can walk from my apartment to my truck without stopping to rest three or four times. Thanks that I can climb a flight of stairs without gasping for breath. Thanks that I now only need three pillows beneath my head at night rather than six.

Just a week ago, I was calculating my every move, wondering if a short distance was too far, if I would be able to carry my dirty clothes to the laundry room or a bag of groceries a half block to my doorstep, if just getting dressed would leave me exhausted.

I’m not yet biking or hiking or surfing again, but at least these simple tasks are becoming less difficult.

Is it the diet of brown rice, beans, collard greens, black sesame seeds, kale, cucumbers, celery, and vinegar water? Is it the “squeeze machine” treatments I receive every morning that are supposed to force new blood vessels to form around my heart? Is it any one of the 16 supplements I’m taking? Is it the messages of reprogramming I’ve been sending my body? Every day in every way, I grow healthier, stronger, more vibrant, fully able to do all the functions my body was naturally meant to do, with every cell pulsating health, life, and vitality? Or is it that I catch myself smiling when I’m out and about in the world, for no apparent reason except that I’m at peace and everything appears beautiful to me?

I firmly believe that my body will heal itself and that I will be healthy, vibrant, and fully able to do all the little things and much, much bigger ones with ease. I close my eyes and see vitality filling every cell of my body. And so it is.