Things I Learned from R. B. (May 17th, 2020)

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Episode 15

I excused myself from the table, walked through the lobby and out the front door to catch a breath of the frigid night air.

It was December 18^th—my birthday.

I was at Captain John Longhollow’s Seafood House, courtesy of an invitation from R. B.

He explained that it had been a tough year for him, without employment, and he wanted to honor me with a dinner, but hoped I would accept it as his entire gift to the whole family–for Christmas also.

I agreed.

I was upset with the situation. It wasn’t that I wanted anything from R. B. for Christmas, nor did I think he should scrape together nickels to get drugstore toys for the full-grown kids. I just didn’t want to know his reasoning. I didn’t want a generous act to seem like a banking decision.

I didn’t say anything because I knew it was silly and childish on my part, but as the dinner conversation drifted away from our friendship and settled in on his airplane trip back home to Rhode Island for Christmas, I just needed to get away.

So as I stood there in the night, musing my fussiness, the heavens suddenly opened and a beautiful snow began falling to Earth. It was like huge cornflakes being poured into an ample bowl on breakfast morning.

Tears came to my eyes because I had been given grace to continue my delusion. For years, I had surmised that snow was delivered every birthday—a gift of God, offered for my enjoyment from the graying skies.

I stood in the snow until its dampness chilled me. Then I strolled inside, noticing that all the patrons had their noses pressed up against the glass windows—like children peering into a snow globe.

Everyone, that is, but R. B.

He was struggling through his salad course with a frown on his face, as if saddened that he had spent so much money and depleted his funds beyond the practical.

I was so enthralled by my birthday snow—and so hungry—that I sat down with great civility and ended up enjoying our evening. It had been months since I had seen R. B., so I decided to be grateful instead of resentful.

A lady entered the restaurant and explained that the snow was falling quite heavily, and that in no time at all the Tacoma road crews would be unable to keep up.

R. B. ignored the warning and ordered a sherry to finish off his dinner. He offered me the same, confident that I would pass. After he finished his liqueur, we headed toward the car.

He wanted me to drive.  We were not far from my home—perhaps ten minutes on a normal day—but on this night, we drove for an hour-and-a-half and still hadn’t reached our destination.

There was one final large hill to ascend—which had turned into an ice rink. Vehicles were sliding and bumping all over the place.

I realized we weren’t going to make it up, so I let the car go as far as it was willing to travel before sliding backwards. I then turned the wheel to the left and went to the other side of the road. I let the car gingerly bump up against a fence, where it settled in place.

R. B. expected that I would turn around and try the hill again, but his car’s tires were too bald and there was no way to gain the traction to perform the ascent. So after sitting for five minutes in the ever-chilling car, I explained to him that the best thing to do was bundle up, leave the vehicle and walk the rest of the way—a little less than a mile.

R. B. didn’t like the idea. He kept insisting that he was certain we could make it up the hill.

I should have let him try.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

I should have given him his rightful position as owner of the vehicle to do what he wanted.

But I was cold and the lobster I had just eaten lay bitter in my stomach. I tucked the keys into my pocket, got out of the car and started walking. R. B. stumbled from the vehicle, screamed at me, but still followed.

It took a little while to get home. R. B. wanted to argue in the middle of the blizzard, but finally we arrived at my doorstep and climbed into the house, greeted by the bubbling of youthful energy from my children, screaming in delight about the precipitation.

We joined together in the living room and lit a fire to warm the house, as we continued to stare at the beautiful, heavenly flurries.

After about an hour, R. B. thought he might walk back to his car and try to get himself home. I could tell he was completely uncomfortable being with us. It made me sad and mad all at the same time.

Even when we started singing Christmas carols, he was fidgety and kept looking out the window, saying over and over again, “I think it’s clearing.”

Disgusted, he finally stood to his feet and headed to the door.

I had to make a decision. Would I let him do what he wanted to do—knowing how unsafe, dangerous or even deadly it was?

I probably should have honored his autonomy and his human choice.

But I had watched for four months while he deteriorated, lost his way, failed to get employment and acted and dressed more and more like a derelict.

Right or wrong, I made a stand, and explained that we would not allow him to leave because it was dangerous. He cursed me, became violently angry and stood over me, screaming his defiance.

My kids were scared.

I think my wife was waiting for me to kill him—because she had selected where to bury the body. But I let him yell while standing my ground.

Not only did R. B. have to sleep in our house that night, but the blizzard was so massive that the community shut down. The airport was closed, so R. B. was unable to go to Rhode Island for his Christmas holiday.

We invited him to stay, which he did—but he was really never there.  Over and over again he explained that it “just didn’t seem like Christmas” without being back home in Providence.

Our little family worked awfully hard to change our surroundings into R. B.’s childhood memory.

It got better. He calmed down.

He started singing with us.

He helped make Christmas treats.

And by Christmas Eve, it seemed like he had settled his soul and was just a little bit grateful to be safe and warm.

Realizing that we didn’t have gifts for him, on Christmas Eve morning I asked my two older boys to hike up the hill to the bus stop. I gave them forty dollars to buy “R. B.-type” gifts. I also gave them ten dollars for lunch.

They were thrilled. They returned early evening and placed their purchases into the garage, where my wife wrapped them up for Christmas morning.

About 7:40 A.M., we awoke R. B., who overnight had uncovered a fresh batch of grumpiness, but quickly changed his mind when he realized there would be presents under the tree just for him.

It was an unexpected Christmas.

R. B. laughed. I had never heard him quite as tuneful in his voice and open in his spirit.

The next morning, the roads cleared, and R. B. walked to his car.

I didn’t hear from him for almost three months. I pursued contact, but every time I left a message, he never returned the call.

Yet, that year we had a Christmas that was planned by the snow from Heaven. It was significant, it was enlightening, it was surprising, and it was God-like. As it turned out, that was the last time I got to see R. B. in Tacoma.

In May, when I told him we were moving on down the road to brighter prospects, he grunted—and wished us his best.

G-Poppers … May 20th, 2016

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G-Pop has certainly made a religion out of avoiding being religious or political.

It’s not that he lacks faith or devotion to America–just that he is leery of any club that insists on making all the rules.

So when G-Pop was waiting for his son to join him for dinner at a restaurant, as he sipped some water and tried to avoid the breadsticks they had brought to the table, he listened in to a nearby conversation among two men and a woman.

Remarkably, the trio was split among the three remaining candidates who have a chance to be the President of the United States.

• The woman was for Donald.
• The younger man was for Bernie.
• And the older man was for Hillary.

G-Pop chose to quietly monitor their conversation because it was so fascinating.

The woman who was for Donald was attracted to him because he is an Alpha male, angry over all the unfairness of government and the lack of protection seemingly being offered the American people.

The younger man was also incensed by the greed of Wall Street, the unfairness of wages and income distribution, as the older man tried to make the case that Hillary was the safe choice and at least has some background in the internal workings of the executive branch of the government.

G-Pop was keeping score in his mind.

Let’s see now: Two “angrys” and a safe choice.

He tried to remember the last President of the United States who came into office angry or as the safe choice, who ended up doing much to benefit the common good.

So G-Pop took a moment to examine the basic premises of each candidate.

Donald: America is too nice, we need to get tougher and also stop trying to please the whole world. Matter of fact, he lives this out personally by sharing that he doesn’t particularly favor apologizing.

Bernie: On the other hand, he is angry because Wall Street billionaires are hoarding all the profit, leaving the working class nearly destitute.

Hillary: She thinks her greatest appeal lies in trying to get the American people to go back to the 1990’s, when her husband was President, to restore that age of alleged optimism, balanced budgets and job security.

Always remember, every temporary solution looks better than a permanent one. That’s what makes it temporary.

Donald doesn’t want to apologize, yet we have a fellow who’s been around for two thousand years who tells us that as we forgive others, we will be forgiven.

Bernie wants to equalize the finance in the world, when that great thinker from two thousand years ago told us that those who have will get more and those who haven’t may very well lose what they have. That’s why we should be sensitive to the least of our brethren. It never equalizes.

And as far as Hillary’s contention regarding going back to the 1990’s, the same teacher instructed us that you can’t put new wine into old wineskins. 2016 is not 1995. Matter of fact, there’s little similarity anywhere in the mix.

So as G-Pop waited for his son to arrive, he thought to himself, two angry people and a safe choice will not prepare our nation for the problems we will be facing, which will demand strength mingled with diplomacy, force tenderized by forgiveness and devotion tempered by an evolution toward needful change.

Obviously, the three people at the table nearby were unable to come to any conclusions.

But G-Pop wants his children to know that unless one of these three candidates steps out of his or her present format and starts forgiving, being more realistic about wealth distribution and admits that we can’t live off a Presidency that is twenty years gone, we will have more problems than just a close election.

We will end up with leftovers in a world that demands main courses.

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Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … February 6th, 2016

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Dear Woman: So what did you think?

 

Dear Man: About what?

 

Dear Woman: Dinner.

 

Dear Man: It was good.

 

Dear Woman: What did you eat?

 

Dear Man: What do you mean?

 

Dear Woman: I mean, what did you eat? What was it?

 

Dear Man: Chicken. Am I right?

 

Dear Woman: You see, this is my problem. Yes, it was chicken, but I made a special sauce to go with it, added some cheese. I spent a little time.

 

Dear Man: And so do I. You know our routine. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I work on dinner when I get home. Tuesday and Thursday you do it. Saturday is pizza day and Sunday is clean out the refrigerator.

 

Dear Woman: I know. But you see, my point is, because you don’t have any part in my dinner-making tonight, we don’t have any connection.

 

Dear Man: We have conversation over dinner.

 

Dear Woman: Somewhat. But conversation about your day and conversation about my day is not conversation about our day.

 

Dear Man: What do you mean?

 

Dear Woman: What I mean is, you spent most of your day at work with people putting together projects, getting close to them in a mutual effort, and then we come here and we’re married, but the only thing we ever really do together is pay bills.

 

Dear Man: That’s ridiculous. We do lots of things together. We watch movies, we go to the mall, we shop, we go to the park…

 

Dear Woman: You see, that’s the problem We go to places but we’re not a place. I know you don’t necessarily believe all the Adam and Eve stuff from the Bible…

 

Dear Man: I believe in the Bible, just not everything…

 

Dear Woman: Well, I don’t believe in everything, either. But even the things I don’t think are possible, I still try to learn the lessons they have to offer…

 

Dear Man: So what am I missing?

 

Dear Woman: Adam and Eve not only had a life together–sex, romance–but they also worked together. They had a Garden to take care of. It made them get up every morning and notice each other. Kind of like, “Thank God you’re here. Otherwise, I’d have to do the Garden by myself.”

 

Dear Man: I’m glad you’re here…

 

Dear Woman: Let me finish. And then they became involved. How do we take care of the Garden? How do we produce this together? A statement of, “There’s much to do and I need you.” They weren’t just roommates. They were work-mates.

 

Dear Man: So how would we work together?

 

Dear Woman: I don’t know. But it created appreciation. They got to see each other doing their stuff at their best, so they could turn to each other and say, “You did great. We did great.” I just feel like I do my best work on the job and you never get to see it.

 

Dear Man: Well, you don’t get to see my best work, either.

 

Dear Woman: Exactly.

 

Dear Man: So what you’re saying is that maybe rather than doing dinner separately, we do it together, and in the process throw in ideas, laugh at ourselves, and come up with a concoction we both are invested in, and therefore will be more interesting to us.

 

Dear Woman: Brilliantly said! I just feel like the more we do together, the more we’ll enjoy what we do, and the more we’ll notice each other, get involved with each other and appreciate each other.

 

Dear Man: Well, it seems like an idea we can do.

 

Dear Woman: I think so, too. I think if we just take the chores of the house, the cooking and the everyday stuff and try to do some of it together so we can watch each other at work, instead of trying to explain our day over dinner, when the thrill of the moment is long gone…well, I just think it’ll draw us closer.

 

Dear Man: We can still keep pizza night, right?

 

Dear Woman: Yeah. Maybe sometimes we’ll make our own pizzas, though.

 

Dear Man: I think we just crossed a line…

 

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Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … January 2nd, 2016

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Dear Woman: Why don’t you like sex?

 

Dear Man: Who says I don’t like sex?

 

Dear Woman: Well, I guess me since it just came out of my mouth.

 

Dear Man: Where’d you get that idea?

 

Dear Woman: Let me put it this way. Maybe I overstated it, but here’s what I know. If I turned to you and said, “Would you like to go out to dinner?” or “Would you like to go shopping?” or even “Would you like to go visit your mother?” your response would be positive.

 

Dear Man: Even though that’s a generality, I suppose it’s pretty accurate.

 

Dear Woman: OK. But if I said to you, “Do you want to have sex?” your response is not always positive.

 

Dear Man: Who does that? It’s so abrupt. I mean, who asks that? Sex kind of just happens, right?

 

Dear Woman: Yeah. But not enough. So I was just curious.

 

Dear Man: I wouldn’t call that curiosity. It’s more an accusation.

 

Dear Woman: Wow. I don’t know how we got there. I am really interested.

 

Dear Man: Really? Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to be honest?

 

Dear Woman: Well, if you can do it without being mean.

 

Dear Man: Yes, I can do it without being mean. The question is whether you’ll think it’s mean.

 

Dear Woman: Try me.

 

Dear Man: OK. Let’s talk about amusement parks. Let’s say we go to an amusement park and my job is to walk around all day with you while you go on the rides and you come back after you’ve completed the experience and explain how wonderful it was, and I’m supposed to get my pleasure through you being overjoyed with your ride.

 

Dear Woman: So you’re saying you don’t enjoy sex?

 

Dear Man: What I’m saying is, we go on the ride until you’re satisfied, not until I’m satisfied.

 

Dear Woman: So you’re not satisfied.

 

Dear Man: See? You’re already defensive, because you’ve been taught that it’s your job to satisfy me.

 

Dear Woman: What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that love?

 

Dear Man: No, that’s arrogant. It’s my job to learn my own sexuality–my own body–and be able to satisfy myself. Your job is to listen to me as I listen to you, so you can help me and be there when I achieve my satisfaction.

 

Dear Woman: Wow. That just sounds kind of weird.

 

Dear Man: See? You’re talking like a chauvinist. What you really want is for me to pretend that I’m satisfied with what you do. That’s what you call a good wife–a good sexual partner.

 

Dear Woman: Well, not exactly. But I do want to feel like I satisfy you.

 

Dear Man: And I want you to feel like I know how to get satisfied, and have you interested in discovering what that entails.

 

Dear Woman: So you like sex?

 

Dear Man: Just like you. I like orgasms. And what I’m trying to tell you is that sex without orgasms is like doing situps. You may sense the benefit but it gets tiresome.

 

Dear Woman: Wow. I don’t know whether I’m glad I asked or not.

 

Dear Man: Be careful what you ask. You may get an answer.

 

 

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Kissing … January 19, 2013

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What’s the hurry?

After all, one of life’s greatest joys is finding oneself in a moment of pleasure and lingering there as long as possible instead of racing on to the next item on the agenda. May I refer to it as singular sensations?

I recently caught myself planning an evening and determining the quality of the experience ahead by how many different possibilities and adventures I could line up in a row. You know what I mean–“we’re going out to dinner, then get in the car, drive to the movie theater, catch a flick, have some popcorn and then trail out for coffee afterwards with friends to discuss the feature we just viewed, closing off with returning home and …”

Get my drift? There are so many singular sensations in that plan of action that could be savored, but will be rushed through to get to the next experience, which may or may not be equally as fulfilling, but certainly will also be abandoned in order to stay on schedule. We have become a nation completely adept at planning fun–and never having it.

Nowhere is this more obvious to me than in the realm of kissing. When I watch a movie nowadays and two people meet and fall in love, they go through a few shenanigans to acquaint themselves with one another and then they kiss, leading to a cutaway shot to a bedroom sometime later, letting us know that the single kiss LEAPED into an evening of sexual intercourse.

Am I the only person who remembers how satisfying, fulfilling and terrifying kissing can be? Here is a positive aspect to abstinence–it does teach us to stop and enjoy the beauty of kissing. There is probably no other physical action between two human beings that universally expresses emotion and intimacy like kissing. Not even the sex act itself offers the same package of potential. Because candidly, sex can be very bland or even uninvited. But kissing is the cohesion of two wills at the same moment, to mesh agreeing purposes.

Does anyone remember the warmth of the breath of another human being just prior to making lip contact? How about the fragrance of the breath when you are so relieved to discover that your partner is not forbidding further contact? Can you recall when the lips meet for the first time–the moist tenderness of discovering that the pair on your face is making the pair on the other face sublimely pleased?

If the goal of every kiss is to end up in bed having sex, it is no wonder that our species is becoming bored. It’s like saying that every dinner must be followed by a movie, a cup of coffee, a discussion and, let’s say, sorting the laundry. Soon no one would ever want to have dinner.

I have never seen two people kissing who are prepared to argue, hurt each other, manipulate one another or cheat. It’s time for each of us to return to the power of the singular sensation–and linger there for a long moment to enjoy instead of rushing off into other pursuits.

I will no longer plan more than one event at a time. I will refuse to move on until I have drunken deeply of the cup of possibility. And I will never again in my life hurry through a kiss because I think it’s just a way to get something else.

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