Be Here Now

Be Here Now


This is the house in which I spent most of the first eight years of my life.  This is 1003 N Plains Park Drive in Roswell, New Mexico.  This is a very recent picture; it didn’t look like this when I lived there.  Odd that I don’t remember the color of the house when I lived in it, but it wasn’t this color.  I seem to recall that there was a tree in the front yard, and that pole jutting up from the ground on the left side of the frame used to be a yard light, fashioned to look like an old gas street lamp.  It used to be black.

The back yard was girded by a chain link fence, I remember that very well.  Who is the sadist that would build a chain link fence in a climate that often provides temperatures of 90 degrees and above for three months of the damned year?  I’m surprised I wasn’t branded for life.

Lately I’ve been wanting to go there, to Roswell, and stand on the sidewalk and look at this house.  Haven’t got a really good reason to do that (other than the drive there would make for a really great road trip!) but nostalgia can be a powerful motivator I suppose.  I liked living there when I was a kid.  I talked to my brother Bill about this urge I have, but he can’t really relate to it.  He was all of four years old when we moved from Roswell to Ramey Air Force Base in Puerto Rico in 1967.  He doesn’t remember it.  He doesn’t even remember standing in an ant bed screaming his head off in the alley as our mother dashed to his rescue and I did my big brother part from a safe distance: throwing my hands up and yelling “Well move for cryin’ out loud!”  I was also probably laughing too, because I was one stupendous jerk of an older brother (and also not a terribly bright one, since I never learned not to tease and laugh at his expense after he’d grown enough to punch me out).

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I got a call from the clinic last week regarding my physical.  In summary, I was told I need to cut back on sweets and carbs and get more exercise, but that it didn’t appear I was in danger of falling down dead without help from outside influences.  Okay, fine.  I’m on the program and have a goal to be healthier and more svelt (svelter?) by the end of the year BUT…the vacation trip is hands off.  I will not behave myself for that week.  Many are the times I have denied myself this treat or that one, but there’ll be none of that in Dallas.  This trip is about relaxation, couch-trippin’ and watching DVDs and computer gaming and drinking and actively seeking fried, fat-laden foods.  Oh, I’ll do some core work and use my brother’s BowFlex (last time I was there it was serving as a very expensive coat rack) and I may even convince myself to do long walks in the relative cool of morning (82 F and 98 per cent humidity).  The rest of the time?  Chillin’ in the true sense of the word.  Have I said that Texas is the air-conditioning capital of the world?  If all the air-conditioners in Texas were to shut off at once, the abrupt drop in pressure would quite possibly send the Earth wobbling right out of orbit.  I kid you not.

I’m looking forward to this trip way too much.  I actually hate anticipating things because when I’m doing that I’m not paying adequate attention to what I should be doing now.  Probably everyone’s like that, yes?  Look forward to vacations, look forward to retirement, look forward to the next cigarette break or sexual encounter or television show.  This is actually why I’m going to start walking again, walking for the exercise but also walking for the enjoyment of it and no other purpose.  When I walk just to walk, no destination in mind, it’s living in the moment.  I notice and can appreciate the neighborhood, the trees and yards and houses, the different aromas and sounds, the cracks in the sidewalk.  I get some of that from riding the bicycle too, but even that too often is mere propulsion toward an end result because I’m usually riding to and from work.  It’s not wandering.  I want, need, to just wander.

The missus and I have decided to make more trips to the seaside from now on, and strolling the surf, for me, is the best therapy and antidote for Too Much On The Brain.

Dang.  I need to toss some groceries down muh neck.  Later.

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