You know, a dream where you have to pee? And then you wake up and realize, well, you have to pee?
OK, maybe I should change the subject. Maybe talk about Trump. Space Force anybody?
Mueller?
Mueller?
Mueller?
Will the San Francisco Giants go on a season-ending tear like nobody has ever seen and make the playoffs and win the World Series?
That was officially jumping the shark.
The Giants will not go on a season-ending tear of epic proportions.
They will not make the post-season.
They will not win the World Series.
They will, in fact they already have, returned to the days of being sad, pathetic losers and “almost” competitive teams that give their fans no hope. I lived for forty years as a Giants fan of teams like this. I can live for another forty years. Those World Series victories were a brief, but brilliant, reprieve from the misery of losing.
And, if you think I’m trying to avoid the topic of this post … you would be right.
I mean, seriously, who writes about their pee dreams?
Maybe only me because I’m the only one who has them. Please tell me you have them to.
Last night, I had a dream. I rarely remember my dreams, but I seem to always remember my pee dreams. This one started off with a scene that is irrelevant to this post, but that scene if psychoanalyzed, would be fascinating. Actually, it doesn’t even need to be psychoanalyzed, its meaning was clear, but it didn’t involve peeing.
So …
In this scene in my dream, I was in bed and realized I had to pee. I got up and went into the bathroom. I dropped my underwear and started peeing.
Let me stop here and instruct my lady readers of something that may seem odd to you about men peeing.
Ummmm.
So …
Sometimes, it doesn’t come out straight.
Sometimes, it goes sideways.
Sometimes, it splits into two streams.
And this seems to happen most frequently in the middle of the night. When it’s dark. You might think, “Why is it dark? Turn the light on.”
No, that would require me to wake up.
And open my eyes. And if there’s one thing I do not want to do when I have to get up in the middle of the night and pee is wake up.
Even in my pee dreams.
In my dream, I walked to the bathroom. First thing that happened is … well, the spray went everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. So much for not waking up. And all I could think of was about the hassle of cleaning it all up so the wife wouldn’t get pissed (pun intended) in the morning.
I cursed.
I stopped the flow. Got it straightened out and into the ol’ toilet bowl. And pee’d. And pee’d some more. And on and on and on it went.
Eventually, my son came into the bathroom because he was tired of waiting to pee himself. And he started peeing as well. And my flow just would not stop. It was like a fire hydrant uncapped. Niagara Falls. Or maybe this …
I started to worry that there was something seriously wrong. That I would never, ever again stop peeing. Years into the future, my family would come to visit me in the bathroom while I pee’d.
And, then, I woke up and decided that maybe I should go pee in real life.
Which, sadly, at 3:19 in the morning meant that while I pee’d I started thinking about the thing that happened yesterday and what I would do if this happened and how I would react if that happened and two hours later I finally fell back to sleep.
So, tell me.
This happens to you too, right?
Please.
* * * * *
By the way, as I wrote this post, the Giants game started. In the top of the 1st inning they made two great defensive plays and set the Pirates down 1-2-3. In the bottom of the first, Andrew McCutcheon led off with a home run. Buster Posey legged out an infield single.
I’ll stop here for a moment and let the non-baseball fans in on a little secret. Posey is a catcher. He has a hip problem. He doesn’t really run very well and he frickin’ beat out an infield single.
And then a few more things happened, and it’s now 3-0 and the bottom of the first isn’t even over yet.
I’ve written about my friend Jon: Here and here and here and here. For a couple of years after I left the family home, I lived with him. He was the best man at my wedding. He was my best friend until he wasn’t — taken from the world by a heart attack at the unexpected age of 30.
I’ve tried to maintain contact with his dad in the years since. It’s a difficult thing to do sometimes, but I’ve tried. As described in those other posts, I’ve taken my family to visit with him at his home. One weekend, we all went to Downieville and the boys spent the night with Jon’s dad on Jon’s Mountain. And every now and then, I’ve gone to see Jon’s dad on my own. Where I sit with him for a few hours while he rambles through the stories that come to mind as we talk.
A couple of weeks ago, he called me and asked if I could come for a visit. He wanted to talk about Jon. That’s something he has never said to me before. I honored his request and paid him a visit a couple of weeks ago. What he really wanted to do was to be able to talk to Jon. He shared a number of things about other family members and different little tidbits about his life and Jon’s mother’s life and expressed how unhappy he was that he had never had the opportunity to share these things with Jon. That Jon never knew these things about his mother, his uncles, his grandparents, and others.
As the years have rolled on, I am his last connection to his son — his only child — and it appears I was a stand in for Jon that day. I’m okay with that. If I can bring some peace to him, I will do it.
At the end of our visit, I asked Jon’s dad to do me a favor. It’s something I’ve wanted to say to him for years, but it’s one of those difficult things to say to somebody who is sitting in front of you. I asked him to give my name and contact information to whoever it is that is responsible for managing his estate. I told him I wanted to be a part of whatever came next once he passes away.
Tonight I talked to that person. I told him I didn’t want anything, I just want to be involved. I want to be a part of what comes next for Jon’s Mountain. I want to be a part of whatever it is that happens in the next chapter — to somehow, no matter how small, be a part of creating a legacy for this family, something that recognizes that they were good people who lived their lives with kindness and consideration.
Mostly, what I fear the most is that Jon’s dad will pass away and I won’t ever know and that would absolutely break my heart. What I most want is to be more involved in the years ahead in maintaining Jon’s Mountain and connecting to him in some way when I am there.
* * * * *
This past weekend, we spent a few days in Gualala with a group of friends. They are the friends I spent a lot of time with back in college and in my early 20’s. Jon was a part of the group. It has been a long time since we had spent this time together. Back in those early days, we spent a lot of weekends and weeks at a beachside condo near Santa Cruz and took other trips together. As we grew up and started families, we grew apart in some ways.
But over the last few years, we’ve grown closer again as one of our friends was diagnosed with a form of early onset aggressive dementia. At the age of 50. She now is non-verbal, in a high care memory facility. It’s sad. This friend was the organizer of the parties, the life of the parties, the instigator of so much that we did in those years. And now she doesn’t recognize people from her life, doesn’t talk, and is deteriorating before our very eyes.
But a few of us spent the weekend together and it couldn’t have been a better weekend. We relaxed, enjoyed each other’s company, caught up, recalled old times, laughed, and re-connected. I couldn’t have imagined a better weekend with these friends than the one we had.
* * * * *
So, yeah, friends and things. Hold them close. They matter. And sometimes they’re gone and you don’t have them anymore. But all too frequently … they aren’t. Don’t forget them. Or neglect them. Without friends, without the memories you share with them, without that comfort only a real friend can bring you … well, there’s just something about life that is missing.
