A Farewell Letter

 Ifennyi and Joan

Dear Acura:

You came into my life unexpectedly.  When I took my other Acura into the dealer for repairs, a good looking, fast talking young man convinced me that I should go for a trade-in.  It turned out to be a winning move.

You missed the most turbulent stops on that long and winding road that is my life. So yes, it’s been the two of us day by day.  You’re my dining room, my snack bar, my waiting place, my delivery system.  We listened to the news and the sports talk and, of course, the music.  Remember that time we pulled over to hear the end of Rhapsody in Blue?

Here’s some good news.  I’ve put you into the hands of Ifennyi Ifebueme.  He is a good man.  The kind of person that, when you know you are going to see him and spend a few minutes together, it makes you smile.  You already know him because he works in our garage.   

 Ifennyi is from Nigeria. I remember the day when he was bursting with joy.  “I am now an American Citizen!”, he beamed.  “And now I can plan to bring my wife and son to join me here!”

                                                                               

“Ifennyi,” I said today,  “Did you say you are going to ship the car to Africa?”  “Yes. I know now that I will never be able to bring my family here.   My future now is in Nigeria and I will return.”  He saw my look of shame and sadness. He put his arm around my shoulder.  “I still have big plans, I will be a farmer in Nigeria,” he smiled.  How could we be so stupid as to lose him, I thought.  

So, Ifennyi has big plans for you.  A continuation of your global existence.  From Japan and now on  to Africa.                         

When you leave me standing here, it will be a very fond farewell.  Ifennyi’s spirit will never be crushed.  You will be with him —as you were with me — for many more miles to come.                   

April 15

 

On Tax Day, Len and I would drive downtown to the main Post Office.  Our aim was to get there a few minutes before midnight as a symbolic gesture.  We weren't the only ones with that idea. We joined a stream of cars driving slowly and passing our tax returns to the police who were stationed along the route to receive the deliveries.  We honked our horns in solidarity with the Vietnam War protestors on the sidewalk because we all knew where are our tax dollars were going.

Now, I take advantage of the AARP program that provides free service to seniors for uncomplicated tax preparation.  Thank you to the friendly volunteers.  

Bernie Sanders is forcing a vote in the Senate today about arms shipments to Israel.  We're always going to protest on April 15, aren't we?

Happiness

 The founding fathers had it right.  They promised the pursuit of happiness.  The opportunity for happiness to be included in the human experience.   The achievement was always up to us. 

 Such revolutionary ideas deserve their weight. I agree with those who bristle at the notion that happiness is a choice. No.  Choice is about deciding what to wear or eat. Bringing happiness into life’s territory, so long assumed to be only occupied by pain, is a noble effort requiring insight, discipline and action. 

Obviously, one of the things that makes me happy is writing and sharing my thoughts.  I didn’t land here by accident.  Dear friends helped me see that  “I’m a good communicator and have ideas that can be useful.” Learning what makes us happy can often involve getting out of our own way. Stay tuned.

 

An Inside Job

 What is life’s purpose?  I’m not sure if lives have a purpose, at least not one determined by Karma, a God, or any other external power.  But I, and everyone I’ve talked with about this, seem to want to give our lives some meaning.  It satisfies a need to imagine a purpose.  And we want the purpose to be a noble one, not something mean, or trivial.  Ultimately, I think I decide my purpose.  It’s an inside job. 

I realize that I’m one of the fortunate ones to even have the time and energy to contemplate these things.  I’m not constantly searching for food, shelter or safety. Why I landed here in the lottery of circumstances is a question — and a mystery — for another day.  Stay tuned.

A Good Goodbye (I hope)

 

Selling my car has been easier than I thought.  I mean the actual selling of it.  I haven't actually turned over the keys, so that trauma has yet to occur.  Two guys in my garage made offers and a third is waiting in case the deal falls through.  Pretty popular for the oldster, I'd say. And well deserved.

 I broke the news to my donut lady this morning. We took a moment together as she completely understood.  I noticed the gal behind me in line waiting to be served and I apologized for keeping her waiting.  "That's ok," she said.  "I love it when people take time to be friendly."

Happy Brithday

 Sixty Seven year ago today I embarked upon what could still be thought of as an unusual method of childbirth.  I put my faith in a doctor who offered hypnosis and deep breathing instead of drugs.  My son Bill cooperated spectacularly!  His trip into this world took only a few hours from arrival at the hospital to resting with him in my arms.

So Happy Birthday Bill.  There’s so much to celebrate is this crooked trip with hopefully more to explore.

In The Family

  

Jim and Joan

My nephew Jim went to MIT and on to a career in the field of medical devices.  Now that my heart needs a little help, as does the heart of my favorites Bill and Phyllis, I asked Jim if he was literally going to have "a piece of my heart" as he does sentimentally.

"I've worked on a lot of stuff, not specific to heart, and have had a few inventions," he said.

That's close enough for me.  Bravo to Jim and his clever colleagues!