Today is June 4, 2017, it is now 8:17 and I have already had at least three rather profound conversations, and one trivial one. Trivial one first. Me: Where were you? I had to ask E.H.B a question that you are supposed to be answering Triple. C. What was the question.
Me: What day is it?
Triple C. Why does she get all of the easy questions?
Honest to goodness, that was a real conversation and here is another one. There was the sound of water running and there was a puddle of water by the refrigerator in my room. What does one do if you are living on the 19th floor of Trump International Hotel? Call the front desk, of course, and then they send up an engineer immediately to look into the problem. Don arrives and we have an actually profound conversation but in the midst of it, this exchange took place.
Don: How long will you stay with us.
Me: (Actually speechless, believe that or not.)
Don: Thank you.
Me: You make me cry. Happy tears, not sad tears.
I had awoken earlier to sort of sunny skies. For Vancouver sunny, for California cloudy. I looked out the window and suddenly remembered this. It was something we were taught to say at a summer camp, I think. “God has created a new day, silver and green and gold. Live that the sunset will find us, worthy his gift to hold.” I have not thought of this in eons but what a beautiful thought. I do think that is a mantra I will repeat every day. This is serious. Would it not be wonderful if everyone said that and lived that way? The answer to that should be a resounding yes.
An email from Lynne greeted me. She asks if I want to go to a play. “This is tentative, but would you be interested in seeing 8 short plays about love?” I email back, telling her. ‘Yes, I definitely have a lot to learn about love.”
The telephone conversation twixt Bruce and I yesterday also spoke of The Book. Bruce has just completed and published a book of his own: “For the New Board Member”. I asked him how it felt to finish it. “Surprised, “ he responded. I laughed and wondered if that would be my feeling when the end comes. We spoke more of the book and its potential readers. .
Me: It will be a strange clientele, a rather mixed bag
Bruce: What do you mean by that?
Me: There will be sports fans as Uncle Dave was a sports writer. Then there is the element of spiritualism. Those two make for strange bed fellows.
Bruce: But the bigger audience will be those interested in a personal journey.
Me: Yes. I went looking for a lost relative, found him but found myself as well. You have been telling me that all along.
Bruce: Yes, I have.
Yesterday was an eventful and uneventful day. Hanging out in the jacuzzi was wondrous. Then I was starving for a steak, crossed the street to The Keg and was gifted with Brenden as my waiter. Before going to The Keg I went to have a glass of wine at Mott and ‘son’ C. the Crooner sang to me. The name of the song was “My Way” I told crooner ‘son’ that when I die I want him to sing it at my funeral. He promised he would and he would cry as he sang it. It is my song, so strangely so. The lyrics will follow. I am preparing a subsequent blog using my analytic brain to write a piece on management styles, contrasting the style found at Trump International Hotel and my former residence Dolphin Square. Be prepared!
And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I’ve traveled each and every highway
But more, much more than this
I did it my way
Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way
Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way
I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill.
Well all of this is song is totally applicable to my existence, except for the standing tall. Walking along a street in London the following conversation took place.
He: You are short.
Me: I know. I am was five foot three but I lost an inch.
He: I don’t want to loose an inch.
The picture is a poem that I got for my birthday. It was so precious so I put it on the mirror using post its. I should have called engineering. I am poor at self help in this rarified world I live.