I cannot believe that I’m still barking up that same ole tree. It’s like trying to let go of your dominate hand. This is the last item on my “bucket list.” It feels like I can’t kick the bucket without having done this.
Thirty years ago this month I recorded a one-hour lecture in a Hollywood studio. When that day ended, I felt that I had done what I came here to do. I had been given a gift, and this was a way that I could share it with others.
I had been teaching this theory about the innate differences between men and women for quite awhile. At that time there was not a women’s section or a relationship’s section in public libraries. There were very few audio books in 1981. But I felt that my depth of understanding the subject and my broadcasting background would make a recorded message the best way to go.
It’s a timely message, just as true today as it was then, and has always been. I still have the original reel-to-reel version; I have cassette tapes; and now I have it on CD’s. What’s next? The inevitable. I aim to upload it onto the internet. This time the title will reveal what this is really about. It’s about, “What Women Don’t Know About Men.” And that, of course, is because of what women don’t know about women.
So if anybody knows how to go about uploading an audio message where people will find it, please let me know. I really want to wrap this thing up. As good as it is, I’m tired of it.
Yep, I’ve done it again – partied for a week. This indulgence all started with my 80th birthday back in 2006. Some of you will remember a three-day party at a beach house near where I live. It was such a smashing success that we can’t help but trying to replay it.
That year, on my actual birthday, we all dressed up and went to the Mendocino Hotel for a no host party. In other words, the whole event was Dutch Treat. Everybody bought their own drinks. Whenever anyone got hungry they ordered from an adequate bar menu and somebody brought it to their table. No getting ready for a party. No cleaning up after a party. Just being together.
So we did that again this year on my actual birthday, March 22nd. Since friends started arriving in town four days before that, and kept coming and going for days, the hotel gathering was very small but it was wonderful. I had TWO martinis, just to see if I could, and came home feeling that this really is the best way to “throw a party”.
I thought that that was it … but no. When I went to work Thursday there was this gigantic cake (about 2 x 3 feet in actual size) and I learned that all the local Realtors had been invited to an Open House for ME. And on and on until Sunday night. Sunday afternoon I made my first appearance at a local bookstore and read from “Getting Lucky at Eighty” and then my buddy Michelle took me out to supper.
Frankly, I was much happier being 84 than I am being 85. Silly as that sounds, I really mean it. Aren’t we wierd creatures though? At 45 I felt sad that I was not who and where I wanted to be. By 60, I’d found me and took this “vow”. I will prefece every decision with: If I knew that I only had one year to live, would I do this?
I recommend that you adopt that habit no matter how old you are. It has saved me from all but two major decisions … when I forgot to ask my self the question .
Seldom do I ever complain. That’s because I’ve never had it so good and I never for a moment forget that. But this week has been a bummer–a real bummer.
My kindred-soul grandson, who’s serving in the Air Force, returned just a year ago from Iraq. He’s married and has two children. They have just closed escrow on their first home near his new base in New Mexico, and he’s being deployed.
He has already been to every continent on the globe since joining the Air Force fresh out of high school to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’s thirty.
Now, they’ve decided that he is needed in Afghanistan; this time apparently they need thousands more foot soldiers. I guess you’d have to be in my shoes to imagine how much I resent their making a foot soldier out of a patriotic, high-achiever like S.Sgt. Dustin Lawrence. Every parent must be sickened at the thought of their son or daughter being considered just another number among countless thousands being sent to this God-forsaken place. Just the sight of it on TV brings tears to my eyes. What are we doing there?
As much as I love Dustin and want good for his precious little family, I was unable to call to say good-bye. It was just too much to ask of me. Trying to think of one single thing to say that might help either of us in any way, knowing that my being opposed to this war could not be concealed, I could not call. Of course I am proud of him; of all of them. Still, it’s been the worst week I can remember.