Eat My Liver with a Few Fava Beans! or; Is It Too Late to Apologize to Eugene Debs for Failing to Vote for Him?

This blog has nothing necessarily to do with the Maenads. Maenads were Dionysus' hand maidens I suppose. And, after a bout of carousing they tended to get a little hungry. Consequently, maenads might have torn the head off a bunny and eaten it raw. Humans, other creatures, and even those horrible, little, dried fish sold in large containers in Chinatown, would have been devoured in large numbers during these celebrations. Okay, look, those little fish were probably off limits to them as well. (Those fish snacks taste like they have run over by a truck and left out to dry.) Their half-life in your system is like two months.

Anyway, yeah, I know, if you read this you might wonder, well, how is the goofy guy doing today. Is he miserable yet again? No, I am quite well as it turns out.

First, my aunt is delightful, as is my cousin, Julie. Seeing them made me happy, fulfilled, and ready-to-move-forward with life.

Second (because I know second comes after first) Hyperbole and a Half author Allie, who also suffers from depression, posted one of her enlightening blogs after a long hiatus while she dealt with the D-ogre. She so gets it, and believe me, that is an unfortunate thing. Depression unfortunately is a little like being an alcoholic--the D-bug sits inside your mind and awaits one to let down their guard. It is going to pop up now and again. One is never free from the specter of misery. Ah well, no matter.

Third, yeah, I am still paying attention, thirdly...I am dealing with disappointments without breaking down and falling, yes, falling, one-third of a mile down the canyon of despair. You know, I am alive. I did not run off for the Golden Gate Bridge for a little spring plunge. I was needy, and I got a response from someone who probably was more needy than I. The response was appropriate, reassuring, and just a bit maddening. In the meantime though, I have developed other friends who can listen.   I rediscovered the magic of my marvelous aunt, met wonderful Julie, and I still have some wonderful FB friends who listen. I thank those friends: Maureen, Shelley, two Jackies, Lori, Nurin again, oh, not to forget Rhonda, and if I forgot anyone for their kindness to me, well, the one friend is left off for her benefit, and the others are oversights. Oh yeah, my wife is incredibly patient. Mea culpa for something.

I got a lot of stories what family life would have been with a parent that would have left me far more wounded than I am now. What's that--fourth? Yeah, so fourth. I was reminded my good fortune because, having spoken so much about my family during my aunt's visit, that I avoided most of the violent beatings dealt out by my father.  (I remember only one, and vividly--the damage to this four-year-old came complete with welts from his belt.)
I was always so uncomfortable around my father--scared. It didn't matter what the situation--time at the dinner table came with instructions for my silence, and a story of the Tower of Babel--that somehow related to being a four or five year old and wanting to speak. One meeting between my father and I, after high school, came with his admission that if he had ever had another boy later, that he wanted to name him Frank, since he didn't see me, and, because apparently he needed someone to carry on his name. Imagine that. I hadn't seen him in six years I suppose, and that was my howdy-you-do.
Unfortunately, my mother did her part in providing mental abuse, some physical abuse, and virtual abandonment.
What I saw in my Aunt Mary was a person who loved children and people. She was safe haven. She still is. I could have handled having a really great Mom. Maybe next life.

Finally, and fifth (of fifthly) we visited the open studio showing and art sale of fantastic artist Nancie Crowley. Nancie Crowley (nee Campbell) graduated Hoover in 1958. This was also my Aunt Mary's graduation year at Hoover. Of course, we walked into the studio without knowing the world shrunk to so darn small. Ms, Crowley welcomed us warmly, and told us some of the methods of her artwork.

So this is what and how I am. I know sixthly does not necessarily follow finally--but it just seemed like I had a little more to write. So, sixthly I am done now.

You know, nothing excites me more than learning a little more about how humans interact.

Post-finally, or seventh, or point seven, life involves suffering. You want easy, become a blender. Very few folks get attached to a blender, and very few blenders (under six percent) become obsessive about humans on Facebook. I do suggest that  a blender Sophia Loren met online showed up on her doorstep in Naples a couple of years ago.

Hope you all are well.

Frank C.

IT'S A MIRACLE! TRAIN WRECK CALLED OFF.

The close-up shown here is of one of my Aunt Mary's favorite sculptures, The Ecstasy of St. Theresa by Bernini. My aunt arrived by plane today. She's visiting with our family and one of my cousins.
Aunt Mary is my favorite aunt ever. In general, I am not an "aunt" kind of guy. Another aunt of mine, my mother's sister, was the type of woman who gave young boys socks for Christmas. Not socks and a toy--socks. (Who does that?) While the sock-giving aunt might actually have given "warm and fuzzy" (socks) for the holidays, my Aunt Mary delivered "warm and fuzzy" feelings and memories for holidays, or any other occasion one might chance to enjoy with her and her family.
I remember my aunt as being one of the few safe-havens in my life. She was charming, giving, beautiful, and full of grace. For a kid (me) who had few interactions with so-called "normal" women, (my mom's friends seemed just slightly less crazy than my irresponsible mother,) Aunt Mary was the type of person that every child would want for a parent.
She is not so much older than I am, yet even as I approached manhood, even when I had the chance, I'd never really talked with her. I have loved and admired her for all these years, and yet, I never sat and really traded "thoughts," or known how she felt about the important things.
Well, nothing has changed my excellent opinion of my favorite aunt. In the brief time we have exchanged some messages on Facebook after decades of no contact whatsoever, I've learned a little more about her, her life, her kids and grandkids--but there is nothing like face to face contact to get a handle on how a person conducts their life.
She is wise. She is kind. She is still a lovely woman.
But even more than that, after a few hours of conversation today, I am excited about what I have learned. Aunt Mary makes me want to be a better person. Yes, I'm  lacking--I know I am. I've been through counselling enough to know I've got problems. I allow my emotions to get the better of me. My behavior hurts my relationships, and my marriage. I'm self-centered and possess a temper. I'm defensive. Yeah, I'm even grumpy (sometimes.)
But just being around someone who is kinder, more charming, more giving, and more spiritual than I am, makes me want to do better. It's exciting. Truly. It's exciting to learn from such a great person, and the idea of personal growth is exciting. I'm pretty sure if I do better, it will benefit all the people I love.
So, Aunt Mary, thank you so much. You honor my house with your presence.
God bless you and thanks for being in my corner for some 60 years. Not only has God been looking out for me, but you were too.
And while I am at it, thanks to my wife, Lynn, for nearly infinite patience, years of love, care, and concern. I  am truly blessed and probably unworthy.
Frank