January 21, 2019

We flew out of Boryspil International Airport this afternoon headed back to Bavaria. There we had some issues that began when I got a telegram I couldn't read. It was written in Italian according to one of the Dutch boys and they didn't know how to read it either. It was signed "Il Duce" but the rest of it we coudn't figure out. This guy used to send me these kinds of telegrams a lot during the 1970s but I threw them away because I was building up my business brand by scalping tickets at the US Open when he sent one of the telegrams and that was wrong of him, especially since I don't know what he wants because he doesn't write English.

We flew in a crappy plane with a lot of non-English speaking folks (probably illegal immigrants) on board. It was so frustrating that I took matters into my own hands. By the time we got to Augsburg after I diverted the flight away from Kiev, the pilot, hairless ass weasel, two Dutch boys, and friend Behr were the only things left alive on the plane. Some people had been flying with their pets. I am efficient. One day I will apply my efficiency to the systematic mass killing of the doctors who are draining our economy by tricking people into living beyond the point where they are of value to the workforce. They are the biggest problem in America and I will put an end to medical science once and for all to punish it for its falsehoods and for allowing women to practice medicine (against the advice of every sane person ever born).

Sorry, I got worked up a little there. The Borscht on the plane is terrible.

We are making our final approach to Augsburg and I need to hold onto the gun I have in the pilot's face while he lands so he doesn't try any trickery. The biggest child is fighting with the hairless ass weasel again. I am sick of that nonsense.

I will update you from the road. The children insist we set out on foot again. Little bastards.

About a week ago, I found out that someone I graduated high school with had died - overdose, the rumor goes. I hadn’t spoken to the kid for maybe three years; would barely consider him a friend. But still, we had grown up together, known each other for at least sixteen years. It’s incredible how close you can feel to someone you expected to never see again.

His family created a scholarship in his memory. What else can you do?

About a year ago, a guy I used to date killed himself. He had told me once, two years back, that he could never tell his family he was gay - most certainly not his parents. His dad would kill him.

I found out he was dead from a heart wrenching Facebook post his dad wrote on his page, about god reclaiming the biggest blessing He’d ever given. I’d guess he never found out. But hell if I know.

I’m 21 and my friends keep dying.

I was talking to a mutual friend about the suicide, four months back. He said the deader had called him once, that he got to talk him off the cliff. Said that he guessed he didn’t call the second time.

His dad posted a very sweet memorial post on the anniversary, four days after the OD. What else can you do?

I find myself questioning the relationships I had with these people - wondering how right my recollections might be, now that I’m the only one with all these memories. I wonder what they’d be feeling, if the situations were reversed. Me, I feel like shit.

My mother gets grumpy after Christmas every year. Her dad died when she was 17 - on New Year’s Eve, no less. Almost 40 years later and she still hates the holiday. I’m wondering if this is how it starts, if January is when my friends die.

These people aren’t my dad. They’re an old acquaintance and an ex. And somehow I still feel like shit, and I feel like shit for feeling like shit. It seems selfish. Some people have such greater claims to grief.

But what else can I do? My feelings are silly. I feel them anyways. Not like the deaders are gonna yell at me about it. Grief is for us, the living, and they’ve all lost their chance to have a say.

I donated to the scholarship, liked the post on Facebook, decided to wake up in the morning. I don’t know why - but it seemed like the thing to do.

I set an alarm twice last night, to wake up and see the super blood wolf moon. Does sound like a story, doesn't it?

My daughter comes down from Bellingham, from WWU, for the weekend. We walked miles of beach and the eagles are out. We see at least three and maybe five. We see an adult and a juvenile in a tree, with the juvenile looking amazingly gangly and scruffy. Perhaps all the young feathers are about to be replaced. It looked like a grumpy teen, feather acne. At the same time I spotted a silhouette and my camera zoom confirms. Another juvenile. Two other adults are seen, but not at the same time, flying and in another tree.

We talk about Myers Briggs testing. She tested one way the first time. She got skeptical and retested. Apparently she's been different every time, depending on her mood, except for the J part. That stays the same. "You must be well balanced," I say.

"It's not a LITTLE different. I can test at either end of the introvert/extrovert scale, or the intuitive/sensing scale."

I laugh. "Well, they are preferences. We do all have all eight modes." I have never retested.

"It depends on my mood."

Sunday she has ferry reservations. We got on the ferry. We drive up to Deception Pass and hike for about an hour. Back in the car and to the Bellingham food co-op. Groceries for her. I take her to her house, we unload. Back in the car and I catch the 6 pm ferry back.

I set my alarm for 8:35, to watch the eclipse become complete. Light clouds, but mostly the moon is clear. Truly reddish. I go back to sleep and get up at 9:08. The peak of the eclipse is at 9:12. I used up my camera memory at Deception Pass. I take some pictures with my cell phone. At 9:12 the moon really does come out red on my camera. Changes by 9:16.