All I know is if I ever again react to a female like I did when I met her, I am running as fast as I can in the opposite direction.
Buford Lister (personal communication)
It took me over 9 years to finish my book about the punk rocker chick with the sunburst Telecaster. A lot has happened since that seemingly normal night in Cleveland so long ago. Pulmonary Embolisms have done their best on two different occasions to try to take me out. They nearly succeeded but here I am, standing tall and tapping on these rectangular keys.
When it comes to my Athena Chapters, all anyone really wants to talk about is love, that pesky emotion that can set upon anyone of us at the most inopportune of times. I understand that. Sometimes I think it takes up 90% of the special category of what makes us human.
As unbelievable as it may sound, I did fall for someone after I met Athena. It came straight out of left field. I never saw it coming, didn’t anticipate it, and wasn’t too happy when it dawned upon me what was happening. I still vividly remember the morning I realized I had let something happen that never should have happened. I paused, shook my head, and softly said “dammit.”
Of course, it was never going to work for reasons I am not going to get in to. No, she wasn’t married nor was she engaged or otherwise in a serious relationship. There were just circumstances, those pesky little circumstances. It’s the little things that mean the most, right? It is because of those unfixable and unsolvable conditions that I remain alone.
Author’s Note: The important point here is that he did not sit down to write a book about her, the object of his love and affection. Why is that? If you can figure that out then you are on your way to understanding The Athena Chapters. As for understanding Ryan-Tyler N. Mason, know that when people ask him about Life of Pi (and they do), all he ever says is “You know, there was no tiger.”
I am rapidly approaching 60 and I am working way too much, sleeping far too much, and trying my best to make the most of the time I have left. I know that the only important thing I have left to do is to write. I still feel the need to leave behind a record of what it was like to be me. The fact that virtually no one reads my stuff has not discouraged me at all. It really hasn’t, I will keep plugging away until I get too old and tired to do it.
Author’s Note: He glossed over that, didn’t he? Do you think the woman he is talking about knows who she is? Doubtful…extremely doubtful. I think (as if my opinion matters) that he still loves her and that makes for a very sad state of affairs. In the general context of things, though, it might be appropriate, if inconvenient. Once again, though, I have never seen The Universe go out of its way to accommodate him. He is simply one of “those” guys.
As anyone who reads my blog knows, I spent 6 years at Harvard, my “Good old Days.” I have been wondering if I can get back there one day. Can you imagine spending your last years roaming around that campus? Unless you have been there I guess you can’t imagine it. My new cardiologist spent many years at Harvard. Just the other day I was telling her that Harvard is my bliss, that I miss that place every single day. I wasn’t lying. I have been gone so long that it sometimes feels like a dream that I was ever there. I haven’t been on that campus in nearly 30 years even though the sense of wonder that permeated me when I was there has not drifted away. It remains a magical place, one full of possibilities, to this day.
There is one more chapter coming about the mysterious Athena. I will post it soon. I think it will feel good to get it all over with, maybe then I can feel a sense of resolution. Doubtful, but a possibility nonetheless.
My beer is nearly empty and I am very tired. I will leave you with one of my favorite song lyrics. Dustin Hoffman once asked Paul McCartney to write a song about the death of Pablo Picasso, the result is one of my favorite songs by one of my best-loved musicians. The following lyrics are from Picasso’s Last Words (Drink To Me).
The grand old painter died last night
His paintings on the wall
Before he went he bade us well
And said goodnight to us all
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I can’t drink anymore
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I can’t drink anymore
And so it goes…
