Thursday, March 17, 2011
Oh Patrick, you were so funny. Just your voice itself made me laugh. We did have our jokes didn't we? You always said your profile looked like a man on a Roman coin. You always thought it was "doggie doggie dog" not "dog eat dog" ... that was one of our jokes that lasted forever. We had to go to so many weddings you almost learned how to tie your own tie...not quite. That's what good neighbors were for, right?
You were serious about marriage. I was your first and last: wife, that is. As for women, you had many, too many. They always liked you and always wanted to get you in the sack. You were victimized by women from a very young age. But, hey, you always really liked women.
You adored your mother. She really was a saint. She was the best cook I ever knew. I couldn't compete with that. Though I did try sometimes. Rushing home at lunch to put spaghetti on. You didn't really care...and those big sandwiches I would make you when you were doing the tract work...working fast and furious for the money.
And then you tried selling that surfing poster. You went to all the surf shops and sold them a spot. It was a pretty poster. The artist did a good job. But it wasn't a money maker; that's for sure.
And when you called that want ad for sales: $80,000 guaranteed...and they all gathered in a room and revved you up and you went out and sold "Mr. Sir" fake-leather bags to office workers. We got a huge laugh out of that. Mr. Sir. You thought that was funny.
We took lots of walks down at the harbor. Up the hill; down the hill; round the boats. Your biggest dream was a wooden boat. How you hoped your friend would leave your his wooden boat in his will. But he didn't leave you anything; not a penny. But then again, why would he?
He did take you to Catalina on it. And he was good to you. You were very sad when he died.
You painted my apartment and got me to put screens on the windows. You liked things orderly and neat. You had standards. You always had your top-siders and your new white socks. I guess you were vain; had a cool standard to maintain. And you played a mean game of tennis and wouldn't play with me. You only hit me with the ball and I didn't think it was funny. We never tried that again.
You made huge dinners: huge. Steak, rice-a-roni with mushrooms and sour cream; salad; vegetable...and movies. You always had to have a movie to watch. When you ran out of new releases and award winning movies you stuck us with those horrible straight-to-video movies. So it was eating and movies for you...and the incessant television....
And that fight we had on Thanksgiving right after we were married. You wanted rutabagas and I wanted potatoes. I gave up on dinner and went to the movies alone: Amadeus. You stayed and sort of made dinner. That Thanksgiving was a failure. I think deep in my heart I just was too tired to do the work.
But you were romantic; had a beautiful voice; the devil in blue jeans. I could never resist you. I had to move away just to be rid of you.
And eventually I got you out of my system. I couldn't carry the load. I couldn't give up what I had for you and your ways. I found people who weren't so extreme and I found comfort.
You have been gone a few years now....I think you had a good life. Playing on the beach with your little sister; lots of wonderful meals; Hawaii.
Rest in Peace.
I'm still here...same old me...a lot older...but same old me.