Eight Feet Deep

My long-time friend Betti called me this morning as I was taking a walk on a beautiful Southeast Texas spring day. Betti called to say she was dying.

So flabbergasted I became upon hearing such news that she told me to take 10 minutes to get things together and then call her back. It was actually a little longer than that because of some other matters which got in the way.

Between what was the effects of medication and her illness, Betti told me that she has malignancies all over and that she would likely soon be going to a hospice. My friend sounded a whole lot braver than I did on the phone as I told her I didn’t know what to say. She said that all I needed to say was “I love you,” which, despite should left being unsaid needed to be said and thus did I say so.

I have already been during the last 24 hours in the midst of a tumultuous relationship situation and now I am slapped silly by the news that my friend of some 33 years is apparently not long for this world. Perhaps it is needless to say, a lot of thoughts are coursing through my head.

I think of those seemingly endless summer days while serving in the Navy down in Gulfport. I would stop by Jim’s for a few cold beers and to see that warm and funny barmaid with the red hair named Betti tell the latest joke or to plan for some adventure or a get-together where she would make her scrumptious red beans and rice. I also think of my friends Buffalo Bob and Buddy, who would be with me for those adventures if not deployed somewhere with the Seabees such as on Okinawa or Diego Garcia. Both of those guys are now gone.

It is difficult watching your world die in front of you. Nothing can stop it and not a whole lot can help to ease your troubled mind. Such is life, as it is. Sometimes it all seems like a cruel joke.

No, I haven’t stopped writing stupid missives on my blog. It’s just that I have been involved in a few days of domestic drama and haven’t had time to blog or even watch the news for more than five seconds, or so it seems. Ah, but life is grand nonetheless.

Skies were blue yesterday afternoon and created a sharp contrast between it and the greening trees which spring have been. I spent the afternoon hanging outside with some friends where I live. I think I even managed to get a slight sunburn on my cheeks.

While my friends and I were hanging out enjoying ourselves, not so far away from us were people gathered on the Neches River bank just outside of our city Beaumont, Texas. These folks were grimly waiting for a body to be retrieved from the stream’s dark waters. Authorities believe the body was that of 39-year-old Dexter Jones who went missing more than a week ago while hanging with a friend. They had reportedly been drinking on the river banks at night when Jones disappeared. Police are treating the case as a homicide, according to the local Beaumont Enterprise newspaper.

Meanwhile, a missing boater just a ways up the river from where the Jones body was purportedly recovered. Family members told the Enterprise that 56-year-old Dennis Foster was found alive in a park.

So the same river delivered both great and tragic results despite different circumstances that put the two men in the water. There is not much more of a conclusion to be drawn from these two stories other than both men went into the same water body. But even if the Jones case turns out to be a result of foul play, one must still maintain a healthy respect for a great piece of our earth that can cause the direst of outcomes either through deliberate or other means.

I covered my share of stories in my past life as a newspaper reporter in which people lost their lives in the water. One of the most breathtaking was when two small kids were found floating alive in the water on their tiny life preservers after spending several hours in a small power plant lake near Waco. The little boys told the folks who plucked them from the water that their Dad was gone as his boat apparently sunk.

Draw whatever conclusions you want from these stories but the message is the same. Water is great to drink and can be a lot of fun on which to recreate but it can also be quite a dangerous force for those who aren’t paying attention to or are not knowing what they are doing. So like Sgt. Phil Esterhaus used to say on “Hill Street Blues,” “Let’s be careful out there.”

It seems as if every time you turn around there is a new “For Dummies” book. While walking into the library just this morning I found travel books to different countries such as “Honduras For Dummies.”

What started with “Dos For Dummies” in 1991, the series of reference books have become a phenomenon and it seems the publishers are always on the lookout for a new concept to be explained. If I was an expert on something I might write such a book but I don’t know if “Sleeping For Dummies” or “Breathing For Dummies” would be a big hit.

Nonetheless, here are a few suggestions for new books to add to the franchise which I am considering:

“Getting Hit On The Head By A Grand Piano For Dummies”
“Earwax For Dummies”
“Running From A Crazed Grizzly Bear For Dummies”
“Speaking To Mormon Missionaries For Dummies”
“Catching A Disease For Dummies”
“Playing Beethoven On A Tuba For Dummies”

And last but not least:
“Setting Your Pocket On Fire With A Butane Lighter While Walking Through A Gasoline Tank Farm And Living To Tell About It For Dummies.”

Yes, I can already see those royalty checks rolling in.

This Associated Press story qualifies for one of the stranger stories I have heard recently:

WICHITA, Kan. — A 35-year-old woman who sat on her boyfriend’s toilet for so long that her body was stuck to the seat by the time he called police had a phobia about leaving the bathroom, the boyfriend said.

Dorothy, this is Kansas.

The weirdest story involving a toilet in which I knew someone involved — with the exception of that unfortunate incident last year – my friend has only spoken once to me since then — happened back in the late 1970s to one of my former elementary school teachers. It seems she was sitting on the toilet and lit up a cigarette, causing her house to explode. The cause was believed to be a build-up of methane gas. Fortunately, she survived and seemed fine when I talked to her about five years or so later. It just underscores the point, cigarettes can be dangerous. And methane is no picnic either!