This remains a work in progress. i may just trash it later. But for some reason, i wanted to share it tonight.

he was once a whippersnapper;
wild and crazy ran in his veins,
chasing women with abandon,
bars and dance halls were his domains.

now it’s all just memories
folks seem to want him to change,
and
change he has
and
change more he will
but
something’s missing here.

he settled down;
he has a home;
he can feel changes from his aging
but
there is ache continuing to haunt him
for a return to wild and crazy so engaging.

he realizes he can’t return:
he must be a good old man,
but
late some nights
with a full moon bright
he lives again
with wild and crazy in his veins
if only in his memories.

i apologize to all of you.

i have started a half-dozen posts about Al Pavich. There could be another twenty, perhaps more.

But i can’t finish them right now.

i don’t know why. Writing about a loss, a sadness, hard times usually brings me relief. i’ve handled losing others close, very close to me very well in the past. i have tried my old trick of catching myself heading into the abyss of sorrow with thinking “What would Al want me to do, how would Al want me to act.”

Right now, i can’t do that. i’ve been pretty raw the last couple of days. Maureen, as usual, has been a saint in putting up with me.

i just can’t write those posts about Al right now.

For those of you who may be close to the Southwest corner, the memorial service for Al will be 0800-1000, Monday, May 23, aboard the USS Midway museum in San Diego.

This is very, very appropriate.

Al would approve.

i will write those posts…eventually. It’s quite a story.

This is tough. i’ve been trying to write an episodic post about a man who was a hero in so, so many ways. i keep struggling to just get past the first three or four paragraphs. Tough. His wife, Darcy, a heroine in her own right, called me Wednesday while i was on my way to a lunch with a shipmate from another tour. i don’t ordinarily answer calls while i’m driving, but i saw it was Al. It wasn’t. It was Darcy. When i heard her voice, i knew the news was bad.

i won’t complete that episodic post about Al Pavich right now. He died in the Phoenix airport Tuesday. Typically, he was coming home after a trip to see a friend who was in hospice.

That evening (Wednesday), i expressed my feelings in a poem. i still feel that way. The episodic piece about Al will likely be several posts. But here is how if felt the evening after Darcy gave me the news.

Angry.
i lost a friend yesterday
i found out today.
it was about the time
i read from another friend
about some insane political frenzy
they believe
because
they wished to make me believe,
i suppose,
the insanity
so i could become insane
along with them
i suppose,
but
it seems to me
they have somehow
lost caring.

this friend i lost
was more than a friend
we had become blood brothers,
different as night and day,
but tolerant of the differences
enough to be bonded together
for life
until his ended yesterday.

he did not play politics except
to help those for whom he cared
and
he did that well, very well,
to take care of people
with passion, common sense,
just caring
and
he was above
the hate and fear
and
insanity of politics.
so i am angry
folks draw their lines in the sand
over politics
and
abrogate
caring.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

 and
oh, Lord,
Al did, he was, and he will dwell with you.
and
i am angry
at the smallness of those
who cannot care
as Al did.
Take care of him, Lord.
He deserves it.
knowing you will,
my anger will subside
and
i will sleep well
tonight.

i do not know you, Isabella;
i’ve only seen you from afar;
i fell in love with you, Isabella;
i might just as well have loved a star.

it was at a barra de tapas in Barcelona,
i saw you laughing with men gathered round;
we were in the Ciutat Vella of Barcelona;
i might just as well have been in old Boston town.

your jet black hair flowed to your waist;
your eyes were dark and flashed like fire;
your lips were red set on your faultless pale face;
all of which ignited my desire.

i knew the futility of pursuing you;
you were younger with fancy men at your side;
i was an old sea dog who sailed oceans blue;
i knew my kind you would not long abide.

i left the Ciutat Vella of Barcelona
where you laughed, smiled, and teased the men;
i returned to my ship in Port Vell Barcelona;
it’s been a long, long time since then.

i do not know you, Isabella;
i’ve only seen you from afar;
i fell in love with you, Isabella;
i might just as well have loved a star.

i am a pocket of resistance, especially to regulated days honoring something or someone. i have been a little bit lenient when it comes to Mother’s Day. In fact, i’ve written quite a bit about mothers on Mother’s Day. i like to think i celebrate the mothers in my life on a frequent, if not daily basis.

They all have been important to me. To be honest, some of these mothers and i have had our bad moments, mostly precipitated by me i suspect. But in the long run, they are mothers i loved and still love because they all had that incredible mother’s love that made things work out. i love them all.

Mama Jewell. She and i were in this world together for way too short a time. i can still feel her love for this grandson.

Granny Prichard. Her energy and strength during tough times and her love for her children and grandchildren were the cornerstones of an amazing family that stuck together and still sticks together.

Mother. Just yesterday, i walked outside through our kitchen door where there was one chair on the small patio. i could still see her sitting there with her head back and her eyes closed soaking in the Southwest corner sunshine. Her children and her grandchildren were her focus in life.

Aunt Bettye Kate Hall. i could write volumes about this woman. She was truly my second mother.

Then there was this other mother. We were divorced in 1978. i only agreed because i knew her love for our daughter was the most important thing in her life. i was right.

And this one. Oh, this one. She is the best mother and other mother going. Her love goes far beyond that. She loves her nieces, nephews, friends’ sons and daughters as if they are her own.

i could not end without one more of two of my mothers with their son/grandson.

i love you all.