Apparently my sister-in-law had not heard of my encounter with a psychic. She was visiting us this afternoon when Maureen and Sarah brought up the subject. i had written most of two columns about the incident in my weekly column, “Notes from the Southwest Corner” in the Lebanon Democrat in 2009. i made copies of the two columns and gave them to Patsy. Considering i think it’s a pretty good tale, i have taken the parts of two columns addressing the subject. Here is the tale:

SAN DIEGO –I think I’ve found something in the Southwest corner, which is not available in Lebanon.

The only psychics I knew growing up in my home town were Gypsy fortune tellers at the Wilson County Fair over in the old fairgrounds on Coles Ferry Pike.

I never got my fortune read there. I was too skeptical and didn’t want to spend money when I could use it for another amusement ride or shot at winning a teddy bear.

A friend, who shall remain nameless, did have his fortune read. She told him he would soon have a relationship with a beautiful woman. They went to a local motel that night, perhaps validating her prediction.

When I searched the internet for Lebanon psychics, there was one in Mt. Juliet, but none in Lebanon. There were few folks who wanted to belong to psychic meeting groups, but no psychics were listed.

Psychic shops are plentiful in the Southwest corner. Several weeks ago, one finally opened in Bonita. My wife was driving to work when she spotted it and called me.

“I just passed an animal psychic office,” she related, “It’s a new business.”

I was not exactly sure how to reply. I’m an old Navy man and don’t put much weight on supernatural things, not even Davy Jones – I don’t care what Walt Disney, Johnny Depp, and “Pirates of the Caribbean” wants me to believe.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I finally responded.

She did not say much after that. I assumed she wanted me to take our dog there. After all, her sister had taken her dog to a “dog whisperer” years ago and claimed great results.

It was clear Maureen was thinking about doing something for our nine-year old dog Lena, who has developed digestive problems. I thought, “Why the heck not? After all, it could make an interesting column. Folks back home might like to read about a psychic adventure.”

Later, I went by the storefront, copied the phone number, and called to set up an appointment the next day.

When I told Maureen that evening, she denied having anything to do with it and then asked how much it would cost.

“You don’t want to know,” I wisely told her.

I did not say, “I know I don’t want you to know,” which is more accurate.

The next afternoon I took Lena and walked up the stairs to the psychic. The door was locked. I gave a sigh of relief thinking the saga had ended, but as we reached the bottom steps, a scraggly young man stuck his head out the door and motioned us to come back.

As we entered the sparsely furnished complex, the young man motioned again for us to go into a small room. There were two cheap outdoor chairs. A king piece from a chess set and a small dried flower were on a small wooden table.

Rosa, a young woman, introduced herself and asked quickly what I wanted for my dog out of the session.

“She’s an alpha female,” I told her, “and needs to be less aggressive with other dogs as well as people when they come to our door.

“She also has developed some digestive problems,” I added.

Rosa was scratching herself all over. I asked if she was all right. As Lena sniffed around the room, Rosa answered, “I just finished a session with two cats. I think I’m allergic. I thought it must be a tough job being an animal psychic if you are allergic to them.

“I can sense Lena has stomach problems,” she added, “I also sense she has a connection to King Tut.”

As I tried to digest this news about King Tut, she looked at me intently and asked, “Are you spiritual?”

Wondering why a psychic wouldn’t know this, I answered, “No, but my brother’s a minister. Does that count a little bit?”

She ignored my comment.

“I think we can fix Lena’s stomach problems in three sessions,” she explained, “It will require candles and a special green tea.”

She added, “It will cost $185…cash.”

I demurred. Then she said she would waive the cost of the initial meeting.

To be honest, I did want to pay the money, but I really wanted to know more about Lena being connected to King Tut…and after all, i wanted to write this column.

I did pay the $185 for the three psychic sessions for Lena.

I took Lena home, went to the bank, and returned to the psychic studio with the cash. Lena’s psychic was not there.

Another young woman gladly took my money and my telephone number.

“I’m psychic too,” she informed me proudly. “I was here when you brought in your dog. I could sense she was having stomach problems.”

I did not ask if she sensed it by reading the notes from Rosa.

On Saturday, Rosa called and asked if she could speak to my wife about her dreams. I demurred, “Maureen is not interested in pursuing this. Call me tomorrow.”

After several days of silence, I called Rosa.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Rosa informed me, but Sunday, I left my notes up north and could not find your number.”

Silently, I thought, “If you are psychic, wouldn’t you be able to discern it, or at least look it up in the telephone directory?”

Rosa continued, “My study of Lena showed me she was a cat in the King Tut era.”

I thought cats were sacred or something back then and maybe Lena was sacred for King Tut. This sounds like a movie to me.

“Two lives ago, Lena was human and had some terrible stomach problems,” Rosa interrupted my thoughts, “This is causing her problems now.

“She will die a painful death if you don’t resolve them,” she continued, “A vet would charge you at least $4000 for treatment, and they won’t know until it’s too late,” she predicted ominously.

“So what should we do,” I questioned hesitantly.

“If you can bring her in for about two hours daily next week, I will commune with her and do a special massage,” she detailed, “and you will have to burn candles around her and a couple of other things.”

Before I could ask about the “other things,” she continued, “It will only be $1100. We should be able to get everything worked out in about six weeks of sessions.”

I had reached my psychic threshold.

“You know Rosa I must clear this with my wife.” I’m sure Rosa understood. She’s a psychic.

I have not called back.

i awoke even earlier than usual. i went to bed early last night. In the depth of the morning darkness, i tried to go back to sleep to no avail because random thoughts kept filling up my head. Many of those thoughts seem to come from nowhere, not my experience, not from anywhere. They were pretty good, good enough to write about.

So i got up to do just that: write about those random thoughts. Of course, by the time i got to my desk and computer, i had forgotten damn near everyone of them.

However, there were a couple i remembered:

For about twenty-two years, my primary purpose in life was to meet the Navy’s Mission: “To conduct operations at sea in support of national policy.”

They’ve gussied up that mission statement since then. It now reads “To maintain, train and equip combat-ready Naval forces capable of winning wars, deterring aggression and maintaining freedom of the seas.”

In other words, the Navy has given itself more leeway to do other things besides support the national policy.

The new statement is much more political, bureaucratic, and undoubtedly modified with legal concerns.

i liked the old one.

i did that, meeting the mission, the old one. Twenty-two years or so.

It made life easy. Everything else fell in line with following that mission statement. It truly was the way i lived.

Then i retired. I bumbled around for quite a while. At first, it was easy. Sarah was born the day i retired. i didn’t write it out, or even qualify it in my mind, but my new mission for that period of time was to take care of Sarah. Then, we got a care-giver, Karen Escobedo. Perfect. Lived about three blocks away. She turned into more, giving Sarah a look at life with children across the board in race, religion, countries, and even children with disabilities.

It was time for me to bumble some more. Somewhere in all of that bumbling, i finally came up with my new mission statement: “To lead a good life, do the right thing, be a good man.” i can’t be the judge of how well i’ve adhered to that mission. i’ll let others do that after i’m gone. But i try.

Yet sometimes, i think it was easier with the Navy. i could be a good guy, sympathetic, understanding, fair, compliant, obedient, bad guy, tough, mean and angry, even unfair, cool, decisive. You see, i was to be whatever it took to meet the mission.

With my new mission, i often just sort of plug along being me, not adapting to meet my mission. Not good. It is hard to go against the grain, not modify my actions and behavior to meet my mission, especially when someone else’s interests and concerns are involved.

And in the Navy, my mission included driving large steam ships at sea.

It was glorious and easy compared to trying to lead a good life, do the right thing, be a good man.

One observation occurring after my Navy years. It never was an issue back then. After all, i had no time to consider such things when my primary goal was to meet the Navy’s mission:

Unconditional love and conditional love do not mix well.

She remains beautiful in every way possible. Happy 34th Anniversary, Maureen.

And thanks for being you.

After my post about our evening at the Belly Up Tavern last Sunday, my sister-in-law, Patsy Boggs, asked me to retell the story of how Maureen and i met. When i searched my archived posts, i realized the post about that momentous occasion had been one of the posts lost in the great crash of my website provider. Well, it’s a pretty good story, and it has resulted in 34 years together come tomorrow. That’s July 30. 1983. So here we go:

It was early March 1982. i was the Weapons Officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) homeported in San Diego. The Weapons Officer billet was titled “First Lieutenant” on other amphibious helicopter carriers. Regardless, it meant i was charge in pretty much everything not aviation, engineering, operations, or supply related.

One of those responsibilities was being in charge of the quarterdeck where all visitors entered the ship. From previous regimes, we had a large red torah that spanned the entrance into the helicopter deck below the flight deck. It was impressive, but Captain Dave Rogers called me to his cabin one afternoon. “Jim, I want our quarterdeck to be the best quarterdeck on the base. I want it to be the most impressive and known to be the best by everyone homeported here.”

I, of course, replied, “Aye, Aye, Sir!”

i discussed how we could make the quarterdeck renowned  across the waterfront with my division officers and Boatswain Warrant Officer 4 (CWO4) Ellis. The Bosun had a bit of a beer gut. He was married to a wonderful Filipino woman who macraméd  a lanyard for the boatswain pipe the bosun gave me. She was about 4’8″ and almost that wide. Great lady, just a bit wide.

We came up with the idea of a sitting area next to the quarterdeck. At the time, when guests or visitors came aboard, they had to wait for the watch to contact whomever they were there to see. That sailor or officer would have to come to the quarterdeck to escort the visitor. Often, the time it took to get to the quarterdeck was lengthy.

So we decided we could create a sitting area with panels, some chairs, maybe a sofa, and hang framed photographs about the Oki on the walls. That way, the visitor wouldn’t have to stand around in the working bay of the helicopter deck. Great idea.

We had to decide where and how to get panels. Since the Bosun and his first class were going to make a supply run Friday, the next day, i asked them to check out panels while they were on their run. Liberty call was early and the Bosun and his first class left around 1300. They were dressed in their standard liberty civies. The Bosun had on Levis with a blue tee shirt with his thick black hair combed back as much as it could to resemble a ducktail. His first class had on his biker’s jeans, white tee shirt with a leather jacket and a silver chain dangling down from the jeans. He had straw blond hair also combed back and the gap of a missing tooth was the final touch. They left for their mission.

i had a bunch of paperwork to work through and continued on after liberty call. The bosun came into the office with several boxes of toilet paper (i never understood why he didn’t get it through supply).

“i didn’t think you would be coming back to the ship, Bosun,” i remarked.

“Well, i didn’t want to keep this stuff at home over the weekend,” he replied.

“Did you find any panels?”

“Well sir, we went to Dixieline (a local lumber and home center). They didn’t have them, but they told us to go to Parron-Hall.”

“Parron-Hall?” i puzzled.

“Yes sir. They’re an office furniture place downtown across from the county admin building. We went there, but that place was way too classy for us. They had desks in the showroom worth more than my house.

“You are gonna have to go down there and see about them panels.”

“Aww, come on, Bosun, i have a lot on my plate.”

“No sir, you are gonna have to go down there. It’s on Ash Street.”

Then he added, ” You know sir, the woman who waited on us was really pretty. i noticed she didn’t have a ring on her finger. i’m pretty sure she’s single.

“And she’s way too skinny for me.”

Epilogue

Midday on Monday, i drove down to Parron-Hall Office Materials. i asked the receptionist to see the person who had given her business card to Bosun. i stood at the entrance to the showroom. She came walking across with the sun shining in the window behind her (think Glenn Close in “The Natural” only prettier). She claims i had my piss cutter on my head. That, of course, is not correct: i am a country boy from Lebanon, Tennessee raised correctly by my parents and, by the way, an officer and a gentleman. My hat was off.

We had numerous discussions about the panels, which required about four or five “business” lunches over the five or six weeks for the panels to arrive. When the deal was done, i asked for that date to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up. We attended several events over the summer including sailing with JD in the “Fly a Kite” race where we became (or at least JD became) a legend. We went out to dinner too many times to count.

And, as i have noted before, one night up in Mission Hills, i was driving and just pulled over and parked in a residential area overlooking one of canyons. We talked. And i realized we thought a lot a like. It took until early February before we determined it was, as they say, it was meant to be.

So, that’s the story, Patsy, and that wedding took place thirty-four years ago on July 30, 1983.

i think it was pretty cool. Thanks, Bosun Ellis for determining she was way too skinny for you.