I visited the Palinski's for Billy's birthday on Saturday. You can always count on an amazing group of souls to gather at their home. As usual, they delivered magical human connection.
I wasn't sure what to expect this year, because in recent years I haven't seen many people my age. My most recent visit was two years ago, and there was only one other classmate there. Many people have been moving far away, having kids, and doing the things that most people do as they go through life. Reunions are harder. That's why the Palinski's provide such a valuable service to everyone in attendance. We don't just get to see them, but we also get to see each other.
With or without classmates, I knew I would be able to see many important people dear to my heart. 1st, I would get to see one of the greatest families I'll ever have the privilege to know. The mother, Chris, always makes me feel so welcome. She always gives me a warm hug and is genuinely concerned with the lives of all in attendance. Her years as a psychiatrist have taught her something about making people feel good about themselves.
The father, Mark, attended to me as a physician when I broke my arm on the first day of football practice at the age of 13. A few years ago he gave me some playlists of classic rock music, and I helped him get his hands on quite a bit of Bob Dylan.
Suze, the oldest, is a doctor who lives in Providence with her doctor husband and children, but used to live on the Upper West Side. Before that, she lived in Baltimore. Once I drove the Wagen Wheel to Baltimore with my mother, my sister, my German sister Linda and Billy in the back. When we arrived in the same city where my sister had had her surgeries, we dropped him off at his big sister Suze's apartment.
John, the oldest son, has worked for various non-profit's and now works for a university while he and his lovely wife live in Annapolis, Maryland. He loves soccer and often travels abroad, either for work or for soccer-related activities. I still remember being inspired by his story at Billy's wake. He just wanted to share a nice memory, so he reminisced about how they used to love to rebel against the rules and sneak into movies together when they were much younger.
The one closest in age to Billy was Kathleen, who works in healthcare, is great friends with my sister, hosted me in Boston at the start of my first coast-to-coast America journey and always brings so much positive energy to the gathering. She's incredibly excited for my sister and her new baby.
I knew I would also see my first employer, Al Bailey, who taught me how to shear and fertilize evergreen trees. I'd already learned how to plant them with my dad. I was going to call him my favorite tree farmer, but my grandfather was a tree farmer, so I'll say he's my favorite retired teacher/tree farmer.
There would also be Mr. Lacasse, my first math teacher in Cambridge, and the beloved soccer coach of many in attendance. He is also the Palinski's neighbor, and the proud father of many. His eldest son's wake was my first. My mother, a hospice worker, thought it would be good for me to go and show support to my former teacher, and also to get the experience. I didn't cry that time, but years later I would at Billy's wake, at the same funeral home. I'd just read his college admissions essay where he celebrated expanding his comfort zone while living abroad in Ireland, and how experiencing and learning about differences makes the world a better place to be. When I saw his Simpsons memorabilia, I started bawling, and the towering bearded Mr. Lacasse was there to give me a bear hug I will never forget. I figured I might see a few other teachers, and former classmates' parents.
Well, I not only saw all of those wonderful people who have aided my life invaluably, but I was also pleasantly surprised to meet six classmates I haven't seen in years. All but two of them I had never seen at the party before: the best basketball player in our grade, a friend I'd once gone to a Solar Power festival with, and an artistic baker with whom I'd had a very civil discussion about gun violence on social media (after Las Vegas). Many at the table either had children there, waiting at home, or waiting inside of them so they could be born one day. The basketball player was the only other single one there.
At one point I had a discussion with a very friendly roofer, the partner of one of my classmates. He said he was living in Argyle, but really wished he could get back to Cambridge. I said I would love to move to a similar area some day, perhaps nearby. He said that he'd been gone for twenty years, living "all over the place." Then I realized that what he meant was that he'd lived several places within an hour of Cambridge his whole life. Ironically, the areas of Schenectady, Troy and Gloversville where he'd lived are more dangerous than New York City. He said he loves that people smile and wave in his town, because he knows everybody.
The greatest part was I got to spend true quality time with Billy's wonderful immediate family near the end of the evening, making this my best visit so far. Afterward, at home, I enjoyed a long walk in the fields and the forest, with a considerable amount of time spent listening to the brook rushing while the overhead clouds provided more visibility than usual, my only companions a Long Trail Green Blaze (five kinds of hops) and a Sherlock Holmes-style wooden pipe. I was very glad I'd made the three and a half hour drive, and not just because I loved blaring jazz and hip-hop while coasting up the interstate.
When I'd gotten home on Thursday, the day before I had to drive up, I'd discovered that someone had finally smashed in the back side window on my car, it having been spared such a fate amidst other, nicer cars for years. I wasn't so much angry as surprised and annoyed. I'd just had a great day at work, bidding my Egyptian mother a fond farewell after six straight months in class and a year of knowing each other because of Friday classes. A few other shorter term students had also moved on as well, and it was a gorgeous sunny evening, so it was hard to get too worked up.
I knew the car still worked and insurance would cover it, but I couldn't help but get sentimental over the theft of my sleeping bag from beneath the tarp in the back. I always kept a tent, sleeping bag and hiking boots in my car, just in case. That bag had been my shelter for two coast-to-coast journeys, in 2010 and 2012, and while working harvest in Sonoma (something that would come up frequently Saturday night when I reminisced with my former basketball teammate, who's also best friends with the guy who owned the yard where I slept in that sleeping bag). That said, I hadn't used it in a few years, since it was rolled up the Fibertech probably doesn't work as well, and if a homeless person was that desperate, I suppose it is being put to better use now. And that tent that I'd used on both journeys had been destroyed, so I guess I wasn't meant to keep those supplies as vestiges of the voyage. So I went back to my apartment, got some duct tape, plastic, and a funk playlist, and got to work so I could still make the journey. As I swept little pieces of black glass out of the trunk and finished a James Brown tune, I got a kick out of the second song to come on: "Pick Up the Pieces." When I came back home and got up to my easy chair with the view of the streets, I could see a homeless guy sleeping on a bench, covered by a different sleeping bag, right behind the flower bed which had just begun to bloom, beneath a deciduous that had just begun to blossom while also next to a small evergreen tree.
Today was just another day, but my mind was swirling on the walk home, as it often is. I experienced the usual mix of thoughts, contrasting emotions and variety of imaginative scenarios while I sort out the experiences and information that came my way during the day. I was perturbed that filming of yet another television show had pushed cars to take up all the usual spots, and I had to park far away, near the Grant Memorial. I love how Grant knew how to use necessary force to eradicate the indefensible evil of slavery and make existence a challenge for the KKK. I also love that he was a great writer.
As I walked home, I noticed someone had spray painted words on the sidewalk. They were Walt Whitman lines from one of my favorite poems, "Song of Myself". ("Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"... I could go all day). I love the peace, love, harmony, contentment, care-free attitude, adventurous spirit and soulful celebration of existence expressed by this fellow Long Islander. On the ground is written:
I wasn't sure what to expect this year, because in recent years I haven't seen many people my age. My most recent visit was two years ago, and there was only one other classmate there. Many people have been moving far away, having kids, and doing the things that most people do as they go through life. Reunions are harder. That's why the Palinski's provide such a valuable service to everyone in attendance. We don't just get to see them, but we also get to see each other.
With or without classmates, I knew I would be able to see many important people dear to my heart. 1st, I would get to see one of the greatest families I'll ever have the privilege to know. The mother, Chris, always makes me feel so welcome. She always gives me a warm hug and is genuinely concerned with the lives of all in attendance. Her years as a psychiatrist have taught her something about making people feel good about themselves.
The father, Mark, attended to me as a physician when I broke my arm on the first day of football practice at the age of 13. A few years ago he gave me some playlists of classic rock music, and I helped him get his hands on quite a bit of Bob Dylan.
Suze, the oldest, is a doctor who lives in Providence with her doctor husband and children, but used to live on the Upper West Side. Before that, she lived in Baltimore. Once I drove the Wagen Wheel to Baltimore with my mother, my sister, my German sister Linda and Billy in the back. When we arrived in the same city where my sister had had her surgeries, we dropped him off at his big sister Suze's apartment.
John, the oldest son, has worked for various non-profit's and now works for a university while he and his lovely wife live in Annapolis, Maryland. He loves soccer and often travels abroad, either for work or for soccer-related activities. I still remember being inspired by his story at Billy's wake. He just wanted to share a nice memory, so he reminisced about how they used to love to rebel against the rules and sneak into movies together when they were much younger.
The one closest in age to Billy was Kathleen, who works in healthcare, is great friends with my sister, hosted me in Boston at the start of my first coast-to-coast America journey and always brings so much positive energy to the gathering. She's incredibly excited for my sister and her new baby.
I knew I would also see my first employer, Al Bailey, who taught me how to shear and fertilize evergreen trees. I'd already learned how to plant them with my dad. I was going to call him my favorite tree farmer, but my grandfather was a tree farmer, so I'll say he's my favorite retired teacher/tree farmer.
There would also be Mr. Lacasse, my first math teacher in Cambridge, and the beloved soccer coach of many in attendance. He is also the Palinski's neighbor, and the proud father of many. His eldest son's wake was my first. My mother, a hospice worker, thought it would be good for me to go and show support to my former teacher, and also to get the experience. I didn't cry that time, but years later I would at Billy's wake, at the same funeral home. I'd just read his college admissions essay where he celebrated expanding his comfort zone while living abroad in Ireland, and how experiencing and learning about differences makes the world a better place to be. When I saw his Simpsons memorabilia, I started bawling, and the towering bearded Mr. Lacasse was there to give me a bear hug I will never forget. I figured I might see a few other teachers, and former classmates' parents.
Well, I not only saw all of those wonderful people who have aided my life invaluably, but I was also pleasantly surprised to meet six classmates I haven't seen in years. All but two of them I had never seen at the party before: the best basketball player in our grade, a friend I'd once gone to a Solar Power festival with, and an artistic baker with whom I'd had a very civil discussion about gun violence on social media (after Las Vegas). Many at the table either had children there, waiting at home, or waiting inside of them so they could be born one day. The basketball player was the only other single one there.
At one point I had a discussion with a very friendly roofer, the partner of one of my classmates. He said he was living in Argyle, but really wished he could get back to Cambridge. I said I would love to move to a similar area some day, perhaps nearby. He said that he'd been gone for twenty years, living "all over the place." Then I realized that what he meant was that he'd lived several places within an hour of Cambridge his whole life. Ironically, the areas of Schenectady, Troy and Gloversville where he'd lived are more dangerous than New York City. He said he loves that people smile and wave in his town, because he knows everybody.
The greatest part was I got to spend true quality time with Billy's wonderful immediate family near the end of the evening, making this my best visit so far. Afterward, at home, I enjoyed a long walk in the fields and the forest, with a considerable amount of time spent listening to the brook rushing while the overhead clouds provided more visibility than usual, my only companions a Long Trail Green Blaze (five kinds of hops) and a Sherlock Holmes-style wooden pipe. I was very glad I'd made the three and a half hour drive, and not just because I loved blaring jazz and hip-hop while coasting up the interstate.
When I'd gotten home on Thursday, the day before I had to drive up, I'd discovered that someone had finally smashed in the back side window on my car, it having been spared such a fate amidst other, nicer cars for years. I wasn't so much angry as surprised and annoyed. I'd just had a great day at work, bidding my Egyptian mother a fond farewell after six straight months in class and a year of knowing each other because of Friday classes. A few other shorter term students had also moved on as well, and it was a gorgeous sunny evening, so it was hard to get too worked up.
I knew the car still worked and insurance would cover it, but I couldn't help but get sentimental over the theft of my sleeping bag from beneath the tarp in the back. I always kept a tent, sleeping bag and hiking boots in my car, just in case. That bag had been my shelter for two coast-to-coast journeys, in 2010 and 2012, and while working harvest in Sonoma (something that would come up frequently Saturday night when I reminisced with my former basketball teammate, who's also best friends with the guy who owned the yard where I slept in that sleeping bag). That said, I hadn't used it in a few years, since it was rolled up the Fibertech probably doesn't work as well, and if a homeless person was that desperate, I suppose it is being put to better use now. And that tent that I'd used on both journeys had been destroyed, so I guess I wasn't meant to keep those supplies as vestiges of the voyage. So I went back to my apartment, got some duct tape, plastic, and a funk playlist, and got to work so I could still make the journey. As I swept little pieces of black glass out of the trunk and finished a James Brown tune, I got a kick out of the second song to come on: "Pick Up the Pieces." When I came back home and got up to my easy chair with the view of the streets, I could see a homeless guy sleeping on a bench, covered by a different sleeping bag, right behind the flower bed which had just begun to bloom, beneath a deciduous that had just begun to blossom while also next to a small evergreen tree.
Today was just another day, but my mind was swirling on the walk home, as it often is. I experienced the usual mix of thoughts, contrasting emotions and variety of imaginative scenarios while I sort out the experiences and information that came my way during the day. I was perturbed that filming of yet another television show had pushed cars to take up all the usual spots, and I had to park far away, near the Grant Memorial. I love how Grant knew how to use necessary force to eradicate the indefensible evil of slavery and make existence a challenge for the KKK. I also love that he was a great writer.
As I walked home, I noticed someone had spray painted words on the sidewalk. They were Walt Whitman lines from one of my favorite poems, "Song of Myself". ("Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"... I could go all day). I love the peace, love, harmony, contentment, care-free attitude, adventurous spirit and soulful celebration of existence expressed by this fellow Long Islander. On the ground is written:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then
I contradict myself.
I am large.
I contain multitudes
Despite the contrast in lifestyles, both Ulysses and Walt sported legendary beards.
Speaking of which, I loved seeing my father and mother, as always. I enjoyed being asked by my father to lift up a tractor chain and place it on some hooks in his shop because he and my uncle hadn't been able to do it on their own. I also got to take a picture with a shovel by the swamp where we will plant a tree to honor my grandfather.
Naturally, although I love the country, I contradict myself and live in the city, so I drove back on a partially sunny afternoon, listening to country, blues, bluegrass, rock, and funk.
People aren't as friendly in the city, but when I was walking around taking pictures of the moon on top of the hill, some guy crossing the street looked up behind him to see the lunar halo lighting up the clouds. When he got to my side, he said, "It is a pretty moon tonight." No one ever says that to me.
I responded, "Right?!" and went on my way.
Speaking of which, I loved seeing my father and mother, as always. I enjoyed being asked by my father to lift up a tractor chain and place it on some hooks in his shop because he and my uncle hadn't been able to do it on their own. I also got to take a picture with a shovel by the swamp where we will plant a tree to honor my grandfather.
Naturally, although I love the country, I contradict myself and live in the city, so I drove back on a partially sunny afternoon, listening to country, blues, bluegrass, rock, and funk.
People aren't as friendly in the city, but when I was walking around taking pictures of the moon on top of the hill, some guy crossing the street looked up behind him to see the lunar halo lighting up the clouds. When he got to my side, he said, "It is a pretty moon tonight." No one ever says that to me.
I responded, "Right?!" and went on my way.
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