4 January

Thinking Of Paul

by Jon Katz
Thinking Of Paul

My friend Paul Moshimer took his own life a couple of years ago now, and I don’t think of  him as often as I did in the months after that. Life moves along, I think we would go made if it didn’t. At the time, he and Pamela and Blue Star were much in my life, but I haven’t been to that amazing place lately, so many other things have come up and into my life.

I am learning that I am  drawn to moving forward in life, and not backwards, but the funny thing is that every now and then, when I open my photo library, Paul just pops up, he is saying hello to me, and we have a talk, like we used to have. Almost every morning for some months, even years, there was a message for me from Paul in the morning, a story, an idea, a thought, a comment on my writing, an idea about his writing.

He kept saying he was looking forward to the great things we would do together in our friend, and then he was gone, and I have never been certain of what to make of that, some things are not knowable, and humility asks me to accept what I do not understand and cannot really know.

Pamela has been brave and strong at Blue Star Equiculture, the spirit of the big horses is strong there, and I imagine Paul’s spirit is strong also. He was not a small man in any way. He seemed his own self in our talk, sadder perhaps, but still Paul, and I asked him if he thought friendships really died if one of the friends did.

I suppose I am angry at Paul sometimes – unfairly, I know, it is not my business to judge him – it is hard for me to believe he would have knowingly subjected Pamela to show much pain, her  strength love of life and the horses is very powerful medicine.

My suffering is not comparable to anyone’s, especially hers, but that phone call telling me that he was dead is still very sharp and strong in my mind – I was walking with Joshua Rockwood on my farm – it sends chills to my sometimes broken heart.

Paul said that was all food for thought, a topic for our evenings together at the Pompanuck Sugar House in the Spring. He never meant to cause anyone pain, he just had to deal with his own.

I thought for a second that Paul didn’t know he wouldn’t be there, or was just putting the idea aside.

I appreciate his visits, I don’t want to forget him, and seeing him pop up in my screen reminds me of our friendship, and it’s sweet depth. It does leave me with a lonely feeling.

Good friends are hard to come by. I told Paul I am getting older, I wonder if there is time to too many new friendships, I don’t know many people like Paul, and am not likely to meet many more. I am reminded to be grateful for every day that I have, and to make good use of it.

Paul seemed to smile at my thoughts, he still has that twinkle in his eye, that sharp and dry humor, he still finds me quite odd and interesting. Glad to see that look is still there. I wonder if I will see Paul again anytime soon. I don’t want to dwell on the past, but I don’t wish to forget it either.

4 January

Just The Three Of Us: El Feja, The Getaway

by Jon Katz
Getaway: The Three Of Us

I’m not sure who Maria is smiling at in this photo, her own reflection in the mirror, or me, looming behind her with my camera. I took this photo as we arrived in our slightly seedy motel in Vermont during a nasty, dark storm. We were very happy to be there together.

It was a getaway, and a getaway is different from a vacation. The definition of a “getaway,” is an escape or quick departure, especially after committing a crime. There is something illicit about a “getaway” as opposed to a simple trip, and to me the word has a romantic connotation, doing something vaguely illicit together.

People like us take vacations, Bonnie and Clyde stage “getaways,” so maybe that’s what made it so much fun, the sense of escape, the idea we were being somehow bad together. It is romantic, that. I could see from Maria’s face in the mirror how happy she was to be there, so was I.

We both are workaholics, and our very survival depends on our working most, if not all, of the time. To stop working in the middle of the week and run off to some old world motel is, to us, illicit. We kept asking ourselves, “is this okay to do?, should we be working?”

And the answer kept being yes, we should be there, it is okay to stop working once in awhile, it is okay to live, to vote for romance and escape, for El  Feja, the Getaway. One of the prophets in the Kabbalah wrote that people are dead for a long time, they ought to make sure to have some fun while they are here and to keep the troubles of the world in perspective.

4 January

El Fuga: The Getaway

by Jon Katz
The Getaway

The Spanish call it El Fuga, I guess we’d call it a “getaway.” It was an escape, a romantic escape.

It was an odd idea, but as it turned out, a fine idea. Around 3 p.m., as a wind and ice storm descended on the farm, we headed out to a nearby town in Vermont – only 15 minutes away. I had reserved and paid for a motel room and there were all kinds of bargains and deals. This motel room, normally $159 a night, was $89 during this week, the first of January.

I had never done anything like this before, renting a motel room a stone’s throw from where I live. It was an awful night weather wise, howling winds, driving rain, some ice and sleet.

I brought some flowers for Maria, some lilies, but we only took one to the motel. We brought a vase for it.

We arrived as it was getting dark, the motel was run by an Indian family, the young son came from the living quarters to check the computer and give us our key to Room 10.

He smiled, was nice, but said nothing to us.

We went to our room, took the bags in and unpacked. The room was clean, neat, spare.

There was, of course, a giant TV screen, which we ignored. We don’t watch TV. There was one queen sized bed, an uncomfortable chair on which we piled our coats, and two reading lamps.

We were a bit bewildered at first, as to what to do. We work all the time, relaxation is not natural for us, but we figured it out quickly: extreme relaxation. The idea was to be together, and do nothing. Maria and I love to be together, it is never tiring or draining, always refreshing and nourishing.

We lay down in bed and pulled out our books and read for the next three hours. The room took awhile to warm up, the wind was fierce. The blankets were few and thin, the bathroom soap was tiny and think. It broke in half when I took it out of the package.

As the wind picked up, we got up and drive a couple of miles to a family bar/restaurant, one of those cozy Vermont restaurants with fireplaces, a bar, a bad singer in the other room. We had the dining room all to ourselves, and the food was solid and dependable, as family restaurants are. There was plenty of it.

Maria had  shrimp quesadilla, I had meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a usually safe choice in a strange place,  a good meal for a cold and stormy night. We were literally the only people in the restaurant, apart from the bar crowd down the hall.

It was sweet to be there, the restaurant was warm, the walls crammed with dead animals and old photographs. We talked and talked, and then it was time to go. We were glad not to be driving too far, back into bed for reading and I did look at Netflix’s Mozart In The Jungle on my Iphone.

And good to be back at our not fancy but comfortable and copy motel room, Room 10.

Then more reading, interrupted by more talking.

I finished Moonglow, the novel by Michael Chabon and dug into a wonderful new book, Mary Astor’s Purple Diary by Edward Sorel, the author and illustrator. Maria had just finished it. It is a wonderful book that will simply not permit itself to be put down.

Maria fell asleep eventually, I slept a couple of hours, then woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn’t sleep again. But I usually don’t sleep well, my mind has a schedule all of its own.

More reading. We got up around 9 and stopped at an inviting family restaurant for a great breakfast, I had some delicious whole wheat pancakes.

It was the perfect getaway, and warm room in a funky motel with my girl, books to read, little driving to do, we are back at our desks this morning, ready to work.

My romantic holiday experiment worked, Maria loved it also, the clean and cheap one might motel stand is a new way for us to getaway, relax and be close to one another. We decided we want a new and different motel each time, just for some variety and excitement.

Small acts of rebirth, commitment, and renewal. Are we strange, or this a good idea to anyone else?

I highly recommend the simple getaway. It’s not disruptive, expensive or complicated. And I truly feel recharged, not to mention in love.

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