It’s a balmy Saturday in late August–the kind of Southeast Texas day that makes you want to stay inside and plan a one way trip away out of this town.
That said, it’s time to make a change. No more threats; no more idle talk about leaving. This time I am. And it’s that time of the year for me. The magical time when shadows grow longer and even under the mugginess you can sense the impending seasonal change.
Key word: change.
You see, I do my best emotional/physical transforming as Indian Summer approaches. Many people like to start anew in the spring. Not me–I like the Fall. Not sure why, but I can tell you that some of the most memorable times in my life had their genesis in early Autumn.
So, just as I did in momentous years past, I’m making a move. And in recent days, I’ve been off loading things I don’t wear, no longer like, have no space for; no longer wax nostalgic over. I have streamlined; bought new and I’ve bought new furniture. I don’t want any of the stuff from my old lives to get on me. While taking a garbage bag load to the dumpster at my complex today, I marveled at all the memories I threw away. An old doll…a stuffed animal….old love letters and notes that suddenly held less importance in my life than they did a year ago.
It was liberating to remove people’s names and numbers from my cell phone. It was a joy to cull the herd of so -called Facebook friends. It has been easy to throw away the aspects of my past that are now expendable. It’s so much better across the board to travel lighter. Now, where I’m going isn’t important. Neither is the reason why I’m closing a particularly long and eventful chapter in my life. Just suffice it to say that I am leaving which sometimes is more important than the actual arrival at a new place.
I have hung up my headphones and turned off my microphone after almost 30 years in TV and radio. Amazing. eight years ago, I would have killed to get back in the business. Now, I leave it willingly, knowing that to stay in radio….to stay in Houston would be pressing my luck. In what way you ask? I’m not sure, but the time to leave is now. Houston has been home for more than 22 years and like this Big Mama bird, she’s kicking me out of the nest, telling me that there’s life beyond the horizons of these seemingly endless city. I’ve denied the urgings for almost a decade now…can’t leave; no money, no place to go: I had a million excuses. I used up 999, 000 of them all under the heading of “fear of change” in 2011 alone. Houston was a sanctuary and an oasis for me at times: a source of big laughs. And when even bigger tears seared my cheeks, the city felt like both the prison itself and warden who supervised every move. My time here was good; it was bad. It was reward; it was penitence. It was like a House Arrest with its own infrastructure and an 8.25 percent sales tax.
I will place my years in Houston and the experiences they produced in a special place in my ever-expanding memory bouquet. I can tell you now that visiting hours will be infrequent. I doubt if I’ll come back that often–to the city or the memories created here. Houston has been a pool where I tread water for a very long time; a treadmill where I ran in place for decades. It was a continuous loop that replayed mistakes and miscues that I kept making. I never learned from my mistakes. EPIC FAIL in my own history lessonin that we’re forced to keep repeating those mistakes until we’ve learned our lessons.
Well, then consider 2012 to be a stellar classroom. I guess this year, I just studied harder.
Be that as it may, this isn’t an admission that I regret calling Houston home for two decades plus. It’s just time to leave; time to do as maids Abalene and Minnie told Skeeter in last year’s movie, The Help.
Time to go find my life.
So, as I go find my life which includes a lovely office and a decent to place to write my book—and as for the topic? Well, I’ve always been told, ‘write what you know” so expect my magnum opus on radio and failed relationships to be coming soon to a computer screen near you or at the very lest, piled haphazardly in a three-for-one sales stack at what’s left of the few brick and mortar book stores still in existence. They’ll be next to the Larry Storch biography and the Florence Henderson autobiographical leaflet entitled, Well, At Least “Mike Brady” Was Straight.
I’ve blogged very little in recent months. When life is full for me, my blog stagnates. Interesting how that works. Needless to say, blogging will continue, as it has for months now, to be placed on the back burner on a forgotten stove in an uninspired kitchen in a house built in a neighborhood that’s rapidly deteriorating. You know the area–the one near the mall that USED to be the good one. The one that used to home to the pricey and casual chic Hank’s Hamburger Haven that now houses a pawn shop/pay day loan store and wig shop.
It’s located next to “Nails By Tylonell and Abbieprofin”. This blog was a friend, a confidant–a sole confessor. It was good when I needed it. But I no longer need it as I did before. Nor do I go on Facebook very much these days. Some people I know live on that site, day in, day out. I don’t ever want to be THAT needy every again.
Except for later this fall.
I vow to come back for a weekly blog on American Horror Story. Season two will begin on F/X in mid-October. The weekly synopses I wrote during the first season were tremendously fun to compose. I enjoyed the feedback from fellow “Story” fans.
That said, please join me back here in October for AHS falderal and for updates on a book that will no doubt lure tens of readers into its web of narcissism with a just a soupçon of self-loathing, along with carefully nuanced middle-aged angst and meaty regret.
You know—for texture.