The text hit my cell phone this morning when I turned it on. It was from my friend Kevin's brother, and it was to let me know that Kevin died last night.
I'd mentioned Kevin several times in this blog, though it had been a while since I mentioned him. I'd also posted a photo of Kevin in my photography blog, as well as an article on my production site in which Kevin figured in prominently ("Wait'll You Hear This One!" on this page).
Kevin and I met when we both drove cab in Florida. He started a few months after I did, then quit, finally coming back several months later, continuing through the beginning of 2015. I'd know him for more than 20 years. He was one of the last people I knew from my cab driving days.
He is responsible for my having two cats, as mentioned in "I've Gone to the Cats...". He'd given us Karma; we then adopted Drexie to keep Karma company.
Kev and his dad had shared an apartment for years. Then, when Dad had died (everyone who knew Kev well got to the point where they'd just call his dad Dad, rather than "your dad"), Kevin moved into our spare bedroom for a while. It worked out for a while...until it didn't, at which point, we had him move out.
Shortly after he moved in, one of his brothers died. There had been a total of four brothers and one sister. In the year or two after Kev moved out, another brother and his sister died. Then it was only Kev and his brother, J.C. (yes, I'm using only his initials here, for his privacy).
J.C. and I would touch base periodically about Kev. The last time was maybe a couple of months ago, when I'd texted about any news. J.C. had called and let me know that Kev was in bad shape, but was, at least, in a place where he was getting care, meals, a bed...
Then, this morning, the text from J.C. that Kevin had passed away. I called back shortly after noon, got J.C.'s voicemail, and left a message. He called back after this six.
We both agreed that Kevin had been difficult at times, but that we both had plenty of good Kevin memories.
"At least he's not in pain any more," J.C. mentioned, and I agreed.
Yes, there were difficult times, some of which led to his moving out, but which I won't go into here; it wouldn't serve any purpose. But there are plenty of good memories. It's hard losing a friend, especially one of the last remaining friends from a particular time in my (and Kevin's) life.
Kevin, you'll be missed. Peace, my friend. This song's for you (it was one of his favorites, that I know about): Low Rider.
Showing posts with label cab driver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cab driver. Show all posts
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Aging, with Attitude
I've noticed something lately: I'm becoming my parents, while my offspring are becoming, well, me (though a much younger me).
For starters, there are the aches and pains. When my kids were little, and I wanted to take them to the beach or park so that they could get rid of some excess energy (and I wouldn't have to think about the housework), I'd call my grandmother up.
Now, mind you, I called both of my grandmothers on a regular basis. They were very different from each other, but definitely cool, each in their own way. But while Dad's mom lived in New York (state, not city), Mom's mom and I lived in the same Florida county; therefore, it was Grandma Hallock I'd call for the weather update.
After catching up on the pleasantries, I'd mention that I was planning to take the kids out. "The meteorologist on Channel 8 said that there's a forty percent chance of rain today, something about a cold front coming through, so I'm wondering if it's safe to head for the beach."
"Well, hon, my arthritis is only bothering me a little," she'd tell me. "I think you should be fine today, but maybe not tomorrow."
Funny thing is, her arthritis was almost always right. Go figure...
I'd heard from both grandmothers and their friends that the weather would change soon because "I can feel it in my bones." My younger self used to think that was old people crazy talk, but over the past decade or so, I've been noticing how true it seems.
A couple of mornings ago, I woke up with a painfully stiff, sore neck. I didn't have a headache or a fever, which was good; it's always nice to rule out anything serious. Most writers tend to be a bit neurotic. I'm not as neurotic as, say, Woody Allen, but on some days, many of us could give Woody a run for his neurotic money.
I grabbed a tube of BenGay and slapped some on. I have several tubes of it, as well as Tylenol's version of it (Precise). A certain offspring, who could easily be on Extreme Couponing, had sent them to us several months before moving to Florida when she'd picked them up for mere pennies. So, after putting BenGay on my neck, and popping a couple of Tylenol and four baby aspirin, I eased into the kitchen to start the coffee.
But the neck continued to hurt throughout the day. When it did ease a little, my left knee...well, you get the general idea. The cold front that had come through had decided to settle in. While it wasn't a seventy-five percent chance of rain sort of thing, it did tell me that the weather would be this way for a couple of days.
An aside: I've been known to laugh in late August, early September when the meteorologists on TV say that there's a cold front coming through in the next few days. I live in Florida. While it does occasionally get down-right cold in January or February (temperatures in the teens are cold, as far as I'm concerned), cold fronts in Florida in August or September might just bring the temperature down a degree or two to a nice, brisk 79 or 80. Brrr! Not! But it did get into the high 50s last week...
Another thing I've noticed, heading into the end of my fifties: I tend to have a lower tolerance for some things (like, um, manure) than I used to, while things that used to absolutely drive me nuts hardly phase me.
A while back, I was riding with my friend Kevin, who happens to drive cab. We first met when we both drove for the same cab company. I'd started first, then he showed up maybe a year later, then quit for maybe a few months before climbing back into a taxi. Kevin's a few years younger than I, and he describes himself as a grump or grouch.
One morning, Kevin was driving me some place or other. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, when people sort-of forget how to drive. It's like, they're in the right-hand lane, thinking of turning into this group of stores coming up to buy something, when suddenly and right now, they realize that the bank is on the left and they need to hit it up before shopping. We were behind three-lanes-and-half-a-block-worth of people driving like this.
So, Kevin had been grousing for the last couple of minutes as we ease south along Forty-Ninth Street that the other drivers are idiots, that you should have seen that guy plow into that pick-up truck this morning, the fact that we were only his third call of the day. His second call was a regular customer, but his first call was one that prompted him to tell M. and me, "You won't believe the call I got at 6:30 this morning. I hadn't even gotten my coffee, the address they gave me didn't exist, and after ten minutes of looking for him, he ran out from between a couple of houses and told me to hurry, he was late for work! I think he'd already been drinking..."
Finally, I looked over at him and said, "Kevin, you are such a grump!!!" As I said that, a car from the left lane cut across all three lanes of traffic, nearly hitting both us and the car in fron of us, before ducking into a strip mall, all the time waving Sorry, thanks! at everyone he'd cut off or almost hit. "What's with this (expletive)!" I practically yelled.
As we eased up to the light, Kevin looked at me slightly askew and, smiling, said, "And you call me a grump?"
Another story: My daughter, M.H., and I talk quite frequently. Once, several years ago, when we were on the phone, G. was doing something or other that she'd been told not to do. Let's face it: most kids do that, especially when the parent who said not to do it is on the phone.
At one point, M.H. told G. to "stop that right now." G. didn't, so M.H. said, "Don't make me count to three!"
By now, I was smiling, but trying not to let a snicker come across the phone. This sounded too familiar.
"Okay, that's it!" I heard. "One, two, three!" Then, to me, "I'll be right back." As she put the phone down, I could hear, "You're going to your room!" She was immediately informed that that was fine, G. had a TV, VCR and radio in her room. "Not any more, you don't! I'm taking them out right now and you can stay in your room until you apologize and make it right!" A stream of I'm sorrys followed this, along with much crying and wailing. But M.H. held firm.
When she finally picked up the phone, my daughter had one question for me: "When did I turn into you?", to which I responded, "When you became a parent!"
Life goes on, we age, and, if we're lucky, we manage to mantain our sense of humor.
For starters, there are the aches and pains. When my kids were little, and I wanted to take them to the beach or park so that they could get rid of some excess energy (and I wouldn't have to think about the housework), I'd call my grandmother up.
Now, mind you, I called both of my grandmothers on a regular basis. They were very different from each other, but definitely cool, each in their own way. But while Dad's mom lived in New York (state, not city), Mom's mom and I lived in the same Florida county; therefore, it was Grandma Hallock I'd call for the weather update.
After catching up on the pleasantries, I'd mention that I was planning to take the kids out. "The meteorologist on Channel 8 said that there's a forty percent chance of rain today, something about a cold front coming through, so I'm wondering if it's safe to head for the beach."
"Well, hon, my arthritis is only bothering me a little," she'd tell me. "I think you should be fine today, but maybe not tomorrow."
Funny thing is, her arthritis was almost always right. Go figure...
I'd heard from both grandmothers and their friends that the weather would change soon because "I can feel it in my bones." My younger self used to think that was old people crazy talk, but over the past decade or so, I've been noticing how true it seems.
A couple of mornings ago, I woke up with a painfully stiff, sore neck. I didn't have a headache or a fever, which was good; it's always nice to rule out anything serious. Most writers tend to be a bit neurotic. I'm not as neurotic as, say, Woody Allen, but on some days, many of us could give Woody a run for his neurotic money.
I grabbed a tube of BenGay and slapped some on. I have several tubes of it, as well as Tylenol's version of it (Precise). A certain offspring, who could easily be on Extreme Couponing, had sent them to us several months before moving to Florida when she'd picked them up for mere pennies. So, after putting BenGay on my neck, and popping a couple of Tylenol and four baby aspirin, I eased into the kitchen to start the coffee.
But the neck continued to hurt throughout the day. When it did ease a little, my left knee...well, you get the general idea. The cold front that had come through had decided to settle in. While it wasn't a seventy-five percent chance of rain sort of thing, it did tell me that the weather would be this way for a couple of days.
An aside: I've been known to laugh in late August, early September when the meteorologists on TV say that there's a cold front coming through in the next few days. I live in Florida. While it does occasionally get down-right cold in January or February (temperatures in the teens are cold, as far as I'm concerned), cold fronts in Florida in August or September might just bring the temperature down a degree or two to a nice, brisk 79 or 80. Brrr! Not! But it did get into the high 50s last week...
Another thing I've noticed, heading into the end of my fifties: I tend to have a lower tolerance for some things (like, um, manure) than I used to, while things that used to absolutely drive me nuts hardly phase me.
A while back, I was riding with my friend Kevin, who happens to drive cab. We first met when we both drove for the same cab company. I'd started first, then he showed up maybe a year later, then quit for maybe a few months before climbing back into a taxi. Kevin's a few years younger than I, and he describes himself as a grump or grouch.
One morning, Kevin was driving me some place or other. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, when people sort-of forget how to drive. It's like, they're in the right-hand lane, thinking of turning into this group of stores coming up to buy something, when suddenly and right now, they realize that the bank is on the left and they need to hit it up before shopping. We were behind three-lanes-and-half-a-block-worth of people driving like this.
So, Kevin had been grousing for the last couple of minutes as we ease south along Forty-Ninth Street that the other drivers are idiots, that you should have seen that guy plow into that pick-up truck this morning, the fact that we were only his third call of the day. His second call was a regular customer, but his first call was one that prompted him to tell M. and me, "You won't believe the call I got at 6:30 this morning. I hadn't even gotten my coffee, the address they gave me didn't exist, and after ten minutes of looking for him, he ran out from between a couple of houses and told me to hurry, he was late for work! I think he'd already been drinking..."
Finally, I looked over at him and said, "Kevin, you are such a grump!!!" As I said that, a car from the left lane cut across all three lanes of traffic, nearly hitting both us and the car in fron of us, before ducking into a strip mall, all the time waving Sorry, thanks! at everyone he'd cut off or almost hit. "What's with this (expletive)!" I practically yelled.
As we eased up to the light, Kevin looked at me slightly askew and, smiling, said, "And you call me a grump?"
Another story: My daughter, M.H., and I talk quite frequently. Once, several years ago, when we were on the phone, G. was doing something or other that she'd been told not to do. Let's face it: most kids do that, especially when the parent who said not to do it is on the phone.
At one point, M.H. told G. to "stop that right now." G. didn't, so M.H. said, "Don't make me count to three!"
By now, I was smiling, but trying not to let a snicker come across the phone. This sounded too familiar.
"Okay, that's it!" I heard. "One, two, three!" Then, to me, "I'll be right back." As she put the phone down, I could hear, "You're going to your room!" She was immediately informed that that was fine, G. had a TV, VCR and radio in her room. "Not any more, you don't! I'm taking them out right now and you can stay in your room until you apologize and make it right!" A stream of I'm sorrys followed this, along with much crying and wailing. But M.H. held firm.
When she finally picked up the phone, my daughter had one question for me: "When did I turn into you?", to which I responded, "When you became a parent!"
Life goes on, we age, and, if we're lucky, we manage to mantain our sense of humor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)