Birthday Prequel - Part 2
I am writing this early on 5/28/2015 . . . after a horrible night out on my 15th wedding anniversary. I had the beautiful set of red roses, 15 of them. I had the romantic dinner all set. I had her favorite wine ready. But her mind is on someone else. I just know it. My heart is breaking. I'm going to keep pushing the link for this to publish automatically in the future as far as Facebook will allow me to, just in case something happens to me. I know she wants me to disappear. I feel more and more isolated, threatened, and humiliated then ever. She said some particularly hurtful things last night . . .
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I'm a much better than average cook, but I'm not really a chef in the classic sense. I am indeed a self-trained home chef, but I haven't been formally educated in the intricate science of creating magic in the kitchen. I've never attended a culinary academy. Sure, I have been to a few cooking classes, which were always fun. I've watched tons of cooking shows and have seen every episode of Justin Wilson at least twice. I've come a long way from watching my Mama make bread, stir roux, or baste a chicken. I have fond memories of watching my dad make cracklins and helping he and my uncles roast a hog. I loved hearing my mother's brother (who was a professional chef) tell stories about working in famous restaurants in New Orleans, and I'll never forget him bragging about my jambalaya. Like many of you, I've burned a few things and placed some stovetop failures in the trash can rather than on a plate. Trial and error on an exponential scale throughout a long adult life has indeed made me a better than average magician in the kitchen. But . . . I'm nobody. I'm not really a chef.
Yes, I'm pretty good at taking pictures, but I'm not really a photographer. I know more than most people about F-stops, apertures, lighting, framing, and shutter speeds . . . but I haven't been to any school for photography. I'm pretty good at putting together YouTube videos also, and I know how to use editing software that make mundane video more palatable. But I'm not really a videographer or a producer or a film student. I do it for fun, for family, for friends, and for the satisfaction that comes from creating a little art. Sharing what I see with others is a part of my love language. It's a way to connect with others and a way to gauge how my taste in the world's colors and capers compare with other humans' taste in things. Yes, long periods of reading, trial and error, mistakes and retakes, dead batteries, foggy lenses, and Kodak to zeros and ones have made me become pretty good at creating with cameras. But . . . I'm nobody. I'm not really a photographer.
I'm not really a musician. Yes, I studied music at Northwestern in Natchitoches, LA. And yes, I was a pretty good drummer and "percussionist" in high school and college. I have trophies that say I did well in solo competitions and was first chair drummer in parish honor band my senior year. I've participated in live performances with the band, the symphony, the percussion ensemble, rock bands, country bands, DJs, and more. I played a lot of concerts, marched in many parades and halftime shows, and I've spent some time playing in more than a few clubs, bars, honky tonks, receptions, parties, dances, church halls, community centers, etc. . . . and got paid very well on many of those "gigs" . . . but that was all a long time ago. Yes, I still have drums, keyboards, guitars, and various other music room things that occasionally get awakened, but not enough. My brain can still think it, but my body doesn't produce it very well any more. It would take a very long time to get my "chops" back to something resembling respectable. I love music, and especially live performances, more than anything else. But . . . a real musician would never have let people, jobs, money, life, and time get in the way of playing and practicing. No job is so great that one should allow something as essential to life as music slip away into a dark, dusty, and low priority existence. A real musician, I am not. I am nobody.
I had the greatest high school English teacher in the known universe. She was the epitome of graciousness and as skillful an educator as you'd find anywhere, at any level. She succeeded in conveying to me the importance of good writing skills and certainly achieved success in making me capable and comfortable when it comes time to communicate with a pen. Her contribution to my training is something I'll always be grateful for because she did it so well and was so dedicated at making sure that I and all of my classmates were armed with that extra chance to do better in their chosen careers. But . . . I'm not really a writer. Yes, I do like to write, and I am told that I have a better than average ability in this area. I've had many things that I've written distributed in various forums which have resulted in a significant amount of "buzz" at times. The few times I've decided to send a letter to the editor of the newspaper, it has always ended up being published. Whether I pen thoughts on the lighter side of life or the smelly side of politics, I always seem to get very responsive feedback from a wide variety of readers. I once wrote a memo to the president of one of the companies I worked far that he ended up distributing to all management in all facilities throughout the USA and Canada. That cherished English teacher I spoke of bestowed the highest honor ever on me by leaving instructions with her children that I be asked to write her eulogy upon her passing. I've penned prose and poetry, and have sometimes passionately put to paper tirades on things that have tested my thoughts on the trials and tribulations of living and learning, loving and yearning. But, like I said, I'm not really a writer. I've not published a thing. I've not written a book. I've not become a columnist for any newspaper or periodical and I've never received any compensation for anything I've created with a pen or a keyboard. I'm nobody in a world filled with an immense amount of journalistic and literary talent.
I'm absolutely nobody to anyone. I've never been a father and I'll never be a grandfather. I've gotten to pretend to be a uncle through marriage, but have never had any nieces or nephews I could really call my nieces or nephews. I've tried to be a good friend to a few people throughout my adult life, but I live too far from them to have any regular contact. They are old friends from back in the days when I worked at a job that allowed me to make plans and do things with friends on a regular basis. I haven't been able to make any close friends since I started my current career over 30 years ago, because I can't ever plan activities and count on spending time with anyone. While most folks are doing friend and family things on weekends and holidays, I'm away at work and usually far away. If I could be home at night during these typical friends and family times, maybe I'd have been able to have a close friend or two nearby. But, the vast majority of the time, I'm not able to be home at night during those special weekends and holidays. I'm not a close friend to anybody because of this. I'm nobody.
I've tried to be a spouse that I think one should expect and be proud of. I've tried to be attentive, helpful, romantic, and loving. I've remembered special days and honored them in small ways and large ways. I've engaged the family and friends of my spouse as much as practical, and have strived to be extra supportive of all such relationships. I've cooked and cleaned and shopped and entertained all visitors and have gone out my way to try to be the host my spouse would want me to be when her friends and family are around. I've surprised her with trips to be with friends and family, sometimes together, sometimes not. I've visited spouse's family and friends often on my own initiative, and often alone. I've spent time with them in other places and here at home, often alone. I've been the spouse who provides happy surprises on a regular basis. I've been the spouse that brought laughter and fun. I've brought home the flowers just because and have grown, cut, and arranged many flowers . . . just because. I bring home things she loves from all parts of the planet . . . just because. I keep her in good coffee and wine and food. I cook because I love to and because I want to try to make her smile. I take her out to eat regularly because she likes that a lot.
But, I'm not really a good husband. I must not be. Twice I've been married now and twice I've had them show me, both directly and indirectly, overtly and covertly, that I'm nobody. I've never achieved being number one in anybody's life, not even with wives. There has always been other priorities and other people. Whether it's friends, workmates, siblings, or even neighbors . . . there always seems to be someone needing or wanting something and they generally have been the spouse's priority. I haven't been perfect, but looking back, I've been the one that has constantly endeavored to make great memories and generate happy times, fun adventures, and meaningful achievements. I've been supportive of all her jobs, her career decisions, and the relationships she has cultivated in her career. I've gone to the parties and I've thrown the parties.
But in the end, I'm nobody . . . again. There are other men that always turn out to be . . . somebody.
Maybe I'm not even a man. She said last night that I wasn't much of a man. This was after she pushed me as hard as she could against the wall when leaving the restaurant.
I'm nobody.
And I've always been a nobody.
The Easy Cajun
Roger Paul