2022 Thus Far

You are looking at the remains of my old workspace, part of the office in which I toiled for eleven years before we moved upstairs a year and a half ago.  In the background was once two rooms in which I spent most of my time.  The right corner was where I performed hearing aid appointments and conducted hearing tests.  To the the left was where specialized electrophysiological tests were done.  You might also be interested to know that I wrote many entries for this very blog in those old rooms, now just an empty gap awaiting remodel.  So odd and kinda sad.  Like nothing at all ever happened there.  I wandered through a few weeks ago and chatted with the foreman.  A new medical office (he wasn't sure what type) is coming in.   It was another of those weird experiences, walking through your past.  Something I've documented here before.

The sixth floor suite was vacant for a year and a half.  As I stepped around debris, the memories came flooding.  Far too many to mention.  Mostly favorable.   A new season is dawning for Suite #600, and as always I have mixed feelings.  It, like other old haunts that have transformed, feels like a kind of death.  A reminder of how brief life really is.  This pic almost looks like a stage set, eh? Like a theatrical recreation of a piece of my life, complete with prop door and breakaway walls. 

Some of my co-workers and I actually held out some feeble hope that we could move back into the spacious, well designed office, as we now daily battle a cramped space inadequate for many of our appointments.  Don't let me get on that topic.

2022 also brought the passing of one of my dear college friends.  I met Amy senior year, during rehearsals for a one act play I was in called "Rope".  It was directed by another dear friend, Allen, for whom this play was his final exam for a class.  Amy was recruited as stage manager.  After graduation, she moved back to her hometown of Chicago, but returned to WPB in the mid/late '90s and bought a lovely old house just a few blocks north of my old neighborhood.  She dubbed it "Margaritaville" as she made it a comfortable resort, if you will, for her friends to come and chill in.  She had a few cats and ferrets who raced around.  Amy cooked me several dinners and I remember sitting and listening to They Might Be Giants albums with her.  She was like a sister I never had.

She moved back to Illinois in the early '00s, taking a job as a zoo curator in Brookfield.  Amy had always loved animals of any variety and had served at the Palm Beach Zoo while she was here.  She had a special place in her heart for primates.  We met up a few times when she returned to town and later chatted through social media.  It is no exaggeration to state that she was one of the most genuine people I've known.  A real advocate for her friends and family.  Story after story recounted on Facebook rang familiar to my own experiences with her; she was a true friend to a wide assortment of folks.  

When I read that she was found unresponsive on her living room couch  I felt my breath escape.  A true gut punch.  She was only 52, my age at that time.  Someone with so much to give to the world, someone so positive.  Gone.  It reminded me of my childhood friend Debbie, another beautiful person.  She died at the age of fifteen as the van she was in flipped over as she and her teammates were returning from a cheerleading competition.  I never understand these things.  

Another earthly departure this year - remember Frank, the proselytiser I would see at Panera on my morning visits?  The there-every-day shaggy fellow who wrote a book about the coming Apocalypse?  Read about him here.   Two other regulars informed me that he had a heart attack.  I felt sad, and guilty.  Guilty that I often avoided him as, so early in the day especially, I am not keen on having heavy theological discussions.  More accurately, not being his captive audience while he forecast the certain doom of society.  But the times I did chat with him were not unpleasant, and despite his sometimes alarming words he was a warm fella who knew all the employees by name.  What conversations is he having on those streets of gold right now?

We are still living with my mother-in-law but always contemplating a move.  A bit more difficult with how the real estate market is these days.  Unprecedented, right?  When I see what the modest houses I grew up in are fetching these days I just have to chuckle.  Damned investors, killing the market for mere mortals.  Don't get me started on that, either.  I wonder what Margaritaville is going for today?

I hadn't done a personal entry in awhile so here you go.   Maybe I'll say something else before the usual year end summary?