Just Talkin Train of Thoughtin'

I was walking downtown, in New York City, through Tribeca, when the wind blew a speck of something in my eye. Ouch, it hurt, stopping me in my tracks. I pressed my arm into my eye and gently rubbed it, the pain subsided and I went on walking. Later a bump formed, and my whole eyelid became red, tender and swollen.

I visited a friend in NJ the next day, and by some crazy coincidence, she had another friend present, who used to work for an eye doctor, who sent former boss a photo of my eye. The doc, a saint, says I better come in right away and I was whisked off to the office. She said I had a nasty infection—had anything gone in my eye? That was the first time I remembered the offending particle. Another day and it would have been quite serious.

I’ve spent the past week in considerable discomfort, on a Z-pack of antibiotics, but still marveling at coincidences which keep firing. My eye prob mysteriously aligned with Audrey’s boyfriend Michael also having an eye mishap requiring stitches the same day I was getting infection specks flying into my eyeball. I’ve unexpectedly run into people I know; my friend Zach Person who was in the city for 2 days auditioning, and later, a friend from Austin got out of an Uber on the upper West side right in front of me and Audrey. Then the studio owner helping with some Psycher tracks—someone I’d never met—turns out to have many common close friends. Hours were spent not working and saying “no way” at the vast connections we surprised each other with. And yay, Psycher made a little progress with the addition of Linda Pitmon’s drums on three tracks I worked on with Brix.

My first AA sponsor, Jean, an unforgettable woman who I have mixed recollections of, used to say “how do you spell coincidence?” dramatic pause then, with a flourish…”G.O.D.”

She also called me “Kathers” in a very distinctive, choked but loud voice. Tears spilled from her eyes when she preached the 12-steps, she was fervent and strident, and gave me a job when I needed one. This was in 1989, in my very early sobriety. I couldn’t imagine life without drinking and figured I’d better go be around people who knew more about how to do that than I did. She had what seemed at the time, an impossible seven years of sobriety. And here I am, with 37 years, what they call in AA meetings an “old-timer.”

Writing that made me look for her, but she’s one of those remarkables that has managed to go unnoticed by the internet. I worked out that she’d be 89 if still alive.

I’m not super AA active, but I like to think of myself as “programmed.” I live in a space of gratitude, amends, sharing ESH (experience strength hope) being of service when I can, whether it’s talking openly about being sober, supporting those in need, or helping someone struggling with bags or looking lost. The other day I followed a frail, elderly woman off the train at Piccadilly. She moved slowly, with a cane, and it was crowded and busy. I kept a distance, but wanted to make sure she was getting where she was going without being knocked over. I hope someone cares enough about me to keep an eye out should I ever need it.

My last contact with Jean was during covid, when being stuck at home in small people bubbles made a lot of us reach out for long lost connections. At that email, she had moved into a senior retirement community, so who knows if she’s there still, or perhaps graduated to assisted living or memory care units. I kind of don’t want to know and won’t look further.

I know about progressions like that because when my dad was dying I got him into one of five Medicare offered beds in the nicest place Austin had to offer those on their way down and out. Calling every day, with the sort of persistence that has gotten me very far in life, until, yes, one of the olds had shuffled off and left room for my dad to shuffle in for his final stay.

In this place, if a person had the money and foresight to plan ahead, as it seems Jean has done, you could buy in, live in a vibrant community filled with like-aged people, and move through different contingent apartments with increased care. Its probably a good thing but, also probably, like you might feel reading this, it makes me queasy to think about.

Anyway, I sometimes think about Jean, the AA sponsor’s “coincidence being spelled g.o.d.” quote. I tend to look at things differently, and probably don’t agree that coincidences are god’s work. But they balance out the other side, the random chaos of chance. Chance and synchronicity, two sides of the same coin.

I spent a week of my ten-day NYC trip with the eye infection which has finally started to improve. I didn’t get together with near enough friends, but had the best time with Audrey and even went dancing with her and her boyfriend and his mom. Me, dancing! For hours even at a long-running institution known as Mister Sunday, at Nowadays in Ridgewood Queens. It’s her and Michael’s favorite place, I now know why. I didn’t think about my eye once.

Here’s an archive playlist of Mister Sunday’s dance music if you ever want a handy move your body boogie go-to.

Last week I had an entire day of severe Un-tethered Displacement Syndrome (© UDS?), unsure of my place in the world or where home was. Today I know where I’m going tomorrow. I might not know where I’m going, like the olds in the luxe retirement communities know, but for now, my place in the world, my home is London. My heart is with Audrey but my home is London

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