Giving Credit To Where Credit Is Due

So this morning Glen and I went to the Waffle House on our way to drop off Mr. Moon's Camry at a repair shop on the way, way other side of Tallahassee. Remember my little adventure with the Camry's gas cap control and the trunk control and how the trunk would not close and so I had to drive it home beep, beep, beeping? 
Well, that still had not been taken care of but for some reason, it was suddenly time. So we had our breakfast and people-watched and I eavesdropped and we got to witness once again the extremely graceful and fancy dance that eight employees do in a space smaller than a bus aisle without running into each other. Some are working at the grill, some are taking orders, some are delivering orders, some are at the cash register and of course there's always the fetching of ketchup and more jelly and the refilling of coffee cups. 
The breakfast is pretty good too. Especially the hash browns. 
And then we drove, Glen in the Camry, thus sparing me the beep, beep, beeping, and me in my car all the way across town and I haven't been down that way in forever and I could not believe the changes. FSU is one damn student housing complex after another and I am not talking about dormitories. I'm talking about apartment buildings. With many stories. My landmarks were all screwed up. 
But we got that done and came home and I started packing, determined, FOR ONCE, to pack light. There's a washer and dryer in the little cabana house and I could take two pairs of underwear, a bra-like garment, a pair of shorts, a dress, and a bathing suit and that would be plenty. 
However. I just can't do that. I need choices. I reopened the suitcase a little while later, absolutely certain that I could take out at least a few things and ended up removing exactly one t-shirt and then I said, "Fuck it," and put it back in. Who cares? We're only going to be carrying the suitcase from house to car, from car to house. It's not like we're hiking the Andes and will need an extra pack-llama. Or whatever beast of burden they use down there. 

I haven't packed medications or books or chargers or my dates and nuts snack bag or Mr. Moon's Lance's assorted snack crackers or the book I'm going to be reading us as we travel, or shoes or my fan or the ten New Yorker magazines I will not be reading or anything else of that nature. 

I hope we get out of here before noon. 

I wanted to add something to the story of my interconnected life story that I hadn't mentioned yesterday. I have spoken before about the person whom I feel had more influence on how my life has gone than anyone else when it comes to that sort of thing but he deserves a few more words. At least. 

Here's the post I wrote when he died. It's a short post but if you don't want to take the time (which I completely and utterly understand), here's a little bit I wrote in it. 

"Musician, bad boy, best heart you ever met. Wicked smart. Always on the side of the disenfranchised. Fearless to an unhealthy degree. More talents than you could put in a canyon of the Grand proportions. More friends than can be imagined.

He was like Keith Richards. You couldn't believe he was still alive. You can't believe he'd ever die.

Brian Churchill Everhart."

And then I wrote, "I can't imagine a world without him in it."
I still can't although I've been faced with the reality now for all these years. 

I can't even remember how I met Brian, or B. Boy or Balboa as we called him. I really can't remember a time when I didn't know him after I was about sixteen. Seventeen? 
Whatever. 

But for every person I mentioned in yesterday's post I can directly trace back my relationship with them to B. Boy. He was a musician and he introduced me to Jerry and David, for sure, as at one time or another they all played together. Which led to...

All of it. 

Every damn bit of it. 
And I just felt the need to give Brian his due, to recognize the role he played in my life. My god, I loved him and he was as flawed and susceptible to the temptations of life as anyone I have ever met and yet, somehow, he managed to get himself together and in the time period right before he died, I think he was as positive and optimistic as he'd ever been in his life. 
A life way too short but a life he lived so utterly and completely that he busted the seams out of it more than once and I owe him more than I can say. 

That's all.

Love...Ms. Moon