All My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers

A wiser philosopher than me (Georg Hegel, I think, although if I could remember this kind of detail I would have made it out of college with a piece of paper other than a reminder not to return for the next semester) once observed, “the owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.” I think this means we often miss the signs that important things are going to happen after it’s already too late to do anything about them. I think I may have missed my owl taking off.

There has been a growing realization that I am the first to know about something and the last to act on it. While I wasn’t the original instigator – that role belongs to the Boy – I think I was the first one to figure out the snowbell was heading downhill and we were meeting up with it in San Diego.

To be clear, we’re not leaving Sacramento because it is an absolutely awful place to live; we’d lived in worse places. But San Diego is viewed as a lifestyle change; the ability to live in what most call near-perfect weather, well equipped for 365 days of outside activity, and to live near my two best friends, in no particular order, Mr. Sladed and Italiphil.

Mrs. Laz has been there for the better part of the past two months and the Boy just arrived with Ber in the past two weeks. The Girl, who has decided to take a dip in this familial experiment as the Control Group, is not far behind, perhaps three or four weeks away. It seems everything is in place for me to make my move and join my family in what feels like nothing short of Manifest Destiny. Instead I am stuck with one foot out the door and the other foot with my remaining heel clearly dug in and I am hoping someone can tell me why this is the case.

I can offer up a few theories:

1. I have been someplace other than what I call home for the past several weeks and the thought of packing up a car in the next 72 hours and driving 10 hours sounds exhausting. But I have to do it sometime and better sooner than later as I am beginning to forget what the Mrs. looks like (and the dogs, too).

2. While we were willing to get filleted in Virginia in selling all our land holdings there, we have no interest or ability in doing the same in Sacramento. Therefore we have a beautiful albatross draped around our necks and it doesn’t feel right to leave it unattended with nothing more than the silly hope that we will find a buyer who hasn’t read a newspaper in the last six months and still believes property values in California are at an all-time high. Since this person would be in the same basket as Santa Claus, unicorns and real estate agents that don’t lie and cheat, I don’t think I will hold my breath.

While I am concerned about our real estate curse, we can likely rent our home and hope for a later rebound in the market. Of course this carries the risk of a still larger “correction” and the fact that I will have to pack up an entire house full of furniture and memories and stick it on a moving van that will have to circle around San Diego until we can afford to buy a house there. More exhaustion but I may have a few tricks up my sleeve on this front and will discuss them with Mrs. Laz assuming we are in the same city for more than a few hours.

3. I happen to love sports and, frankly, I may need a larger pull than the Chargers and Padres to tickle my sports fancy. Trevor Hoffman can’t save a game these days and the Pads are languishing. As of this writing, they are not headed for the playoffs unless the bullpen remembers how to pitch again. The Chargers looked great last year until a playoff meltdown was extended into a front office meltdown. This led to the hiring of a gypsy NFL coach with a spotty record who will implement a new system in a situation that screams, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Also, I prefer the NBA to these other minor sports and despite the Kings turning into a League joke with its own front office meltdown, I still get more excited about watching and following the NBA than any other sport short of nude volleyball. Let’s see how the home teams in San Diego perform before passing final judgment, but for now, they’re suspect.

4. Another thought is that I have a practice of making friends with nearly every acquaintance. My friends don’t become best friends – that job was already taken by, in no particular order, Italiphil and Sladed – but I have come to enjoy their company just the same. I worry about what becomes of this collection of misfits who reciprocate their friendship, or at least ask to borrow money. Am I destined to burn through friendships no matter how close a relationship I have with them? Or will settling in one place allow me to build better and longer-lasting friendships and push the other two “best friend” knuckleheads to start giving me a little more respect lest I drop their best-friend status in favor of an outsider?

As mentioned in a previous post I have been saying my good-byes. I have learned that I am not particularly good at it as I don’t like the lonely feeling that I will never see someone again. While no plans exist to never again see any friends we made up in Sacramento, I know there is a possibility our paths may never have the chance to cross. Distance in miles and time are not the best tonic in maintaining friendships as I have found many times in my life. I know each member of our family has to go through this, including Mrs. Laz saying fare-thee-well to Judy, her best friend and soul mate, but I think it affects me more, or perhaps I just complain the loudest about it. I just know I don’t find any joy in this part of moving to a new city. And I also know I have moved away from parents, friends and relatives before and survived, this time it just hits me a little later in life when the twilight for making friends may be slipping away.

Certainly there are other reasons out there to examine, but perhaps my list is more comprehensive than I at first thought. I guess, in the end, I am just dealing with a lot of crap and working through it at a time my mind and body needs to be elsewhere. Or maybe I can bring in another great thinker, Emerson this time, (and of this I am certain and I also know that his partners, Lake and Palmer, were pretty good too). He once wrote that “events are in the saddle and ride mankind.” Maybe he was warning us that it is useless to fight things we can do nothing about, like the fact that I am just listening to Janis Joplin and I continue to be amazed how awful her band the Holding Company truly was. I want to listen to Janis’ raspy voice but her band can’t keep a beat. “Man,” as she would say.

In the end I know I’ll do what Jackson advises. I will go and pack my sorrow, knowing the trashman comes tomorrow, leave it at the curb, and just roll away. Maybe I’ll even do that on that elusive windy day.