Travels with Jim: I Was Never the Same after [My Life Journey with Him] as I Was Before

Travels with Jim: I Was Never the Same after [My Life Journey with Him] as I Was BeforeAKA: Segmented Essays are Addicting and I Prefer Single-Spaced Long Quotes

Dear Jim,
You were not a John Denver phan but I bet that if he stops by your basketball court in heaven with his gee-tar, you will laugh and think of me because of the words he sings. I am just back from class and waiting for Charlie Rose. Denver is on KQED right now; that is what made me think of it.
So. Did you and your brother happen to stop bouncing your bucket balls, look down, and watch me writing that story about
Waiting for a trainA thousand miles away from home

I think it was a three-point from mid-court. I wrote about the tam and sailing into Vietnam, too. Oh. Did you notice that you are wearing that sailing shirt from Hong Kong that you—well—we will file that under “shirt story” for another time.

I caught a ride on the dreamland express last night
I was sailing on an ocean of blueAnd right there by my side, much to my surprise, was you
--
I’d like to send you a ticket on the dreamland expressAnd take you far away with meI’ve got a vision of heaven, you livin’ there with me

One of these days I will write about the crossing guard who kept pointing to your empty trouser legs when we were trying to traverse to hear that awful jazz band at the Peace Hotel. We had no
idea what she was saying, but you answered her anyway: “Yeah. I know. I don’t have legs. But,
wait. You know, I actually do have some. They’re at home in the closet. My wife would rather push me around. You know wives.” It is a good thing that nobody who spoke English was around to hear you.
Shanghai breezes, cool and clearing, evening's sweet caress.Shanghai breezes, soft and gentle, remind me of your tenderness.And the moon and the stars are the same ones you see, it's the same old sun up in the sky.And your love in my life is like heaven to me, like the breezes here in old Shanghai.And the moon and the stars are the same ones you see, it's the same old sun up in the sky.And your love in my life is like heaven to me, like the breezes here in old Shanghai.
I know the kids are talking to you, but it’s my turn. Just like before. Middle of the night. My night classes energize me, allowing no one in this room to sleep.
But now it’s four in the mornin’, I can’t sleepI can’t get you out of my mindI keep tossin’ and turnin’, I’m yearnin’ for the sun to shine

Jim. I have to call the funeral home tomorrow to get some kind of form that will certify that you are in that, well, whatever you are in. Remember the first time you flew to SFO to see me and got off the plane with your clothes in a grocery bag? You told me it was Polish luggage. Yesterday was your mom’s birthday. Tell her the one about the Polish luggage; she always liked jokes about her birthplace. And remember how you used to have me bring home the blue velveteen Royal Crown drawstring bags from the plane so the kids could carry marbles and stuff? Remember that you told me that when you went to that basketball court in the sky I was supposed to ask the funeral home people if they could put you in a Safeway bag or a cardboard box? Well, they almost choked when I told them but they offered me “an alternative casket” for the crematorium. Hello, it’s a cardboard box, people (What is that, Seinfeld? Friends? Some other-generation thing). Jim. Remember how you would not move to Antioch because the traffic on 4 is so bad? Guess what crematorium they used? You were right; traffic on 4 IS bad. I could not take you home that day—what? did they forget to preheat?—but a couple of days later I went to get you. Did you guess? Omygawd, Jim! They put you in a marble bag! I think that they think that it’s a tasteful, discreet, maroon velvet bag with a golden cord. But, Jim! Omygawd! I had to run out of there with you in my arms so that I did not wake the dead in the viewing rooms:LOL! Jim! Omygod! You are in a marble bag! There is something heavy in the marble bag, maybe a metal box. Knowing you, it’s probably some kind of bowling ball, another Polish joke. It has been almost a year, but I cannot undo the draw string. But, Jim! Omygawd! You are in a marble bag! I taped a newspaper cartoon to the outside. You will like this: “A life-long practical joker’s last request was to have a pressure activated voice message installed in his grave site-‘OW! GET OFF! GET OFF ME!’” Must have been a salesman like you. Someday we will go to Laguna and scatter you off the coast of that basketball court you love on the beach, but right now, your sister wants you to go to Michigan for a memorial. I think she wants you to stay there. Don’t worry; I know you hate winter. But, anyway, that’s why I have to get the note from the funeral parlor to certify that you are in, well, Omygawd, Jim! You are in a marble bag and I have to take you through security!
By the way, you know how you used to call your Mustang your horsey? Well, I watched the Reagan funeral. I had forgotten about the riderless horse with the backwards boot in the stirrup at presidential funerals. I got the giggles. His riding boot was pretty tall in that stirrup, Jim. Yep. You guessed it. It looked like your artificial leg. So. I got one of your legs out of the closet, put it on the driveway next to your Mustang—backwards—and took a picture. I picked up the developed film today. I forgot that Michael’s old Bronco was in the driveway next to your horsey. Wow! What a presidential procession you had.
I want to go simply when I goThey’ll give me a simple funeral there I knowI’ll lie beneath the sandWith piped in tapes of billy grahamOh take me when I’m gone to forest lawnAmen
Now, look. We are going to rush you to Michigan for your memorial and rush you back again because I am taking two undergrad classes that have finals and papers due for all four classes starting that Monday.
Fly away, fly away, fly away
After finals, I will leave to meet Joani. Jim D. will be in the left seat on 940 on the second so Joani wrote, “I just happen to be intimately acquainted with the Captain. I’ll ‘shack up’ with him in Frankfurt and meet you there on the fourth for the connection to Madrid.” Shack up? Can you imagine a wife talking so disrespectfully about her husband?
All my bags are packedI’m ready to goI’m standin’ here outside your doorI hate to wake you up to say goodbyeBut the dawn is breakin’It’s early mornThe taxi’s waitin’He’s blowin’ his hornAlready I’m so lonesomeI could die

Well, Jim, here’s the thing. This is the trip that I tell myself you would have taken me on as a graduation present. Joani is going with me instead. We are not taking you to Europe and Africa even though I know you would provide me with more stories (I never did get that picture of you on a camel). No. You are staying here, though Ken says you are urning to go. Don’t make an ash of yourself while I am gone.