| I was up at 7:00, had the complimentary breakfast in the hotel lobby, and got on the road by 8:00.
Needless to say, I drove the speed limit the whole way back. At about 10:00, I guess, I turned on my cell phone and received this message from 8:14 this morning. |
| John Martin this is Debbie Brearey. I’m calling from Boca Raton. Please call me on Jeanie’s telephone or on Phyllis’ [Jeanie’s daughter] home phone as soon as you can. Thank you, John. Bye. |
I got Debbie on Jeanie’s cell phone, and she told me that Jeanie had passed away at about 6:30 this morning, and that: 1) “Jeanie had been asking to talk to you, but would fall asleep or be too out of it to talk whenever the hospice nurse was able to help her with a call,” and 2) “Phyllis knows you have a job to do now, so she wanted to make sure we let you know as soon as possible.”
The “job” to which she refers is delivering Jeanie’s eulogy. On August 26, 2007, Jeanie called to bestow said honor upon me. Debbie also asked me, “Since you’re the ‘word guy,’ Phyllis was also wondering if you’d write up a draft of an obituary for Jeanie.”
At home, I had these two voice mails on my land line phone:
| Hi John Martin. It is Phyllis Beaulieu calling to give you some news about Jeanie. I’ll talk to you, but I just want to let you know that she’s under hospice care, but she’s here at home. And, she’s been wanting to talk to you, and right now she’s a little bit, you know, woozy. But, I need to talk to you, okay sweetie, if you’d give me a call either at home or on my cell. Thank you. Bye-bye. |
| John Martin this is Debbie Brearey. I’m calling from Boca Raton. Please call me on Jeanie’s telephone or on Phyllis’ home phone ASAP. Thank you, John. Bye. |
I logged into work to make sure there wasn’t anything pressing.
I contacted Richard Perry, who is the grandson of Jeanie’s deceased husband Milton, to give him the news. I’m glad that I was able to reconnect them (Richard and Jeanie) after a phone conversation I had with Richard on January 29th.
He plans to come to the funeral, so it’ll be nice to meet him in person.
Just as I was signing off my computer to go to the gym, I had a direct message on Twitter from @Justis asking me if I was up for a walk. Impeccable timing.
I love the symmetrical juxtaposition in that previous sentence of “Just as” at the beginning of the sentence and “Justis” toward the end. But I digress…
We walked up Kaplan and over into the trails of Lake Johnson, taking a way that he often goes, but that I’ve never taken. That’s about the only way I’ll learn new routes, being the ESFJ that I am.
We had a great talk about a wide variety of subjects, and he was kind enough to let me go on about Jeanie-baby for the first 20 minutes or so of the walk. I particularly enjoyed hearing about his attempts-to-date, and his hopes-and-dreams-of-tomorrow, as he works toward his personal mission statement: “Improve the world through the application of creativity, emerging technologies, and entrepreneurship.”
It’s not often enough in life that you meet real quality people, and more rare that that quality is obvious very early on in the relationship.
I had planned to head to the gym as soon as I got back, but after having some cereal for dinner, I took about an hour-and-a-half nap. Napping, the next best thing to going to the gym.
When I woke up, I wrote my draft of Jeanie’s obit, and sent it electronically down to Boca Raton.
I finally got to the gym, the latest I’ve ever gone, where I did crunches and upper body. I’m counting my 45-minute-or-so walk with Justis this afternoon as my cardio for the day.
|
Strength |
8 |
15 |
|
Resistance |
45 |
After the workout, at about 10:10, I did something I’ve never done before at the gym—I showered there. This gym actually has individual shower stalls, complete with curtains, in their men’s locker room, which is practically unheard of.
I spent about an hour at Helios, where I listened to the Verdi Requiem, while devising and posting yesterday’s blog entry.
I’d forgotten how much I love that piece of music, but since playing it at my own memorial service is in my last wishes, it shouldn’t come as any surprise to me.
I stopped by Trailer Park Prize Night—where, it also should come as no surprise to me—I wasn’t really into it. Everything seemed even more pointless than it normally does there for this “show.”
After a couple of drinks, Mary K. Mart’s opening number and welcome, and drawing for three inane “prizes,” I left in the middle of “the first performer’s” number.
