Birthdays (and a poem)
I had high stress, sitting in the back seat of my friend’s mother’s car as we inched around the Baltimore beltway towards BWI airport, afraid I would miss my flight, and weirdly anxious to dump all the cocaine I was carrying.
The heavy rush hour traffic of the beltway was nothing new to me, and although only twenty miles door to door from my house, the airport seemed to get farther away as the minutes ticked by, not closer. I was never stuck in afternoon traffic before, attempting to make a flight to Europe. Just days after my 20th birthday, this was going to be my first trip outside of the states, but several factors were in place, causing me to think I might not ever return.
Unsure of the additional time required to check-in for an overseas trip, I was concerned about missing the flight to Luxembourg, and concerned about the drug needles and cocaine in my left front coat pocket. I had no idea how hard it would be to reschedule a missed international flight, and had not yet given any thought to the people waiting to collect us in the Benelux.
Mistakenly, I had recently gone to the theatres and saw the movie Midnight Express, an insane tale about a young American locked up for more than 25 years in a foreign prison for smuggling drugs, and the movie scared the shit out of me.
So between the open container of drugs located on my person, and the bulk of drugs we planned to carry on the plane, I was somewhat nervous. And then, my slightly older travel companion tells me the planned agenda after we get to Europe and do our business there: go to Amsterdam, sell all of our gear, go to Spain, steal a sailboat, and sail back to Baltimore. Holy hell…
It was a small miracle we were on our way to the airport at all because just days earlier, we had rushed to Washington, DC, and got our passports. We had mailed away for our travel papers weeks ago, but once realizing it might take months to process, we had to go get our credentials on the spot. So on March 2nd, the day before my big two-zero birthday, we drove to our nation’s capital, attempting to get our travel visa’s, and hoping not to get pulled over by Maryland State Troopers along the way, because we were carrying drugs. The travel routes between Baltimore and DC, only about forty miles apart, are well-used highways for transporting drugs, and it is always a crapshoot if today is your day to get stopped and searched. Baltimore was, and is still, one of the most vibrant drug addict communities in the world.
The time standing and waiting for our passports in that federal government building with armed guards all around us was stressful enough, but just minutes before exiting our car on the busy lunchtime DC streets out front, I was shoving drug needles into my arms.
There was a moderate to high level of paranoia I experienced during my life’s time as a junkie, and walking into the federal State Department building after banging coke into my arm was not my idea of fun, not at all. Even when doing really stupid shit, I try to rest soundly in the moment, enjoying it for what it is, and what it is not, while I can.
We did arrive at BWI in what seemed to be enough time to make our Iceland Air flight to western Europe. But then, we would never make it onto the plane that day. As soon as we were dropped off, with what I thought was enough of a time cushion, I found myself stuck in the airport bathroom for about thirty minutes, locked inside one of the toilet stalls, shooting up drugs.
My next birthday, the 21st one, was much more of a celebration as I sat in the Mangy Moose Saloon, drinking a beer after a long hard day of skiing at the spectacular Jackson Hole ski resort in Wyoming, not far from Yellowstone National Park.
My life, a twisty-turny one for sure, not unlike yours, for sure. My world, as big or small as I make it, and the same opportunity exists for us all, our negative or positive life positioning that we all share, all the almost eight billion few of us.
Illegal drugs, world travel, and skiing are all large parts of my life history. About a year after my sister Beth and three of my friends pulled my sometimes-beating heart away from the drug needles, I moved to Vail, Colorado. I fled to Vail, attempting to escape the job and the trade of a junkie and drug dealer in Baltimore city, as well as lose the general shitty outlook on my life. And after being bewildered in Vail for a couple of weeks, on Christmas Day, when I was 21 years old, I started my first job in Vail, making grilled sandwiches high in the clouds, at one of the mid-mountain restaurants on the ski hill.
Now as we all approach the baby Jesus’ global birthday celebration, a truly spectacular time and celebrating a truly spectacular event, I am accepting the possibility of being apart from my kids on Christmas for the first time in my life.
In 48 hours, I am leaving my house in Wisconsin and driving back to Jackson, Wyoming, a place I have not visited since celebrating my 21st birthday there. But duh, I am not taking drugs this time, I have been clean for over 31 years. And I am also not taking skis this time, because I am going to Jackson to care for my uncle who had a stroke last month. My uncle, The Admiral, is the oldest surviving member of my family tree, the next one being my big sister Laura, who is only three years older than me. As I get further away from my birthing day, I treasure family and friends more than ever and try to hold them all close, while I can. My uncle, Ralph Gordon Bird, my dad’s big brother, has outlived his younger brother, my dad, and his baby sister, my Aunt Carol, both by more than sixteen years so far. My dad and my aunt Carol both died when they were 71, and my uncle Ralph is 87. My Grandfather Thurman, the father to those three kids, lived to be 91 himself.
My daughter Lauren is 18 years young and lives with her mom full-time, just one mile from my house here in Madison, Wisconsin. My son Travis is 20 years young and lives with a couple of college roommates, just ten miles away from me, downtown Madison and near his UW college campus. I live within the walls of my Madison house, aka BirdHouseSouth, with my two kitty cats, Neko and Mrow-Mrow. I split my time between Madison and my shitty old but treasureful rustic log cabin, aka BirdHouseNorth, up in Seeley, Wisconsin. I am twice-divorced and although I struggled emotionally on and off for about eight or nine years, I am happier, healthier, and better balanced than I have ever been in my life, really. These holiday times get hard for us all, especially for those of us who have sometimes struggled with our poor mental health. Around the holidays, I try to stay close to my family and friends, just sharing the love 24/7, while I can, and that has always carried me through, so far.
My uncle Ralph, a retired Rear Admiral in the United States Navy, has had a vibrant and busy life, and he has more to enjoy, but needs some help. The Admiral needs a hand so I am dropping everything, even my memoir writing, at least for now, and going to help him.
My amazing first cousin once removed, Tina, will leave her house in Boyne City, Michigan to come out and relieve me in Jackson, and possibly before Christmas. Between me and Tina, as well as The Admiral’s youngest son, “Little Ralph”, we will trade off caring for “Big Ralph” for as long as he needs us. It is a no-brainer for me to drop everything and go help someone, family or friend or stranger or not. It is a no-brainer to put my life’s work on hold, writing my life memoir, and possibly miss Christmas with my kids, to help a person who cannot otherwise help themselves, this is an absolute no-brainer.
I know my cats will be ok without me here, although we will miss each other. I am unsure my car with 270,000 miles on the odometer is ready to withstand the 2,500-mile round trip excursion. I am thrilled to go see The Admiral and spend time with him in his amazing home, on the edge of Grand Teton National Park. But my heart will be pierced and will cry some tears, because this man, my uncle Ralph, has always been unstoppable, larger than life, and stronger than stone. The Admiral is also the last connection I have to all my family’s stories, all the things I do not know, and all the things I may never know. But it’s just another twist of life, another twist and turn of a great ride so far, and I am here to live this here life the best I can, while I can.
There among the mighty and rugged peaks of the Grand Tetons in Jackson, I am sure to feel peace and comfort as I always do in the company of big mountains, and it will warm my heart to spend time with The Admiral. I might not churn out a blog post for a month or two, the next podcast episode might take a couple of months to publish, and I might miss my kids on Christmas but all of this is a no-brainer, because someone needs help.
Birthdays , these the celebrations of a new life, are events that we tend to make a fuss about. Yeah, I like birthdays too, not necessarily because of the meaning, but because of the connection and togetherness the event creates for us all. Connection and togetherness is certainly a challenge these days, but as I intend and attempt to do, I try not to miss the real opportunity, to engage and celebrate life, every single day, while I can.
Miss you all and love you more.
~ Bird out.
A poem, an older poem, “Backless”:
