the tide
I used to believe experience comes with age, but that’s bullshit. Experience comes from an awareness and an openness; it is ageless.
I’ve been thinking about my own quote lately. My mom, before she passed away, essentially lost all her experience. Alzheimer’s disease stole her awareness. For the last few years of her life, low tide gradually but inexorably moved to high tide. Each wave crashed into her mental beach and carried away sands of awareness. It’s odd to think of people losing experience, but that’s exactly what happened.
When I was a kid, I played baseball. My mom became my biggest fan. She watched all my games. When I became a Yankee fan at age 10, she followed. Mom knew all the Yankee players through the years. When we had nothing to talk about, we always had the Yankees. I would name some of her favorite players and we could have a chat about them.
Somewhere in 2006 or 2007, all her Yankee experience washed away. I would name Yankees that she previously loved but nothing registered. Guys that we talked about for years vanished from her mental landscape. It became frustrating to me, as that bond that we nurtured for years had been erased without warning. From the outside she appeared to be the same person, but her mind was being carried out to the ocean, day by day, wave by wave.
That whole experience made me change my view on the Yankees and sports in general. As a kid and adult, I followed the Yankees religiously. It was just a part of life. The players, the history, all of it became a part of me. But something happened. As my mom’s baseball memory faded, I realized that my love of the Yankees and sports in general was more about bonding with my mom or other people in my life. It wasn’t about the team or my favorite players as I thought, but about the relationships it fostered. After my mom passed away, I realized that it was these relationships, and not the game, that were important. No need to get too involved in the winning and losing. Baseball has no tide, it’s relentless. It’s here day after day, year after year. We like to think that people are as well, but they aren’t. This year I’ve watched three games from beginning to end. Two I attended in person and one I watched on TV with my childhood friend Eric who was back in town from California. Rather than spend my time rooting for the Yankees, I’ve found myself doing other things. It really hasn’t been an active choice but maybe just an outcome. It seems that I’ve found different ways to build my personal relationships. I still check in on the Yankees, but it’s not an obsession.
Mom’s experience eroded further before she passed. One day we looked through an old photo album. She remembered some of the places, but consistently put her finger on photos of my dad and thought it was me. But the most piercing change occurred near the end, just before she passed. Mom was living still living in the home where I was born and raised. On one visit, she looked very serious and told me “I like it here, the people are very nice, but I just want to go home”. She would even give portions of addresses and would ask my dad to take her there. It was maddening to my dad, who lived with it every day. To me it was sad; a finalization of the reality that things would never be the same.
I think my mom’s passing has changed some of the way I look at life, likely in ways I don’t even realize. I suppose the most important one that I can identify is that I try to make the days and the people in those days count. The years seem endless until they aren’t.
Mom's Martini
Every day Mom would put two glasses in the freezer, one for her and one for Dad’s martinis that night. Other than gin, I have no idea what the brand of gin or vermouth were used. I’m not sure it matters, as I do remember that the glasses would develop a condensation on the outside. I never paid much attention why the glasses went in the freezer, what gin was used, or how much vermouth. This is my mom’s experience seen through me, so you will have to do without the brand or tasting proportions.
my cocktail journey 