Once again a Saturday but there was no bicycle riding. Instead, a trip out to Garfield to see my sister-in-law, Elaine. It was a good visit, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the spring. Summer passed and there was no visit.

Garfield is the town next to Lodi which is where I grew up. And the part of Lodi is across the street from Rochelle Park, and a quarter mile from Saddle Brook. Since I went to Catholic school, St Francis de Sales, I had very little contact with a lot of people from Lodi.

I did not go to Lodi High School. No, my parents were told there were too many drugs there. So I went to Paramus Catholic which was a Boys’ High School then, separated from the Girls’ High School, by a dense wall, maybe a yard thick.

There were drugs in Paramus Catholic, probably more expensive drugs. I didn’t touch them since I was ‘punk rock’ and rugs were for hippies, and also I was a terrible student and drugs would further tank my sinking grades.

It wasn’t easy being a gay closeted teenager in a boys’ high school. Since all the boys in my class were roughly the same age, we were all going through a time of raging hormones. I never showered after gym class for four years. I would occasionally spy a student at his desk with an erection that was quite an eyeful

On the social medias I am part of a group all about growing up in Lodi and there is very little I have in common with the other members. St Francis school was far enough from home to have me bused to. I rarely saw my classmates out of school. Maybe at church when my parents would go.

I think the going to church ended when I was about 8 years old. I was in third grade. It was a chore I suppose to get up on Sunday mornings. When they had Saturday evening services for those who did not or could not attend Sunday services.

In fifth grade, the priests visited my classroom and asked the boys if they wanted to be altar boys. The majority of the boys raised their hands and I did not. My older brothers were altar boys and I did not want to have to get up on a Sunday morning.

Plus the image of my mother ironing another cassock, this time for me seemed to be offputting, the poor woman deserved a relief from her ironing however slightly. But it was more about sleeping in. We still went to church for a while but not as frequently.

I couldn’t fall asleep on my mother’s arm as I used to and found the stories being told over and over were quite dull. Eventually, we went to Sacred Heart church in Rochelle Park which was a little bit closer than St Francis. That was more modern compared to St Francis church.

It had a statue of Jesus in what looked like a glass elevator.

A new day. Last night’s post got a little hairy after I posted Bill felt I was not seeing his side of the story which involved throwing down in the middle of Ninth Avenue. I explained that I think Bill did the right thing by walking away from a potential confrontation but that made him furious.

Furious enough to slap his hand on the table and then grab his keys and storm out of the apartment. He does have a nasty temper which pops up every couple of years or so. I figured I would track him but he left his phone behind leaving me to think ‘The calls are coming from inside the house!’

He came back a little while later much calmer and able to reason. I explained I would always have his back and that having his back meant telling him something that he did not want to hear. I reminded him that he was 60 years old now and having a street fight with someone likely half his age would not achieve much.

He tried to explain what his father would have done if it happened to him, and I said if that happened to him in the 1970s it would be a different world and a different outcome would probably occur. Nowadays you don’t know if the other guy has a knife or a gun or a box cutter. Box cutters seem to be used frequently in crimes in the city.

It was good talking him off the ledge and today he’s back to his good old self. We both slept well last night. I slept so well that I thought it was Saturday morning. Of course, it wasn’t.

I had a dream about work, Schlomo the DKB situating me in a new desk next to someone I knew and got along with though I don’t think she really exists. She was fun though. I explained to Schlomo the DKB that this would probably be a bad idea since I would be so fixated on the company of this fun co-worker instead of my work which I pointed to, about 20 feet from where this dream conversation was happening.

Then I went to another dream which I don’t remember. I can almost hear your sigh of relief, ‘Oh no not another dream story John!’.

The commute to work was easy, not many people on a Friday since a lot of people seem to work from home. Monday has a few more people but is not as crowded as Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday.

The office was not crowded either. I was playing music through the Bluetooth speaker all day. Nothing too raucous, the music was on the quiet side. No one noticed since no one was really there.

The afternoon break went well, not too chilly or windy. A good cigar was enjoyed. After that the rest of the day was quiet, with me looking for the smallest task to do. If I got a request at 4:05, the request was filled by 4:07.

I can almost hear Schlomo the DKB complaining about the fact that I am taking too long.