This Time I Mean It

Getting Past What Holds You Back with Baby Boomer Weight Loss Expert Scott 'Q' Marcus

You are here: Home / Archives for Tribute

Walking a Minefield: Tribute to Friend

by Leave a Comment

It’s been said the difference between depression and grief is that the former seduces, while the latter attacks.

Whether it’s delivered by phone, direct conversation, email, or – ever more prevalent these days – via social media; the effects remain the same. Word blasts you in the solar plexus as a surprising sucker punch. A tsunami of shock flooding away whatever thoughts had been active the instant prior, blood rushes from your head, you stagger slightly, and then the awful reality of the moment clamps itself firmly on to your psyche, a rabid dog unwilling to let go.

Shake it as you might, the jaws of grief hold tightly; the only effective tools to pry loose its pincers are acceptance of this new horrific, hurting actuality; and patience, allowing time to apply — however slowly — its healing salve.

Looking back on the twisted road that to date has been my life’s journey, one of the main thoroughfares on which I’ve traveled has been my involvement in the media.

Starting as a college DJ at UCLA, I spent decades on the air and behind the scenes, eventually ending up as a media coordinator and consultant (among other jobs). There was an expression among “air personalities” back then: “You can tell the success of a disc jockey by the size of the trailer attached to his car.” Between the years of 1977 and the early eighties, I had no fewer than nine addresses. Tribes of nomads were we, wayfaring across this vast land, U-hauls in tow, pursuing larger audiences and higher wattage, mostly in pursuit of the Holy Grail of prime time on a clear-channel 50,000-watt blowtorch.

Some found it. Most took a detour — as did I, ending up on the Northcoast of California in 1983 to program an AM/FM combo. My original plan? Stay among the redwoods for a few years before moving to the bay area, intent on afternoon drive on KFRC. Should 35 be labeled as “a few years,” there’s still time. (Of course, KFRC has been gone since 2005 so there is that.)

Over the last 24 hours, I’ve heard distressing news about two of the tent posts of my life for these last three-plus decades.

One of my closest friends has been fighting cancer. Recently, he was told there was nothing left to do, “Go home and live your life as well as you can.” I fear that a future column will pay tribute to him.

Yet, today, I awoke to find out that Pete Meyer, morning personality on Power 96 in Eureka, passed away shockingly, suddenly, without foretoken.

It’s appropriate that as I write this, gray clouds suffocate our sky line, embracing the melancholy that this community now collectively bears.

If you don’t live among the towering titan trees and rocky coasts in Humboldt county, I’ll bet you know someone like Pete.

[Read more…]

Farewell To Someone I used to Know

by

joan-and-me

The two of us circa 1981

Her mother set us up on our first date.

“My daughter just graduated. She’s really creative, very cute, and, well, you’re always joking about having nothing to do on the weekends — so, I thought…”

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” followed by chocolate pancakes at IHOP, was our first meeting.

Within months, we lived together – much to the chagrin of her parents. Before a year passed on the calendar, we were married; moving from Redding to Bakersfield. I worked as a nighttime DJ starting at 5:00 PM. Her job began at 7:00 AM. Arriving home at one AM, I’d wake her up so we could spend time together before going back to sleep. At six AM, she’d get me up so we could do the same, before I returned to bed. When you’re in your twenties, you can do it.

Two years later, she was pregnant and we relocated to the Northcoast. A couple years passed and our second son arrived.

People who have a baby because they think it will bring them closer together are horribly misguided. The added stress and cost of childrearing, plus the loss of half our income, chipped away at our fairy tale castle. Home ownership and long work hours accelerated the decay. Dragging myself home exhausted at day’s end was her long-awaited cue to relax, leaving me with household and child chores until I collapsed on the couch. There was no “us,” only “she” and “me.”

Drifting ever further apart, we became resentful and angry. Overeating was my method of handling it; she had her own vices. Our house became an armed camp. The marriage counselor eventually recommended divorce attorneys.

For awhile we co-parented; one week “on,” one week “off.” But while I dealt with my demons through therapy and weight reduction, she followed a different road, eventually severing contact with us and moving away.

Know that my intent is not to apply blame.

The cause of our breakup was not her fault nor was it mine; together we were a mis-matched blend; never meant to share a life. Apart, who knows what would have happened? That is also not to say that many good things didn’t come from our time together.

[Read more…]

My Favorite Toy

by Leave a Comment

My parents told me they gave him to me as a Christmas present in 1955, in Detroit, Michigan in a two-story flat on Dexter Avenue.

Puppy

I’ve seen the grainy 8MM movies, but of course, I don’t remember. After all, I was barely a year old, hardly old enough to know what was a “best friend,” let alone that he would be it.

At night, I’d hold him until I fell asleep; his very presence banishing monsters that lived under the bed and the shadow creatures in the closet. When wind against the windows caused the curtains to pulsate and the panes to howl a ghostly, eerie, wail, my little yellow buddy with the dark black eyes and furry body watched over me until the sandman cast his magic upon me. He shared my pillow, his yellow, foam, and fur body with plastic face peering over the blankets to protect me, long after I dozed.

I would drag him from Kevin’s to Joey’s to Victor’s during long vacations and hot muggy afternoons. He’d sit, floppy-necked, across from me on the kitchen table as I’d sip lemonade and draw with crayons. While I did homework, he rested, never complaining, near my pencil jar. And when no one was to be found and there was nothing to do but let my imagination take over, I covered him in aluminum foil, wrapped saran wrap around his head, suspended him from the ceiling light, and pretended he was an astronaut.

“Commander Puppy,” I said into my paper-cup microphone (adding the right amount of voice crackle to increase the realism), “This is Captain Scott. Over. Do you hear me? Over. Come in Commander. Over and out.”

Together, we spent hours; daylight until dark. January through December. Childhood through adolescence.

[Read more…]

Skipping Across the Rainbow Bridge

by

“Jack” was the name chosen by someone long before us.

jack-&-I

However, when we rescued him from the shelter, we figured, “Why not? We might as well keep the name.” His moniker morphed strangely to “Jackpot,” slid into “Pot-Pot,” and eventually just — embarrassingly enough — “Pot.” I usually called him “Big Puppy.”

Being older, Jack had “issues.”

Boy howdy, did he have issues! We didn’t seek out a dog that needed 24-hour attention, but we got one. Within a week of his “gotcha” day, we discovered he had hypersensitive skin, causing him to chew and scratch at his sides so much, he would bleed. To prevent self-mutilation, we stumbled upon the idea of adorning him in toddler-sized T-shirts. Since Mini-human clothing is not designed for Mini Schnauzers, we had to put the shirts on backwards – with the design facing up instead of down. Securing them so he didn’t trip, while still providing freedom to “do his business,” he was the most “stylin’” dog in town. Eventually, he acquired a complete wardrobe of emblazoned with super hero motifs, holiday fashions, and our favorite, inscribed, “Mommy’s Little Monster” in stark white letters. Beyond soothing his skin, we’re sure he liked them because after every walk (when we had to remove his shirt to attach his leash), he’d wait for us to re-dress him.

A never-ending source of noises was our Big Puppy.

He didn’t bark much (unless he saw another dog) but he grunted, groaned, licked, chewed, yawned, and exhaled loudly without end. He also broke wind – constantly, always a source of confusion to him, causing him to spin mid-step, seeking the source of the rear-end disruption.

What most people remember was that he “skipped.”

Because his hind legs were too close together and he had scoliosis (did I say he had “issues?”) his rear feet bumped each other when he walked, causing him to hop, giving the appearance he was skipping down the street. It didn’t slow him down, but did provide the funniest impression of a Fred-Astaire-Singing-in-the-Rain upbeat gait as he strolled down the avenue. Ironically, it was spot-on; he actually was happiest in those moments.

Sunday was our last walk.

[Read more…]

Farewell to an Old Friend

by Leave a Comment

When she was a kitten, we were constantly cleaning up remnants of paper. We’d leave the house for a few hours and come back to scraps of napkins scattered about the kitchen, or the roll of toilet paper splayed from bathroom to living room. Paper products lived in fear if KC Whittinger Longstockings Junior was nearby.

I’ve often wondered if animals think “Why in Heaven’s name did I get a bizarre name like that?,” or maybe they embrace it as a sign of their special uniqueness. However, I’ll place squarely the blame on my sons who chose her moniker (which might not be accurate but I can do that because they don’t live here and won’t be able to read this). “KC” was short for “Kitty Cat” (not very imaginative, I know). I don’t know the derivation of the rest of her handle but it didn’t matter; we referred to her simply as “KC” or “Case-ers.”

Newly divorced, I specifically chose KC from a litter in 1995 because she was the most talkative of the mob. Spending every other week without companionship, I figured I could somewhat fill the void by having a feline companion who would let me know what she felt with regularity. As they say, “Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.” Not only did she communicate, she did it — shall we say — “with enthusiasm.” She had a habit, especially in her later years, of waiting stealthily  in the early morning darkness in the kitchen. The first human to enter — keep in mind not yet awake — would be “greeted” with an enormous howling ululation. Never sure whether it was “Good Morning, I’m glad you’re here,” or “What the heck took you so long to fill my bowl?,” what I can assure you is that after being welcomed as such by KC, there was no longer a need to use coffee to start your heart.

[Read more…]

Contact Us Today

Scott "Q" Marcus
707 834.4090
scottq@thistimeimeanit.com
======
Join Scott's mailing list at http://eepurl.com/LsSIX

Product Categories

Book An Appointment

Recent Posts