Chris Jepson: How did you die, Mr. Jepson?

I keep a chapbook of notes to myself. Ideas for columns, quotes, insights and observations, essentially what I call, “thinking prompts.” I have an entry from Jan. 3, 2015 that reads, “I take an extra-large in women’s sizes.” I was, at the time, in the St. Petersburg Dali Museum and had bought a T-shirt, only to be informed that I purchased what is considered feminine wear. It’s a little snug.

Aside: speaking of wearing women’s clothing and this whole transgender bathroom issue, let me ask the obvious. Where do you think, lo these many years, transgender women have been going to the public toilet? Mull that over for a moment. OK, now Google reported incidents where little girls have been “harmed” by transgender folks in restrooms? It’s a non-issue, kids, fanned by ignorance, fear and political opportunism (see: Republicans).

I’ve kept chapbooks for years. I’ve an entry from 2011 that is essentially an apology to my deceased father, “I’m sorry I wasn’t smarter earlier.” He would have understood such sentiment, having once been a young man himself.

Thinking about Ayn Rand and my fascination with her during my teenage years, I wrote in November 2009, “What I saw I no longer see.” Actually that is applicable to so many notions and closely held beliefs. Let go of any simplistic nonsense once held as sacred.

Speaking of the sacred, am I the only one to find it hilarious, nay, ironic that Exit 78 heading south out of Orlando offers-up the option of either the Holy Land Experience or Mall of Millenia? Both push salvation through “product” promotion and both unabashedly want in your pocket. One, our culture considers sacred, the other, is just another tasteless roadside attraction.

An entry from 2012 is a line from the cheesy 1955 movie, “Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing” starring William Holden and Jennifer Jones. The theme song from that movie is delightful. Regardless, there’s a comment that goes, “We shall now have tea and speak of absurdities.” When I heard it I thought that couldn’t possibly be what was said. But, indeed, that was the case. I now silently employ it anytime I’m where I don’t want to be and there is a formal agenda.

I’ve an entry recommending I acquire Pablo Casals’ November 1936 recordings of Bach’s Cello Suites 1-6. Also Robert Johnson’s “The Complete Recordings.” I’ve yet to secure either.

April 10, 2012: “I am an atheist and I’m no more immoral for believing as I do as you are necessarily stupid for believing as you do.” I’ll reconsider that should evangelicals embrace Trump.

An entry from the ’90s asks, “What am I religious about?” The list is undoubtedly incomplete as there are only two entries, “Dental care and planting flowers.” My brother coined an expression, “Religious but not in church.” We laugh but that sums-up a lot of humanity

I keep my blood work-up results from my annual doctor’s exam in my chapbooks. I had thyroid cancer a number of years ago. It was complicated by a thyroglossal duct cyst that I stupidly let grow to the size of half-a-golf ball. It took my longtime Chicago buddy, Uncle Curtis, to ask, “What the hell is wrong with your neck, Jepson?” I foolishly thought it was the family affliction of “turkey neck.” The annual blood work-up also indicates questionable cholesterol levels, etc. A chapbook entry asks the question, “How did you die, Mr. Jepson?”

My answer, “One bite at a time.”