This isn’t a book about cats. My name is Eric Nodwell. My life has been an exciting carousel of rented apartments, second hand cars and unusual girlfriends. I’m a traveler on a unique mortal journey both unpredictable and arbitrary, but never boring. By virtue of birth, I’ve bought the ticket, but unlike a bad movie, it’s not yet so terrible I want to walk out. For twenty six years I was married to a woman who in addition to me, loved cigarettes with equal or greater fervor. Her addiction proved to be a flawed health maintenance strategy. She died not long ago, now I’m coping with that aftermath as a reluctant widower with a son afflicted by Asperger’s. This engaging book is largely a autobiographical account of a middle aged man who’s trying to reconnect. It’s about blind date disasters; internet enabled dating debacles, crazy neighbors, and close friendships. I examine the ravages of grief, and explore the thought process of deep introspection and doubt as I struggled through loneliness, eventually surfacing out of that to find resolution, and remarkably, hope. Sandwiched throughout my recovery are several side trips and escapades detailing the challenge of raising a child with Asperger’s, vinyl record collecting, hedonistic behavior, and chili. This generally humorous account is written in the first person for other’s that, for whatever reason, regardless of gender, might find themselves uncomfortably alone and vulnerable, who at this very moment blindly grope their way along an unfamiliar landscape where none of us ever thought we’d trod again, wondering where we went wrong. These are my experiences, take heart, you’re not alone. Be happy.
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