Mistakes, I've made a few

I don't even know where to start, so for now, I think I'll just do some inner thinking and finish this later. I just put this here to kick start my brain every time I see this so that I will write what I mean to say. Till then, here's to regrets. Clink!

12/29/07
Here I am, back again. I think I'll just leave what is written above alone for now. No, I think I'll just leave it there for good. I talked about choices and changes before. About how we make them, for the better of for the worse in our lives. It is true. We do that. At the time, the good ones seem good, the bad seem bad, and who is to say otherwise? But when the good ones turn out bad after all, or the bad ones appear to be good, that's when confusion sets in.

I don't make mistakes. I do what I do and it is good. Now and then I make wrong decisions that I later regret. That doesn't make it a mistake. Dictionary.com describes mistake as: An error or fault resulting from defective judgment, deficient knowledge, or carelessness. My judgment is not defective, my knowledge is not deficient, nor am I careless. When I am faced with a decision, I take into consideration all the angles I can think about. I try to learn all I can about the choice before making it. And by doing these things before making a decision, I take care not to make the wrong choice. That doesn't mean that I am above being wrong. No, it only means that I am human, and humans are rife with regrets and wrongs.

Another definition of "mistake" is : an unintentional error or an erroneous belief. Now if I look at it that way, well then I do make mistakes. An error that is unintentional or a belief that is erroneous sounds a lot better than intentionally doing something wrong. I was at a friend's house last night, for supper and visitation. Oh, what a Friday night it was! After supper, we sat down in the living room and talked a little, but then NBC's To Catch A Predator came on. That show is full of people who make wrong choices, i.e., mistakes. Who in their right mind would think that traveling many hours to meet a person you met online, who led you to believe they were only a mere 13 years old, and to go to meet them for a night of sexual perversion would be the right choice to make? All of the men who were featured on the show spent a good amount of time chatting online with this "teen" (who in actuality, was either a man or woman at a computer) and sent pictures of their privates and other sexual perversities to someone they thought was only 13 years old! And when they were outed by the host of the show, they immediately started stammering with excuses..."I wasn't going to do anything bad, I made a mistake, I wasn't thinking clearly...". Damn right they weren't thinking straight. But they intentionally did something wrong. There is no way that they could have thought for one moment that what they were thinking of doing, what choice they made, was the right one.

Mistakes, I've made a few. I admit that now. After all, I'm only this hairy, pink skinned, goo-filled, bone structured being with a brain that sometimes gets ruled out by a nether appendage. Errors in judgment follow, unintentional side effects may include pain, loneliness, loss of loved ones, a new set of problems, and a touch of regret. But as long as I know that I don't go into the decision making process without a lot of study and heartfelt knowledge of what the end result could be, I know that I am doing my best to make the right choice, to keep the losses to a minimum, and to make my brain know that I am doing what I think is right.

I am making the right decisions, for the right reasons, all on my own. This I do believe.

The Night Before

The kids are asleep, awaiting the magic of Santa's magical visitation. The blueberry and strawberry muffins, along with cookies and a glass of milk are set out for his midnight snack. Of course, me being the non-magical adult human, have already put the presents under the tree, filled the stockings with treats, and will soon enjoy the goodies laid out for the jolly elf. The kids are eager for the morning to arrive. I think I am too.

We spent the evening with some friends, drinking wine, playing pool, and just hanging out. Before that, we drove around looking at the Christmas lights and decorations that some have adorned their houses and lawns with. Some were tasteful, some tacky, but all were...shall we say...bright. The "oohs" and "ahhs" came not only from the rear of the van where the children sat, but also from the front of the van whence sat the adults. Who couldn't enjoy such sights?

I sit here now, a bottle of Yuengling Traditional Lager in front of me. Snowflake, my furry feline, is laying on the computer desk, batting at my typing fingers as I try to avoid her snagging claws. I suppose that Christmas is going to come whether I'm ready or not. I haven't been in a festive mood lately. This will be the first year that my family is separated for Christmas. It's not like one of us has gone to visit family or on vacation. Linda and I are both still in town, but emotionally, we are miles apart. The kids already opened presents at their mommy's house earlier today. After I spend most of the day with the kids, they return once again to Linda's until Friday.

I could never have imagined the situation that is our "divided family". We were supposed to be together; together forever. Funny how the things you think are going to happen are the things that don't happen at all. No they don't. I know all about not getting what you want. I used to get most everything I wanted. "Ooh, there's an obscure part for my VW...I gotta get it now." And often times that's what I did. I got it "now". Now, the things I want are listed way at the bottom of priorities. What I need is pushed up all the way to the top. "Want" money is now "Need" money. And there's not much of it. The meager pile of presents under the tree can attest to that.

I know that Christmas is not about money, gifts, or getting what you want. I know that, but try telling that to my 8 and 4 year old kids. "Sorry, kids, but Santa didn't get the overtime he needed, so what you see is what you get". It sucks. I want to give all I can to my kids. I try, but often times fail. But what I guess is really important, more important than how many gifts are under the tree, is the fact that I love them enough to have them here. I love them enough to give them all that I can afford to give. To love them and to feel the love reciprocated by them. It feels good. I miss loved ones, regret waylaid plans for the holidays, and am sad for numerous reasons, but I think that tomorrow will be a good day. The kids enjoying the gifts, the phone calls that I'm sure will come one after the other, and maybe even a visit from friends...all of this will be for the uplifting my soul needs right now.

To all those who may happen to read this, Merry Christmas! If you read this at all, know that I do love you all, each and every one.

Now where are those goodies?

On the other hand...

Life is full of changes. Some changes are looked for with great anticipation. Some are unexpected, coming at you at full speed with no time to evade a full attack. Others are subtle, unknown at the time, but made aware in time. Some changes bring on pain of loss, like a dear friend stepping out of your life. Others bring in new lives and the chance to make new memories. My life has been full of change as of late.

I have a history of being resistant to change. I have the same Birkenstock sandals that I wear in the summer and the same pair that I wear in winter. I've had them for years. They have well worn-in foot pads and have had the soles replaced numerous times. I like them. I don't want to change them. They are comfortable and express who I am in so many ways. Simple little ol' me.

I used to work on a production line at a well-known bakery. Every once in a while, everyone would get a work evaluation. I don't remember everything on mine, but I do remember the one thing that I was made aware of and told to work on...resistance to change. I didn't like having to do another job that I wasn't used to doing. I admit to that. But I didn't think that it was a problem, at least not a big enough one to change the way I did things.

I really don't think I am resistant to change that much, but who really wants to uproot what you know and love for what is unknown? It's not comfortable. You get into this routine, you know what you know and you don't want to change it. Lately, I have had many changes. Ones that I didn't want, ones that I wanted but didn't hold onto, and some that I welcome.

I went from a happily married man to a depressed soon-to-be divorced man. This change resulted in me allowing myself to become someone I didn't know or love very much. I had been taken from my routine, normal life and dropped into a bowl of uncertainties and unknowns. I allowed myself to be depressed to the point of losing contact with lifelong friends and family. I know that some of them were worried about me, but at the time, I didn't care to hear from anybody. Especially if they wanted to talk about my situation. Leave me alone...

Then I met someone who was and is a beautiful, happy, smart, and artistic breath of fresh air. The bowl I was in tipped over and I tumbled out to a happier place. Great times ensued. My soul got the uplift it had been needing for quite some time. I really like this someone. I really do. I didn't know what was ahead, but I was willing to accept this welcomed change. Everything wasn't perfect, but the feelings that a lifelong friend or possibly more was being made filled my heart. It was good.

Change. Once again, I made a choice that changed things yet again. This time, I made the decision to make the change. I feel that I left behind a loving person who had awesome potential to become someone treasured in my life. It hurts me to think about this. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I made the choice to change my life yet again, and I hurt this person, I honestly believe that I did. And for that I am truly sorry. It weighs heavy upon my heart. There is hope for the future with this person, but for now, I don't know about this future.

But with this latest change, I think that I made the right choice for my betterment. There is this connection that was made many years ago. A change that couldn't be made back then is suddenly open to a welcomed diversion and interest. Barriers that were around me and this new person are broken and we are able to fully act upon old, once forbidden attractions. The connection is being linked together. And as much as I have been resistant to change, I chose to change. Changing ourselves makes us who we were, who we are, and who we are going to be...I am open to this change. I am excited.

I have lost much, not only once this year, but twice. But I hold hope for the future in my change of life. Hope that comes from acceptance of changing things that I do have control over. And letting the changes of the past remind me of what the future could hold. New friends, new loves, and a new life.

The Idiot King

...i don't feel so heroic...good things and bad ones...ups and downs...can't even write...flip side of pain...new and old...blind observations...lost and found...atrocity...fight or flight...two-ton heavy thing...weightless balloon...ignorance and bliss...tick-tock tick-tock...curious and satisfied...pointless...happy yet sad...never forget...

Where do we go from here...?

Whew! That was tough. I haven't written on a theme in quite a while. Wind, Earth, Water, and Fire. Well rounded individual indeed! Now that it is over, on with day-to-day life.

Really, I have been hurt. My wife, who I fell in love with 15 years ago, and who in turn fell in love with me, has walked out of my life. Well, not entirely. We have two children that we will raise together, so she will always be in my life.

This hurt of mine is not entirely her fault. I had to have done something to make her hurt as well. I did. Even though at the time, what I was doing was unknown to me, I did it just the same. I didn't think I was ignoring her. I didn't know that she felt unloved. I did, do, and always will love her. She was my first and only love to date. The only woman that I gave my all to. The mother of my children.

I'm going to go ahead and give up a little secret here. To this day, my nickname is Dog (that's not the real secret...read on to find out what it really is). Funny how this came to be. Back in college, my friends (horn dogs that they were) were quite the studs. Women came and women went. They called themselves the "Wolf Pack". I was the fly on the wall at parties. I was the one who all the girls talked to, but never showed an interest in. I was the best "friend" a girl could have, but never the boyfriend or lover. The guys in the Wolf Pack called me a pup, and since I wasn't a Wolf, I was just a dog. So, when I met my future wife at a ripe old age of 24, I was still a...ahem...virgin (secret revealed!). I am proud of this fact now, but not so then. She had already had several partners, and I barely knew how the pipes worked...ha, ha, ha...not really, but close. Even though I got married, had 2 children (so I had sex at least twice!), they still call me Dog.

I put all my attention, dedication, and future in this one woman. After a few years of dating, we got married. It was wonderful. I had finally found a mate for my soul. Me, who never thought that I would fall in love (although dreamed about all my life)...no, I take that back. I never thought anyone would fall in love with me. I knew I could fall in love. It was just the reciprocating love that I felt would hit some sort of barrier and never fall in my lap. But fall it did.

After the honeymoon and 5 years of playing around and doing what we wanted to do, we decided that we were ready for children. So along came our daughter. I remember being so scared in that operating room, for trouble during birth led us to a C-section. I remember looking into my wife's eyes and holding her cold hand. Why was that room so cold? She told me that she could barely stay awake and I was scared. Scared for her and for my daughter. You know, in the movies, when the child is born, there is this crying that starts to let you know that the child is born, out of the womb, and into this earth to begin the dying process. There was no crying. I was scared. My daughter was limp and blue. The worst thoughts came to my mind as I waited and watched them work on her. After what seemed like minutes, I heard the weakest, most frail little cry I had ever heard in my life. As pitiful as it sounded, I knew that she was going to be okay...and she was. She even came to our room on schedule. No stay in intensive care for her. It was just a slow start, that's all.

Jump ahead 4 years. Once again we found ourselves in an operating room, good ole C-section time again. This time, our son was about to learn how to breathe oxygen for the first time. I was a little scared, not like before, but fear was there, standing behind me, ready to tap me on the shoulder. I was more scared for my wife this time. I could see the machines that were monitoring her blood pressure and I noticed that the numbers were dropping. I'm not a nurse or doctor, but I could feel a correlation between the dropping numbers and the look coming from my wife's face. She was cold, and could barely keep her eyes open. I might have been just too scared, but I thought that I might lose her if these professionals didn't make sure that things went proper. But my fears were allayed when the person monitoring the monitors adjusted something on the machine and I saw and felt the improvement. Then came the cry from behind the curtain. Our son was here and he was awake and crying. He was just fine. Balls to the wall from the get-go.

A mere 4 years after that, I find myself where I am right now. A mixture of emotions. My mind wanting one thing and my body wanting another. The body is strong, but so is the mind that battles it. I love my children with all of my heart, but sometimes, just sometimes I long for my alone time. I love being with people, as friends or more, but sometimes I want to sit in my garage and think all alone. Think about the past, the present, and the future. I have a plaque on the wall over one of the doors of my house. It reads, "Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow, live today". I truly take that to heart. There is something about the past that is endearing to me. A sort of nostalgic memory of what used to be, what brought me to here. The present...Here is where I am today...Tomorrow is hope for what is to be. Hold on to what you had, hope for better in the future, and enjoy what you have today. Such a mantra that it is. I believe in it, I love it, I want to live it.

Tomorrow's hope has to be something that you want to happen. It has to envelop your dreams, wishes, wants, desires, and your standards. My life has been all about what I had. Right now it is about what I don't have in this time. Soon it will be about what it will be. Slow start or balls to the wall. My daughter and her slow start...she is just fine today. My son and his strong will to emerge into this world...he's, well...he's fine too. Just a little bit out of control now and then.

Wow. I hope that the days get brighter. As I heard in a song from a sad, dark movie about loss of love, death, and spiritual revenge..."It can't rain all the time..."

A New Wind Blows

Started at 11:30 pm, 12/14/07

There are seven of us standing around this pitiful excuse for a tent. It is very dark and very windy on a high hilltop called Wig's Meadow. We had gotten up here while it was daylight and the wind was merely a nuisance, barely making the tall, gone-to-seed grass wave it's amber hues. In the distance twinkled the lights of a small mountain burg nestled between cleavage of two mountains and below the twinkling stars floating above. It's all to easy to say that we should have put the tent up earlier. But we were too busy cooking, drinking, puff-puff-passing, and planning the adventure that tomorrow would bring. Laying in the meadow, hiking to a small mountain pond, wandering through the maze of short stubby trees that grew in almost straight rows...so straight that it could have been a planned planted grove. Oh, and the acid that would make the day even cooler. So the tent got put aside, waiting patiently for the grand erection.

The campfire was an easy start. With a little help from the ever increasing wind, the wood caught quickly and soon was blazing, sometimes straight up, sometimes horizontal. But it was burning, so mission accomplished. The smoke was moving too fast at times to get in your face for too long (I hate white rabbits!). The way the wind was starting to pick up, someone should have mentioned setting the tent up. But no one spoke of it and it still lay where it landed.

Drinks were being drunk, pipes were being passed, and snacks were being consumed. Friends were together for a weekend of enlightenment, merriment, and for fun. It was only when the wind would not allow a lighter to be sparked did the first mention of the tent pop up. "Hey, we could sit in there and there wouldn't be the nuisance wind." But by that time the smartest of us made the suggestion, the wind was whipping around good.

If you haven't put up a tent (in the dark, tipsy, and without instruction) in a high wind, let me tell you it isn't the easiest of tasks. First off, every time someone would lose their grip on a corner, the tent would want to become a parachute. I bet if the people at each corner were small enough, it would have taken them all for an aerial ride. When we finally got the corners staked down, it was time for the framework. Yeah, right. The poles were supposed to go into these sleeves built into the tent, criss-cross applesauce back and forth in an x marks the spot. Hard to do doesn't even describe the level of difficulty doing it in that wind. After what seemed to be a lifetime, we finally got the poles in place and the dome of refuge from the gales was complete. It would only hold four comfortably, so we took turns on the pipe till all heads were taken care of. All night long that tent danced and be-bopped to the amusement and trepidation of all...funny to see it moving about, yet the threat of it being ripped apart remained. By the rising of the sun the next morning, the wind had abated and the day of endless wonder and wander began.

Wind. Invisible and powerful. Welcomed and hated. Storms are pushed in and taken away by it. Clouds are shaped and erased by it. Energy is created and aquatic transports are propelled by it. Deserts and mountain faces are transformed by it. And sometimes lives are changed by it. Happy winds bring light tinkling of metal and glass chimes which are a welcome sound. Sometimes I'm sitting in my hot tub and the sound of bells comes to my ears. I like it. Teasing winds move the leaves that I am trying to herd up and go running to the other side of the yard, laughing at me as I give chase. I don't like that. Vengeful winds move oceans past their borders and do undue damage to God and man's coastline creations. Hateful winds destroy strong buildings, stronger nature, and seemingly strong lives.

That night with the tent and friends was, oh, so long ago. But in the not to distant past, a wind come through my life that did not want. It was not welcomed or wished for. It left in it's wake a damaged heart and head surrounded by clutter that a light breeze will not blow away. Hazy clouds surround my head so thick that I can't see what lays ahead. I sit here hoping for a good strong breeze to push the clutter and fog far away. I don't want a hurricane or tornado that will only do more damage. I don't want a small zephyr or whirligig that just swirls the clutter around and around, and not away. I want a wind just strong enough to push away this unwanted feeling of lost love and rejection and usher in a new life and love. I want to lay my head down on a cozy and warm pillow of winds...

A cloud of eiderdown draws around me
Softening the sound
Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side
And she's breathing low, and the candle dies

When night comes down you lock the door
The book falls to the floor
As darkness falls and waves roll by
The seasons change the wind is warm

Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan
Behold a dream, the dream is gone
Green fields, a cold rain
Is falling in a golden dawn

And deep beneath the ground the early morning sounds
And I go down
Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side
And she's breathing low
And I rise like a bird,
In the haze when the first rays touch the sky
And the night winds die.

A Pillow of Winds-Pink Floyd

Finished at 12:38 pm, 12/15/07

Good Solid Footings

(Inspired from mind altering subtance induced hiking trip of yesteryear)

My back is up against the dust layered surface of a rocky enclave high up above the barely audible river that seems to be miles below me. I am standing on a rocky ledge after a long hike up a beaten path, after an even longer drive to reach the path, and after an ageless span of time waiting for the trip itself. My hiking partners are maneuvering their way up to the same ledge to get a glimpse of where we have been. Can we see where we parked? Can we see the winding path that led us to this place of beauty? It is a view to see, the valley stretching out for miles and miles, unknown mountains rising up in the distance, and the winding river snaking it's way along the valley floor...it's something that you can only see from this unnerving height. It is wondrous to see, but I am scared.

The ledge I am standing on is about 3 feet deep, yet it feels like I am only inches away from tumbling down the side of the mountain, down past the tall pines and massive oaks, bouncing off boulders and trunks in a pinwheel of pain and death. It is not possible, I know, for below the ledge is the wide path that we had taken up to this place. It is wide enough for me to land safely if I fall. I wonder if my hiking companions are as scared as I am.

I don't think I have a fear of heights. It could be that my feet are not on what I deem to be solid ground. Good old Terra Firma. This rock could slide off the side of this mountain at any moment. I'm sure of it. It has kept a solid grip for hundreds, thousands, (millions?) of years and those fingers have got to be getting tired by now. It could just let go and slide down leaving a wake of splintered trees and furrowed earth in it's wake. Not to mention bewildered or mangled humans as well. Shiver.

Of course none of this happens. My companions and I finally come down from the ledge and continue on our way. On the path. A path with good, solid ground under our feet. The view from the ledge is gone, and the path which meanders through the trees only allows a view of more of the same; dirt, pebbles and trunks of tall conifers. But it is more comfortable on the path than on the ledge.

My feet are on a ledge right now. Unknown possibilities are looming ahead in my future. Great possibilities of new friendship, romance, and hope. Gloomy possibilities of financial hardship, unknown in-betweens and endings. I want to be on solid ground. I want to be on a path where I know where it goes and how easy or hard the hike will be. I want my hiking companion to not shuck off the hiking boots and lace up the running shoes. This path isn't made for jogging, let alone sprinting. Too many roots and rocks to trip you up and make you fall flat on your face.

Hold my hand and let's stroll. Stay away from the ledge and keep on the path. There's a beautiful waterfall at the end of this trail...

Testing the Waters with a Splash

We all have the image ingrained in our minds, whether from a movie, a story, or from a visualization from the actual phrase "testing the waters". I imagine, as well as most would, an image of someone with their pants leg hiked up, standing at the edge of a body of water, big toe dipped in ever so slightly to see if the water is to their liking enough to go on in. Most of the time if the water is just right, they wade in, taking their time, still unsure if the water is too cold to enjoy.

I am sort of that same way. I have just come out of a relationship with the only woman that I have ever loved...the only woman that I have given every part of me to. This may seem strange to some, how a 39 year old man could have had only one partner in his lifetime (you reading this?) and no one before that. Maybe not strange, but still not mainstream normal. Yes it is true. The "water" was comfortable enough for me to stay in for 13 years. I didn't jump into this body of water. I did dip my toe in first. I then waded in. It took me several months to finally gather up the courage to immerse myself underwater.

If you don't get the allusion, the water was the relationship with my soon-to-be ex-wife. When I was trying to date her, it took time for me too gather up the balls to even ask her out. When we did start dating, it was another 3-4 months before we even got intimate. It was then another 2 years of being together before we got married. This was the testing the waters period. I didn't just jump in. It took time before total immersion occurred.

13 years later, I find myself pushed out of the water. I love the water. I am at home there. I want to be in it, for it is more natural for me. To be swimming in a sea of love and affection, away from the islands and sandbars of rejection, in the waters is where I find my reflection. I am ready to jump in...to test the waters with a splash. But have I forgotten how to swim in the past 6 months? Has the water gotten too cold to enjoy?

I put my big toe in and see. It sure does feel nice. The water is warm and cozy. I will wade in slowly, making sure it is just right. That's what my mind says I should do, but my body wants to jump in and make some waves.

From the Ashes

Campfires awe and inspire me. I love the way that fire burns away the old, dried up wood, leaves and undergrowth that builds up over time and allows new, green growth to emerge from the ashes left in it's wake. Not this fire, though. It is contained. It only burns what is put on it. It is there for light to see in the darkness, for warmth in the frigid night air, and for making the wondrous concoction of chocolate, marshmallow, and graham cracker called a Smore. The flames of this fire are not meant to cause future new beginnings, but they are meant for comfort and pleasure in the here and now.

The flames jump and dance inside the pit not unlike the revelers outside the pit. This night is for a gathering of old and new friends. I am comfortable in this arena. Dark woods, near a lake, within a stumbling distance of my faithful VW Westfalia, my home away from home. There is a clinking of liquid filled glass and I know that someone is toasting to things unknown to me at this time. Soon, I will make some toasts of my own, but for now the flames are drawing me in. Someone hands me a cup of something yellow. The first sip tells me it is Sprite, pineapple juice, and coconut rum. A little taste that reminds me of the Caribbean.

I had been there many years ago. Several times, in fact. The first time was on my honeymoon back in 1994. The place where we called paradise for a short time was far away from the true spirit of the islands, the real people who lived, loved, and labored to make the island their home. This resort was a paradise within a paradise; a blurry image of the real thing. It was a wonderful place, just not a clear reflection of what is really real. The second time was a few years later. This time the hotel was in the main city of Grand Bahama Island. It was closer to the real thing. But the invisible wall was still there, shielding the visitors from reality...

Flames are brighter now. Someone has added more logs to the fire. The warmth grows to a heat, the heat to a burn. I scoot my chair back and soon resume being comfortable with the flame.

Old undergrowth. It's what's left after years of growth has been left to it's own devices. The flora that grows and dies has, over time, been made into layers to provide nutrients for whatever new comes through. But most of the bigger plant life, such as brambles and bushes, turn into sticks that only provide sustenance after it rots. In the meantime, between death and compost, sometimes the beauty of fire cleans out the bigger branches and undergrowth that serve as obstacles to anyone or anything wanting to enter the forest.

I start thinking about my life. The undergrowth of unresolved issues of loss of love and rejection has built up around the forest of my heart and mind. It seemed like it happened so fast, but normally it takes years for this undergrowth to develop. And it only takes a spark to start the fire that clears it out, making way for a new life to emerge, one that will soon start a layer of undergrowth itself. But as long as I keep a vigilant watch over it, keep trimming away at the dead limbs that fall to the ground, the undergrowth will not build up like before.

The flames are lower now and my cup is empty. A hand slaps me on the back and my buddy is filling my cup anew. The music in the air makes a smile appear and I drink what is given to me. More logs get thrown on the fire, the flames grow, twist and dance and at my waist, my cell phone is chirping, telling me I have a text message from a new friend. A new friend who might have a pack of matches...