Falling in Love with You

Love at first sight is only realizing an imagination that has always haunted us. –William Hazlitt

I found a quaint little pocket book a while back. I had taken some books in for trade at McKay’s Used Books and had gotten some credit. I took my kids in to get them some books with that credit, and had hoped to find some music for myself. Not having any luck with music, I was standing in line with many books for my kids when I saw on a shelf near the counter a little book titled Falling in Love with You. It was a collection of quotes from well known people about this wonderful subject of falling in love. From the early stages of first love, into the bliss of marriage and the love shared in bed, to the troubles that come with love, all the way to the secrets of lasting love, this little book covered it all. I had to have it.

I keep this book on the nightstand next to my bed and read a few pages every night. It isn’t a big book, so you would think that I would be finished with it by now. I am nearly done, but I am taking my time with it, re-reading each quote and trying to relate it to my own life. Reading the quotes of first love…I remembered the time that I fell in love for the first time. I knew what was happening. I had hoped for something like that for my entire life. I had a single experience with someone in high school, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of falling in love, falling into true love. Although I am a believer in “love at first sight”, this wasn’t the case in my first love. True, I told myself that this woman was one that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, even so, it took a little time for the “falling into love” to happen. But that first true love is gone. I told her and myself that I would love her till the day I died, and that is true. But being in love with her? No. That is gone.

What is first love worth, except to prepare for the second? What does second love bring? Only regret for the first. – John Hay

Sure, I regret losing my first love. It was something that I never thought would happen. The loss of love, not the regret, that is. The regret of losing love is there. I do regret that we let things get to the point that she lost her love for me. I never lost it for her. It isn’t the same love, though. The love that I have now is almost at the level of a platonic love, like the love that you have for a good friend. And even though I regret losing her love, I don’t regret falling in love. For as the above quote says, first love prepares you for second loves and teaches you what not to do in all other loves.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know when it has begun. – William W. Longfellow

Butterflies in the stomach; longing to be together with your object of affection; feeling incomplete when apart; the feeling of pure joy when together. I know these feelings. To me, they signify that something special is happening. I “love” love. I love that feeling of being close to someone, so close that you can read them. The closeness is a melding of souls so tightly woven together that you can read them in an instant. You can tell just with a look what kind of mood they are in. You are hurt when they are in pain, feel elation when they are happy, morose when they are sad. It is almost a clairvoyant feeling, this closeness. But it is not so easy to tell if they are as in love with you as you are with them. This can be hidden behind eyes so open and a heart so loving. In that case, it should be obvious, but sometimes it isn’t. I know my feelings, but I like to be told of the love had for me. Everyone should love to be told that someone loves them. It feels so good.

The loss of love is a terrible thing. They lie who say that death is worse. – Countee Cullen

Losing love hurts. It is a pain that is hidden in your heart but is visible in your countenance; it shows on your face, in your actions, shows through your eyes, flowing from your soul. This pain is a great wound upon your soul leaving scars unseen. This hidden pain takes longer to heal than any visible wound. A Persian quote says that “A broken hand works, but not a broken heart”. My heart still hurts. It still hurts from the loss of a true love, but it also hurts from the loss of other relationships that have happened since the great pain was inflicted upon it. I don’t protect my heart very well. I know I said I was going to build a fence around it to protect it from getting hurt, but that fence never got finished. I put too much of my heart into things that I do, relationships included. This is a dangerous thing, because it sets me up for pain when things go wrong. I should know better, but I do it anyway. Do you know why? Because to me, the ultimate joy of falling in love and staying in love is so great, is so desirable, is what I long to do that I look at every new prospect in such a way as to prepare myself for love. Is it going to happen this time? Is this the one? And so with great anticipation comes a great fall…and with that fall comes a time of darkness. In that time of darkness, the search continues for the light, the light that warms the heart and comforts the soul. I heard a quote the other night that shows me a path to that light out of the darkness. I was watching a PBS special about Hanukkah. No, I’m not Jewish, but with a set of rabbit ear antennas (no, not even rabbit ears…more like a rabbit with an ear cut off…just one antenna), PBS was the only channel strong enough to come in with an antenna out here in the sticks (and I hadn’t had TV in so long, I was desperate for some entertainment). A rabbi was saying that our eyes have two parts: a dark and a light part, and the only part that we use to see the light is through the dark part. It hit me right then that the only way to see a way to happiness in love and in life was to look through the dark parts, to get past the hurts of love and the hardships of life by peering through the darkness to where even the dimmest of lights should be the brightest focal point. After all, even the light from a small candle can be seen from afar in complete darkness.

True love is eternal, infinite and always like itself. It is equal and pure, without violent demonstrations. It is seen with white hairs and is always young at heart. – Balzac

True love is meant to last a lifetime and beyond. It is something so great, so soul satisfying, so completing, that time has no hold on it. It is something to be desired and cherished, so much in fact, that all the hurts and disappointments endured in the search for it can’t diminish the ultimate joy and lasting exhilaration that comes when it is finally found and kept. It is worth it. I know true love is out there. It has touched me before, it is part of me; I have felt it, and I do feel it now. I have faith and do believe in everlasting love. I believe that there is such a thing as love at first sight. I believe that with love comes pain and misunderstandings, but also, that love heals all wounds. I believe that love needs daily nourishment to grow and stay strong, whereas hate needs no nourishment; it only needs provoking to show its might. I believe…in love.

How shall I do to love? Believe.
How shall I do to believe? Love. – Robert Leighton

To Have and to Hold

December 19, 2008

Rowan,

I did something today that I thought I would never do. I held you. I held you while you slept, little eyes tightly shut, your lips doing a little sucking motion every now and then, fingers curled in tiny fists, sometimes at your mouth, other times just by the sides of your head. A little hiccup or whimper would escape you here and there, the whimpers sounding like squeaks from a mouse, the hiccups barely noticeable. I held you while you were awake, dark blue eyes staring intently at this odd fellow with a face full of fuzzy hair, facial features strangely familiar but still those of a stranger. I held you while holding a bottle of formula in your ever so eager and willing mouth, listening to the sucking sounds you made and to the escaping air bubbling in the bottle. It must have been heaven for you; your eyes starting rolling in your head and eyelids held closed, but open enough that you seemed to be taking a peek at the holder of the bottle of joy. I held you while your mother took a break and went to town to get things needed for you and her. She needs times like this. She loves you so very much, but still…she needs to get away every once in a while.

I never thought I would see you. I knew I would see you in pictures or videos that your momma will certainly fill up album after album and put online for all those who love you to see. I knew that. What I didn’t know was that I would be able to see you face to face, to search for facial features or traits that remind me of me. To hear with my own ears as you cry, giggle, burp, or sneeze. To smell your skin and recognize it as a mix of my own scent mingled with your mother’s. To see you in cute little sleepers festooned with flowers, butterflies, or kitty cats. To watch you eagerly suck down a bottle. To even experience the sweet nastiness of spit-up milk.

But I did. Your mother sent me a message with some words that I had written in another note to the world… “I hope to be able to see her or at least be notified of her birth…” and an invitation to do what I had hoped to do, but didn’t expect to do; to see you in person. I thought for only a moment about how hard it would be for me to do so. It would be a reminder of what I had left behind me and what I was going to miss. I didn’t think too long on it though, because it might be the only time that I could do it and I wasn’t going to pass it up…I didn’t want to pass it up. You are only a month old and you won’t remember seeing me, but I will remember this experience for the rest of my life.

While your momma went to the store, I held you as you slept and told you things. I told you that you were beautiful. I told you that your momma was going to take care of you, and that she was going to do a good job too. I can tell that she is already doing a good job of it. I’ve done it before and she hasn’t, but she was already doing the things she knew to do. Mommas know. They do. It must be ingrained into every females psyche. The ability to know what to do with offspring must surely be in their DNA, passed on down from generation to generation. I told you that even if I wasn’t going to be there physically, I certainly will be there emotionally and spiritually. Through the tears that I desperately tried to hold back, I whispered to you as I kissed your forehead… “I love you.” I told you that you were going to be just fine. Your momma will do a great job with you. You have not only her, but you are going to have so many aunts and uncles to show you how to do the things that they do, the things that make them who they are. I told you all these things.

And I told you I was sorry…

I’m not sorry that you are here. No, I could never be sorry about that. I am sorry that I am not here. I am sorry that your momma is going to go at this alone. Not entirely alone, but momma knows what I mean. Ask her about it while she is changing your diaper, cleaning up your messes, looking at you lovingly, and while tickling your nose and calling you “monkey”. Ask her about it one day while you are chasing cats around the house, watching stained glass creativity, or while pulling numerous books off the shelves.

I spent hours there, but it seemed as mere minutes. As the time came for me to go, I held you once more. I looked at your eyes, dark orbs of blue, unknowing yet full of infantile wisdom. I looked at your little Mohawk of hair on your head. I took several sniffs of your skin and clothes to make my brain remember what you smelled like. Your momma likes good smells. She told me numerous times that I smelled good, and that was even after a long day at work…go figure. I want to remember your smell. I hope I do years from now. I know that I still smelled you and your momma all the way home tonight.

It was hard, Rowan. It was really hard on me seeing you, knowing that I probably won’t get this chance again. But I am happy that I did it. I thank your momma from the bottom of my heart for giving me this chance, just as much as she thanks me for her gift, probably the best gift she has ever gotten. You. You really are a gift for her to have and to hold for the rest of her life. I am just glad I had you to hold for that one brief moment in time; a moment that I will have and hold forever.

You be a good girl. I know you will.

Love,
CNC

The Beautiful Things

Ok, show of hands…who saw the sunset tonight? C’mon, somebody had to have seen it other than myself. I was driving home just about that time and had to stop at the post office in Apison and just take it in. There were purples and yellows, reds and oranges. There were some clouds that were absorbing the colors wonderfully, looking like a rumpled comforter on an unmade bed. I stood in awe then remembered the camera on my phone. I need to start carrying around my camera, the real one, not this feeble attempt at a camera that I carry in my pocket. Cell phones…they’re not just for calls anymore. The quality isn’t that great in dim lighting, but is pretty ok with good light and no movement.

I took several shots, and the above one was the one that was the most clear, but with those danged utility lines in the way. I stood there for a while and took in the piece of art that was changing before me. Before it was all the way gone, I got in my bus and continued my trek home. In my rear view mirror and side mirrors I could see at different times the glow of the sky. I thought it was just beautiful.

By the time I got home, it was dark and only a tint of red remained in the western sky. I was hoping to get closer to home before it got dark in order to possibly get a glimpse of the mountains in the east reflecting the colors of the sunset, but when I got to where I would be able to see them, they were just these dark shapes on the horizon with not a bit of color in them. That’s ok. The sun will set again, I’m sure.

Seeing tonight’s artwork made me think of the beautiful things in life. A sunrise…just as beautiful (although it is early in the morning…) as a sunset. A sea of wildflowers with varied colors inviting you to run through and fall in among them, with bees and other insects that are attracted buzzing above your head. A far-off mountain range as seen from a valley; that valley as seen from the mountain top. A painting hanging in an art gallery. A well written poem. A woman (sure, some maybe more beautiful than others, but any woman is more beautiful than any man, through my eyes). A child’s picture hanging on the refrigerator, crudely drawn with crayon, drawn with innocence and with love. A waterfall. A well-worn path carving its way through a dense forest. The crystal blue waters of a lagoon on a remote island getaway. A song that makes you think and remember. Life itself.

Sometimes life may not seem beautiful. When your finances are stretched to the point of wondering if utilities will be cut off for non-payment or if the food will last till the next shopping trip; when someone you love hurts you, leaves you, cuts your heart to the core; when you hear things that are said about you behind your back, whether it is true or, like most of the time, just lies spread around; when the balances of happiness and sadness grossly tip over into the negative…life can seem to be not so beautiful. I heard today of the senseless death of a young woman, a mother of two young children. A car wreck took her life and left two others without a mother. Such a sad thing to hear. Makes me think of my own childhood…and feel for those children. Sad times ahead. But you know, it is at those times that the beautiful things in life can stop you in your tracks and leave you in awe. Like tonight’s sunset. I had left my old place after doing a little work on my bus. I know that it is inevitable that I will have to get everything out of the garage. Everything is already out of the house. I still have some odds and ends in the garage, along with my tools and my bus with its heart lying out on the floor. Those things were on my mind on my way from there. I was almost in a depressed state when I left the garage and looked to the west. And there it was, hidden mostly behind a line of trees that for years have blocked my view to the whole picture of the sunset. I hurriedly got in my bus and headed to where I knew I would have a view of the whole western sky. So I got there and…well, got to the beginning of this writing.

Life. It really is beautiful.

You can’t quit until you try
You can’t live until you die
You can’t learn to tell the truth
Until you learn to lie

You can’t breathe until you choke
You gotta laugh when you’re the joke
There’s nothing like a funeral to make you feel alive

Just open your eyes
Just open your eyes
And see that life is beautiful.
Will you swear on your life,
That no one will cry at my funeral?

I know some things that you don’t
I’ve done things that you won’t
There’s nothing like a trailer park to find your way back home

I was waiting for my hearse
What came next was so much worse
It took a funeral to make me feel alive

Just open your eyes
Just open your eyes
And see that life is beautiful.
Will you swear on your life,
That no one will cry at my funeral?

“Life is Beautiful” – Sixx Am

It is true. All you have to do in order to see the things of beauty through all the ugly things that stand in the way is to open your eyes and just look. And see.

Dream a Little Dream

I just woke up in my computer chair. That’s nothing new. I do it all the time. There’s a short little video clip (somewhere here in one of the many boxes that contain my life) that my ex took of me doing that very thing. My fingers are on the keyboard, I am sitting upright, and my head is turned up waiting for flies to crawl into. It is something that really made me laugh, seeing myself doing something that I knew I did from a third person’s point of view.

This time, I woke up with my hands on the armrests of this comfortable computer chair; the same one I was sitting in for that video. I had been dreaming. I barely remember my dreams after waking unless I write down what was going on soon after I wake up. In this dream, I was at a store (I’m pretty sure it was a home-improvement store, because I have been assessing the things that need to be done here…things that have to be done…and I think there were things in my buggy for working on the house). While shopping, I got a phone call from a friend. This friend is someone who I have only known a short time, but grew close to really fast. I don’t really remember the entire phone conversation, but near the end of it, I was hearing that she never wanted to see me again. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and I really took it hard. I tried to think of what I had done to push her away, to make her not want to even be around me. I couldn’t think of one thing. At the end of the conversation, after I had hung up, I saw her walking across the parking lot waving good-bye to me. I waved and then turned around to the trunk of my bus (trunk? My bus doesn’t have a trunk…), put my face in my hands and cried. I woke up from this dream with tears on my face.

Dreams. They are strange to me. A mix of true life and fantasy. A mix of daily activities and sub-conscious thoughts. A bit of what you show to others and some of what you keep inside. Some say that dreams really mean something, that usually there is a message to be taken from them. I mean, there are scientists and psychiatrists who base their entire careers upon the dreams of others. I just say they are dreams, something that your mind takes and makes a little Hollywood production out of. I have had dreams that are so goofy that are filled with things that just don’t make sense or are things that I have never even done or probably will never do. I have had dreams that are light and flowery, the ones you wake up to and try to go back to sleep to keep on dreaming. I have had dreams so scary that I wake up frightened and do what I can to keep from going back to sleep. I have even had dreams that make me question my own morality; dreams of depraved sexuality or murderous intent…

I don’t know what to make of this latest dream. This friend of mine hasn’t told me that she never wants to see me again. But I was told over the phone that there wasn’t enough time in her life for seeing anyone right now, that maybe God was pointing her in another direction. I don’t have any reason to disbelieve her. I don’t have any reason to hate or despise her…and I don’t on both counts. I want her to be happy. I believe that people need to be happy with themselves and the choices they make, to put their own priorities in front of what other people want, and this includes my own priorities and choices as well.

Like I said, I barely remember my dreams. But there are some that I can’t get rid of. When I was a child and staying at my grandma’s house, I remember hearing a Whippoorwill singing late at night. I thought it sounded spooky, like a spirit lost in the woods trying to find its way back to its body. I’m pretty sure it led to the dream I had that night. I was lying in my bed and I saw this figure walking towards me. I couldn’t tell what it was, whether it was a person or a monster. When it got close to the side of my bed, I could see what it was; a skeleton reaching out to me, not touching me, but it had a pointing finger in my face. Even though I was probably five years old at the time, I still remember that dream.

More recently (and I have blogged about this on my MySpace blog) though, the one dream that I distinctly remember was not scary, but I woke up more or less scratching my head. In this dream, I was in a house with many rooms. The house was full of scantily clad or even naked women. Some had faces of women that I knew, some that I didn’t know, some that are in the public eye, and some didn’t even have faces at all, just blurry features as so not to be able to tell who they were. As I went from room to room, a new sexual experience awaited me. I was doing things that I have done, things that I have thought about, and even things that pushed me to the edge of sexual self-indulgence. I woke up in a stupor, wondering just where in the hell that came from. What part of my brain held these thoughts, even if some were thoughts that I never think of, things that I would never do. It made me question my own immorality. I just know that I am not that depraved…

Dreams usually come from reality. They come from deep inside of us, and also from influences outside of us. I will admit that there is a chance they could have a meaning that we can interpret and put to use in our lives. Relationships with friends, family, lovers, or even enemies; choices to be made in which direction to take; answers to questions we have…all could be answered in dreams. I don’t put too much faith in that, but it is possible. Love and matters of the heart? I do believe that dreams could tell us something. Especially for us that love means a lot too. I once had a friend put a caption at the bottom of a painting he had made that said, “Love does not exist but in the minds of poets and dreamers.” I am both. I have many poems written on the subject of love inspired by dreams. Here is one of them…a little cheesy, but nonetheless…

Dreamland

There is a place I’d like to be,
in a mystical place beside the sea.
Just you and me in this place I see.
And ever and ever we will be…

…One together, two apart;
Two in body, one in heart.
And never again shall we part.

We will dance in the shadows of a summer moon
and in the light of the dying sun.
We will dance to the beat of each other’s hearts.
We will dance till our dance is done.

We will laugh together,
learn together,
live together,
love together.
We will be for each other
and not another.

This place can be real to you,
as real as it seems to me.
But it’s nothing more than fanciful dreams
if you are not here with me.

These dreams can come true
if you just take my hand in yours.
We can go to this place
to dream a dream
and dance on sandy shores.

I don’t know if I will dream again tonight. I might. I might not. It isn’t something planned. It just happens. Just like things in real life. Unplanned things happen, things that are just out of our control. But, if you really believe in this stuff that happens, just like in dreams, you can take what happens and put it to use; use it to make a change in your direction, to make a change in yourself. I do believe in that. I really do. I am trying to live it right now. I know that I want to take the mistakes I have made in the past and put them to use in my future, to ensure that those things don’t happen again; or if the occurrences are good, use them to make the future brighter for myself and for my children.

It is oh, so late. I must get to bed. And possibly dream…

All Hail Santa

It’s that time of year again, when the merriment of the holiday season brings peace and joy to people all over the world; when children delight in wondering just what Santa will bring them this year; and people unite in a harmonious effort to spread a little love to those around them. It’s Christmas time, y’all! It will be here sooner than you think. In fact, it is tomorrow! Yeah! What? It isn’t tomorrow? Well, according to the decorations and things for sale at Wal Mart, Walgreen’s, K Mart, The Dollar Tree, Dollar General, and the wondrous Hamilton Place Mall, it should be tomorrow. I mean, they have been setting up and selling Christmas items since before Halloween. I half expected a role reversal from A Nightmare Before Christmas to occur…Santa taking over Jack Skellington’s role of King of Halloween. Sheesh. Oh, and save a space at the Thanksgiving table for one more; a fat guy in a red and white suit. Better hope you have enough cookies and milk on the table…

I mean come on. I love Christmas. I really do. But the way I see it…it is getting ridiculous. The first time I walked into Wal Mart and actually heard Christmas music playing was when I was going in looking at Halloween decorations. What?!? I felt something inside of me snap. I almost couldn’t hold back an almost angry sense of disgust. I can understand the department stores wanting to jump the gun on the competition. If someone is ready to buy their giant inflatable snow globes with a manger scene and Santa flying in the background before anyone else does, they are going to buy it at the place that has it for sale first. But it still racks my nerves.

And speaking of firsts, I saw a first just the other day. I’ve seen Halloween yard decorations, Christmas yard decorations, Easter decorations, etc. but have never seen official Thanksgiving yard decorations until this year. Planted in the front yard of a house was a giant blow-up turkey. Yep, a turkey with a light shining on it like it was a gift from heaven. Heaven help me…

Has it always been like this? I don’t seem to remember the holiday shopping season coming at us full force so early years ago like it is now. Maybe it’s because I just can’t remember. I really can’t. From what I can remember, the day after Thanksgiving has always been the start of the Christmas shopping spree. On your marks! Get set! Shop! That is fine with me. But the pushing back of the bombardment of holiday songs, set-ups, decorations, sales, etc. is driving me absolutely nuts. Don’t tell me I’m the only one who feels this. You know you’re thinking the same thing.

Well, since it is full-front and out in my face, might as well get started. This Christmas looks pretty bleak, as far as the “get the kids what they want to please them” aspect goes. I won’t be one of those out there pushing and shoving to get the newest crazy fad toy. I won’t be a part of the madness of bumper to bumper traffic, tempers flaring, middle fingers flying, car horns blaring. I hope not to be, at least. What I can afford to get I will probably get in a single trip. There won’t be as much disposable income over this way for any of that other crazy crap. Reminds me of a lyric from a song by Everclear called I Will Buy You a New Life… “I hate those people who try to tell you money is the root of all that kills, they have never been poor, they have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas…” Not that there is anything wrong with that, mind you. When I was a kid, Christmas was the only time we got anything special, not including birthdays. I remember waking up on Christmas day to several presents placed at the foot of my bed (the 2-foot tall shiny aluminum Christmas tree just wouldn’t hold presents for 5 kids under it). In our stockings were oranges, candy, nuts, and small toys. The presents were mostly things we needed, like socks or a new belt. Sure there were toys, but not expensive ones. A Tonka toy truck with a GI Joe driver, an AM radio that you powered by inserting probes into a potato or orange (pretty neat, that one!). Sure, disappointments happened, but that was and is life.

I do believe that my kids understand. My daughter really shows her maturity in that matter. She knows the deal. My son, well, he is getting there, but has a long way to go. I want them to have a good Christmas, I really do. I want them to have some things that they want. I remember what it was like to really want something under that tree. Even today, I want things too. But I also want them to understand that getting what they need trumps getting what they want. You know, the difference between today and way-back when is that then, I had no clue about being poor. I was just a kid. I was rich. I had everything I needed given to me. I didn’t have to work to pay for things that were truly needed. I didn’t know where things came from; I just knew that hey, new shoes were on my feet, clothes without holes were in my dresser, plates of food were put in front of me at mealtimes. I had no clue that Grandma didn’t get her money from a job. I did know that we sold oranges from the grove and eggs from the henhouse, but I was clueless that the money from that surely wasn’t supporting five kids and sending them to private school as well. I had no clue that we were “this close” to poverty. Today…being a grown up (yes, I am a grown up, believe it or not) lets you in on the secrets unknown to children. Money isn’t free. There isn’t a tree in the back yard that sprouts twenties and fifties. It takes hours of work to get that action figure to play with. And even more hours of work to keep the electricity and water from being cut off and a roof with four walls to protect you from the elements.

I started off on a rant here, didn’t I? Let me get back to it...well, sort of. I made someone at Wal Mart laugh the other day. I had just paid for my things and was picking up my sacks of groceries to carry out. The checkout dude told me thanks and to “come again”. I had been hearing Christmas songs while shopping and actually had “Silver Bells” ringing in my head. My eyes were still blinded by the glittery tinsel and ornaments in the newly stocked Holiday section (which, up until a few weeks ago was the outdoor section). Still in a Jolly haze, and transformed into an elf for the time being, I blurted out, “Merry Christmas!” He looked at me like I was crazy, and then understood. He shook his head and laughed, then said, “Yeah, I know.”

Let the holidays come. Let them come in their own time. I see no need to rush them in. They will come soon enough, with sleigh bells ringing, age-old specials on TV, cakes of fruit, nogs of egg, and shiny noses leading the way through fog as “thick as pea soup”…or even as thick as “jelly brains”. Bring it on, Santa. Just give me a minute though…

Purposefully Insignificant

My ego is only the size of a paper clip. Usually it is bigger than that, especially when I feel like I am worth something, which is a good percent of the time, but today, after sitting several hours with other people who have done “wrong”, I felt no bigger than a small piece of wire designed to hold papers together. I was in a place where I really don’t ever want to be, in a place where when I have been there, even for something that is considered “doing my civic duty”, I just don’t want to be there. This place is the courthouse. It doesn’t matter what courthouse, any one will do, but this time I was in the Chattanooga City Courtroom of Judge Russell Bean.

I was there because I was in an accident in September. It was simply that, an accident. I didn’t see the person in my right-hand lane, and pulled over on them, causing damage to both mine and his vehicle. No one was hurt, thank goodness, but I was cited for “cutting in” and it being a citation that was not one I could simply pay, I had to appear in court. Like I said, I hate going to court. The only other time I had to appear in court was nearly 10 years ago for a simple misdemeanor. Long story, but a little puissant town in eastern Tennessee conducted a money making roadblock that netted them quite a purse that weekend, which ended up with me “donating” over $500 to them, and putting a misdemeanor charge on my record. No big deal, but I still hated going.

Today, I had to sit and listen as person after person went up before the judge to explain what had happened and then await judgment. Now, I understand that a judge doesn’t become a judge from being stupid. They are where they are because usually they have earned that position and that respect. But I have sat in for jury duty, and even sat in the back of a few trials just to see what went on. I have seen judges hand down sentences with swiftness and seen plaintiffs try and talk their way out of things where I am thinking “You are so guilty, why even bother?” I have also seen judges act like they have never done wrong and try to make those people standing in front of them the size of, well…the size of paper clips.

Today, Judge Bean was calm and cool. Most of the people appearing before him were young drivers, and most of them had been cited for following too closely and for rear-end collisions. Most of them got off with warnings and driver’s education classes. I got to see them explain their situations and I was able to learn from observing more of what I would expect when it was my turn to be standing where they were. It came down to what ended up being the person ahead of me who was next. He had clipped another person (who was also there on their own behalf) who was in the middle of a right-hand turn. They had started making their turn; he had gotten impatient and tried to go around them, when they had to stop to let someone else get out of their way before continuing on in their turn. He ended up scraping the corner of their vehicle and busting out a tail light. Judge Bean recognized him as being in front of him earlier in the year. He had reduced the sentence of speeding down to keep points off of his license that time. This time his mercy was not as lenient. The plaintiff ended up having to pay the full fine plus court costs.

Then it was my turn. They called my name, and I made my way up in front of the judge. I had been slowly getting myself ready the whole time I had been waiting there. I saw how he had made judgments and how he was giving people second chances, especially if they had never had been cited before. This is where I felt like I would be given a second chance as well. Aside from the little money making incident nearly 10 years ago, I had never been issued a citation for any traffic incident. Even so, standing before him, my heart was pounding. I didn’t want to be there, I was nervous as hell, but I had everything in order. I had proof of insurance, a statement that showed how the other party had been satisfied, and any other papers I thought I might need all held together with a little paper clip.

I was nervous, that’s for sure. But it really was for nothing. He asked if I had any other citations and I told him that I had never even gotten a simple parking ticket. His assistant on her computer re-affirmed the fact that I didn’t have a record. He seconded the fact and set aside my fine for six months good behavior, plus court costs. Then he did what I thought he might do. Assume something. He said that I had a good driving record, but that I must have been dodging bullets for all these years. I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue. I have most certainly not been dodging bullets for my whole driving life. I am a good driver. I haven’t had “safe driver” on my driver’s license for decades for being a bad driver. I don’t have low insurance rates for not being a careful driver. I drive a vintage vehicle which I prize and most certainly don’t want to damage, much less hurt someone else’s car with it. I drive with my headlights on even in the daytime just so the other idiots driving can see me as well as I can see them. All these thoughts were running through my head, but I bit my tongue and felt myself shrinking and curling up. I held my thoughts inside my head, thanked him, gathered up my papers and made my way out. I looked at the paper clip holding my papers together and thought, “Hi. Now I know how you feel. You are a good piece of work. You have a purpose, but you are small and insignificant. Your shape is such that is designed for the purpose you are made for, but you are forced into that shape by something bigger and stronger than you are. You are nothing.”

Even though my fine was dropped and even my court costs deferred for a period of time, I was irked that I was made to feel like I was lucky enough to have been “not caught” for all these years. That I have been driving like a maniac and finally brought to justice. I am not a bad driver. I know that. The judge does not. He does not live my life. But in the same respect, I don’t live his either. I don’t have to sit up there and listen to every Sally Sobstory and Harry Hardluck try to talk their way out of situations where they are obviously in the wrong. I don’t have to throw decisions at people while not knowing their situations in life at the moment. I don’t envy those that do. It has to be a hard job.

Even back nearly ten years ago, at the time when I donated that money to a little town in eastern Tennessee, I knew that the police officer that was driving me to the holding center was only doing his job. The one behind the desk recording the paperwork was only doing his job. The one taking the pictures for the “mug shot” was only doing his job. There were bigger, stronger, jumbo-sized paper clips above them, and most certainly smaller, weaker mini-paper clips beneath them. Each one did what they were supposed to do.

I got back to my bus; my poor damaged bus, and sat in it for a while before starting him up and driving home. I sat in there thinking about how we all have a purpose in life, whether it is handing down judgments on people, enforcing the rules that we have created, or abiding by those rules in order to avoid having judgment handed down. I ran my finger over the shape of that paper clip and felt just like it. Bent out of shape, small and insignificant, but doing what I was designed to do. Do my job, hold things together (loves, life, family, jobs, mentor) and be proud to serve my purpose. I may not be the all important judge that most likely earned that position. I may not be the police officer that makes sure that the rules that are in place are followed. But I am the person who does what I do and I try to do that to the best of my ability, the best way that I see fit, the way that I know how. And I am going to keep on doing just that. Maybe one day I will be the size of a jumbo paper clip instead of just a small one.

Grasping at Stars

The sky is dark. The lights of my bus reflect on those reflective bumps they put on the road to show the edges and middle lines (so thankful they are on this back road to my house…it is so dark out here). I’m almost home. Up in the sky are the stars. Earlier, the moon was hovering above the tree line, just a reddish sliver looking like an abnormally huge comma. I know, the stars have always been there, I’ve seen them before, and I’m sure to see them again. They aren’t going anywhere. Unlike lots of things in life, they will be there for a long time. They’ll be there long after you and I are gone. They are everlasting. Most places, the light pollution is so bad that the stars are these dim dots trying to shine through the haze rising from the horizon to the middle of the sky, but tonight, out here in the middle of nowhere, and especially looking east towards the start of the Smoky Mountains, I saw them as bright dots against a blue-black background, as pinpoints of light through a dark canvas. They were so bright, so much bigger than I remember, that I thought I could almost reach up and grab one, take it and hold it in my hand as a light in the dark, a source of warmth in this cold place of desperation, comfort in this evil world of despair. I thought I could reach for a star, but it is impossible; it is something I can never have.

The past few days have been days of darkness. The sun has shone brightly; the weather has been perfect, warm in fact. The nights have been a little chilly, but not as cold as it has been. But the bright sun and the nice weather have done nothing to bust through this feeling of loneliness that has clouded my heart like a cold, damp fog. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel this way after so many days of feeling like things have gotten better? I still am reeling financially. That will take a while to rise above. But I am rising, that I feel. I have friends that are there for me. I haven’t heard from some in a while, so when some of the “old-school” friends contacted me in the past few weeks, I was almost shocked. Some hadn’t even heard of what is going on in my life now. Some didn’t even know of my Great and Terrible D. But each and every one of them had the same words for me; “You can call me anytime. Anything you need, I’ll be there”. Of course that felt great.

Emotionally, I am a train wreck. I have had and lost so many times. I am tired of it. Just when I think that I have found something that I can hold onto, something that will last for more than just a few weeks, something that will warm this heart of stone, fingertips just inches from that star…out the window it goes. I like my job, but I’m tired of having to go in on my day off just to live, just to have the money needed for the things I need, let alone the things I want. On Friday, I was there; feeling like the world was against me, feeling all alone all over again. I was folding some cleaning rags from the dryer and I just couldn’t hold back the emotion that had been pushing itself out all morning. I tried to hold back the waterworks, but I just couldn’t. I am a man, for crying out loud. Men aren’t supposed to show this kind of emotion. But there I was, with red and watery eyes and hoping no one would walk in and see me that way. And someone did. Luckily, it was someone who is going through her own personal hell, so to see me that way was ok…I had seen her that way too.

I spent a lot of time by myself this weekend. I had hoped to spend a part of it with somebody, someone who I have grown to like a whole lot. But I understand partly of why I couldn’t. I am not one to stand in the way of someone and their time with family, their time with friends, their time at work, and their time alone. I can’t make someone be with me, this I know. Time is everything…time is nothing. I know that time doesn’t stand still. It keeps on ticking away, pushing the future into the present, making the present become the past. I don’t want to be a part of this special person’s past. I want to be a part of her present, a part of her future…but in doing so, I will become a part of her past…weird how that turns out, huh? I am patient. I can wait as long as it takes for time to pass and more time to be created for togetherness. It can’t be only something that I want; it has to come from both sides. So, if the stars that I try to reach align themselves, if the mirror reflects the same image I am looking for, if and only what if…if that happens, I want her to know that I am right here, exactly where I was and need to be. You hear me?

Grabbing for stars. The unreachable heights that no one can attain. Reaching out for something that I can never have. Reminds me of a Nine Inch Nails song. The song is pretty soft, for a song by a band that has dark lyrics and carries the label of “industrial” music. I’ve always liked them. I haven’t listened to them much lately, but they are on my computer, and a song pops up every now and then while iTunes randomly plays whatever song is next…

Something I Can Never Have – Nine Inch Nails

i still recall the taste of your tears

echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears

my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore

scraping through my head 'till i don't want to sleep anymore

come on tell me

make this all go away

you make this all go away

i'm down to just one thing and i'm starting to scare myself

make this all go away

you make this all go away

i just want something

i just want something i can never have

you always were the one to show me how

back then i couldn't do the things that i can do now

this is slowly taking me apart

grey would be the color if i had a heart

i just want something i can never have

in this place it seems like such a shame

though it all looks different now, i know it's still the same

everywhere i look you're all i see

just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be

come on tell me

make this all go away

you make this all go away

i'm down to just one thing and i'm starting to scare myself

make this all go away

you make this all go away

i just want something

i just want something i can never have

think i know what you meant

that night on my bed

still picking at this scab

i wish you were dead

you sweat and perry ellis

just stains on my sheets

Not all the lyrics, mind you, pertain to my mood (and oh, so not the “I wish you were dead” ones…don’t wish that on anyone) but the whole “something I can never have” speaks to me. I know all about that. Like the person in the movie whose fingers are just touching the tip of the keys to get them out of the cell they are trapped in, touching them, moving them with fingertips and pushing them further away with every attempt…that I know about.

Never will I be able to reach those stars. They are just too far away. Now, the moon, though…it’s a little closer. I wonder…I wonder if I get my step ladder…hmmm

Chills and the Warmth from Within

(I started this on Monday and finished up on Wednesday…doing a little time traveling here.)

“When all is said and done, friendship is the only trustworthy fabric of the affections. So called love is a delirious inhuman state of mind; when hot it substitutes indulgence for fair play; when cold it is cruel, but friendship is warmth in cold, firm ground in a bog”- Miles Franklin

I’m cold. I’m in my house and I feel frigid. I’ve got a freakin’ coat on, for crying out loud. I do like the cold, but when I can’t shake the chill from my bones, that’s about enough. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing better than to see your breath in the chilly air, bundling up in a favorite coat or jacket and talking a walk in the brisk air. But to be cold inside your own house? Nope. Nonetheless, I haven’t turned on the heat here. I’m trying to hold out as long as possible. I do know that when my kids come back this week, I just might have to suck it up and turn it on. I don’t want them to be cold. The guy who lived here last told me that I should expect anywhere from $250 to $300 electric bill in the winter while using the electric furnace. Great. Just freakin’ great.

Every morning since I moved into this place, there has been a great amount of condensation on my bus. This morning, that condensation had turned to ice. The windshield wipers were stuck for a moment then started moving over frozen dew on the windshield. The scraping sound it made as it moved over the icy coating reminded me of fingernails on chalkboard and it gave the same spine-chilling effect. I tried moving the heat directional cable to defrost, but it moved a few inches and then stopped. Oh yeah, I forgot about the broken heater cable. The one that opens the heater flap on the left side heater box had snapped a few days ago. The right one hooks over the end of the left one and when I tried to increase the heat flow, jams occurred under the dash, making both levers catch on each other. So I had little to no flow of heat and couldn’t choose where to make it flow. Finally, enough heat was leaking through the holes in the dash to create peepholes, at least enough to see the road to drive. (Note: last night at my buddy’s house, I zip tied the heater flaps open so there is a constant flow of heat. The afternoons are not so cold, so I just roll the windows down to even out the temperature. Winter is coming though, so I am ready).

Then there was my gas tank. The sending unit in the tank must be damaged, because when I get down to about ½ tank, the needle starts to move all over the place, then drop to empty. When I take a sharp right hand turn, the needle moves up to about where it should be, but then slowly starts heading back down again. On left hand turns, it drops below empty. So I never really know how much gas I have. Going by mileage doesn’t help much either. I always forget to check the odometer after putting gas in. This morning, the needle wouldn’t even float. I figured I only had a few gallons in there, hopefully enough to get me to work. Once I got there, I could figure something out. I had to borrow money from my boss one week, and if I had to do it again, well…I was going to suck up and do it again. Turns out I didn’t have to. At work (I did make it!) and in a conversation with a friend of mine, I told him I was tired. I had been literally falling asleep standing up doing my job. He said to find a dark place and take a nap. I jokingly told him it was a good idea, since I was probably going to have to spend the night there if I was to work the next day. Well, he talked to another friend of mine who came over and told me to stop by his house after work and he would put some gas in my bus. I protested, but he says that I have done so much for him over the past 10 years or so, he feels like he owes me. The first friend came over later and tried to hand me $10, but I wouldn’t take it. I found it in my jacket pocket later while leaving work. Friends, I tell ya…sometimes they work to move my heart. They didn’t have to do that.

I hate that I’m in the situation where they even think about doing stuff like that. It hit me hard after the offer for gas. I put down the tube that I was sanding, walked out the back door, leaned against the building and cried. I couldn’t stop it. I don’t know what it was. I think I was mad at myself for being in the situation that I was in. But another thing was this; I was getting what I had asked for. I had literally prayed to make it to work. I did. I also asked for some way to get some money for gas to make it to work and home for the rest of the week. I got that too. Not only were those damn tears ones of sadness; they were tears of joy as well. I got what I had asked for and I realized that.

The night before was my VW club’s meeting at China Moon restaurant. I didn’t have money to eat, so I sat there while everyone else ate. That wasn’t too bad. I’ve done it before. But I was hungry. I got up and left several times just to get away from the food. I love Chinese food, and to be surrounded by plate after plate of food that I really wanted and know that I wasn’t going to eat any, well, it was hard to sit there. The smells, the sounds of others eating…it was too much. Again with the friends. One couple’s daughter got way too much chicken for her to eat, and she had it sitting right there next to me, tempting me to snatch up a piece, dip it in some of that red dipping sauce, and stuff it in my mouth. It was food that was going to be thrown away. I snatched up a piece and popped it in my mouth. The dad, who was sitting across from me, told me to eat the whole plate if I wanted to. But I hadn’t paid to eat, so essentially, it would have been stealing. He said that he paid for it, so no, it wasn’t. The establishment wouldn’t have seen it that way, but it did make sense. I got a plate of sweet and sour chicken…something in my belly after all. I was grateful. On the way out, I grabbed a fortune cookie. I usually get two of them, just so I can have a multiple choice fortune, but this time I only got one. I opened it up and read words that rang true that evening and the next day. It said, “Rely on friends to make future hard decisions”.

I won’t be like this forever. Things have got to get better. I am selling things off to make it possible, even selling precious things in order to have a buffer zone and to not have to worry about money from week to week. The biggest thing I have to sell is also the hardest for me to let go. I am going to sell my VW camper. It was the first VW I had bought and it has enormous sentimental value. I once said that I would sell my house before I would sell Sweetpea. Well, I’m not selling my house (ha ha ha) but Sweetpea is going anyway. I will survive, I’m sure. I’m not looking forward to handing over the keys at any rate. It will most likely be an emotional transaction.

I don’t ask others for help. I just don’t do it. I am not above doing it, but I don’t like doing it. Call it pride or call it what you like. I don’t like relying on others if I can do something myself. But there comes a time when I realize that I can’t do it myself. That’s when the outer skin of pride covering this broken man’s body slides off and opens the way for the humble man inside to reach out to friends, to reach out to others, to bow his head and reach out to God. That is something I don’t do enough of. I’m not the best example of a Christian…I’m not a bible-thumper (ahem), but there is one thing that is true about me. I do believe. I may not go to church every week. I may not sit up in the front row with my eager face on, letting every word soak into my brain…but I do believe. I’m not a narrow minded imp. I know there are other religions and no religions. I know that people are going to believe what they want to believe. They have every right to do what they want to without prejudice. I don’t judge. In the same respect, I don’t want people to judge me either. Just because I believe doesn’t make me a mindless sheep waiting to follow the herd and do whatever I am told. I make up my own mind. We all have that right. Do what you do and I’ll do what I do. That is that.

It is now Wednesday and the weather has warmed up a bit. I won’t have to turn the heat on here after all. It feels ok in here. Not too cold; not too hot. But rain is in the forecast. That’s ok. A little rain is good. Oh, to have a tin roof and to hear the rain falling while lying in my bed, under the covers up to my neck. It’s better than music to soothe and relax me and lull me to sleep. But I won’t be doing much sleeping this weekend. Busy, busy, busy is what this weekend is going to be. And tomorrow? Well tomorrow is coming and I have special plans for the late afternoon/evening. I can’t wait. I am finally doing something I have been talking about doing for months. It is a secret, but maybe one day I’ll reveal what it is.

And maybe one day I’ll be able to repay the kindness shown to me by others. One day I will be able to help those who have helped me. And one day I will be the happy person I have always been. He’s still here, but just hidden underneath the skin of someone I don’t know. I want him to go; go far away and never come back. Take away the cold on the surface and warm up my heart from inside.

The Road to Home

What a day. I just got home to this lonely house. Why can’t I seem to get here before dark? Well, I did today, but just barely. I don’t like coming home after dark. Sure, if I’m out doing something and it turns to night, that’s just fine. But I’m coming home from work. You go to work, you work, you leave, and you get home. For me, hopefully home comes sooner than later. I got to spend an entire day here for the first time this weekend. I woke up to the sun, and was here to see it set that night. It was nice.

The road to my home is long and windy (hmm…full of twists and turns?). You can go faster than the posted speed limit, but only for a short time, then you hit hard turns that you must slow down for. The drive is absolutely beautiful. Farmland and woods for as far as you can see. Off in the distance to the east, mountains loom up, pushing the horizon up above the tree line. I can see them on the drive here…I just wish I could see them from my yard. Maybe I can when the leaves fall off.

Have you seen them? The leaves? They are not just changing to brown this year. Last year, it seemed like they didn’t go through the beautiful changes…the reds, oranges, and yellows that make this time of year such a sight to behold. It seemed like they were green, then they were brown and on the ground. Anyway, just before you get to my place, there is an open field that used to be a forest. Trees are still there, just patches of them in lieu of the closely placed trees that make a forest. Along the road, between the pavement and the edge of the trees, flowers fill the space, making a sea of yellow waves. Well, they were there. I guess they got mowed down last week. Well, more than mowed. The ground looks like it was plowed up as well. I hated to see the flowers go.

On the road to my home there are chickens, horses, cows, mules and I wouldn’t be surprised to see ostriches or emus as well. Next door to me is a field with a cow and a mule. That cow has a cowbell around its neck. No need to ask for more cowbell…I swear that cow doesn’t sleep. I hear that cowbell late at night. Shouldn’t Bossy be in bed at midnight? The mule doesn’t do much except for look at me while I’m in the yard. He acts like he wants to come over to the fence and say hi, but I think he is just too shy to do it. Beyond the stream at the bottom of my property, there are horses and mules. And in the yard next to me at the top of my property, there are 5 (or is it 6?) Petite Yapping Chihuahuas. It is funny to see them bark at me when I come out of my house and stop when the door is closed behind me. Open the door…yap, yap, yap. Shut the door…silence. Oh yeah. Just up the road there is…get this…a wrestling ring in someone’s front yard. I kid you not. I have even seen some dudes in tights practicing their wrestling moves. Not the kind of wrestling you see in high school. This is the wrestling with actors playing their parts on television. Professional wrestling, if you could call it that. I need to get a picture of that ring…it’s just too good.

On the road to my home, there is this smell. It isn’t a wonderful smell such as fresh gingerbread cookies just removed from the oven or the faint scent of strategically placed Egyptian Goddess or Patchouli. It smells like Essence of Cow Field mixed with Eau de Chicken House. I don’t know why, but by the time I reach home, the smell is gone. It is surprising to me that the smell isn’t here as well because of all the livestock right next door. I’m not complaining though. I have been around chicken houses enough times to know that nausea-inducing smell. I’m so glad that the wind always seems to be blowing in the right direction.

On the road to my home there is this noise. In my bus, it is usually the sound of wind and the creaking (as long as the stereo is off, which isn’t very often…but sometimes it is) of a 30 year old vehicle bouncing down the road, faithfully taking me where I command. But the other noise I speak of is the sound of silence. Not complete silence, but the silence you get way out here, away from the busy highway just two miles down the road. Away from noise pollution. Almost (but not quite) off the grid. Sitting on my front porch at night, the crickets and frogs compete to see who is the loudest. Hummingbirds fly in to sup from the feeders. The mules in the field across the stream make this sound that is like maniacal laughter. The cowbell is clanging as the cow makes the slightest move. And I swear that I have heard coyotes out here. After a rain, the stream rises and runs a little faster, bubbling and creating voices you can hear if you just listen long and hard enough.

On the road to my home there is time. It’s a good 30 minutes to Ooltewah. 20 minutes to Cleveland. 30 minutes or so to Dalton. There is time enough for the mind to start wandering if I let it. Today was a wandering day. On the drive home from my old house, I start thinking. Even with Tool cranking on the stereo, I was thinking. Maynard couldn’t sing loud enough to distract me from thoughts. Thoughts about how messed up my life is right now, how can I reach the rim of this hole I’m in. Every time I seem to have a grip on the edge, it crumbles away and I’m left with only a handful of dirt and grass. I don’t know…can men have the apparent emotional upheaval that women have once a month with the arrival of Aunt Flo? I swear we do, or at least I do. Tonight is a full moon. I can almost feel the pull of the glowing white orb floating in the sky, pulling whatever is deep inside me to the surface. Maybe that was what was happening today. My body knew that a pull was about to take place and was going ahead and pushing from deep within. At any rate, I was quite depressed by the time I got home. I vainly fought back tears that were coming for no apparent reason. I soon immersed myself in cooking supper for one, unpacking a few boxes, and sitting in front of the computer, thinking about what I was going to say tonight. I knew it had to do with coming home, but didn’t really know until I sat down.

Just like the road to my home, the emotional road to my home that I am on is long and winding. I can’t get to going real fast for “S” curves are up ahead and I could easily run off the road if I’m not careful. Sometimes there are unpleasant things, such as the smells I smell on the way home. I just hope I don’t smell them when I get there. Sometimes life gets noisy and I wish for silence; the kind of silence with a little white noise. Then there are the beautiful things, like the sea of yellow flowers, the whirring of a hummingbird coming to feed, the babbling brook carrying on a conversation with itself, maybe even saying something to me. The words seen on a computer monitor from a face that brings joy as soon as it pops up in front of me. Even that confounded cowbell…beautiful things that remind me that life is like that. Up and down, sad and happy, evil and angelic. Just to keep things in balance, there is an ugly for every beautiful, a cry for every laughter, sadness for every joy. I just wish the scales wouldn’t tip so far in the wrong direction all the time.

I haven’t told many people, but I might be in for a change. This change may even transform who I am, creating in me a new form of patience and love for my fellow man. I love my work, I really do. I work with my hands and that is something I am good at, doing things with my hands…ahem. Yeah. But even though I love it, I may be getting tired of it. Not just the work, but the way that I’m not getting paid what I think I am worth for what I am doing. This change may not bring more pay, but I think that it might bring more satisfaction. I have been working with products for so long; maybe it is time for a change. I am thinking of working with people. I applied for another job today. I applied for a job that some people might wonder, “What in the world are you thinking? I could never do that.” What is this job? I applied to work with the mentally handicapped. There is a place called Open Arms Care across the street from where I currently work. I walked over there last week and inquired about what it takes to work there. I was told that all I needed was a high school diploma and a valid driver’s license. I have those, but that wasn’t exactly what I was talking about. I meant what kind of person do I need to be to do a job like that. Would I have the patience for it? Can I handle working in a home environment taking care of the daily needs of some people who can’t take care of those needs themselves? Could I even take on the responsibility of (gasp) their personal hygiene? And even though it shouldn’t be a criteria, what about the money? Do I think that the wages earned are worth the work and the responsibility entrusted to me? With the way things are nowadays, money is a big issue.

I’m going to go sit outside for a while. Tomorrow is going to come quick. I must work and then…and then I get to refill myself with some joy. I can’t wait. I have missed this joy for a short period of time, but it seems like it has been a lifetime. But for now, I am going to sit and listen to the night sounds, smell the country smells, and think about the future, starting with tomorrow.

I can’t wait.

What I Got

“I complained about having no shoes until I met a man who had no feet”- Unknown*

I’ve never had it so good. Life could never be better for me than it is right now. I am full of joy and happiness, overflowing with love from family, friends, and relationships. Life is good.

Am I being sarcastic? Maybe a little bit, but let me be real here…no, not really. Things aren’t as good as they could be. I wouldn’t miss worrying each week about where the money is going to come from to pay for the essentials. Gas and food, which are my main expenditures beyond rent and utilities, has done nothing but raise in price. I could do without missing people that I have known for nearly a lifetime, and others known only for a minute. I could not be healthy…I could hang on to every day with the knowledge that an ailment could result in death or a life of pain and misery. But I do worry, I do miss people, I do wonder what medical condition could pop its head up at any moment.

Here we go again with the money woes. History has a way of repeating itself. No matter that I try to be careful in what I spend. Nothing goes into the frivolous expenditures. I try to stretch each dollar for what is needed; gas, food, utilities, rent, small things for my kids. I went camping last weekend. The gas used was not that much. I filled up in Ooltewah for about $30 and it lasted until I was nearly home again two days later. I did buy some groceries, but nothing that I couldn’t use at home if it didn’t get used while camping. That is where I could have waited. Little did I know that there was plenty of food brought by others to serve all of us in our little circle of campers. I spent more than I should have. $66 for food for the weekend and for the week? It doesn’t seem like a lot, does it? It could have waited until this week if I had known that I wouldn’t even use a little of the food I took. So…with the money used to buy groceries…I used more than I thought I had in the bank. Once again, overdraft fees have wiped me out. I can’t take it anymore. I didn’t mean to do it; it was a mistake. Yet it was a mistake that was my own fault, nobody else’s. Blah, blah, blah…enough about that.

I do miss people. Some have been in my life since I was born. Others I have met through the years, some in childhood, some in college and some after that. Others I have only known a short while. I miss them all. It is partly my fault, this missing of people I care about. Shoot, I have family in town that I rarely ever see. For 15 years I lived less than 3 miles from family and visited them only several times a year. I blame myself for not having enough time to spend with them. I blame myself for not taking the initiative to just stop by, to call, to keep in contact with them. But every relationship is a two-way street, whether it is with family, friends, or loved ones. Communication must flow in both directions to keep traffic flowing consistently. In all that time, they made contact with me just as much as I did with them…which is hardly enough contact to call a relationship.

I’m pretty healthy. I don’t wake up every day with back pain. I don’t have to take medication on a daily basis just to keep my blood sugar stable or to manage pain. I’m not on dialysis or chemotherapy. I must admit that I do some things that are considered unhealthy. I ummm…imbibe every now and then upon some God-given, naturally occurring, medicinal quality-like, earth-grown leafy substances. I smoke cigarettes (tried to quit, trying to quit, will try to quit…done it all). I don’t exercise as often as I should. But I feel good. I am losing weight. I blame it on stress and a change in eating habits. Near the beginning of this year, I entered a weight-loss program at work. I didn’t do so well. Of course, the program was in the wintertime of the year, where statistically speaking, weight loss is nearly impossible for me. I’m the opposite of a bear; I lose most of my weight in the summer, and put it back on during hibernation. But I don’t want to put it back on this time. I am down to 205 lbs. from 225 lbs. at the beginning of this year. My clothes don’t fit me anymore. If I don’t wear a belt with my pants or shorts, after a minute of walking, they start to travel downwards and would end up around my ankles if I let them. My goal is to get to 195 lbs. I can do it.

I guess I could complain about my woes into eternity. I do have it bad, so much that I can’t stand it. I am listening to some dark music with some dark thoughts and overtones. I can’t say that I have dark thoughts. Some pretty woeful ones, but not those deep, dark ones that take you to the point of not coming back. I could complain a lot. But you know, at least I have a place to live. Rent is hard to come by, but there are people who don’t have a home. They are living in boxes, on benches, in alleyways without even a blanket to keep them warm. At least I do have food on my shelves. Some go without food on a daily basis (well, I have skipped meals myself, but that was by choice, and there is food there if I want it). I do have friends that stand by me. I don’t know what I would do if some of them weren’t around to give comfort, give financial help, give a shoulder to cry on. I want to give back and one day I will be able to. I am trying to keep in contact with family as well. Support comes with many faces…might as well look at them all. And my heart…my heart is still wary, hiding behind the wall I have erected. The wall has a few holes that have been worn into it. The heart hiding behind it is visible, possibly even wanting to tear down that wall, become brave enough to let someone in to hold it and to do some holding itself. Do I hear knocking?

In reality, I do have shoes. I have feet to put them on. I have a vehicle to put gas in. I have a job. I do have it pretty good, I guess. Just little things wear me down to the point of not caring, to the point of not feeling like I can handle it, to the point of just wanting to give up. I got a little reminder of just how good I do have it, despite all my worries. This weekend, I saw someone who I only see at certain VW shows/campouts. I don’t remember his name, and that doesn’t really matter…I call him “Hat Man”. He sets up a booth and sells stickers, shirts, patches…and lots and lots of hats. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, so we get to talking about our lives. I tell him what has happened in my life since the last time we saw each other. I tell him how hard it has been just trying to make it. He listens patiently till I am done, tells me that he knows how hard divorce is, how hard financial troubles can be, then just as nonchalant as he can be, says, “I have bone cancer”. I shrunk to the size of a slug, and I felt like one as well. He doesn’t know how long he has, he just is thankful for each day. He is in pain, a pain that I can’t even imagine. When your bones hurt…you know the saying “Hurts me to the bone”? He is living it. He believes, just like I do, that things happen for a reason. He told me he is still waiting to find out the reason behind his ailment. If he doesn’t know yet, I certainly don’t know either. Time will tell. I just hope he has enough time to find out what it is. I hope to see him next May when this show occurs again. Maybe he can tell me then.

I just gotta keep on keepin’ on. Things come and go in cycles. The rich can end up poor. The healthy can end up sick. The homeowner can end up on the streets. Sometimes all of those things come back around again. The poor get wealthy, the sick are cured, and the homeless are sheltered once again. Time is the component that completes the story, makes the circle whole, shores up the castle walls, does with us what it will.

And just because I found a man without any feet, that doesn’t mean that having no shoes wouldn’t suck. It sure would.



*Historically attributed to Confucius. Also by R.W. Emerson

Needful Things from an Empty House

The house is almost empty. It was already empty with everything in it, but now it is really empty. What is left? An entertainment center and useless TV. Kitchen counters and cabinets all alone without their companion appliances. An empty computer desk, two antique sewing machines, some shelving, a doll house, and a rug. Of course there are the clutter piles that go into boxes…other than that, there is not much left. Just remnants of what once was a vibrant lovable livable home. That’s right…a home, not just a house.

I’m taking anything that isn’t nailed down and even some things that are. Ceiling fans, fluorescent lighting, built-in bookshelves…you name it. Things that weren’t with the house when “we” bought it are most certainly coming with me. I took artwork off the walls yesterday. Among them were four Salvador Dalí prints that had been hanging for years. One of my favorites is in a frame made out of old barn wood; rustic and rough. The Temptation of St. Anthony…



Temptation appears to St. Anthony “successively in the form of a horse in the foreground representing strength, sometimes also symbol of voluptuousness, and in the form of the elephant which follows it, carrying on its back the golden cup of lust in which a nude woman is standing precariously balanced on the fragile pedestal, a figure which emphasizes the erotic character of the composition.”- (http://dali.urvas.lt/page20.html). I understood the meanings behind the temptations, but I really got the picture because the elephants have these long, multi-jointed legs that in reality could never support the weight of the creature…and to me they look creepy.

The others are just as awesome…The Hallucinogenic Toreador, My Wife (Naked) Looking at her own Body, The Apotheosis of Homer.



I know these pictures are small. Look those up to see full scale…you can appreciate them then.

These pictures adorned my walls for many years. The pictures themselves are just posters, but they were framed by a frame shop. The frames probably cost 50 times more than what the posters cost. But they define a time where a home was being beautified; a home was being made into what “we” wanted it to be. Full of beautiful things to make it just what it was meant to be, a home. Other artwork I took down were drawings that I did back in the early ‘90s. One is of a tree nymph, naked and trapped in a tree, head thrown back, hair as leaves, arms in the air as limbs, in a landscape of grass and river. I did this drawing with crayons one night, playing with a black-light, mind in a fog. I did a lot of drawings that way…mind in a fog, that is. The other picture is hard to describe, but the main feature are eyes. Eyes and roots holding them steady. These two were framed for me as a present. Yet another attempt to make the house a home, a home to call our own.

Two other pictures were on the bathroom walls. These pictures were bought at an art symposium at Coolidge Park many years ago. This artist carved out her artwork on wood, in reverse, then pressed in ink the impression on paper. One, titled Bath Time, is of a dog in the tub. He is getting a bath and is depressed about the whole thing. Around the perimeter of the picture is printed, “Just when I smell really good, I have to take a bath. I lose my whole identity. My friends can’t find me for three days. Taking a bath ruins my social life.” The other one is titled What Fish Learn in School. It has a few fish listening to an older fish that says, “Don’t eat junk food. Rubber worms are junk food. Never eat anything on a string. Eat seaweed. Gulp lots of water.” These struck me as neat and I gladly paid the price at the time. I can’t wait till the artwork is hung up here at my new home.

Needful things. Things that we collect over the years because at the moment, we need them. According to a Stephen King story, you can lose your soul over some needful things. But most of these needful things are not needed at all. They just seem to be at the time. I feel that I did lose part of my soul because of needful things. My garage that had been a haven for so long most likely added to the build up of resentment towards me. The tools that were used so few and far in between, stored on shelves till the next use…deemed as unnecessary and not needed. Years and years of stuff, not all mine alone, but hers as well, built up and taking up empty space.

There are some things I won’t be taking. The kitchen cabinets and refrigerator surround…they’re staying. A gigantic non-working deep freezer…left behind. The brick patio made from free paving bricks…going to a neighbor. A deck built for a hot tub…I’m not taking that apart. Nearly-new double-paned argon gas filled windows…it’s a shame they have to stay. And some non-tangible things are staying as well. The ghost of a former life…I don’t want that coming with me. It can stay there and haunt whomever it wants whenever they move in. The echoing sounds of love and laughter that seeped into the walls and floors from a once happy couple and their two children, a result of that love and laughter, will one day emerge from within and bounce around inside…and will most likely join the new sounds of love and laughter from the new tenants, whoever they will be. Luckily for them, there won’t be any unknown raised voices that came from arguments or words of hatred. Those words were never uttered.

An empty house echoes. The sounds reverberate against the walls, ceilings and floors, creating an eerie sound that carpet and things that fill the rooms usually absorb and deaden. In the bathroom alone, the sounds in there are amplified as a result of the missing throw rugs. It amazes me of how different sounds are without things to deaden them. Even the artwork taken off the walls helped muffle the echoing sounds. My new place is quickly filling up with things. It is crazy how much stuff you can accumulate through the years. Several rooms have nothing but boxes upon boxes, stacked from wall to wall, waiting for me to open and distribute throughout. The echoes in here are slowly diminishing to a dull din with the opening of each box. Boxes filled with needful things that are truly needed, such as pots and pans, plates and bowels, cups and mugs. Needful things for entertainment, like books, movies, music and the like. Needful things such as clothes, towels, toiletries and toys. Things that make living possible. Then there are other needful things that just might not be needed at all. Yard sale stuff. Things that just take up space; space that could be filled with something truly needed after all.

A yard sale. That’s what I need. Lessen the accumulation a little bit. But keep the things that are truly needed, and even some things that are soul-stealing needed as well. Gotta keep the sound-deadening effects going on here…I don’t want to hear any ghosts that might have hitched a ride in a box or in a desk drawer, or latched on to a needful thing only to let go once inside my new place.

No…I don’t want to hear them at all.

Forever Music

Face Down by the Katie Todd Band is the background music randomly selected by iTunes right now. She is singing, “Peace of mind is all I want. I wanna make some time for wasting”. Sounds good to me; peace of mind and time for wasting makes sense. For your life to be at peace, your mind must be peaceful. Too much strife and worry needs to be replaced by a peaceful, easy feeling (ala The Eagles) in my mind right now. And there is no time for wasting. It seems that every minute of my day is occupied by something that has to be done. Work from early morning to late afternoon, take kids to bus stop and retrieve them from same, pack up stuff in boxes for moving from this Haunted Mansion…it leaves no time for just wasting. The only real relaxing time I get is sitting in front of this glowing screen, hand on the mouse or fingers tapping frantically on the keyboard, putting thoughts into things.

The music changes again. Enigma’s Out From the Deep is telling me, “That’s why we are here…to learn to love, to learn how to live…to avoid the mistake we made”. I know I made mistakes; mistakes that I am sure to do my best to avoid in the future. I thought I knew how to love and how to live. I’m sure I do, but a refresher course couldn’t hurt things at all. Love and life are things that need and also give daily reminders of just what they are and how to go about keeping them both functioning as they should. Love withers and dies without reassurance and affirmation from both sides of a relationship, and life just seems empty without the complimentary uplift that love can bring to it. Thinking about that right now…maybe that’s why I am here, where I am right now, to re-learn how to love, to once again learn how to live…and avoid the mistakes that got me to the here and now.

This music is soothing…I love listening to it while doing anything. Driving, working, writing; I listen to music 24/7. It has a way of imbedding its mood into you, searching around inside until it finds and melds with its mirror mood to move and groove you, to haunt and calm you. It attaches strings to your heart and places a time travel machine in your brain, takes you to places you’ve been and places you dream of. I love it. Music also remembers the who’s and where’s of your life. Certain songs and lyrics from songs remind you of good times, good friends, past love and future hope.

Forever will it be…Girl I Wanna Lay You Down by ALO…ring tone on my phone devoted to someone special. It was the song that drew me into that band, so that meaning will always be there too…I won’t give it away, won’t give it another meaning than what it means to me. I promise.

Forever it will be…Leave It by Yes…taking me back to my early teen years. MTV was only a few years old and they still played music videos. I didn’t have cable or even the massive satellite dishes that those with money had standing in their yards like a shrine to the heavens. I only saw this video while spending time with a friend who had the luxury of piped-in television. I remember the band members standing in a line, singing the song, and then the screen would stretch them in all directions and continue to do so throughout the song. The song links me to my first times of “funny cigarettes”, trying my hand at dipping snuff (more like practicing throwing up), and the giddy feeling of sneaking into R rated movies. Seeing boobies on the big screen…good times.

Forever it will be…Purple Rain by Prince…my ex loved (does she still?) this musical genius. Genius? Yes, I think he is. Others may think he is this prissy-pompadoured-midget of a man that just so happened to make the girls crazy. He may be that. But he is also a master of the musical arts. This song reminds me of another time as well…back to my very first Phish show in Knoxville back in ’93. I’ve mentioned it before, but here I go again. Not only did they play Rocky Top (for those Vols phreaks) but when the first strains of Purple Rain rode over the waves of revelers, the goose-bumps that had already been making my hair stand on end increased to where I thought the little hairs would be pushed out…and the look of complete and utter joy on her face. I like to think they won her heart that day. I know they already had mine.

Forever it will be…every song on Meddle by Pink Floyd and all early albums by The Moody Blues...LSD infused Greyhound bus trip to Kansas City, KS. Early a.m. dosing just as I got into my seat surrounded by other travelers who were, oh, so clueless about the journey I was about to take. Taking hits off my cigarette look-alike one-hitter walking on the streets near the bus stop in St. Louis during a layover, and actually getting away with it. I think I was too messed up to even care…everything was bliss. I think one young kid knew what was going on. He volunteered to make sure I got on the next bus when the time came. He even gave me a home-made lighter. Seeing the trees spin and dance as we speedily passed them on the highway, their arms slowly turning as we came up to them, then hurriedly throwing them the other way as we passed. Whew…what a trip that was.

Forever it will be…The Reason by Hoobastank…just recently learned to love (but not necessarily love to listen to) this song. I might be mistaking understanding for love, but it makes me think about me, my life, and the things that got me where I am this day. A single, mostly lonely, divorced man. It makes me look at reasons and why’s and how’s and what could have been and what to do in the future. Mainly what to do to avoid the past and what the reason is to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It speaks to me. It really does…

I'm not a perfect person
There's many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday
And all the pain I put you through
I wish that I could take it all away
And be the one who catches all your tears
That’s why I need you to hear

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

I'm not a perfect person
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you

I once said that I will take with me to the grave the regret of what I lost. I would mourn that loss till the day I died. I meant it. That doesn’t mean that I will let it haunt me to the end of my days. But it will always be in my mind. Maybe not out in front for all to see. It will be hidden deep in the nether recesses for me to know and understand that the reason for me to make a change is because of what I had lost. I don’t ever want to lose that again, once it is found. It will become a part of who I am, just like my love of music.

Forever music. It will always be a part of me. I can’t help it. I’ve always loved it, I always will.

Ahhh…Lovin’ Cup by Phish. What a song to end this time in front of this glowing screen. “Oh, what a beautiful buzz…”

My Long Walk

I read a short story (not so short by any means…Stephen King’s short stories are looooong) called The Long Walk. It was about a competition that started on the east coast of America and finished, well…it finished wherever it finished. The rules were set by the U.S. Army. No lagging. No stopping. No outside interference. If your pace slowed down below the set pace for a period of time, you were out…and “out” in this race meant having your head blown off by a soldier. Oh yeah, the stakes were high in this race, but the winner and his family were assured to never want for anything else for the rest of their lives.

Of course, the race started with many contestants, but as in any race, there is only one winner. But at what cost? The “winner” in this story kept on walking, after the fanfare and loved ones tried to congratulate him on his success, he kept walking…the finish line was still up ahead, there was someone still walking ahead of him in his mind…his mind that had slowly gone mad over the hundreds of miles he had walked and the threat of being killed he had endured and had seen happen to the other contestants. The reader is led to believe that he kept walking until he collapsed on the ground and died from utter exhaustion.

I don’t mind a good walk. Walking is good for the body. It tones muscles, strengthens the heart, increases blood flow, keeps you in shape and feeling healthy, all without the strenuous impact that running puts on your feet and legs. In the long run, walking is better on the body. You get the exercise need while getting from point A to point Z.

I really think I am about to take a long walk myself. I have never liked running. In high school, we had to run a mile for P.E. There were boys who were running the mile in “record” time. Me? Sure, I broke records…records for the longest time ever. No, I don’t think I was ever last. There were boys who were fatter than me. But walking? I have always done that. I would walk for miles from my aunt’s house to work on a not-so-daily basis back in college. But this walk…I have never taken a walk like this one. I am not the kind of person who willingly walks away from anything.

To walk away from something or someone usually means you have turned your back on them. I have been walked away from myself and have seen my share of turned backsides. It doesn’t feel good. But it doesn’t always mean that the person is intentionally turning their back to you. It’s just that’s the side you see when they are walking away, going in another direction, a direction that possibly leads to a better situation for both parties. But they are still going “away”.

I’m not fairly excited about taking this walk. But I’m not too content with staying where I am, either. Although, where I am is not so bad. Where I am is this: a future parent to a child that I mentioned last time, a future co-parent with her mother. What’s so bad about that? Nothing…just that I am not strong enough. I can’t take on the responsibility of another child. Not now. I thought I could, but the realization that I am in no shape to do it, emotionally, financially, or physically…that realization has set in. I know that I said I was able to. I certainly am willing to. And now I’m about to do what I thought I could never do, something that I feel will make me less of a human, less of a man, less of a friend. I care about this woman and our daughter. I really do. In fact, I can say that I do have love for her. I have love for our child.

Rowan. That is her name…

I have been told by her mother that I have the choice to walk away. I never wanted to. I just know that it will probably be best for us all. For Rowan especially. Her mother and I…well, we will be ok. I know that Rowan will be ok. She has the largest village surrounding her and her mother. This village is full of love and protection for them both. I feel lucky to have met them and even have grown to love some of them.

Rowan’s mother (baby momma) has said that if I choose to walk away, communication will be cut off. She isn’t saying this to be mean. I believe that she is trying to protect all those involved. Herself…protected from being hurt with keeping up with a man she could have loved. Rowan…protected from the different life teachings and the inconsistency that a divided household can have (different rules for different places…kinda screws ‘em up, I think). Me…protected from having to see her progress and know that I walked away from what I see. That and leaving her mom is what would/will hurt me the most. Knowing that she is mine and I will have nothing at all to do with refining her into a young lady.

I hope to be notified of her birth. I hope to be able to see her, at least see a picture. Contrary to belief, I do care for them both. I care enough to see that the points made about my parenting skills are ringing true. Not that I am wrong, mind you, just too different from what baby momma agrees with. When kids are playing, or just being kids, the line in the sand from being playful to being unruly is across the room for me. That same line is right in front of her feet.

This walk will result in the loss of two beings that I do care about. I am not going into this lightly. Lots of thought (inner struggles and outer thoughts from caring parties) has gone into this decision. It is the hardest decision I have ever faced. On one side there is the knowledge that both of them will be just fine without me. Rowan’s mother is a strong woman, surrounded by strong, loving people who will not let her struggle with raising a child on her own. To those people I want to say that I really enjoyed getting to know you…R and M…M and S…TJMax…Char…Mtn. D (sweet woman)…who did I forget?...Tams…damn this hurts more than I realized. Please know that I do care and love y’all.

On the other side is the realization that I left her. I left them. I will not see her learn to walk, eat sloppy creamed peas, pull on cats’ tails, curiously open boxes. I won’t see her step onto a school bus, bring home a frog found at a pond, sit in a field of flowers. I won’t see her blush when talking about a boy, cry when in pain, laugh at a funny. I won’t see one single thing that fills your brain with memories. Memories is all you got, because each day that goes by, these things called kids change so much, grow a little bit more, and you had better remember because tomorrow won’t be the same as today.

(Just as a side note, and for an example…I saw my boy get on a school bus last week for the first time…at least the first time that I saw him get on one. He looked so big and grown up. Day by day by day…they pass so quickly.)

To Rowan…maybe your momma will read this to you one day or let you read it yourself…momma will explain the circumstances. It isn’t that I didn’t love you. It isn’t that I didn’t care. It is because of those reasons that I did what I did. Please forgive me.

This walk isn’t because I have found someone else and couldn’t care a less about “baby momma” and Rowan. I thought that I did find someone else. The connection that I felt and believed that she felt too was a real feeling that I hadn’t felt in a long time…that initial feeling of “wow!” that comes when you know that something is going on. With baby momma…sure I felt something, but we both knew that it wasn’t a “forever’ kind of thing. There was emotion, but it didn’t last long. I do care for her, I do have love for her, but I am not in love with her, nor is she with me.

With this person that I have grown to care for…there is this thing that I can’t describe. Whether or not she feels it too, I don’t know. I have asked her and she says that she does like me, loves to flirt with me, knows that I am a good man and would treat her right. But is that enough? I don’t know. I might not be able to find out either. She has three kids that I have grown to like too. They are good kids, and my kids like them as well. Like I said, I am not walking away because of finding an interest in someone else. I won’t be with this other woman, even though my heart is about to burst with an extreme “like” of her and her kids. Why? Because she is doing her own walk. They have moved away. They are in a place about ten hours away from here. Whether there is hope for us or not remains to be seen. But they are not going away forever. Whatever tears are shed over this “walk” are not shed for nothing…I do care for her so much. But the tears are for a sense of loss for the moment, not forever. With my “walk”, the tears are for sense of a loss for the rest of my life.

I had said before and I’ll say it again…I am not running away. I don’t like running. It is a walk that I am frightened about taking, but I feel that it is best for all. My back may be turned, but my head is facing backwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of what I am leaving behind, what soon will be the past, soon to be a future…a future full of love of life and learning for those left behind, but a future rife with regret and endless hope for the one walking away.

Some may say that this is an easy decision for me to make. “He’s taking the easy way out”. To those who may think that, I say, “A pox on you.” This is so not easy. Leaving someone is never easy. Ask my ex. Apparently it took her years to do it to me.

Last week, after meeting with baby momma to work out the details about my walk, as I was leaving after an emotional evening (I had several of them that week…I thought my head was going to explode and that there were no more tears in me left to cry…) and as we hugged for what may be the last time, she whispered in my ear, “Thank you.” I really didn’t have a clue as to what she was thanking me for (although deep down, and after she said why, I felt that maybe I did know) and so I asked, “What for?” “My baby”, is what she said. Funny. When she told me about being pregnant so many months ago, I thought that I had screwed her life up forever. She had told me about her aversion to kids. That she never wanted one. That they all looked the same (ugly). I know it takes two to make a baby, but for some reason, I thought that it was my fault, that I should-a, could-a, would-a…but that “thank you”…that told me that she was going to be all right.

I hope that I will be. I hope that my mind won’t constantly think about what is happening; about what I am leaving behind, with my body walking in one direction and what is left behind getting smaller and smaller in the distance behind me. I hope that I can live with this decision. I hope that I can accept it and move on. I won’t ever forget either of them. Baby momma recently told me via email that she was not sorry for meeting me, not sorry for getting pregnant, but that somehow my life would have been better without ever having met her. I replied just tonight that my life would have been screwed up whether I met her or not. It was going to happen anyway.

Right now it seems that my life is all about loss. I have lost so much, but I also have given so much. From September of last year, to the present and into what is to come…loss, loss, loss. I hope to gain once more. Dignity…I hope to get that back. Love…surely it is to come again. The ability to pay bills and have enough left to buy food and gas…hmmph…maybe one day. But I have gained something. I have learned to never take things for granted, for one day what you have will be gone. I have learned how to be more bold in trying to get what I want…I’m too old to play games (I am a shy person, so when I recently told an interest all about how I felt and then asked her how she felt, I took on the persona of a superhero, at least in my mind). But most of all I have learned that no matter what happens to me in this life, no matter what things keep beating me down, no matter if what happens makes sense or not…it is supposed to happen that way. It happens for a reason, whether I see it or not. When baby momma thanked me for her baby, I told her that maybe that is what I was supposed to do. Maybe that is why we met in the first place. If that is the reason, then I think that I did a pretty good job at doing exactly what I was supposed to do.

But this walk…if it is what I am supposed to do, I had better get to stretching my legs; make sure that my laces are tight to keep me from tripping up; try to determine the best direction to head; and remember the path that I have been on, because the former path is an indicator of what lies ahead…lots and lots of roots and stones to trip over.

It’s going to be a long and lonely walk.