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.

Bagged Felines and Cloistered Bones

I’ve had a deep, not-so-dark secret. I’ve only told a few souls about my secret. It may not be so secret, but it has been to me. Hell, there are many ways to find out something that you want to know, so anybody could have found this out before I even said anything. “Mum” has not been the word on many fronts…

I don’t like secrets. Cats don’t reside in bags. Skeletons shouldn’t exist in my closet. I don’t like them there, but there has been one in mine for several months. Tonight I took him out and put him on display, just like the one in the Biology room at school. The cat that had been living in a bag jumped out and meowed.

I’m going to be a daddy again. I never stopped being a daddy, but I’m going to be a daddy to another child. A little “whoopsie”. A little girl. Rowan Gray Powers. Powers? Yep. Her mother has a strong last name…kinda reminds me of the name Homer Simpson took in an episode when he was a spy…Max Powers I think it was. Won’t ever get that out of my head.

Anyway, I met Rowan’s mama back in November of last year. If you go to her blog (http://dawnia.blogspot.com/) and search back to then, you can get most of the whole story. I haven’t talked much about her. I have, but I am the master (in my own mind) of allusion, the king of allegory, the knight of aversion. I’ve talked about her, but maybe because we haven’t been together as in “together forever and ever”, and we won’t be, I have almost avoided doing so in a blunt, in your face kind of way.

We hadn’t told my kids about this for a reason. First, we knew that we weren’t going to be a couple and she had given me the chance to “run”. I would never run from responsibility, but responsibility is not the reason I stayed. I know she wouldn’t want me to stay for feeling like I had to, for feeling like I was obligated to. I know that, for she has told me and the whole world that she wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have run away. I might have walked away, looking over my shoulder the entire time…I would have looked over my shoulder for the rest of my life, though. Another reason we didn’t tell my kids is because, well, I didn’t feel like they would be accepting of another sibling. My daughter told me once that she likes us the way we were (of course it would have been even better with “daddy-mama-sister-brother” together, she also said). I was so afraid of hurting her that I was holding out until I felt ready; until I felt she was ready.

D (my baby momma) had come over the other day to get the crib that both my kids had used when they were babies. It was here; it was going unused; it went to her. She got me a more “portable” one from a consignment sale this past weekend. Anyway, my daughter wanted to know why she was taking the crib. “Is Zero (D’s cat…one of many) going to sleep in it?” she asked. Tonight, I was showing D an “old-school” playpen, one that Ralph Nader surely tried to ban, one that gives you visions of hundreds of heads being simultaneously stuck in between the bars. My daughter (a bright one, she is) asked why I was showing it to D. The beginning of a thousand questions, and not a single one was I going to lie about. D was about to pull out of the driveway, when she asked me when I was going to tell them. I told her then that I was staying, and that I would tell her this weekend. She said that she would like to see the look on my daughter’s face, so I cocked my head towards the front door and said, “C’mon then”.

That’s all it took. Months of worry and thoughts of regret melted away with the utterance of the words from my mouth to my kids. Why did I worry about it? I know that I waited until I felt it was right. But what caused me to do it now?

This weekend has not been a good one for me. On Saturday, I discovered that I had gone into the overdraft reserve in my checking account. That’s not such a big deal, but I had gone into it almost to the limit. The bank charges me $10 for each day that a debit or check clears and I’m in the reserve. That I understand. It is part of the luxury of having the overdraft protection. But what drained the color from my face, made me turn around and head back home after leaving the bank, made my stomach instantly start hurting was this: I had a total of five debits come through that put me over my overdraft protection limit. Five debits. I don’t know how much each one was. They couldn’t have been for more than $20 for gas, or even less for some food, but each one added a $35 charge to my account. Five of them. $35 multiplied by 5. That’s $175. Gut wrenching sickness overcame me.

“Deep, dark depression, excessive misery…gloom, despair, and agony on me.”

I am at the lowest point of my life. Never before have I been this low. Even in my depression of the death of my marriage, I wasn’t this low. How can I pay for gas to get my kids to and from their aunt’s house, their “day care” for the summer? How can I pay for the food that they need? I haven’t been getting the hours that I so desperately need at work either. I need gas to get there to get the money to get gas and food…the wheel goes round and round. These and other questions popped up in my head all night last night and rummaged around in my brain today. I had emailed the manager of my local branch, telling her that I have been a loyal customer for nearly 15 years. I told her of the financial burden I was already in and the charges that depleted my account don’t help at all, in fact, there is no way to recover from this. I had heard of banks waiving these kinds of fees before, especially for hardship purposes. Even if they would waive a portion of them, that would help tremendously. I gave her my telephone number to call me on Monday. We’ll see what comes of it.

Welfare. Never thought about it. Not going to think about it either, but I am not above asking for help. I have already applied for food stamps, but with me moving to another county, I have to apply there as well. I tried to this past Friday, but by the time I got to Cleveland, the office had been closed for nearly 20 minutes. Just my luck.

So, in the darkest time of my life, why did I decide to stick and raise another child? Why did I decide to tell my kids about their new little sister? Maybe I did because there is no other place to go but up. Get this off my chest while I am down so low that maybe the enthusiasm shown would bring me up. I don’t know. I just did. I decided that the right thing to do, for me, for my kids, for Rowan, for D…but especially for me…the right thing to do would be for me to help raise this child. I know it will be hard. It will be hard financially (that’s the understatement of my life), it will be hard physically and mentally. But I’m going to do it because I feel it is right. I know it is right.

In the end, my fears went unfounded. My son, who is only 5, understood what I was saying, but seemed to not care one way or the other. He was only interested in turning the TV back on and let the grown up talk dissipate. My daughter, though, was ecstatic. She was especially happy to know that she was going to have a little “half-sister”. Half, whole, it doesn’t matter…it is going to be a sister, not another brother. Their mama knows (and surely everyone she knows “knows”) and, shoot, half of all those I know are in the know about it.

Was I happy about finding out about being a daddy again? No. And the congregation yelled, “Hell, no!” That’s another reason I have kept the cat in the bag, the skeleton in the closet. I haven’t been enthused. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t or won’t love this child as much as I love my other two. I won’t love it more or less than them. That is a promise. Am I enthused about it now? No. But I feel warmth and love all the same. Outwardly I don’t show it, but inwardly I am beaming with pride and love. Believe me, I am.

The cat has run away, so I fold up the bag and put it in the recycling bin. The skeleton looks hideous standing in the corner of my room. I’ll wheel him to the nearest haunted house and drop him off. There is no need for them to stick around anyway. Are there more secrets waiting to be told? Nope.

At least none that I am aware of, anyway…

A Toss of the Coin

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 40. I’ve spent 40 years of being on this spinning orb, hurtling through space at a dizzying speed, making a difference in nothing, but affecting everything that I touch. Looking back, 40 seemed a long way off. There was so much to be done with life. So much not done.

I can remember my fifth birthday. Not vividly, but I do remember where I was, and the card I got. It was 1973; I was at my grandma’s house in Cedar Grove, TN. I do believe my brother and sister were there, but not sure if my dad was there or not. The card was a cut-out clown that you put together and played with. Even then I was concerned about “damaging” something that someone had given me. I mean, the clown was supposed to come out, but in doing do, the card would be ruined. I am that way. I have stacks of Mad magazines from my teen years. They had the pictures on the last page that you were supposed to bend to make a totally new picture. The pages are still unbent. I would cut out a piece of paper to cover the folded part to see the new picture just to keep the page unbent. I have CarToons magazines with ages-old iron-ons in them. I wanted to keep them intact. Why?

I don’t remember ever having a goal for my life. Most kids wanted to be a policeman, fireman, scientist, and hell…even the president. I just wanted to live a life that I felt was right. In elementary school, I didn’t have a clue. In high school, when you were supposed to at least have an idea…I didn’t. When I got to college, it was almost a toss of the coin to decide what major I would choose. I just picked one that seemed right at the time; Business Management. That was something that I now realize was as far away from my persona as Chattanooga is to Memphis…going east, that is. Midways into my college education, I changed to Marketing, which was closer, but still not right. The artistic parts of it were, like drawing up the ads for Advertising class and coming up with a sales presentation for a class project (oh, yeah…my sales pitch for a new perfume called Dümí was a great hit…”Don’t get me diamonds, just Dümí”…even my professor got a kick out of that!). But I was still clueless. I think that the reason for that was that I just didn’t care. Only a few years into college, the partying started. The desire to have a good time overrode the need to study and get good grades. I did get good grades, but not in my major. The good grades were in English, Science, Creative Writing, and all the other classes that had nothing to do with my degree. I would have done excellent with an Undecided Major!

Then I met the woman I would spend the next 15 years with. I felt that making money with a steady job was good enough at that point. We both did some partying, but she had her degree and a good job. With money coming in from both ends, life was good. Eventually, two kids, complacency and blindness set in. I’ve said so much about this subject, that I am going to skip it this time. I don’t even want to think about it.

There are times when I am completely alone. The kids are with their mama. Friends are at their own homes (more and more of that happening here lately…). The mind starts to wander in those moments, the times when the crickets are chirping, the bats are flitting about while searching for unseen insects, and the fireflies blink their Morse code messages to each other. When my mind starts to wander, that’s when I feel the most vulnerable, yet it is also the time when I feel most creative. No one around to distract me from thinking…and sometimes thinking is not such a great idea when the thoughts are ones that make me unhappy. But when those thoughts arise, I do my best to beat them back down to whence they came, back to the dark depths of my mind that even I haven’t seen yet.

I was with friends yesterday. I showed up late to my own birthday party, but it was because of no fault of my own, really. No putzing involved. The person who was to help me move some things to my new house didn’t arrive until a few hours after he said he would, which then put us back that much more in the order of getting ready. Then, I promised a friend that I would pick her up for the party. That took a trip to Dalton and then to East Ridge…all from originating in Ooltewah. So, I was late because of the kindness of one friend, and from me being kind to another. Anyway, I was hanging around with a fine group of folks last night. Even some from Sand Mountain came down from their side, up Lookout Mountain, then down the other side into Chattanooga. I was really surprised to see them there. But they were and that is what mattered. Friends rallying around me, sharing my happiness of living yet another year, and my depression for the same reason…another year behind me. I did get a neat gift. It was a canoe paddle that everyone had signed. That thing is going to hang from the rafters on the porch of my new house. It is where it belongs. It will be a symbol of those who care for me as I take off into this new journey, a new direction in my life, one that hopefully will be just as full of happiness that the former journey was. But really, that journey isn’t over, it just changed direction.

Of course there were those who weren’t there that should have been. I do miss them. One that I expected to hear from…and didn’t. I don’t know if it hurt me that I should have heard from her and didn’t, or if it was just something that I expected and didn’t receive that hurt me. It is called a divorce, not death. I’m still here. She is still here. It probably shouldn’t bother me because we are not together. But still, it is hard to let go the notion that it wasn’t forgetfulness; it wasn’t forgotten for 15 years. If it was because of divorce and we just can’t wish each other well because of that…well…I don’t think I can understand that. If there was hatred involved, that would be different, but I didn’t think there was hatred involved. I have no clue. It is over, it is done. The day is gone into the past, and I guess that’s where things should stay.

Lordy, lordy, look who’s 40. Over the hill. Senility and eventual bedrest in a mandated minimum security lockdown called a retirement facility. Just a fancy name for the old folk’s home. That is ahead of me, it is not right now. I’ll be there before it’s all over though. But before I get there, start forgetting who I and loved ones are, I am going to make the best of what life has thrown upon my plate. I have some options and opportunities coming open that I am excited about; foot in the door opportunities; solid, good employment opportunities; deep close friendship opportunities. All I have to do is be prepared to reach out and grab them. No toss of the coin this time…

I think I’ll put the coin back in my pocket.

Just a Day

I remember the scene as if it were yesterday. We walked arm in arm to the rose petal covered area where friends and family eagerly awaited. Ahead of us walked a violinist, the tune from the strings reverberating into the air and into the wooded spaces. A little girl tossed rose petals along the way, making a path for us to follow to where the ultimate display of love was to be played out. I was nervous. It was the most important day of my life. I believe it was the most important day of her life as well. In less than an hour, we were to be man and wife, after professing our love for each other in front of family, friends, nature, and God.

Even though it may have felt like it, it wasn’t yesterday. It was fourteen years ago. Today. I hadn’t thought about until I got to work this morning. Then it was all I could think about. Today was supposed to be a happy day, a day of remembrance. A day to look back on and constantly reaffirm the love that was supposed to last forever. A day to remind us of that one day long ago. A day of Provino’s Cannelloni and a bottle of wine. A day of anniversary cards and maybe a gift or two. A day of longing, looking forward to culminating the day with the act of professed love. For at least twelve of those years, it was. Each and every anniversary was special to me. I never wanted them to end. I never thought they would.

Last year, on our thirteenth anniversary, it wasn’t like the rest. I already knew that she wasn’t happy. I already knew that the things I was doing to try and fix what was broken, to make right the things that were wrong…these things weren’t working. In fact, the more I tried to work at it, the worse it got, the more distant she became, the angrier at me she got. Angry? Yes. Angry because she thought I was only doing those things because she had mentioned she wasn’t happy. Which in turn, was true, to a point. What else would you do if you were told that things weren’t right, things were broken, and something needed to be done? You would try to make things right, fix it, do something about it. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t that be the natural reaction? I was not only doing it because she had told me things weren’t right. That wasn’t the only reason. No, I was doing it also because I wanted to. I was afraid that our marriage was in jeopardy. I would have done anything in my power to make things right. And I did. It just wasn’t good enough.

So, today was to be special; to remember and look forward. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was a day of thoughtfulness, at least on my part. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t morose most of the day. I was. It hurt to think that the forever that was to be was no longer. I didn’t talk to many people about what today was supposed to have been. I really didn’t feel like talking about it. By no means did I let it ruin my day, but the thoughts of what today should have been kept surfacing, making me think about things, good and bad. As the day went on, I wanted to talk to someone, anyone about what I was feeling. But I didn’t. I thought that to do so would be like seeking someone to have pity on me. That was not what I wanted. I don’t want pity. I do want comfort though. Everyone at some point or another wants to be comforted, to be held, to be told that everything is going to be alright. I am no different.

I got an email from someone that I had been trying to meet for quite some time now. The timing has not been right, and for some reason or another, we haven’t met yet. We’ve talked on the phone, sent messages through Instant Messenger, and sent emails back and forth for weeks now. I got this email after returning from being gone all weekend. It said to please call. So I did. No answer. I kept on trying to call. At some point, the answering machine message changed to indicate that she had been in the hospital. I finally got her on the phone tonight. Something bad had happened and the seriousness of it makes me feel so bad for her. I empathize with her pain. I wanted to comfort her. I tried, but I really don’t think that comfort can come from long distance, over the phone words. Comfort needs a physical presence as well as the words. I did try my best, but I don’t know what more to say than, “I’m sorry. It will get better”. As if they are magic words that will make things better just by saying them. I know they won’t. But for now, it is all I can give. It’s all I can do is to let her know that I feel for her, I want her to get better, and I really hope that she can find solace when it is all over. I really do.

This day is almost over. In about an hour, it will fade into the past, into the history of my life. Will this day lose its significance to me at some point? Will I forget what July 8 represents as a part of my history, as a part of me where I was happy and in love? I don’t think I will. New dates and new histories are ready to be made. New loves will come, of that I am absolutely positive. But that doesn’t erase the past and what to remember from that past. It is written in the pages of that tome that resides in my mind, the one that is still being written on a daily basis. I have been known to read the same book several times. Especially if it is a book that I love and enjoy the story it tells. This book is no different. The early parts of it become dusty and I will thumb back through from time to time to make myself remember the characters and plots that set the basis for the ending of the story. I have to. If not, the rest of the story will never make sense.

Near Losses

I almost lost a bit of myself and history this week. Things that define my life, things stored on a technological piece of work call a hard drive, things that I really don’t want to lose or be without. Pictures, music, writings, projects…all neatly stored in virtual folders to be accessed on a whim or whenever needed. I almost lost it all.

I do backup things when I think about it. I have backup copies of pictures dating back to 2002. I don’t have backup copies of my latest pictures, music or writings that have been saved recently. I didn’t take the time to do it like I should have. I know that is a mistake, but it is a mistake I’ll soon not make again. Knowing that these things could have been lost tore at me, made me worry that a big piece of my life was sitting right in front of me, but out of reach. I’m not computer wizard. I do know some things, but how to diagnose a hard drive to rescue vital pieces of information is beyond my scope. That is left to the gurus. The gurus that make the big bucks.

What happened was this: I store all my pictures, music, writings, projects, etc. on an external hard drive. When my computer went belly up, I just unplugged the external hard drive from my computer and connected to my daughter’s computer. Voila! All the information was readily available again. Well, I should have been more careful about where I set the thing in her room. She is a good girl, and I know that it was an accident, but where I had set the hard drive was on top of her computer tower, under her desk, and about knee level from the ground. It was nothing for her little foot to entangle in a wire and pull it off the top of the tower and to the floor. That is what happened. I didn’t think anything had happened, at least it didn’t show any signs of damage. But when I tried to access it, the computer didn’t even recognize that it was connected. I tried everything I could think of to remedy the problem. I unplugged the power cord and plugged it in again. Nothing. I unplugged the USB cable and plugged it in again. Nothing. I began to worry that all was lost. I finally figured out how to open the case of the external hard drive and all the mystery of just what was in there was exposed. It was if the things were magically stored in this box. That is how computer savvy I am. But the mystique was gone when I opened it up…just a hard drive like in your computer, but contained in a little box instead of a big one. I noticed that something was wrong near the area where the USB cable is connected to a green board with all sorts of soldered square and rectangle shaped thingamabobs. One of those doohickeys, something that looks like a soldered piece of plastic no bigger than an open hole between the weave in a piece of Rice Chex cereal was wobbling around. It was so small; I was pushing it around with the pointed end of a needle. It had come loose when the hard drive fell. That was the problem. The computer and hard drive had lost communication because a bridge had been gapped. But had the drive itself been damaged? Had I lost any information or files?

I took the hard drive to my neighbor who has a hard drive enclosure (that’s what I am going to get to put this hard drive into, I sure am!) and he tested it to make sure all my information was still there and that there was no damage to the drive itself. That is when I found out that I lost nothing after all. Relieved? You bet I was.

I didn’t know what I would have done if those pieces of me and my life had disappeared. There was just too much there to replace. It couldn’t be replaced. They had long since been deleted from the media cards from the cameras that took the pictures; some of the music CDs had been sold or lost. My writings? I do have some hard copies, but most are online or elsewhere. They could have been replaced easily enough.

This got me thinking. What about the real life things that matter to me? What if they became lost? What about lost love, lost lives, lost memories? They could never be replaced. Sure, something would step in and try to replace what was lost, but the replacements would never be the same as the originals. That doesn’t mean they would never be as good as the originals, because some things shouldn’t even be compared to what was lost. Lost love: it can be found again. Lost lives: nothing could ever replace that. If something were to happen to one of my kids, there isn’t a copy sitting on some server or CD somewhere. That would be it. Lost memories: not replaceable…new ones can be made, though.

Losing love stinks. It is the hardest thing that I have gone through in a long time. I never wanted to lose it, but it fell between the cracks of time and complacency, lost among the myriads of distractions that consumed the time that should have been spent nurturing and promoting the growth of love.

The ultimate loss is the death of a loved one. I’ve only had a handful of people I love die. One of them was my sister. No one can replace family or friends who are lost in the clutches of death.

Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease. They say that the brain of people with it actually start to die; to atrophy and grow smaller. My neighbor up the road who died recently had Alzheimer’s. His wife said that was the hardest thing she ever had to live through. I can’t imagine watching someone I love and care for go through that. Forgetting loved ones, dates, things that you take for granted each and every day. These things were lost to him, and in essence, to those around him. Sad.

I want to protect those things that are precious to me. I can’t make copies of my children. I can’t store imprints of those I love on a server somewhere. I can’t do anything to keep bad things from happening. I can only try to do my best to protect what is precious to me, and even then, inevitability comes into the picture. What is to be is what is to be. I can’t stop it. I can only do my best to protect, enjoy the time spent with loved ones, and make memories which can be stored in the hard drive of the human body, the brain, for the rest of my life.

Or at least as long as I have a brain that functions as it should. This, hopefully, is forever.